Critically, the authors remind us that Morrison’s transactional politics mirror his own chameleon-like persona. When he first ran for Liberal pre-selection for the Sydney seat of Cook in 2007, Morrison emerged as the compromise candidate wedged between two factions. It would be a tactic repeated during the Liberals’ 2018 leadership spill, when Morrison was seen as a compromise between Peter Dutton on the hard right and Julie Bishop on the left. Entering the House of Representatives in 2007 under moderates Brendan Nelson and, later, Malcolm Turnbull, Morrison was ostensibly a moderate. Promoted by Prime Minister Tony Abbott to Minister for Immigration and Border Protection, Morrison became an abashed conservative. Ultimately, the authors contend, Morrison is a pragmatist like his ideological godfather, John Howard. Morrison, like Howard, won’t die in an electoral ditch on principle. If an interventionist economic approach – JobKeeper payments, a Keynesian budget – is what separates victory from defeat, so be it. Perhaps that’s why neoliberals have become so thin on the ground inside the Coalition. Even here, Errington and van Onselen demonstrate that Morrison is a better Liberal Party tactician (he was a director of the New South Wales branch) than traditional retail politicians like Howard. In short, Morrison had a plan to become prime minister, but not a plan once there. Nowhere was the man’s ill-preparedness for the depth of the job – the emotional intelligence required to be the nation’s leader – writ larger than in his mishandling of his first major test: the 2019–20 bushfires that claimed thirty-three lives and destroyed twenty-four million hectares. Holidaying in Hawaii, Morrison petulantly replied to calls for his early return with ‘I don’t hold a hose, mate’. His subsequent visit to burnt-out southern New South Wales looked contrived – just another PR stunt – especially when forcibly grabbing reluctant hands to shake. Yet Morrison has learnt from some (though not all) of those mistakes, and he has undoubtedly grown into the job during the pandemic. Those events exposed another, darker side of Morrison: an easy willingness to avoid responsibility and to shift blame to others. Where is the contrition for the $1.2 billion Robodebt fiasco (designed under Morrison as Social Services minister), or the bungled water-buyback scheme? Where is the responsibility for the off-loading of the Ruby Princess, for his attacks on former Australia Post CEO Christine Holgate, for the ‘sports rorts’ saga, for the tolerance shown MPs Craig Kelly and Andrew Laming? Indeed, when cornered, Morrison eschews the mea culpa and instead doubles down. Criticism is just chatter from ‘inside the Canberra bubble’, he says. The fact that Morrison buys into that sort of cheap populism also blots his legacy, as does his relationship with Donald Trump and his failure to condemn the outgoing president for the January riots. It’s this surliness, the authors argue, that sees Morrison go after perceived enemies. Consequently, funding cuts to the ABC, to the Australian National Audit Office, and to universities simply look petulant. Moreover, when Covid first appeared, Morrison reassured us we’re all in this together. Before long, Victoria was castigated for its second wave, with Queensland and Western Australia – all Labor states – condemned for border closures. The New South Wales response, however, was described as ‘gold standard’. Wayne Errington and Peter van Onselen conclude that 24 A UST RALIAN BOOK REVIEW J U N E 2021
Morrison is still likely to win the next election. But had their book been scheduled for a couple of months later, enabling them to consider Brittany Higgins’s allegations, the Christian Porter saga, Holgate’s very public accusations, the behaviour of Craig Kelly and Andrew Laming, and, of course, what appears to be a bungled Covid vaccination process, their conclusion might have been very different. g Paul D. Williams is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Humanities, Languages and Social Science, Griffith University. Biography
The promise of the Bauhaus A major biography of Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack Seumas Spark
Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack: More than a Bauhaus artist
by Resi Schwarzbauer with Chris Bell
W
HistorySmiths $60 hb, 365 pp
ith his founding of the Bauhaus in 1919, the German architect Walter Gropius proposed a radical reimagining of the arts and crafts. His manifesto outlined the principles for an institution that would unify architecture, art, and design, creating ‘a new guild of craftsmen, free of the divisive class pretensions that endeavoured to raise a prideful barrier between craftsmen and artists!’ At the heart of this stirring vision was a world in which creativity was directed to practical ends, where function was a fundamental element of creative endeavour. Gropius’s call was both inspiring and timely, and it found ready devotees. In a continent savaged by four years of war, there was urgent need for a new way. Paul Klee, Wassily Kandinsky, and Oskar Schlemmer were a few of the many who made their way to the German city of Weimar to work with Gropius and to help realise his vision. Ludwig Hirschfeld-Mack, born in Frankfurt in 1893, was attracted by the promise of the Bauhaus as a model for art and life. He was already an artist, and military service in World War I had made him a pacifist. At the Bauhaus he could honour both commitments and join Gropius’s project to show society a path to harmony through art. As Resi Schwarzbauer shows powerfully in this rich book, Hirschfeld-Mack’s belief in Bauhaus principles henceforth remained steadfast. In 1919, he and his wife Elenor, along with Marga, their firstborn, moved to Weimar. He started as a student, learning under Klee. Later he graduated to a teaching position, guiding others in the use and theory of colour. His work with colour is among his most enduring legacies as an artist. This is a biography of a Bauhäusler who in 1940 happened to
