The Politician’s God

[Guest Tim]

THE POLITICIAN’S GOD

By Desmond Zwar

 

Queensland's British-born Minister for Education, Mr.Pat Comben, says he has "received the call", and will leave politics to become an Anglican minister.

 

Today he is paid $2,116-a-week; plus allowances; plus a large chauffeur-driven car, for holding down one of the most important jobs in government.

 

In a year's time, when he leaves politics, his salary - as a suburban Anglican priest - drops to $500-a-week, "with the use of a much smaller car."

 

In a hard-bitten state, that cynically accepts politicians generating rather than depleting their financial status, such a career move at the age of 44 is looked upon with some surprise.

 

Black-bearded Pat Comben (he says his Spanish looks originated with the arrival of the Armada) believes the urge to preach has been with him for years. As a teenager in trouble with the police in Dorset he mentioned to his mother that he might one day enter the church. 'Her reply was: "If you ever enter any church you won't be allowed back here again."'

 

Was she agnostic? 'No. Antagonistic.'

 

'I think,' says the Labor Minister, 'that such a call, which has been around for more than 30 years, has to be tested. At some stage you have to say the time has come.'

 

Pat was one of triplets in a family of four children and was regularly thrashed by his laborer father. He was in trouble with the Weymouth police and so dispirited that he tried to stow away on a ship to Australia. His father flogged him for that.

 

When the beating was over he was asked if he really wanted to go to Australia. Pat said he did. "The papers are signed, downstairs,' said his father. He emigrated through the Big Brother Movement through which migrants were sponsored by city or rural residents who promised them work.

 

Once he had arrived, he went to work riding horses, digging holes and killing sheep. He was teased, but it didn't last long. 'I was then six feet tall and had fairly quickly got into good shape on the land. Once you've won the first piece of action they don't very often take you on again.'

 

His life was dramatically stalled when he was labouring on a coal-drilling rig and an accident put him in hospital for three months. While he lay in the ward he decided to become an ambulance bearer.

 

He began educating himself at night school. He got into university and was so determined that a Labor hero would be Premier, Pat rode a horse 1,800 kms from Cairns to Brisbane to raise $20,000. The horse bolted after Pat had alighted to relieve himself. The ensuing police search brought him the publicity he was after. 'They found Smokey walking along the highway with his saddle under his belly. I got on again and rode to Brisbane.'

 

 

Eleven years ago, he got into parliament for Labor and because of his facial hair was dubbed "Mr. Identikit." It was at the time the National Party had held political supremacy for years and particularly frustrating for an environmentalist who saw his adopted country's heritage being bulldozed and cut up for development.

 

He once tried, briefly, to discuss religion with his opposition parliamentary colleague, National Party Premier, Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen, himself a lay preacher and staunch believer. 'But I had difficulty with (talking) religion with the National Party members. The first time I went to a Wednesday Christian breakfast at parliament house, one of the members said: "What are you doing here? You're Labor."

 

'That was my first introduction to Christianity in Parliament.'

 

In the daily business of political point-scoring and seeing colleagues treating the truth perhaps a little lightly, Pat Comben says he has not had to stifle his own integrity. 'I have never had any problems with that. I certainly hope that any decision of mine has always been properly premised and I have listened to people. Even if I have made a decision that has been adverse to someone, I have tried to get all the appropriate information.

 

'There have been some hard decisions, but no inner conflict. As long as you listen to both sides and you are prayerful about it, it comes out alright.

 

'But I have seen the conflict in others and I have been appalled at times.'

 

Minister Comben feels disappointed that he finds little opportunity to discuss his religious convictions with fellow politicians - even at the weekly Christian breakfasts which are attended by as little as eight, and usually about 12 out of a possible 89 members of parliament.

 

As an apprentice theologian he has already given several sermons, always on one of two subjects: faith in the environment (he was once Environment Minister), and faith in public life. He has served at the altar, but only spasmodically because of the pressures of his own public life.

 

In 1981 he married a Catholic, Lyn, a geography teacher, the year he graduated from university majoring in government and law. They resolved their religious differences by tossing a coin. Pat won, so Lyn became an Anglican. He calls it "a great tragedy" that the formalised church keeps Christians in little boxes.

 

'One great English influence has always remained with me,' says Pat, between sessions in the House. 'A teacher in my secondary-modern school managed to show me there was a life apart from being a behaviour-management kid, which I was at the time, always coming to the attention of the police.

 

'He is still alive and is 82. Now when I go back to visit England, it is specifically to visit him, rather than for any other reason. My brother still lives there and we exchange homes so I can visit. But I'd never go back there to live.'

 

As Education Minister he has presided over a major curriculum review, enterprise bargaining, and greater parent participation in the management of schools. He has forged links with Indonesia and Papua New Guinea.

 

And he leaves the job with the unusual politician tag: gentleman.