The Australian Labor Party's termination of leader Kim Beazleybears out yet again the dismal rule of politics that nice guys finish last.
Son of a leading light in the Whitlam Government and protege of former Prime Minister Bob Hawke, Beazley was the crown prince of Australian politics, seemingly
destined to lead his country from the moment he entered parliament.
He got within striking distance but didn't have the strike-power. A big, genial, intelligent man, Beazley lacked the larrikin touch that enabled his mentor to bond with the battlers and the bravado and killer instinct that made Paul Keating such a political force.
His defining characteristic was a garrulous decency which his opponents had no trouble turning into a liability. John Howard labelled him soft and it stuck.
Howard, a political tortoise, has now seen off three Labor hares: Keating, Mark Latham, and Beazley. After a decade in opposition, Labor seems to have decided that if you can't beat him, confuse the electorate: its new leader Kevin Rudd's defining characteristic is the fact that he looks like a Howard clone.
The other big talking point in Sydney this week was the drama at the Walkley Awards, Australian journalism's equivalent of the Oscars. Glenn Milne, a political commentator for News Ltd's stable of newspapers, made an unscripted appearance on stage to "go the biff" with presenter Stephen Mayne, a maverick journalist who founded the crikey.com.au news website and is either a crusader or a muck-raker depending on whether or not you're a friend of Milne's.
In Tuesday's Daily Telegraph Milne partly blamed his behaviour on that treacherous combo of alcohol and prescription medicine which so often takes the rap when prominent people act like goats. Most of his piece, though, was devoted to denouncing Mayne for dealing in "unsubstantiated smear and innuendo" and posting a link to a blog accusing Milne of behaving badly towards women.
Seen in isolation the rumpus is a perfect example of the way incidents become news because they've been caught on film rather than because they're newsworthy. Seen in context it raises interesting questions about the role and responsibilities of the media.
The feud dates from September 2005 when Milne broke a story about the then New South Wales Opposition Leader John Brogden disgracing himself at a public function. Brogden, who'd had too much to drink (no doubt on top of whatever the doctor ordered), referred to the just-retired NSW Premier Bob Carr's Malaysian-born wife as "a mail-order bride". He also pinched a female journalist's bottom and made a clumsy pass at another woman who too happened to be a journalist.
The story appeared in the Sunday Telegraph. On Monday Brogden resigned. On Tuesday the Telegraph ran a front page story headlined "Brogden's sordid past: disgraced Liberal leader damned by secret shame file". On Tuesday night Brogden attempted to commit suicide.
On his website Mayne questioned Milne's original story on the basis that the journalist whose bottom was pinched was an old friend of Brogden's and neither woman had taken offence.
The other instances of Brogden's supposed vileness detailed in the Telegraph's shame file were either denied by the alleged victims or downright laughable: he had - Omigod!! - been seen "in the company of a blonde woman" at a fashion show.
In his plea in mitigation Milne claimed to have been inundated by messages from people "who've suffered similarly at [Mayne's] hands". People suffer at the media's hands every day but are rarely given space to excoriate the journalist concerned. Milne would argue that his scoop was in the public interest because of Brogden's position but if power and influence is the issue, shouldn't journalists who can make or break elected politicians also be subject to some public scrutiny?
Finally, Milne's accusations against Mayne - smear, innuendo, not checking facts - pretty much sum up the Telegraph's follow-up reporting of the Brogden affair.
Journalists are a privileged breed. They sit in judgment on others, applying rigorous standards and reaching harsh verdicts.
The justification for this scalp-hunting zeal is that they are the society's watchdogs holding the rich, famous, and powerful to account.
Journalists are also powerful and in some cases rich and famous. They may challenge the power structure but they're part of it nonetheless. If a government minister had behaved like Milne, the media would have demanded his resignation, yet Milne will continue to churn out columns questioning various politicians' fitness for office.
Doctors, it's said, bury their mistakes. It sometimes seems as if the media's default setting is that it simply doesn't make them.
Two years ago Britain's Daily Mirror made a huge song and dance about photos purporting to show British soldiers abusing Iraqis. They were quickly dismissed as fakes.
The Mirror's editor Piers Morgan insisted on their veracity even though he knew they hadn't been properly verified. When that position became untenable he refused to apologise, taking refuge behind the weaselly assertion that the pictures illustrated a "wider truth".
And how, in the end, did the media decide Morgan should pay for this flagrant violation of its ethics? Why, it gave him a multimillion dollar pay-out, a multimillion dollar book advance, and a lucrative new career in television.
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