By Tony Wright
''ON THIS eve of the anniversary of the assassination,'' intoned a funereal Warren Truss, leader of the Nationals.
''On this eve of the anniversary of the ascension …''
The anniversary of Kevin Rudd's political assassination created plenty of political heat.
So taken were we with the gravity of Truss's opening lines (why, it sounded as serious as the End of Days) that, alas, we forgot entirely to listen to whatever it was that followed.
We didn't really need to hear the rest of it, anyway. We've heard it all before.
Given there was no parliamentary sitting yesterday (the actual anniversary of Kevin Rudd's ''assassination'' and Julia Gillard's ''ascension''), the Tony Abbott-Warren Truss team had to devote Thursday, the eve, to ladling out all their confected and utterly predictable fire and brimstone about the frightfulness of the past year. In the world of political combat, you never let a chance go by.
It didn't amount to much more than the well-worn accusation that while Rudd may have been a tyrant as prime minister, his crafty cutthroat, Gillard, had proved to be a total, untrustworthy dud.
''Was it worth it?'' Abbott demanded of Gillard, harking to her decision a year ago to do the dirty on Rudd. It was pretty clear that Abbott wanted his audience to know it certainly had not been worth it (except, of course, to him), and it mattered nought that Gillard responded by reeling off a list of achievements.
While Abbott-Truss et al pursued their ritual dance of putative doom with Gillard, feigning sympathy for and solidarity with Rudd, a rather more poignant scene was taking place around the House of Representatives, all but unnoticed.
Watching proceedings from up in the public gallery was a visitor from the past: Brendan Nelson.
Those with keen political memories may recall he was leader of the opposition at the time of Kevin Rudd's flowering as prime minister. Nelson was given the heave-ho shortly in favour of Malcolm Turnbull, who of course in time was brought low by Tony Abbott, who soon enough saw Rudd's leadership turned to tears.
If you looked very closely, you might have seen a flicker of mutual understanding radiate between Rudd and Nelson as the anniversary denouement roared around the House of Representatives chamber.
If you had looked even closer, you might have perceived a brief smile - of what? compassion? - pass between Turnbull and Rudd.
Here, surely, was a form of male bonding; a little support group of leaders spurned by their fellows; silverbacks driven into the wilderness. One was moved to recall the words of Turnbull as he contemplated the toppling of Rudd last year: ''All I could think,'' he wrote, ''was: 'Someone should give this poor bastard a hug.'''
A small corner of the House seemed transformed for those few moments into a virtual Men's Shed whose members knew for certain the most dreadful truth about politics: all those who storm their way to the top have only one certainty left.
They will, one way or another, have their leadership torn from their grasp, very likely by those who had been allies. And the anniversaries of such events will be celebrated only by enemies.
So common is the process of political fratricide that there was a fourth, almost forgotten, member who could have joined the parliamentary Men's Shed support group if he had wished. Simon Crean found himself abandoned as Labor leader and replaced by Mark Latham in December 2003, and still he sits in Parliament. His wounds appear to have healed quite well, and if there were any surreptitious glances of understanding between Crean and Nelson, Turnbull or Rudd, we missed them.
The most intriguing thing about the little spectacle taking place at the edges of the parliamentary storm and fury on Thursday was that the two most recently vanquished silverbacks, Rudd and Turnbull, remain in Parliament at all.
They are not made of the same stuff as, say, Crean, who, having had his moment as leader, is apparently content in the knowledge he will not be called again. Nor are they like Brendan Nelson, who left Parliament altogether, having recognised that his time had come and gone.
No. Rudd and Turnbull can only be driven by the belief that they will be restored to their rightful place, which is to say, at the top. They actually court another rise, knowing such a thing can be followed only by another fall.
Most commentators are currently using logic to dismiss out of hand the chance that Rudd might claw his way back: he has next to no serious support within caucus, he built up a wall of enemies during his period as prime minister and the Labor Party has no wish to make itself look like a headless chook (or to lose the support of those independents who prop it up) by changing leaders yet again.
Less sure are the commentators about Turnbull's chance of re-realising his ambition, though most are less than convinced. His colleagues baulk at his high-handedness, he has few friends in the party room, he is viewed as suspiciously left-wing.
Yet Rudd and Turnbull simply refuse to go away. And the current leaders, Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott, struggle for credibility. Every poll shows Gillard has failed utterly to forge a relationship with the voting public, and while Abbott is acknowledged to be a highly effective opposition leader and his Coalition would win an election now at the gallop, voters are no more impressed with him than with Gillard when asked who would be the better prime minister.
Rudd and Turnbull, thus, are relying on something a lot of the commentators are not taking into the equation. In leadership, gravity works - what goes up must come down. Some time - and nobody can know when - Julia and Tony will be gone. They will have to be replaced. And who, now, can imagine that either of their parties has produced suitable replacements?
More to the point, who could have imagined that Brendan Nelson, Simon Crean, Tony Abbott (or Mark Latham or John Hewson or take your pick) might have become leaders of their parties … before they did just that? Who could have predicted in the the first half of the 1990s that a strange little man called John Howard, tossed aside as Coalition leader in 1989, would return as leader in 1995 and become Australia's second-longest-serving prime minister (after Robert Menzies, whose career also appeared to be over after his first period as prime minister was judged a failure)?
We know all about the anniversary - it's yesterday's news - but anyone who thinks they can predict the future out of the current murk is having themselves on. It's the only reason to remain fascinated with Australian politics right now.