The campaign finance data released last week — which showed another $50 million flowing to Labor and the Coalition from people and companies they know but refuse to identify — prompted the usual sequence of events.
A decreasing number of journalists and researchers combed through it, a troubling picture of corporate influence again emerged, and an awkward silence descended on the major parties.
Of particular interest was the discovery — if something so foreseeable can be described that way — of the flow of money from the gambling industry. With a potential ban on gambling advertising up for debate this year, both sides happily wallowed in more than $600,000 worth of gambling run-off, too much of it the proceeds of misery and heartache.
We've heard little qualm from Labor about it, which is, perhaps, surprising. After all, its minister responsible for the regulation of gambling, Michelle Rowland, has herself acknowledged the odour this kind of money can leave.
"I want to acknowledge that transparency and accountability is important," she said on the ABC's Q+A program in February 2023.
"Australians always expect better when it comes to this area, even when no rules have been broken … I respect that and I think that that is a reasonable position to hold."
Rowland offered these soothing words after it emerged she had accepted a total of $19,000 from Sportsbet in the run-up to the 2022 election. It was yet more of that dark money, money that neither she nor the Labor Party disclosed because it arrived in separate amounts that fell beneath the mandatory disclosure threshold.
Flustered, under pressure from an audience member and host Stan Grant, Rowland promised that henceforth, "I will not take money from Sportsbet". She very carefully did not rule out taking money from others like it.
Which is why I have been pursuing answers from her bosses on Sussex Street about a fundraiser which took place at the end of last year, when she was trotted out as a star attraction at the so-called Labor Business Dialogue. Tickets were $1,500 a head.
The party has flat-out refused to say whether anyone from the gambling industry bought one of these tickets. All I've had thus far is some breathless spin from a party official, all of it off the record.
The secrecy is not accidental
For too long, Australian democracy has been trapped in this execrable cycle. Donations-related scandals arrive with eye-glazing monotony: "Mud flies over 'sleazy' money"; "Democracy for sale"; "Party chief defends donation"; "Mafia's $51,000: a donation too good to refuse."
If anything, these outrages will only increase in frequency, as campaign spending continues to climb.
Labor's 1998 campaign, for example, is estimated to have cost $50 million. In 2019, by contrast, the Coalition is believed to have splashed out more than $116 million for Scott Morrison's "miracle" return to the Lodge. In four of the five contests between 2007 and 2019, the winner of the federal election was also the biggest spender.
This money has to come from somewhere, so ministers are routinely dispatched to break bread with those who have it. Some pollies revel in these dark arts, but I believe they're in the minority. A sweaty grip-and-grin for the camera, sometimes with an unknown donor? It's nothing short of political roulette.
This risk of fallout is why both major parties, until now at least, have allowed the Commonwealth's deeply flawed disclosure regime to continue.
Financial declarations are delayed for as long as 18 months after the money is received, cheques smaller than $16,300 can remain secret, and nothing prevents the splitting of larger donations into an infinite number of parcels under that threshold. Opaque subscription-type fundraisers (such as the Labor Business Dialogue), and associated entities (such as the Liberal Party's Cormack Foundation) help to further obscure the flow of money.
The secrecy is not accidental, nor is it merely at the fringes. In 2019, the Coalition hid the source of 53 per cent of the cash it received; for Labor that figure was 36 per cent.
Be under no misapprehension — there is a deliberate effort to suppress the origin of tens of millions of dollars washing through our electoral system.
Pleas for change
Last year, a parliamentary committee investigated, then recommended a suite of reforms, including lowering the donation disclosure threshold to $1,000, introducing a dramatically faster reporting regime (though stopping short of "real time" publication) and a cap on campaign spending.
I read through much of the material the committee gathered, and what astounded me was the volume of submissions it received. Usually, such inquiries attract a handful of letters, all of them from the usual suspects; during the generation of a March 2022 report, for example, the same committee received just seven.
This time more than 1,500 individuals made the effort to contribute genuine thoughts and feelings, many of them fanned by the prospect of finally expelling money from politics. Their pleas were heartfelt and reflected an overwhelming desire for change.
Brisbane doctor Attila Nagy said he "felt moved" to write because he had, for too long, "watched with dismay at the way political donations are dealt with". He wants not a single donation to be anonymous.
Suzanne Draper said "no party should have an unjust advantage over another because of their financial status". Eileen Whitehead warned "corporations don't give their money away for nothing". Bob Cloherty: "I want to know before polling day how much money each candidate has spent or has been given or promised by any donor."
If these comments and suggestions are statements of the bleeding obvious, all the more egregious is our failure to enshrine them in law. Many people decried the whole campaign finance system as criminal.
"It is no secret," wrote Anura Sooriyabandara, "that once they get elected they feel obliged to people who fund their way to the parliament". George Carrard: "I am totally against the idea of anyone donating to a political party. In my view this is a form of bribery."
"It is clear to me," said Mike Cohen, "[that] raising funds through donations makes the politician highly likely to be corruptible or open to improper influence."
Anthony Albanese and his team know very well the dim view voters hold of the way politicians fundraise and campaign for elections. Notwithstanding Labor's failure to disclose inconvenient donations (see the Rowland affair for example), he and his minister of state, Don Farrell, have pledged reform, including a reduction of the disclosure threshold and swifter reporting.
Mid-way through 2023, Farrell said he wanted to press ahead with reforms by the end of the year: "The expenditure by wealthy people to essentially buy election results is now completely out of control and we've got to do something about it."
It is now 2024, and nothing has yet been done. Scepticism is not unreasonable.
Rather than unveiling a bill to give effect to his promises, last October Farrell said he was focused on pursuing "discussions" with other parties to achieve "consensus".
"I think electoral reform works best where everybody is on the same page," he said.
Indeed, the only government response thus far to the inquiry was a statement that said such reforms needed to be "consultative and bipartisan".
That's raised eyebrows because the Coalition is avowedly opposed to change, describing greater transparency as an "unreasonable" administrative burden that "may lead to greater harassment and bullying of individuals and small businesses". The conservatives on the inquiry committee issued a dissenting report.
LoadingThe clock is ticking
Naturally, crossbench parliamentarians are wary that a deal is being stitched up that, while making some improvements on disclosure, will weaken independent political movements and cement the duopoly that has long dominated Australian politics.
Of particular concern to the independents is the parliamentary inquiry's recommendation that public funding be increased to compensate for a reduction in funds usually raised by the two majors. They fear this measure will advantage the larger parties which may be able to pool, then redirect funding to swing seats.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. I asked the Australian Electoral Commission how quickly such reforms can be put into place.
"Any changes to current disclosure requirements," a spokeswoman said, "would require significant time and resourcing investment across technical, systems, personnel and communications/education functions.
"Some models currently being considered, such as contemporaneous disclosure, would have a higher impact."
The Labor cabinet is strategising these reforms, and there can be little doubt that political advantage will be central to the discussion. Here's my prediction: it won't have the bottle to put an end to the murky business altogether. It's simply too lucrative.
The concerns of Trevor Hoare, a 71-year-old retired teacher who wrote into the parliament, will be given scant regard.
"Why should well-heeled corporate types," he asked, in his public submission, "get to spend time at a table with a minister bending their ear when a normal voter would not even get an audience?"
Now, that's something we'd all like to see Farrell and Albanese explain.