After three weeks of casual breakfasts in edge-of-makeup electorates, it is clear that the teals aren't merely having conversations—they are conducting the essential work of democratic evolution, one long macchiato at a time. Malcolm Turnbull's denial of involvement only proves that the Liberal Party's loss of its founder's touch is the real tragedy here.
I was picking at a goat's cheese tart at a North Sydney fundraiser last Tuesday when Zali Steggall leaned across the table and mentioned, almost as an afterthought, that she had been having conversations. Not the crude, transactional conversations of major party politics—no branch stacking, no sausage sizzles, no unpleasantness involving membership fees—but proper, sustained dialogues about how politics could evolve. I put down my fork. This, I realized, was what courage looks like in 2024.
Malcolm Turnbull, to his credit, has denied any role in pushing for a formal teal political party. This is precisely the kind of hands-off, deftly non-committal leadership that characterized his prime ministership, and it is exactly what the modern Liberal Party has failed to appreciate. When Turnbull observes that the Liberals have left a political "vacuum," he is being characteristically diplomatic. What he means, and what those of us who move in these circles understand, is that the party has rudely abandoned the sensible center to the chaos of actual democracy. It is simply not done to leave vacant the space once occupied by moderate voices who understand that economic reform and climate anxiety can coexist peacefully in the same speech, provided neither commits to anything too specific.
Allegra Spender has suggested that the government's electoral reforms—those cynical attempts to, as she put it, "rig the game for their benefit"—are merely one factor among many. This is generous. Most of us in the know understand that major parties rigging the game is merely the background radiation of Australian political life, like the hum of a refrigerator you only notice when it stops. The real innovation here is the teals' willingness to evolve their collaboration through what Steggall calls "conversations over a period of time about how politics could evolve." This is the genius of it. While the major parties rely on crude mechanisms like "branches" and "policy platforms" and "accountability to membership bases," the teals are simply talking. Organic. Fluid. Entirely devoid of the distasteful business of asking ordinary people what they think before deciding who represents them.
I was reminded of this distinction at a panel discussion in Wentworth last month, where the mood was electric with the possibility of "better collaboration." Steggall's vision of representatives being able to "more explicitly align on certain areas and then where our communities and where we fundamentally disagree to have that freedom" is precisely the sort of bespoke, artisanal political arrangement that modern Australia demands. Why should independent representatives be bound by the tyranny of collective responsibility when they could instead enjoy the flexibility of aligned autonomy? It is the political equivalent of a co-working space—all the prestige of an office address, none of the obligation to attend staff meetings or pretend to care about pre-selection ballots.
The government's electoral reforms, designed to make it harder for independents to win by requiring actual organizational structure, have inadvertently forced the teals to consider the unthinkable: organizing. But they are doing it differently. Not like the vulgar major parties with their community halls and their T-shirts and their explicit acknowledgment that power requires machinery. No, this is organization via "ongoing dialogue," a method that ensures only those who know how to correctly pronounce "Pinot Grigio" and use the word "ecosystem" as a verb need apply.
What we're seeing is a pivot toward emergent political alignment structures that leverage community-based value propositions without the legacy overhead of traditional party infrastructure. It's really quite exciting if you understand how these things work.
The public, Spender notes, was "incredibly cynical" about the major parties' attempt to change the electoral rules. And rightly so. Cynicism is the appropriate response when large institutions act in their own interest. But when a group of wealthy independents from Australia's most privileged electorates have conversations about potentially collaborating more explicitly while maintaining the brand flexibility of independence—well, that is simply statesmanship. The distinction is subtle, but then again, so is the difference between a vacuum and negative space crying out for soft furnishings.
In the end, the teals aren't forming a party in the traditional sense. They are merely responding to market forces, disrupting the political landscape through iterative dialogue and strategic evolution. When Turnbull looks at the Liberal Party and sees a vacuum, what he sees is the absence of his own reflection. And who better to fill that void than those who have already proven they can win seats without the inconvenience of party discipline, membership votes, or—worst of all—having to pretend they enjoy attending local council meetings?
I, for one, am ready to welcome this new establishment. It is exactly what Australian politics needs: all the authority of a major party, with none of the accountability. Pass the tart.