That part of the Ozcar affair involving allegations of preferential government treatment for one car dealer over others has two dimensions. Naturally, most interest is in the battle for supremacy between the Government and the Opposition.
In that contest the Opposition Leader, Malcolm Turnbull, has been seriously damaged in popular esteem by his call for the resignation of the Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd. He should have kept his focus on the alleged misdeeds in and out of Parliament by the Treasurer, Wayne Swan.
The bigger picture, little touched upon, is the image the affair projects of everyday Australian politics. That image, of an imperfect democracy, will not surprise some people even though it falls short of meeting the highest democratic standards. However, others will be appalled by the apparent inequities.
What we know of the Ozcar affair suggests that Swan was unwise to insist to Parliament that all parties in the affair received identical treatment. While he did not commit a hanging offence in terms of misleading Parliament, Swan certainly exaggerated in order to deflect Opposition criticisms. He should have been more careful with his language, but he committed a misdemeanour rather than a crime.
The image of Australian democracy that best conveys these sorts of relations between citizens and government is one of the passengers on any commercial flight. This portrayal is not an extreme image of corruption, cronyism and mates, but it is still one of relative insiders in a stratified system in which there is an accepted A list, a B list and a C list.
In your average passenger plane, some people fly first class, some fly business, while the bulk flies economy. Most of the community has a seat of some sort but some do miss out altogether. Putting aside those unfortunate enough to be excluded altogether, through poverty or another disadvantage, from the rights and responsibilities of Australian democracy, most passengers receive basic service despite being crammed into the back half of the plane. The hard-working stewards, company representatives, are under pressure and the service is therefore limited; but it is offered with a smile and a desire to help. The food may be mass-produced but it is edible,
By contrast those at the front of the plane up near the flight crew receive first class service at a more leisurely pace on silver platters. That is, of course, where ministers and MPs travel. These stewards have time to chat to the customers and even get to know them over time; the passengers in turn fly regularly and have an easy familiarity with those providing service. The service itself is more tailored to the personal needs of passengers, there is some choice of food and drinks available and the standard of comfort is far higher.
It is not stretching this image too far to compare this state of affairs with representative democracy. All citizens have their members of parliament to serve them. Most of them are backbenchers, like the group (Arch Bevis, Darren Chester and Joanna Gash) that featured on the ABC Life Matters program last Thursday. They are energetic and hardworking but, like stewards, are under pressure, doing their best to provide basic service given the availability of standard government programs, like OzCar.
In this instance Queenslander Bernie Ripoll played a part in directing John Grant, Rudd's constituent and friend, to the program information available through Treasury officers such as Godwin Grech.
A quite similar basic level of government service does appear to have been provided to car dealers across Australia. Michael Delaney, CEO of the Motor Traders Association, and his Queensland counterpart, have attested to this on behalf of their car-dealer members.
But beyond basic service the suspicion lingers, fed by the evidence provided by legitimate emails that no-one as yet has queried, that Grant's first-class status as a citizen rang enough bells with the Treasurer to attract his attention; consequently he and his office maintained a watching brief and gave him some special service befitting his status. Nothing ever came of it, however, and no damage was done.
Some people travel first class in Australian democracy regardless of which side of politics holds office. They have the status in the community, built on their wealth or position, to be taken especially seriously. Others travel first class only when their side is in office because their connections to government are built primarily on their party, union and/or business networks.
Whether or not you hold a first-class ticket may only become clear when it needs to be activated; in other words, when you board the plane, though you carry your status around with you on a daily basis.
But even before boarding the good plane democracy, certain status differentials are evident. While waiting to be called to travel most passengers sit in the basic economy-style accommodation provided by the airport.
That smaller number who can afford to pay for the privilege mingle in the special club accommodation; while those on the A List, including ministers and MPs, are invited into a more private president's club, where ordinary Australians are certainly not to be found.
On a daily basis the operations of both politics and airline travel show that while everyone is equal, some are more equal than others. That is one lesson of the Ozcar affair, but it should not be shocking.
It demonstrates neither a special case of extraordinary corruption nor cronyism, but the everyday differences that we accept as an inevitable part of the imperfect world of our representative democracy.
John Warhurst is an adjunct professor of political science at the Australian National University.
John.Warhurst@anu.edu.au
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