The recent Dunstan byelection in South Australia was an all-female race; either way, a woman was going to win. But did we?
Dunstan is South Australia’s most marginal seat—an inner-city dynamic electorate, known for its progressive leaders. It’s an educated electorate with a mix of families and households without children. The average voter is a 40-year-old-woman.
I was 37 at the time of the byelection. I hoped that, as a candidate who closely reflected the average voter in my community, I would be able to send a positive message to other women: if I can do it, so can you, in whatever endeavour you chose.
I am a passionate advocate for women in leadership, women’s empowerment, and gender equality. I also happen to be the SA Representative of the Hilma’s Network, a grassroots movement aimed at getting more women into the Liberal Party and into the Parliament.
Byelections are unique political beasts, but there was something about the pointed brutality of this campaign that not only further eroded public confidence in politics but also the ambitions of women seeking to put their hand up to represent their community.
This byelection was not so much a contest of ideas and policies as it was a contest of mudslinging by all parties. It was the kind of gutter politics that everyone hates.
Politics is often a mirror to society, a magnifying mirror, but a mirror nonetheless. In my view, the campaign highlighted the broader issues women face, both in and out of politics – like we are more likely to be described in ways and asked questions that our male colleagues aren’t.
At my first press conference, a senior male journalist asked me whether I was married or single. I remember looking down the barrel of multiple cameras, thinking, “Is he serious?”. However, not wanting to appear defensive (no one likes a defensive woman, Anna), I answered that I was single. I was thereafter described as the “single lawyer” by the media. Charming.
Relevant? Absolutely not. Gendered? Undeniably.
The Labor Party wasted no time in comparing and contrasting their candidate, rolling out the family portrait corflutes and endorsements that their candidate is a “mother like me”.
This strategy is problematic in an electorate like Dunstan but also more broadly. Would this same approach be used if it was a contest involving men? Ever seen a ‘dad like me’ corflute?
It certainly wasn’t the case in the byelection in my neighbouring state electorate in 2022, where the Liberal Party candidate was a childless male, and the Labor candidate was a mother.
Let me be clear, marital and parental status has no bearing on your ability to do your job. It is not a credential.
Some women choose not to become mothers; others have that choice taken from them. As someone with chronic endometriosis, I’m acutely aware of how devastating fertility struggles can be. As women, we face reminders in all facets of our daily lives that we are not enough; we don’t need them on polling day too.
One of the most disappointing points of the campaign was a Labor “hit” on me about a Policy and Research role I had applied for a number of years ago. The role was with the then Labor Shadow Attorney-General and Minister for Indigenous Affairs. At the time, I was the Policy Lawyer for the Law Society of South Australia. I had a keen interest in law reform and Indigenous affairs, and a strong desire to have a meaningful career in public policy. There is no better way to directly influence public policy than in the parliament, right?
My CV and cover letter was held onto for four years and leaked to a major newspaper. The newspaper published it in full on the front page, with personal details like my former address. I copped the front-page headline “Dunce-tan”.
The Labor Party argued the leaking of the confidential application was in the “public interest”. Unfortunately, it signalled a disturbing decline in the standard of politics in South Australia. It was unsettling not just to women aspiring to be in politics, who have told me this byelection has completely deterred them, but to professional women everywhere. I had women contact me throughout the campaign and well after the byelection to convey their deep disappointment and disgust with this behaviour. One said she spent her 20s dreaming of a career in politics, but she wouldn’t go near it with a barge pole after seeing what I went through. On one hand, I don’t blame her, and on the other, my heart breaks.
I am unashamed of my achievements, my ambition, and my desire to influence public policy. I am a highly credentialed candidate and had the most experience in developing and delivering public policy. But at times during the campaign, I wished for invisibility, to have chosen a different pathway. One where I didn’t chase my dreams of creating systemic change in the parliament, but rather one where I was softly and safely in the background. While I was in a unique situation, these feelings resonate with professional women everywhere. A 2018 Stanford University study found that women do not assert themselves in the workplace or make themselves visible over fears it could backfire on them professionally; instead, they adopt what the researchers called “Intentional invisibility”.
In some cases, these fears can be founded. For a significant part of the campaign, I struggled to sleep in fear of what the next day would bring. Senior male government ministers enthusiastically set out to attack me. It was relentless and aggressive. Prior the campaign even starting, I had been subject to public and personal taunting by senior male Labor figures. The basis of those taunts? I had run in another electorate previously. Something I had watched men from across parties do without consequence for years and years.
There were some small victories. I held a community event for International Women’s Day where women could network and get a free professional headshot. At the time, my CV was a topic of conversation in the media; I wanted to help women actually, you know, advance their careers. I was also able to bring issues I’m deeply passionate about like women’s health and closing the gender health gap to the forefront in the campaign.
I volunteer at my local women’s centre, I know how prevalent domestic violence is in our community and how vulnerable women are to housing insecurity as they age. Outside of the mudslinging and attacks, there was something incredibly humbling about the opportunity to run for parliament. I held women’s hands and together we shed tears as they told me their stories and their fears for the future. The campaign enabled me to advocate for policies to address women’s safety and housing security.
It’s no secret that I’m socially progressive, I’ve been incredibly vocal in holding political parties to account, including my own, on issues like gender equity and greater representation of women in the parliament. Of all the candidates, I was proud to be the one with demonstrated advocacy in empowering women and fighting for gender quality.
This is why I found the Green’s exploitation of gender issues for political gain, the lowest “hit” of them all.
Greens Senator Sarah Hanson-Young inserted herself in this campaign by sending a letter to women in the electorate urging them not to vote for me. Her reason? Gender representation in my party. Ironic, right? Especially given I have been one of the most vocal and active Liberals trying to address this and the political boys club more broadly.
The Greens’ preference flows were the deciding factor in this byelection. It prevented a progressive, professional, younger woman with a strong voice from entering the parliament and instead emboldened the conservative Labor right stronghold.
While politics can be a bubble, it, in many ways, reflects deep-seated biases and attitudes that exist across the community. It’s very hard to address these inequalities when they are being perpetuated by the men in charge and not challenged by the women that stand beside them.
Recently, research from Monash University found that gender stereotypes, women’s perceptions of their own knowledge and confidence, and the “toxic”, masculine culture of parliament hold women back from politics.
I’ve known this – I’ve worked in and around politics for years – but now I understand this in my bones.
And the worst part is, my experience would suggest there’s little change in sight. Despite the rhetoric of progress, the reality on the ground remains stubbornly resistant to meaningful change.
This experience may have crushed me, but I refuse to let this crush the dreams of future female leaders. We must demand better.