Queenslanders have long had a different approach to politics. This is hardly surprising: the northern state differs substantially, in culture and demographic make-up, from most other parts of the country. Australia transitioned rapidly during the past century from a network of rural and regional towns into one of the world's most urbanised societies. But change was slower in Queensland. Today, a substantial minority of the state's residents – about four in 10 – still live outside metropolitan areas.
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This does not entirely explain Queenslanders' political views, though they do tend to favour stances that appeal in country Australia. Queensland is a relatively conservative community. The proportion of its residents who are religious is substantially higher than elsewhere in Australia. And its political representatives have tended to reflect these views: its state governments have historically favoured economically liberal but socially conservative agendas – at times to extremes.
The government of the late Joh Bjelke-Petersen, premier for almost two decades, was marked by authoritarianism, cronyism, political abuse and intolerance of others. Sir Joh was populist, parochial, antisecular – and extraordinarily popular, at least in his home state. He encouraged police brutality against protesters. He perfected the art of the gerrymander – changing electoral boundaries to ensure his opponents would struggle to gain office – so much so that the Queensland electoral system was at times described as among the Western world's least fair democracies. He stoked fears of a conspiracy of "southern homosexuals" entering the state; when other states were decriminalising homosexuality, Sir Joh strengthened Queensland's penalties. As late as 1985, his government legislated to make it an offence for publicans to serve alcohol to "perverts, deviants, child molesters and drug users". Two years later, the Fitzgerald inquiry confirmed what many Queenslanders suspected: their government had allowed police corruption to flourish, a scandal involving bribes, embezzlement and ministers as well as senior police.
Political scientists sometimes suggest the excesses of the Bjelke-Petersen era would never have taken place if Queensland had had an upper house. At present, it is the only Australian state to lack a legislative council. This means that, in effect, the party that wins office – a majority of seats in parliament – wields near-complete power, unchecked by the scrutiny of another parliamentary chamber.
The current Premier, Campbell Newman, has now called an election, to be held later this month. Mr Newman took office just under three years ago after demolishing the Bligh government: his Liberal National Party won 78 seats to Labor's seven. The LNP's electoral position should be impregnable. The Labor opposition has comparatively few resources to spend on an effective campaign. Yet the latest polls suggest that while the Newman government is likely retain office, it will be a close contest. Mr Newman himself is in danger is losing his seat. A Labor victory from a position of such disadvantage would be unprecedented in Australian politics.
It may be that Queensland's unicameral legislature is at least partly to blame for Mr Newman's predicament. In his three years in office, he has shown a readiness to take extreme and authoritarian positions. The Premier has regularly attacked the state's judges, showing disdain for conventions that separate the executive government from the judiciary. He weakened Queensland's corruption watchdog, against most public advice, including that of former royal commissioner Tony Fitzgerald. This week, the LNP confirmed it would take no action against a senior party member, police officer Llew O'Brian, who had misused a police database to investigate rival candidates. Mr Newman's economic policies have also deeply divided the state's voters. His tough austerity drive culled the jobs of about 14,000 public servants, and he recently announced a controversial, and potentially highly unpopular, plan to sell off the state's electricity network.
When presented with extreme powers, few political leaders resist the temptation to use them. But would Mr Newman have been a better premier if he had lacked the advantages that Queensland's parliamentary system provides to the state's ruling party? Upper houses have been called all manner of things, from "handbrakes on democracy" to "unrepresentative swill". Yet they can also teach compromise, which is the bedrock of good government.
It is now for Queenslanders to endorse the kind of extreme, unchecked politics that once marked their state's history, or to warn Mr Newman that those days are now past.
