Why Don Dunstan Needs a Statue

Words by Franceso Dizazzo

“He was good. But was he that good?”

A friend of mine dubiously asked me this one evening over drinks.

I had just told him I was writing an article on my personal hero: the late Donald Allan Dunstan. Don was South Australia’s Premier for ten combined years between 1967 and 1979. He was a trailblazing figure who added flair and colour to state politics. Dunstan’s achievements are quite remarkable. Boldly progressive and forward-thinking, his leadership came after 36 (that’s not a typo!) years of uninterrupted conservative rule. Dunstan demonstrated what a Premier could do for one’s state, while utterly devoted to making the lives of South Australians fairer and more pleasurable. “You haven’t convinced me yet mate,” my friend went on to say, bringing me back down to earth after a fan-boy spiel. Well, it’s now my mission to convince you (and my stubborn mate) that Don needs a statue.

Dunstan’s government was anything but conventional. It truly set the tone for progressive change in 1970’s Australia. As Dunstan immodestly put it, ‘our laws and administration against discrimination of race, sex, and marital status led Australia.’ And he was right. SA became a beacon for ‘progressive firsts’ under his government. We were the first state to decriminalise homosexuality; the first to establish an environmental department; the first to have a festival centre; the first to implement anti-discrimination legislation in Australia; the first-ever land rights legislation (anywhere!) for Indigenous people. We appointed Australia’s first female judge in Dame Roma Mitchell, the first non-British Governor in Sir Mark Oliphant, and later the first Indigenous governor in Sir Douglas Nicholls. Along with Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, Dunstan was instrumental in first removing the White Australia policy from the Labor platform and then eventually around the country. Parliament’s dress code was relaxed, Dunstan himself flaunted his famous pink shorts at Parliament in 1972. Significant investment into the arts led to the establishment of the South Australian Film Corporation. Laws were put in place to protect our heritage buildings, saving some iconic Adelaidean buildings from destruction. Laws for serving alcohol after hours were relaxed, thus the dreaded ‘6 O’clock Swill’ was dead. So next time you grab a drink from the Uni-Bar after

a hard day of studying past 6pm, thank Dunstan for that cold one.

Dunstan’s personal pursuits were equally as remarkable as his political ones. ‘Quality of life’ meant a great deal to him. He adored good food, good wine, and good art to go with the good weather we already have. Dunstan was a messy but excellent chef, eventually writing a cookbook filled with his favourite recipes. Having visited his personal archives at Flinders University, Dunstan was also very well-read. His vast book collection ranged from Ancient Greek Mythology to Marx and Keynes; Italian Renaissance art to Indigenous paintings; Shakespeare to Jane Austen. Dunstan kept books on feminism and Indigenous Dreamtime stories; Latin prose and Italian grammar; Australian history and English Romantic poetry. I can’t for the life of me imagine Scott Morrison quoting Byron or Shelley. Most politicians nowadays don’t care for that sort of stuff, but Dunstan loved broadening his horizons with avid reading. He was always hungry for knowledge and was eager to understand the world around him.

But like with any great political figure, we must not mythologise him. Politics is a team-sport, so Dunstan’s ministers deserve credit too. Don also made his fair share of mistakes. One of his pet projects was to build a new city at Monarto which would alleviate urban pressures on Adelaide. After years of criticism, his project was abandoned, wasting $20 million in the process. Many see Monarto as Dunstan’s greatest failure. Moreover, his time as Premier was strewn with scandals. For instance, controversy over whether Dunstan had improperly dismissed police commissioner Harold Salisbury for misleading the government culminated with 1978’s Salisbury Affair. This controversy bitterly divided the state, culminating with thousands of Adelaideans gathering in Victoria Square calling for Salisbury to get a ‘fair go’ (a royal commission later found the commissioner guilty). Dunstan’s ‘peacock’ politics also laid the seeds for unsubstantiated rumours of corruption and personal impropriety, effectively destabilising his government and contributing to his resignation in 1979. The guy also jumped the pond and worked as Victoria’s Director of Tourism after retiring from SA politics – the cruellest betrayal!

But Dunstan’s policies and vision outweigh these cherry-picked issues – they are only footnotes to a striking legacy. No one remembers him for Monarto or the Salisbury Affair, we remember him for decriminalising homosexuality, scrapping the White Australia policy and investing in the arts, education and health. His was the politics of optimism and the future; one that was inclusive and positive, radical yet electable, bold but sensible.

‘It is difficult to rekindle the brightness of the light which seemed to shine from Adelaide around Australia during the Dunstan years,’ Whitlam admitted in a foreword to Dunstan’s Politics and Passion. Our former PM has a point. For any SA Premier, Don Dunstan is a bloody tough act to follow.

I’m sure most of you reading this were probably not aware of just how revolutionary the Dunstan Decade was. Don’t blame yourself, blame your pesky history teachers! This is precisely why we need a statue commemorating his life. It would remind South Australians of all we have to be thankful for. It would remind us to continue fighting

for change, to read a little more, and dedicate ourselves to our passions. It would remind us that human flourishing is a very serious matter and worthy of politicians’ time. It would tell us that everyone has a role to play in improving the society around them.

And I’m sure Adelaide’s current statues wouldn’t mind if Dunstan popped up beside them. I’m sure his predecessor, Premier Charles Kingston wouldn’t care. He would probably see some of himself in Dunstan’s political zest. I’m sure Canova’s Venus statue along North Terrace wouldn’t mind either. As the goddess of love, she would have adored the Premier’s passion for art and beauty. And I’m sure next to Venus, Dame Roma, watching pedestrians pass along North Terrace, would not mind seeing the man who made her Australia’s first female judge go up in bronze. ‘I can proudly say that in world terms, this is a good place to be and belong to,’ Dunstan would later reminisce of his beloved South Australia. The love he had for life, his state, and his people was infectious If that isn’t worth memorialising, I don’t know what is.