In the US, one does not have to vote, but many in the new left had cut their teeth in voting rights campaigns in the American south in the early 1960s, and later, in protesting the Vietnam War and the draft. What were they doing urging abstention from, and apathy and indifference about politics?

They were responding in part to a strong feeling that the two major candidates, Richard Nixon and Hubert Humphrey were Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and that, at least as far as the Vietnam War was concerned, it didnt matter much who won. There had been anti-war candidates in the primaries George McGovern, whose slight early success persuaded the president Lyndon Johnson not to run again and (as a late convert) Robert Kennedy - but the sense of pointlessness of any crusade for power was magnified by the assassination, during 1968, of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. And, later, by the emergence of a third-party candidate, the racist bigot, George Wallace of Alabama. Conventional politics, so the despairing thought, was controlled by big interests, big money, smoke-filled rooms and party power brokers. Change was more likely to come from confrontation on the street.

Australia, about the same time and after, was also facing protests and demonstrations, mostly about Vietnam and conscription, if generally without the turbo-charging of wide-scale racial conflict. Two years later, street protesters were described by Liberal national service minister Billy Snedden as political bikies pack-raping democracy. But if there was plenty of cynicism about the political process, (accentuated among these groups by the manner of the fall of the Whitlam government seven years later) there was also some spirit of optimism about what could be achieved by organised political action, whether in the parliament or in the streets. It was not all Whitlam, even if his coming came to represent the period. It was also a coming of age of the dreaded baby boomers the first Australian generation to grow up outside the shadow of war and depression, and in a general prosperity. That very prosperity prompted feelings that ours was a society which could improve, be better, and, in particular, do better by our women, our Indigenous population, our schools and our universities, our hospitals and health care system, and our cities and infrastructure. For those watching close by and I was often as a young reporter conscious that I was watching history happening they seemed heady and exciting times.

My bringing this to mind is inspired by conversations with non-Canberra people of about my age, about politics, federal budgets, and personalities, who seem totally fatalistic about what the future might bring. They are not uninterested in outcomes, but have no faith (and plainly have never had any faith) in their capacity to affect them. Politicians, generally, disgust them, as does politics, but to say that exaggerates a bit how much they think about them or it, because they are almost entirely unengaged in the political process. Or, in any significant way, even in the communities in which they live.

One would like to reproach them to argue to them, as one does to younger people, that they ought to pay attention because it matters. Because the processes, untidy and acrimonious as they might be, are involved with the rationing out of public resources, and the making of choices that affect all of our lives, as well as the philosophies and approaches with which these choices are made. And because nothing makes the stewards of those resources more careful in the making of those choices than the sense that they are in the public spotlight, able to be called to account not only in the parliament, or in courts and tribunals, but on the stump, in the pub or walking about in the street.

Yet it is easy enough to understand any current short attention span, or desire, on the part of any other than professional observers, to look away. There was no shortage of political headlines during the week, but the sum total of them did not amount to much, least of all to people with other things to think about. Close listening to broadcast, reading of newspapers and social media, and perhaps personal attendance may have made us aware of the latest installments in the Barnaby Joyce soap opera. One probably cant help having a view (and probably a foreboding that this is going to get even tackier if Joyce continues to act on his instincts). But what you think doesnt matter much, and no longer much affects what happens to the public purse, the public welfare, or the public interest, except, possibly as a distraction within government.

There, again, was Kelly ODwyer, in an interview excruciatingly resisting admitting the obvious (this time over industry superannuation funds) until it was almost embarrassing to hear. There was Michaelia Cash, yet again avoiding the answering of a host of questions. There was the Minister for Health groveling about his having sworn unpleasantly at a former Country Liberal Party politician (and nowadays town mayor) and, we also learn, also at his departmental secretary. (Although the latter was excusable, apparently, because the minister has pretended he was angry because he considered it a matter of life and death.)

At Question Time, as ever, ministers were given a free kick at the opposition every second question and, as ever in this day and age, were asked more or less the same rhetorical question over and over again by the opposition. No information is ever forthcoming, and, usually, the question is not even addressed. It doesnt work as theatre, nor does it hold government to account. In particular, it is rare indeed for the subject matter of the question to involve any matter of policy. One shouldnt blame Bill Shorten for this other than for failure to adapt or evolve: the quality of question time, and the lack of interest in answers, has been deteriorating for at least 30 years.

The only questions actually seeking information, and, usually, getting respectful attention and earnest efforts to answer come from two independents, Bob Katter and Cathy McGowan. One can understand the courtesy with which they are treated, (even, in Katters case, after long statements masquerading as questions) because their support of the government could be vital. Whats praiseworthy is the effort to elicit information, and the failure to use the occasion as one to grandstand, to point-score, or to pay off old enemies. Whats actually almost a revelation (assuming as I do that they are questions without notice) is that some ministers give signs of actually understanding matters within their portfolio, and would be capable, if asked, of answering a question on a matter of fact or policy. Given that a good proportion of the opposition frontbench have also served in such portfolios, it would, in fact, be possible to have a productive question time, including one that brought mismanagement, misfeasance or mistake to account.

What one did not get much of was discussion of policy, least of all policy that actually matters. There was shilly-shallying and positioning about budget tax cuts (and the diverting spectacle of Pauline Hansons man management on display again) but this was more about tactics rather than any matters of principle. There were some interesting reports, not least from the Productivity Commission on superannuation a nice underlining of some of the royal commission revelations about how little the interests of customers have mattered to the managers of retail funds. But the discussion, such as it was, involved point scoring, rather than efforts to pick up the debate, or to take it any further. There was further confirmation of the intention of the government to politicise national security and refugee policy for the election and, as if to reinforce the governments instincts that this is a sound tactic, if not a good strategy, the ALP succeeded in smothering any internal debate on the human rights of asylum seekers. It is not as yet certain whether it will be Malcolm Turnbull or Peter Dutton standing in front of scores of Aussie flags with senior cops, crewcut bureaucrats and spies nodding gravely as the public is fed a crisis a week.

It is not that policy is not being discussed, or that ministers are not debating options when they have time from the disasters caused by their own poor footwork, or the generalship in the prime ministers office. But it is not a debate taking place in public. One reason why is that politicians on both sides are reluctant to seem open-minded to ideas, or to weigh options, if anything they say can be parsed and denounced as some sort of disloyalty to existing policy, or as an evidence of an impending coup against the leader. But it is happening. The lobbyists are in there, as are the think tanks and the public service, at least when someone bothers to ask it. Even the serious media, in general in the opinion pages, is involved in assessing alternatives, and, in some cases, pushing its own barrow. Whats missing, all too often, is public participation.

Is this a function of a poor public attention span, or a measure of the fact that the public does not care much, or wants only the overview, and the outcome, being happy enough to leave the detail to the experts? Hardly. But it is a measure of political cynicism on both sides. A desire by parties to control the issues of an election, and to frame them in a particular way. There are tight controls on thinking aloud, on speaking ad lib, especially out of ones portfolio, and on failing to stick to the talking points. The hapless Kelly ODwyer is testament to the disasters of that.

When Malcolm Turnbull became prime minister, he promised to respect the electorates intelligence. He derided attempts to reduce all public policy choices to slogans. He promised an exciting time to be alive. Even before he went into politics he had been known as a person open to ideas, and to have interests outside of pure politics. He was neither a suit career politician nor a hack, whose future lay in complete loyalty to a patron. He could have signaled a new politic, a new optimism, and perhaps some public faith, hope and charity.

It has not come to be. If he had any impulse to step out, it was not evident, even from the beginning. His critics claimed he was a prisoner of party conservatives: Tony Abbott without the budgie smugglers. Then he was badly singed at the last election, and his party only just scraped home. Even those in his party who recognise that he is the most saleable leader have little confidence in his instincts, or faith or hope in any tendency to go off script.

Small wonder the public, tired of pratfalls, misleading statements, own-goals, greed, self-interest, sneering, shabby behavior and shouting, wont turn up the volume, or pay much attention. Even when they know that when politicians get together, it is time to hold on to your purse and your nose.

Jack Waterford is a former Editor of The Canberra Times

jwaterfordcanberra@gmail.com