Liberals and Nationals consciously uncouple after long and fruitful marriage

For 102 years now (apart from a brief and steamy affair with Joh Bjelke-Petersen in 1987), the country-based folk of the National Party have been married to the urbanites of the Liberal Party.

They've done big things together. At times, they've quietly loathed each other, for sure.

They've fought about the usual things. Money. Infrastructure. Who does what around the House. Whether it's a big deal for one of the kids to be gay.

They've stuck together, also for the usual reason, which is that neither of them has ever had the stomach for the drop in living standards that divorce would entail.

But when Nationals leader David Littleproud convened a press conference with his colleagues Kevin Hogan and Bridget McKenzie yesterday, the vibe was very clear: "Kids, we've got some news."

A marriage breaks down

Everybody knew that Littleproud and the new Liberal leader, Sussan Ley, had been locked in discussion for days about the "Coalition agreement", which is a sort of triennial pre-nup the parties negotiate and sign after each election.

Everybody knew that the Nats wanted Ley to promise she would support nuclear power, the $20 billion regional future fund that they nagged Peter Dutton for, and the introduction of divestiture powers over major supermarkets and big-box retailers.

Are any of these things going to happen? No, they are not, because the Coalition lost the election.

But marriages are about principles, as they should be. And of course we all know couples who've called it quits over fantasy amendments to section 46 of the Competition and Consumer Act. So there was a definite whiff of "Splitsville" in the air.

Before confirming that he was walking out on the marriage, Littleproud first took care to explain that he had been very patient and respectful and conducted the negotiations "very much at the pace of Sussan Ley," whose mother died last Saturday.

"So much so… that I took the decision to drive to Albury to commence these negotiations when she was ready."

Having delivered this moving tribute to his own sensitivity and restraint (30 seconds during which, presumably, every divorced woman in Australia made a mental note to meet up with Ley soon for a cheeky pinot gris), Littleproud dropped the solemn news he'd come to deliver.

What does it all mean?

The National Party (and its cognates, the Country Liberal Party and the "N-identifying" members of Queensland's LNP) would be moving out of the Coalition party room, in order to find themselves and possibly see other people. There was no rancour, only respect. Perhaps there was a chance of reconciliation down the track, but in the meantime a separation would be good for Ley as well, Littleproud thought.

"She is a leader that needs to rebuild the Liberal Party. They are going on a journey of rediscovery, and this will provide them the opportunity to do that without the spectre of the National Party imposing their will."

For good measure, he added: "I don't intend to take a step back when I take big steps forward in three years."

What does this mean?

Not the stepping back and forward thing, of course. Even Yoda would struggle with the specifics (though one is left with the generalised but unmistakeable suspicion that someone is about to get — or already has got — a very unwise tattoo).

What does the divorce mean?

On a practical financial level, the divorce isn't good news for the Nats. The Liberals become the sole party of opposition, which means that the Nationals who would have otherwise been shadow ministers each lose nearly $60,000 a year in salary.

But Littleproud insisted that these deprivations did not figure in the decision to split. As you would expect, from a man sufficiently saintly to drive to Albury for a meeting with a colleague whose Mum just died.

More broadly, "Littleprexit" makes it harder for the Liberals to form a government, because they've almost always relied on Nationals numbers. Even John Howard's landslide win in 1996 only netted 75 seats for the Liberals in a Lower House of 148. A majority, but very vulnerable to an individual heart attack or dodgy travel claims. Very hairy territory for any gang member advocating a go-it-alone doctrine.

But the mathematics of forming government feel like a very distant and future problem. Right now, the Liberal Party has a trek through the wilderness to undertake.

And it may well be easier for Ley to guide this expedition now that she's not handcuffed to a junior companion constantly yammering at her to build them a nuclear reactor.

Let's look at the Senate

There's little doubt that in both 2022 and 2025, the binding Coalition commitment to the policy demands of the Nationals is what caused the Liberals to lose most of their city seats.

These existential questions can be considered at leisure, especially if you're divorced.

But the more immediate and intriguing mathematics are found in the Senate, where results are not yet clear but Labor's best-case scenario looks to be 31 senators out of 76.

Penny Wong — Labor's leader in the Upper House — needs 38 votes to get Labor legislation through.

One way to collect those extra votes would be to make deals with the Greens, who look likely to return 11 senators.

There will only be four Nationals in the new Senate, because deputy leader Perin Davey lost her seat and the CLP's Jacinta Nampijinpa Price defected, post-election, to the Liberal Party, which appears to have won custody of the NT senator in the divorce.

But there will be heaps of Liberals in the new Senate.

And who knows what the Liberal Party — dizzy with loss but also with the possibilities that freedom brings — might be prepared to try out?

When the government brings its revised environmental laws to the Senate, for instance, what will the Liberal Party do?

Stand by and let the Labor Party co-design environment policy with the Greens? Or pitch in and create an outcome that better suits Liberal voters?

Two days ago, such an idea would have been unthinkable. Now? Still unlikely. But do not mistake the urgency of the Liberal Party's search for meaning and relevance.

A new chapter

Ley — who spoke warmly of her party's ex in her press conference late yesterday and insisted that the door remained open to reconciliation — has insisted that the Liberals need to consider all possible options as part of their post-election review.

She's of the oft-repeated view that her party needs to "meet Australians where they are."

Right now, the immediate risk is that when the Liberal Party searches up the GPS coordinates for "where Australians are", they come up as "in a car, driving at speed away from you".

In these circumstances, hot pursuit — while well-intended — can absolutely be misconstrued.

So it's possible that Ley's low-speed model is prudent.

The Liberals have struggled for some time to land the concept of "relatability" for Australian women. While not a planned move on Ley's part, "I got dumped 10 days after my Mum died, and I absolutely did not lose my rag" is the closest a Liberal leader has come to this Holy Grail.

It doesn't change the fact that there is very little to be recommended for crushing defeat, if you're a political party.

But when you're really on the mat, the only resource in which you're genuinely rich is time. Time's not something of which you ever have a surfeit when you're in government.

And while the "conscious uncoupling" of the Coalition is indeed a ludicrously significant tectonic shift, it's possible that taking a break is actually the most useful thing these parties could do right now, with tensions at such an irreconcilable pitch.

The Coalition is probably the only long-standing Australian marriage in which parties are obliged to sit down on a triennial basis for an explicit negotiation about how many jobs each constituent party will agree to do for the forthcoming three years.

It's a much better model than the scheduled factory setting of the average Australian marriage. Three years of "Isn't this fun?" followed by five years of "My God, would it kill you to pick up a towel?", with separation occurring at eight years, and all outstanding legal matters done and dusted by 12.

Will they get back together? Hope springs eternal. Democracies are never perfect, but the existence of decent oppositions is what nudges them above all the other options.