JOHN MADIGAN might just be the least fashionable man in Ballarat.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
Blacksmith, teetotaller, Democratic Labour Party Senator: he’s a throwback to another generation, a time when things were done differently.
But what’s most retro about John Madigan are his values. He treasures honesty and integrity, saying what you mean and meaning what you say.
The product of a strict Catholic upbringing in Hepburn, he says he was surrounded by strong role models, both men and women, who were fiercely independent and didn’t give a backwards step.
"I’ve never hidden anything about what I think, I’m upfront. I’m an open book," he says.
"Unlike some people, I don’t pussyfoot around anything. I admire people who stick to their guns."
As he prepares to return to Canberra for the first sitting week since the federal election, you can tell there’s not a lot to look forward to.
"You can’t sleep and the food’s bloody terrible," he says, complaining about his trouble finding a decent steak in the nation’s capital.
"I’m not for sale, it’s as simple as that."
- John Madigan
One thing that does cheer him up is finding out he’ll still be sitting next to his mate, independent senator Nick Xenophon, in the new Senate.
Together the pair has joined up and backed each other’s causes, with Xenophon supporting Madigan’s Australian Manufacturing and Farming Program.
"We’re not near anybody else," he says with a smile. "We don’t mind sitting near each other, but we like our autonomy. Silence is bliss."
There’s a lot about modern politics that irks Madigan. Much of it revolves around how deals get done in Canberra.
Back when he was a senator-elect in 2010, Madigan received a phone call while driving home to Ballarat from an event in Swan Hill.
On the other end of the mobile phone was a lobbyist. He wanted to ask a question: "What football team do you barrack for?"
In a profession known for attracting more than its fair share of perks, some might have thought this on the lower end of the scale.
For Madigan, the offer threw up an immediate red flag. After getting the lobbyist’s name, he delivered a warning:
"I said ‘right mate, you’ve gone to the top of my sh-t list. Don’t ever darken my doorstep or I’ll throw you out’."
It wasn’t the last time Madigan had taken a stand against those trying to buy his loyalty.
He tells of the lamb barbecues put on by a supermarket conglomerate in the Senate courtyard, which he refuses to attend.
For a man who pitches himself as a friend of the farmer, chewing the fat with Woolworths and Coles is a no-go zone.
"I’m not very comfortable with it. I’m not for sale, it’s as simple as that," he says.
He’s not just talk and no action either. Earlier this year, Madigan put his money where his mouth was and gave away his $44,000 parliamentary payrise.
However, it’s unlikely the plays for his attention will go away. Particularly after July next year, when the new Senate is sworn in and Madigan’s vote becomes highly sought-after.
The recent federal election has shifted the spotlight onto the Senate and how the new Coalition will pass legislation with the gaggle of crossbenchers now holding the balance of power.
Madigan is uncomfortable talking about which way he plans to vote come July next year, saying he will vote for each piece of legislation on its merits.
So far, he has only spoken to Tony Abbott four times since joining the Senate in 2010. He’s not anticipating many more phone calls from the prime minister.
"I belong to the Democratic Labour Party and I’m in nobody’s pocket," he says.
Madigan is no sartorialist. Uncomfortable in a suit, he’s more farmer than fashionista: favouring a combination consisting of worn baseball caps, dusty boots and work shirt with the trucker’s singlet poking through.
Sitting at a cluttered desk in his Albert Street office, Madigan is surrounded by objects that reflect the issues he stands for.
While the media often
portrays him as a two-dimensional Catholic warrior, Madigan barely mentions his views on same-sex marriage, abortion and euthanasia.
On the walls of his office, newspaper front pages loudly trumpet local farmers, sitting next to them are faded images of the DLP in its glory days.
Strewn throughout are various components, tools and gadgets. They’ve been fabricated by the manufacturers that form the AMFP.
Despite any misgivings about returning to Canberra, Madigan says he’s ready to keep fighting for a better deal for farmers and manufacturers.
"What is that we want for our country? What do we want to be known for?" he asks, with a quiet intensity that echoes through much of our interview.
With debate saving manufacturing centring around subsidies for the car industry, Madigan says he is frustrated at the "ignorant" comments from some parts of politics.
Madigan favours government support for the car industry, as they provide thousands of jobs for components manufacturers that rely on carmakers for work.
He says he is disappointed when people can’t have empathy and see things from a different perspective.
Perhaps he has a unique perspective of the terrible effects of regional unemployment in Ballarat: his office is directly opposite the local Centrelink.
"I don’t drive up the nice tree-lined streets," he says.
"I want every person to have a home, to have the dignity of work. That’s the greatest thing you can do for people."
Since rising to become a parliamentarian, Madigan says his friends don’t treat him any differently than they did before.
"They’ll still take the mickey out of you," he says.
He places great value in his friends, particularly their honesty. He’s happy to count among his friends people who he vehemently disagrees with on cornerstone issues, including abortion.
An intense man with strong convictions, Madigan values his privacy and speaks at length in favour of keeping families out of politics.
He does, however, share the moment he met his wife at a B&S ball more than 20 years ago.
"She came up and said ‘Hi I’m Tess’ and I said ‘I’ve got a dog called Tess’. My mates sobered up and started punching me in the ribs," he laughs.
Growing up first in Melbourne’s south-east and then moving to Hepburn, Madigan had an education in politics from a young age.
He can remember handing out how-to-vote cards for the DLP at the age of seven with his father. He said politics was a key topic of conversation around the kitchen table.
Religion was also a key factor in his upbringing and, along with the role models of his family, he credits Catholicism with helping shape his outlook on life.
His mother worked for Shell and BHP before becoming a full-time mother, while his father worked as a public servant.
Both of his grandmothers were "nation builders", he says, and his family provided "incredible encouragement" in his life.
His great aunt also inspired him to become a teetotaller after taking him to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting she was co-ordinating.
He says he doesn’t judge anyone who drinks and is more than happy to offer a beer when hosting visitors.
"If anybody comes to my place there’s always plenty. If you want a Bundy or a beer or a chardonnay it’s always there," he says.
In his downtime, Madigan likes to get back to his workshop in Hepburn and continue some of the work he still does as a trained blacksmith.
He really enjoys the occasional school tour teaching kids the skills of blacksmithing.
"I love going to schools and seeing the looks on kid’s faces and remembering how I was so engrossed with it," he says.
Madigan says he never imagined becoming a politician.
Now, he worries about putting his head on the pillow at night and knowing he’s tried his best.
"Sometimes you make mistakes but you pick yourself up and have another go," he says.
"At the end of the day, try to leave it a bit better than you found it."