The Ministry of Silly Walks: When Former Leaders Refuse to Leave the Global Stage
One of the great comedy sketches of Monty Python was the Ministry of Silly Walks, in which John Cleese portrayed a government official whose principal occupation was developing increasingly absurd methods of walking. Dressed in the conventional attire of a respectable British bureaucrat, Cleese performed a succession of ridiculous movements with the utmost seriousness. The humour arose from the contrast between the solemn dignity of government and the complete absurdity of what the official was actually doing. Watching some of our former political leaders performing at international conferences today, one is reminded that Monty Python may have been less a comedy programme than a remarkably accurate prediction of modern politics.
A recent commentary in The Australian drew attention to the appearance of former Australian prime minister Julia Gillard and former New Zealand prime minister Jacinda Ardern at the pre-COP31 climate gathering in Fiji. Both women have long since departed elected national leadership, yet both remain prominent participants in the international circuit of conferences, foundations and political advocacy. Their continued presence raises an interesting question: why do so many former political leaders seem incapable of accepting that their time in the political spotlight has ended?
There was once an expectation that defeated or retired political leaders would eventually withdraw from public life, perhaps write their memoirs, deliver an occasional speech and enjoy their retirement. Some became respected elder statesmen, offering advice when requested while recognising that their successors now carried responsibility for governing. Today, however, a different culture has emerged. Former leaders can reinvent themselves as international authorities on climate change, democracy, human rights, social justice or whatever other subject happens to dominate the global conference circuit.
The transformation is remarkable. A politician who struggled to govern a country of a few million people can suddenly emerge as a commentator upon the future of humanity. Domestic political controversies are left behind, electoral defeats become distant memories, and the former leader reappears beneath the banners of international organisations, delivering solemn warnings about the world's impending catastrophes. The political career may be over, but the public performance continues.
Julia Gillard provides an interesting Australian example. Her prime ministership from 2010 to 2013 was marked by bitter political conflict, the controversy surrounding the carbon tax and a government struggling to maintain public support. Gillard also played a central role in establishing the National Disability Insurance Scheme, an ambitious reform whose subsequent financial sustainability has become a major political issue. These are substantial matters of public policy upon which reasonable people can disagree, but they hardly establish an unquestionable record of political wisdom.
Nevertheless, Gillard has enjoyed a substantial international career since leaving parliament. She has held prominent positions in education, women's leadership and medical research organisations, including the chairmanship of the Wellcome Trust. At the Fiji climate gathering, she addressed questions concerning climate change and maternal health. These are legitimate subjects for scientific and policy discussion, but her appearance also illustrates the extraordinary capacity of former politicians to acquire new platforms and continue speaking with the authority associated with their previous offices.
Jacinda Ardern represents another version of the phenomenon. During her prime ministership, she acquired an international reputation as a model of compassionate and progressive leadership. Her admirers celebrated her communication skills and political style, while critics pointed to New Zealand's economic difficulties, housing problems and the controversies surrounding its pandemic policies. Ardern resigned in 2023, but her departure from elected office did not mean withdrawal from international public life. Instead, she continued to participate in global discussions about leadership, political communication and social policy.
The curious feature of this process is that international reputation can become increasingly detached from domestic political performance. A leader may leave office amid controversy or declining popularity yet remain celebrated within international political and institutional circles. The electorate has delivered its verdict, but the conference organisers apparently have a different opinion. Indeed, the very policies that contributed to domestic political difficulties may become the foundation of a lucrative or prestigious international career.
Of course, former leaders do not automatically become fools when they leave office. Experience in government can provide valuable insights, and some former politicians have made significant contributions to diplomacy, humanitarian work and public debate. The difficulty arises when political experience is treated as a permanent entitlement to moral authority, regardless of the individual's record or the quality of the arguments being presented.
This is where Monty Python becomes relevant. The Ministry of Silly Walks was funny because the official conducting its business never acknowledged the absurdity of his occupation. He behaved as though the development of ridiculous walking techniques was a matter of immense national importance. Much the same atmosphere can sometimes be detected at international conferences, where former politicians deliver grand declarations concerning the future of civilisation while surrounded by an elaborate apparatus of officials, advisers, media representatives and institutional sponsors.
The language is invariably impressive. There are commitments, frameworks, partnerships, pathways, transformations and urgent calls for collective action. Every gathering promises to address challenges of historic importance, and every speaker appears convinced that another speech, another declaration or another international initiative will help transform the world. Yet the practical achievements can be difficult to identify once the speeches have ended and the delegates have returned home.
The recent Pacific climate gathering illustrates the problem. The Australian government promoted the event as an opportunity to bring international attention to the supposed climate concerns of Pacific nations. Yet the much-publicised gathering attracted relatively few leaders from outside the Pacific, despite the considerable diplomatic effort devoted to securing their attendance. The contrast between the original ambitions and the eventual participation invited criticism about whether the exercise justified its expense and political publicity.
There is a wider democratic issue here. Elected politicians are supposed to be accountable to the people who choose them. They can be questioned, criticised and ultimately removed from office. International foundations, conferences and advocacy organisations operate according to different arrangements. Their prominent participants may possess considerable influence without facing the direct electoral accountability that once accompanied their political authority.
This does not make such organisations illegitimate, but it should encourage scepticism when former politicians present themselves as authoritative representatives of public opinion. Their views are their own, and their previous electoral success does not establish that their current pronouncements deserve special deference. A former prime minister speaking at an international conference is not speaking on behalf of the nation unless specifically authorised to do so.
There is also something faintly comic about the apparent inability of certain political personalities to relinquish the ceremonial aspects of public life. The motorcades may disappear, the parliamentary staff may move on, and the electorate may lose interest, but the former leader can still find an audience willing to provide a microphone, a distinguished title and a comfortable seat on the international stage.
One suspects that the attraction is not always confined to public service. Political leadership brings attention, status and a sense of personal importance. Losing office can mean losing an identity built around being listened to. International organisations offer a means of preserving that identity long after the electorate has moved on. The former leader becomes a permanent member of a travelling political establishment, moving from one prestigious gathering to another.
The phenomenon is not confined to the political Left. Former conservative leaders can be equally susceptible to the attractions of international celebrity, lucrative speaking engagements and institutional prestige. Political vanity recognises no ideological boundaries. The common characteristic is the conviction that holding high office once confers a continuing obligation upon the world to listen.
What makes the situation particularly amusing is the solemnity with which these performances are conducted. There is rarely any indication that the participants recognise the comic possibilities of their situation. Like John Cleese's government official, they proceed with extraordinary seriousness, apparently unaware that the spectacle itself may invite ridicule.
Perhaps modern international politics needs a new institution: the Ministry of Former Leaders Who Cannot Stop Talking. Its headquarters could be located somewhere with a pleasant climate, excellent hotels and convenient international flights. Its members would assemble periodically to explain how the world should be governed, issue declarations of profound concern and congratulate one another upon their continuing relevance. The principal qualification for membership would be having once occupied high office and remaining convinced that one's departure represented a loss to civilisation.
The difference between this imaginary ministry and the existing international conference circuit might prove surprisingly difficult to identify.
There is a serious point beneath the comedy. Political authority should not become a lifetime possession. Former leaders are entitled to express opinions, but they should be judged by the quality of their arguments and the evidence supporting them, not by the offices they once occupied. The world has enough genuine problems without treating every pronouncement from a retired politician as an event of international significance.
Monty Python understood that the most effective satire often involves taking institutional self-importance to its logical conclusion. The Ministry of Silly Walks was absurd precisely because its participants believed themselves to be engaged in serious public business. Looking at the endless procession of former political leaders across the global conference stage, one wonders whether the distinction between political satire and political reality has become increasingly difficult to maintain.
John Cleese had to invent his silly walk. Some of our former leaders seem perfectly capable of performing theirs without any assistance from a comedy writer.
https://www.theaustralian.com.au/commentary/exleaders-remind-us-why-theyre-hasbeens/news-story/72413452da78244ad6954256467a1fcb
