Miranda Devine on Bill Shorten

Timing is everything in politics. Just ask union leader Bill Shorten, writes Miranda Devine.

IT'S Bill Shorten's 39th birthday tomorrow. But the head of the Australian Workers Union has already had his present: the rescue of Tasmanian miners Todd Russell and Brant Webb, which also happened to catapult him onto the national stage just in time to fulfil the political ambitions which many say will take him all the way to the Lodge.

He has not squandered the opportunity, keeping ego in check and displaying faultless instincts, apart from raising a beer to his lips a bit too ostentatiously in front of Channel Nine's cameras at the Beaconsfield pub after the miners walked free on Tuesday.

Whether the man suits the times or the times suit the man, it is clear that the diminutive, Jesuit-educated lawyer with an MBA covered himself in glory during the 14-day marathon rescue.

When the nation's media were crying out for news on the trapped miners, it was Shorten who delivered. Available night and day, he spoke articulately and engagingly, and livened up his commentary with original descriptions of prosaic mining matters. For instance, when rescue workers struggled to drill though solid quartz at the end of the rescue operation, he described their efforts as "like throwing Kleenex at rock".

He was quite poetic: "In a modern age of technology this has been physical force and willpower against nature and rock."

He was empathetic: "Don't worry about the 10-tonne rock in the cage where the men have been trapped. This was a 10-tonne emotional rock on the backs of all the families."

He was self-effacing, while grabbing the limelight. Three hours after the rescue, he was at the pub being interviewed by Channel Nine: "The rescuers deserve all the credit … It's their day. If you're ever in trouble you want the people behind me in this pub to come and get you 'cos they never give up."

He gave excellent, generous sound bites. Authenticity cannot be learnt, and it is hard to think of Kim Beazley in the same position saying anything that didn't appear to be shouted at an imaginary crowd.

Shorten also resisted the temptation when 60 Minutes reporter Richard Carleton prodded him to criticise mine management on safety issues: "I know that people … want explanations for this disaster. But we cannot afford to distract from the issue of rescuing the men. These men are still trapped in the earth and we want them back. And any behaviour that distracts from that, to be blunt, just has to wait."

Wearing his trademark AWU chambray shirt with matching bomber jacket, Shorten managed to work in the union line liberally, but it always seemed appropriate: "It's good workers are being recognised and, frankly, it's good unions are being recognised." He did more for the image of the union movement than any number of ACTU ads of working mothers weeping. "Today I rejoin the union," wrote Dorin Suciu of Bronte, in a letter to the editor yesterday.

A class act takes a step into the light

May 11, 2006

Timing is everything in politics. Just ask union leader Bill Shorten, writes Miranda Devine.

IT'S Bill Shorten's 39th birthday tomorrow. But the head of the Australian Workers Union has already had his present: the rescue of Tasmanian miners Todd Russell and Brant Webb, which also happened to catapult him onto the national stage just in time to fulfil the political ambitions which many say will take him all the way to the Lodge.

He has not squandered the opportunity, keeping ego in check and displaying faultless instincts, apart from raising a beer to his lips a bit too ostentatiously in front of Channel Nine's cameras at the Beaconsfield pub after the miners walked free on Tuesday.

Whether the man suits the times or the times suit the man, it is clear that the diminutive, Jesuit-educated lawyer with an MBA covered himself in glory during the 14-day marathon rescue.

When the nation's media were crying out for news on the trapped miners, it was Shorten who delivered. Available night and day, he spoke articulately and engagingly, and livened up his commentary with original descriptions of prosaic mining matters. For instance, when rescue workers struggled to drill though solid quartz at the end of the rescue operation, he described their efforts as "like throwing Kleenex at rock".

He was quite poetic: "In a modern age of technology this has been physical force and willpower against nature and rock."

He was empathetic: "Don't worry about the 10-tonne rock in the cage where the men have been trapped. This was a 10-tonne emotional rock on the backs of all the families."

He was self-effacing, while grabbing the limelight. Three hours after the rescue, he was at the pub being interviewed by Channel Nine: "The rescuers deserve all the credit … It's their day. If you're ever in trouble you want the people behind me in this pub to come and get you 'cos they never give up."

He gave excellent, generous sound bites. Authenticity cannot be learnt, and it is hard to think of Kim Beazley in the same position saying anything that didn't appear to be shouted at an imaginary crowd.

Shorten also resisted the temptation when 60 Minutes reporter Richard Carleton prodded him to criticise mine management on safety issues: "I know that people … want explanations for this disaster. But we cannot afford to distract from the issue of rescuing the men. These men are still trapped in the earth and we want them back. And any behaviour that distracts from that, to be blunt, just has to wait."

Wearing his trademark AWU chambray shirt with matching bomber jacket, Shorten managed to work in the union line liberally, but it always seemed appropriate: "It's good workers are being recognised and, frankly, it's good unions are being recognised." He did more for the image of the union movement than any number of ACTU ads of working mothers weeping. "Today I rejoin the union," wrote Dorin Suciu of Bronte, in a letter to the editor yesterday.

Unions have themselves to blame in many ways for their predicament, with union participation in the private sector down to 17 per cent and an inglorious history of using health and safety issues as bargaining weapons. Thugs from the Construction, Forestry, Mining and Energy Union were notorious for doing snap inspections and closing down building sites for spurious reasons just to flex their muscles during contract negotiations.

But thanks to Shorten, the Beaconsfield mine disaster showed the best of the union movement, perhaps enough for the public to question if the pendulum is swinging too far away from workers' rights.

Cynics in the media mutter that "Showbag Shorten" capitalised on the miners' plight to boost his political fortunes. He will contest the next federal election as the Labor candidate for Maribyrnong after the incumbent, Bob Sercombe, stepped aside, saying: "He's not the messiah … He's just a naughty right-wing boy."

Shorten's biggest obstacle is probably the messiah syndrome, with many in Labor seeing him as the party's best chance as prime minister, the only person since Bob Hawke and Paul Keating capable of making the structural changes Australia needs to remain competitive with the least social disruption.

Now the nation has seen him in action, it's easy to see why he is hailed. After all, there's not a lot you can hide about yourself when you are on live TV for 14 days straight.

Shorten revealed a little of his world view when he spoke of where the trapped men drew their strength: "Having met their families I do realise the power of family and their support. The wives love their husbands. I think that's important to their wellbeing. Great kids, great parents. You get a sense, I think, that your family helps make you who you are."

Shorten grew up in working-class outer-suburban Melbourne where his late father, Bill, was an English migrant and wharfie, who rose to dock master. His mother, Ann, was a schoolteacher, descended from the Irish McGraths, O'Sheas and Nolans who came to Australia in 1853 to discover gold. She worked full-time so the family could afford to put Bill and his twin brother, Robert (an investment banker in Sydney), through Melbourne's Catholic Xavier College. She went on to study for a PhD and a law degree.

Shorten is married to stockbroker Debbie Beale, whom he met while they were both studying for their MBAs. She is the daughter of Julian Beale, a wealthy Melbourne investor and former federal Liberal MP. They live in Moonee Ponds, a gentrified working-class inner-Melbourne suburb.

Though he is criticised for "marrying the Liberal Party", people who know the couple say she is more left-wing than he. He comes from the traditional Catholic right wing of the ALP which John Howard has managed to woo in recent years and where the future success of the ALP probably still lies.

Shorten's next test comes in his response to the Beaconsfield mine collapse, which he will hammer out in a meeting with union members today.

The nation will be tuned in to his career now with more than passing interest.