John Faulkner (NSW, Australian Labor Party) Share this | Hansard source

On behalf of the opposition, I support this condolence motion on the death of former Labor senator and minister Arthur Gietzelt. I said at Arthur's memorial service last week that I felt as if I knew Arthur Gietzelt all my life; I certainly knew him for all my political life. For more than 60 years, Arthur was a constant for those of us in the Labor Party in New South Wales—constant in his commitment to his community in the Sutherland Shire; constant in his determination to stand up for what he believed in and believed to be the best traditions of Labor; constant in his opposition to the sharp practices and underhand tactics of the Right; constant in his presence whether as a councillor, senator, mentor or stalwart of the Left.

Arthur was born on 28 March 1920 in San Francisco. He spent his early life in the Sydney suburb of Newtown, where his parents owned a tyre business. During the twenties the business prospered, but it faltered during the Great Depression, when many of its clients were unable to pay their debts. For a time the family struggled and, like so many of Arthur's generation, the hardship of this period shaped his politics. Despite these trying circumstances, Arthur performed well at Hurstville high school and, in his final year, he won a scholarship to attend St George business college. He studied there at night and for a time entertained the idea of becoming a journalist. But his first job was as a messenger with Myer needlework company. He duly joined the Federated Clerks' Union, the industrial Labor Party and the Australian Labor league. Like so many of his generation, his life was changed forever by the outbreak of war. There was no question he would serve in his nation's cause.

In 1941, Arthur and his brother, Ray, responded by enlisting. Arthur joined the 51st Field Park Company of the Royal Australian Engineers. He served in New Guinea with the 9th Australian Field Company, which built a road through thick jungle and difficult terrain to lay. From the Army, Arthur received permission to possess a camera, a radio and film development material. In his own time and at his own expense, Arthur started a company newspaper. His thoroughness was already apparent, and his eye for detail and passion for keeping a record. He began the war as a private and finished a sergeant.

Arthur returned to a job in his father's chemical business and to a block of land in north Caringbah. The fate of this land, where Arthur planned to build his war-service home, drew Arthur into local politics and the ALP. The council proposed rezoning the land from residential to industrial. Arthur made his first public speech at a protest meeting, demanding council change its decision. He won. But that protest was about more than zoning; it was about issues that Arthur was to make his causes for many years: the need for fair process and transparent decision making; the power of democratic action to change policy; and the importance of unified, intelligent, consistent planning decisions in the development of a new community.

Arthur served, as we have heard, as a councillor on the Sutherland Shire Council from 1956 until 1971, including nine years as shire president. Those were crucial years in making Sutherland Shire what it is today. During his presidency, Arthur took the shire from having little or no infrastructure to having the amenities of established suburbs. Many of the shire's swimming pools, playing fields and beach facilities are a direct result of Arthur's efforts—so too is much basic infrastructure that today we take for granted as part of life in suburban Sydney: paved roads, stormwater drainage, sewerage and street lights. Arthur stopped high-rise development around Cronulla Beach and Caringbah, refusing to allow developers free rein. Although he was pilloried as an anti-growth radical for this, it was Arthur's vision that saw Sylvania Waters developed in partnership between council and the private sector.

Arthur Gietzelt was not a consensus politician. He believed in following his principles. Arthur saw Sutherland Shire as part of a wider community, the Australian community, and he never shied away from wider causes. He led Sutherland Shire Council to be the first Australian government body to ban South African competitors from a national sporting event, a surf-lifesaving carnival at Cronulla—a principled action which saw him blacklisted for decades by the local surf-lifesaving movement. During that time he also, as we know, endured a terrifying attack on his home, his family and himself when 17 sticks of gelignite were detonated on the doorstep of the family home.

Through all these years, Arthur was an active Labor Party member. He was one of the small number of dissident ALP branch members, appalled at the direction of New South Wales Labor, who decided to hold covert meetings at an out-of-the way place, the Esperanto Room in the northern pylon of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. That was 1953.

By 1956, Arthur and another party activist, John Garland, who was later to become the first National Secretary of the Amalgamated Engineering Union and an MLC in New South Wales, had been approached to support the ALP Trade Unions Steering Committee—a meeting of unionists opposed to the industrial groups. Thus was born the Combined Unions and Branches Steering Committee, as the left-wing faction of the New South Wales ALP was known for 50 years. Arthur served as secretary of the steering committee through the 1960s. His role was crucial in building links to activists in affiliated unions and party branches. Those links mattered when, in 1970, Arthur contested preselection for the Senate. It was a tough fight.

Arthur saw off his internal Left rival, Jack Heffernan, and won against the official ticket described in a brochure sent to Senate convention delegates as 'a balanced, qualified group supporting Gough Whitlam and the officers in NSW'. This claim was sophistry from the utterly ruthless, winner-take-all New South Wales Right. Arthur's success against the official ticket and against the odds says much for his organising ability and his tenacity. Arthur's term as a Senator began on 1 July 1971, and he soon became a significant player in the federal parliamentary Labor Party.

Arthur joined forces with Paul Keating to promote a ticket in the caucus ballot for the Labor ministry after the election of the Whitlam government in 1972. The ticket was stunningly successful. It upset the applecart, blocked several of Gough's preferred candidates and absolutely infuriated Gough. Only two caucus members on the ticket missed election—Arthur and Paul Keating! Clem Lloyd and Gordon Reid wrote about that ballot in their book Out of the Wilderness:

The most widely publicised ticket was a joint one devised by Mr P. Keating and Senator A. Gietzelt as representatives of right and left limits of the Caucus spectrum. Ironically both missed places in the cabinet, although their ticket did have considerable influence.

For the record, it was Al Grassby and Bill Morrison who broke the ticket and won through to become ministers. Paul Keating was the runner-up in the final caucus ballot and would have comfortably won if his candidature had not been sabotaged by the leadership of the New South Wales Right of the party. As he described it: 'They stuck to me like a limpet mine'!

The highlight of Arthur's parliamentary career was his service as Minister For Veterans' Affairs in the Hawke government. His achievements in the portfolio were considerable. He was one of those ministers who made a difference. He oversaw a complete rewriting of veterans legislation, which had been amended nearly 100 times in its 70-year history, culminating in the simplification of disparate veterans welfare entitlements after the passage of the Veterans' Entitlements Act in 1986. He overhauled and modernised Australia's repatriation hospitals after years of neglect and rock-bottom staff morale. Under Arthur's watch, the Australian War Memorial was transferred to the Department of Veterans' Affairs, the memorial's staff was increased, several major conservation projects were initiated and the first female chairperson, Dame Beryl Beaurepaire, was appointed to the memorial's council. At a time of expansion and with some difficulty, Arthur balanced the competing interests of memory, exhibition and learning at the War Memorial—always conscious of CEW Bean's vision of the memorial as a monument that commemorates through understanding.

As a minister, his concern for equity and justice and belief in the government's role in providing support for those in our society who needed it showed through the recognition of the role of Indigenous Australians who patrolled the northern coastline of Australia in the Second World War; his strong support for the Vietnam Veterans Association, including instigating the Agent Orange royal commission; and the introduction of home care services for veterans.

All the while, Arthur fought many battles within the Labor Party. He spearheaded the drive for federal intervention into the New South Wales branch of the party in 1970. Federal intervention had many consequences—one was compulsory power-sharing. Proportional representation ensured that Arthur became one of New South Wales' two representatives on the federal executive; the other was the redoubtable John Ducker. It seemed to me, a young left-party activist at the time, that their internal battles characterised New South Wales Labor in the early 1970s. John Ducker and the New South Wales machine always won the matches at home. Arthur was an away specialist, winning more than his fair share of the tussles at the federal level. The Shortland preselection, which saw a local ballot, then a state council ballot, then another local ballot and finally a federal executive decision, was a great example of Arthur's relentless determination. He backed the locals, the best candidate—Peter Morris—and good process; and it worked.

These were years when Arthur Gietzelt was at the height of his power and influence. His attention to detail was legendary. It was Arthur Gietzelt who rang Jack Ferguson on the morning of the 1973 New South Wales state parliamentary Labor Party leadership ballot between the incumbent, Pat Hills, and challengers Neville Wran and Kevin Stewart. Arthur reminded Jack that, in the event of a tie after the distribution of preferences, the winner would be the candidate who polled the greatest number of primary votes. As a result of Arthur's call, Jack confirmed the count-back practice with the caucus returning officer. Wran polled 18 votes, Hills 17 and Stewart nine. After the distribution of preferences it was Wran 22, Hills 22. The returning officer declared Wran the winner on a count-back of primaries. Arthur's phone call helped make history.

In the 1970s and '80s the steering committee in New South Wales operated with an activist executive which Arthur religiously attended, even as a federal parliamentarian. And in small meetings of a dozen or so around a table, Arthur was at his most effective. He was persuasive, compelling. He was a real force with years of experience, a prodigious memory and a command of detail—but an utter lack of humour. If you disagreed with him, be prepared for a piercing and steely glare and a very long lecture, with his hearing aid buzzing away providing a constant annoying accompaniment. And I was on the receiving end of that steely glare on more than a few occasions. Arthur and I had our disagreements—everyone knows that. Once he made up his mind, he stuck to it—a great strength with opponents within and without the party, but at times a great frustration for his allies. And he was loyal to those he decided to support, not all of whom deserved that loyalty. Never naive about opponents, he could be far too trusting of those who professed their support. He was by no means a good judge of character.

However, despite our occasional disagreements, I could always rely on Arthur's support when I was working in ALP head office. A telephone call from him in those years was an experience. Arthur was convinced that my office telephones were tapped. So he would speak in riddles—incomprehensible to anyone listening in, unfortunately they were also often incomprehensible to me. A conversation would start like this. Arthur would say, 'It's me.' I would say, 'Hello, Arthur.' He would say, 'Don't use my name!' He would go on: 'There's a meeting in the sandwich king's office at 12 o'clock on Friday. I'll let our printer know. Can you tell the sewing lady.' And on and on it went. Roughly translated, this meant that there would be a meeting at Deputy Premier Jack Ferguson's office and we needed to make sure that the then Senator Bruce Childs and the then MLC Delcia Kite joined us.

A sensible phone conversation could become an impossibility. An example. Arthur: 'Make sure you invite the man who spilt tomato sauce on his shirt at the barbecue last Tuesday to our meeting.' I could never conform to such a request given that I had not attended any barbecue, I had no idea who the individual was and Arthur would not use his name. In call after call, Arthur would use pseudonyms, codenames and deliberately ambiguous language to confound those listening in. Of course, he could only hear my answers if I shouted down the line—often, to his dismay, ignoring his anti-surveillance protocol. Because of his deafness I am sure everyone in Sussex Street could hear what I was saying on my end of the phone.

With the sound of his hearing aid so audible, Arthur developed the habit of switching it off when he stood up in the Senate to speak. This solved one problem but, of course, created others. Without his hearing aid, Arthur could not hear interjections—no great loss, but he could not hear anyone at all, including the President or a frustrated party whip giving instructions. Regardless of any call to order, regardless of whoever might be on their feet and speaking at literally the same time after being recognised by the chair, Arthur just kept on speaking.

And that hearing aid caused even more disruption at one ALP federal executive meeting when an electronic background noise could be heard somewhere in the room. Given this happened very soon after the dismissal of the Whitlam government, the immediate suspicion of the attendees was that ASIO had installed a listening device to monitor discussions. There was absolute pandemonium. A frantic but fruitless pursuit ensued, until eventually the culprit was identified: it was a listening device indeed, but not the sort ASIO would use. And after adjustment to Arthur's hearing aid, the meeting reconvened. Ironically, the innocent offender was the one member of the executive most paranoid about bugging devices.

But Arthur's concerns were not entirely unfounded. ASIO's files reveal that he, among others, was a target for surveillance. They suspected him of links to the Communist Party. I do question what civic responsibility ASIO was fulfilling in those years by spying on the Communist Party of Australia or its members, let alone those who had contact with its members.

I can say that Arthur consistently and categorically denied the allegation of CPA membership to me—and I have scant regard for information provided by paid informants who, it is obvious from the records, knew little about the trade union movement and even less about the Australian Labor Party. I reject absolutely the notion that Arthur was an agent of the Soviet Union or less than loyal to Australia. He fought for his nation in war, he served his nation in its parliament, he served his nation in its executive government, and he was privy to no secrets of use to any foreign power.

I do give a great deal of credit to Arthur's record. Whatever speculation some might foster about his political associations, there is absolute proof of his decades of hard work and of his dedication to Labor values and Labor's electoral success. He had an enduring influence on the left and on all of us who value the same principles of democratic decision making and representation and of service to the community, on which Arthur expended so much of his efforts and to which he devoted his life.

Arthur was an inveterate optimist. Whatever the political setback, however thumping the defeat at the hands of the New South Wales Right, he would assure us all that a win was just around the corner. But it never was in the New South Wales ALP, although on the racetrack Arthur was tinny. He loved a punt on a Saturday afternoon and had an uncanny knack for picking long-priced winners. In the early sixties, the first leg of his daily double, Glenhurst Girl, won at 100 to one, and the second leg of his double, Calmness, another roughie, got up. Arthur won 662 pounds and five shillings for an outlay of five bob. In 1979 he did a lot better. For a $6 outlay on a box trifecta, he won $30,000. For Arthur's family it meant a holiday home at Warilla.

The death of Arthur Gietzelt is the end of an era. On behalf of the opposition, I express our very sincere sympathy to Arthur's wife, Dawn, a committed political activist in her own right who stood beside Arthur in so many struggles, and to Arthur's children Lee, Dale, Adam and their families. Their loss is keener than ours, but we will all miss him.

Question agreed to, honourable senators standing in their places.