Old Parliament House is a treasure of dark and light, of hope and history on the hill. Inside, time capsules hold stories of policy, legislation, Royal visits, late nights, bad food and cigarettes. The soundtrack has a thrum of fax machines, phones ringing and typewriters clattering.
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I was entranced, from the tea towels to the drinks trolley to the briefing notes; the suit coats thrown over chair backs, the press releases, stickers and campaign posters stuck up on the walls; the Tarax can on a desk, Menzies' home movies running on a loop and the tea services set up in the subdued lounges.
I sat, spiralling in circles in an embracing chair, alone in a space which had held so many debates of policy and politics, the ramifications spinning out into the world, to change real peoples' lives.
In the upstairs press gallery, recordings played of the bell being run, journalists rushing to their seats, chasing stories. In the cabinet room, a flying-saucer-like space age dominion, I was transported back to the days of our early Parliament as I sat, spiralling in circles in an embracing chair, alone in a space which had held so many debates of policy and politics, the ramifications spinning out into the world, to change real peoples' lives.
Old Parliament House closed for government business in 1988 after 61 years housing the nation's Parliament. By the time it closed, the building held over 3000 people, in a place designed for a few hundred. It now houses the Museum of Australian Democracy at Old Parliament House, "a living museum of social and political history", telling "the story of Australian democracy".
In the prime minister's wing, I marvelled at how bodies fitted into those offices and wondered if we were physically smaller back then.
Were we? It seems we were. And how has our democracy grown?
Back in 2018, a report, Trust and Democracy in Australia, found a worrying decline in peoples' faith in democracy.
"The Museum of Australian Democracy says if nothing is done and current trends continue, fewer than 10 per cent of Australians will trust their politicians and political institutions by 2025 - resulting in ineffective and illegitimate government, and declining social and economic wellbeing," wrote Gareth Hutchens at the time.
There have been a few reasons for me to think about democracy and its health lately, not least being my recent trip to Canberra to see my dear friend, Dr Monique Ryan, MP, give her first speech to Parliament, having beaten the former Treasurer to take the seat of Kooyong at the election of 21 May 2022.
The campaign for Kooyong had captured the country's attention, and the presence of a new crossbench is now transforming politics.
Throughout the exhibitions in Old Parliament House, visitors are invited to use their voices by leaving messages on public pinboards, with questions such as:
What changes can we make in our own lives to build a better future?
What should we ask of our political leaders?
What can we do to build more cohesive communities?
A young girl writes:
Look after the animals and plants and keep our environment and the world healthy.
Above a world drawn in two wonky hemispheres, a child has written There's no Planet B.
Respect others' differences is written above a smiley face.
Be kind to all. Children have voices. Children make the world a better place.
These seemed to me to be the kinds of conversations that Independent candidates had recently been having across Australia.
And then I came across an unexpected and thrilling surprise-an exhibition on the power of writing letters, Yours Faithfully.
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Post your letter here, the postbox sign said. We will cover your postage. This is an exercise in trust. In posting your letter, the Museum has faith that you are sending a message of hope out into the world.
Writing a letter is an exercise in hope and trust. As for letters, so for democracy-we place our trust and hope in those who represent us.
So I sat myself down in the exhibition and decided to write to Dr Ryan and to our new Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese.
In Dr Ryan's first speech, she quoted the words of Stephen Morrissey - there is a light that never goes out - to refer to the hope she carries with her, and the trust that the voters of Kooyong have put in her, those voters who "sought change, not for their individual interest, but for decency and democracy..."
As I wrote my letters, on the wall beside me was another printed message pinned to the board, courtesy of one of the vintage typewriters:
Do your best. Give hope to future generations. Be kind. Make me proud. Leave us a better place.
With its illegible signature, I'm making this a universal takeaway, a message for us all. It's certainly something that applies to my friend, Dr Monique Ryan, who said to the next generation: "Yours is the light that has guided me to this place. Keep shining brightly."
I now have hope that our MPs can leave us a better place, and I trust that my letter makes it to both the independent and to the Prime Minister.
Democracy spirals outwards from those of us who participate and flows back from those who represent us.
I wonder if my letter will be answered?
For now, I take heart in knowing that I trusted enough to send it, now that we are past the darkest of times.
- Anna Sublet is a Melbourne writer whose essays have been published in The Guardian and The New York Times.
