In Sex, Lies and Question Time, Kate Ellis (who resigned in 2019 after representing the seat of Adelaide for fifteen years) examines the misogyny that pervades our federal parliament. This book is not a response to the outrages of previous months, but a prelude to them. Ellis began writing the book after leaving parliament, no doubt as a way of working through her own experiences. Like many attuned political commentators, she foresaw the current crisis. She identified the need for an open conversation about sexism and the culture underpinning federal politics. Ellis, who wrote the book before a whistle-blower alleged that sexual liaisons – some involving sex workers – routinely take place at Parliament House, issues this warning: ‘And maybe it’s best to stay well clear of the Parliament House Prayer Room.’

Ellis’s account reads like war stories: skirmishes, battles, and militant engagements with colleagues, news editors, social media trolls, and, occasionally, other women. She outlines the vicious rumour mills, the slut shaming, and the persistent commentary on women’s appearance and personal lives. This, she argues, is used to undermine women MPs’ confidence, legitimacy, authority, and public image. She also speaks about the structures of the parliament itself, suggesting that they undermine women’s collective action, set people against one another, and are resistant to change. On top of this are the relentless travel and work schedules, which leave little time for family and caring responsibilities.

Some of these stories are familiar. Keen observers will remember the degrading comments by shock jock Alan Jones about Prime Minister Julia Gillard, will recall the story of Julie Bishop being told to trade her Armani suits for more wholesome cardigans, and will also recall David Leyonhjelm’s remark to Sarah Hanson-Young in the Senate. These stories speak to broader issues, hardly new ones. Scholars and commentators have long lamented the ‘gender double bind’ that women face in politics. In 2004, Julia Baird explored this in Media Tarts with a focus upon the media’s treatment of women politicians. More recently, Julia Gillard and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala investigated the sexism endured by senior women political leaders globally in Women and Leadership (2020).

In some ways, Ellis’s book fits in this genre. It explores the forms of discrimination that women face, draws on conversations with women leaders across Australia’s political spectrum, and is shaped by insider knowledge and personal experiences. But Sex, Lies and Question Time is more autobiographical and self-reflective than the work of Baird or Gillard and Okonjo-Iweala. Ellis does not draw broadly from research or set out to evidence her claims. Nor does she analyse the conversations she has had with former colleagues. Instead, she provides an insider account and finds that women share similar experiences.

In her conversations with senior women MPs, Ellis creates a safe space for her former colleagues to reflect openly on their time in parliament. She also recounts a few of her own stories that didn’t make it into the public domain. Importantly, Ellis includes the experiences of women from across the political divide – from Pauline Hanson to Sarah Hanson-Young. This shows her commitment to inclusivity and the trust she has elicited from others, but also demonstrates that gender-based discrimination is not confined to one political party.

Yet this is not necessarily a rallying call for women parliamentarians. In a chapter on the ‘sisterhood’, Ellis describes the political, structural, and cultural difficulties that undermine women’s ability to support one another, or to even know what others are experiencing. She notes that some women believe political differences trump their shared experiences as women, but goes on to argue: ‘It doesn’t take a genius to see that the more women, the more supportive the environment, and the better the culture in supporting women to do their jobs.’

Until recently, women MPs did not speak publicly of their experiences of sexism. Throughout her long career, Julie Bishop often denied the existence of sexism in the parliament. She criticised Gillard for calling it out in her so-called ‘Misogyny Speech’ in 2012. In the past few years, however, women politicians including Bishop and her Liberal Party colleagues Kelly O’Dwyer and Julia Banks (who has her own forthcoming book), have pointed to sexism as a factor in their decision to resign from politics. Indeed, we sense a certain regret in Bishop’s comments to Ellis that she had allowed herself to be positioned at the front line of attacks against women across the floor (‘I look back at question time,’ Bishop comments, ‘and blush at some of the things that we used to do in trying to attack our opponents’).

Importantly, Ellis has also encouraged sitting MPs to reflect on the gender politics in their workplace. This is a welcome feature of the book, suggesting that there is now tolerance within the parliament to openly discuss these issues. Here, though, the talk is more measured. It is less about the direct sexism that MPs experience and more about the opportunities for structural reform and changes to working patterns that will make parliament a more inclusive place.

Largely absent from these discussions, however, is the role of male MPs in shaping change. Men were not interviewed for the book (which is fine). While there are references to ‘good men’ and ‘bad men’, the book politely shies away from a deeper and more direct consideration of patriarchy and men’s privilege and power.

Similarly, Ellis shies away from confirming the importance of these issues. She notes, for instance, that ‘there’s … an argument that the issues each parliamentarian is elected to advocate for are far more important than the narrower issue of women’s treatment in politics’. This is a polite acknowledgment of her privilege when compared to women who experience severe forms of gendered violence, such as domestic abuse. But all forms of violence against women are interconnected, and this needs to be acknowledged. The treatment of women in public political life and the cultures that keep women silent – and protect poor behaviour – are not separate from women’s experiences of violence in the community.

This makes the solutions Ellis presents all the more important. These issues stem from gender inequality, and the connections between the experiences of women politicians and all women in Australia need to be clear. Here, the book provides only kernels of solutions. There are broad statements on the need for reform in social media companies, for ethical behaviour from news editors, for more people to call out sexist behaviour, and for parliament to be more family-aware. The book also focuses upon the importance of women’s leadership in paving the way forward, but largely neglects the difficult conversations about the need for men’s leadership on these issues. In this sense, the path forward is paved by women’s labour and women are left to do the heavy lifting. It is worth remembering that these are not women’s problems to be addressed by women’s work, as Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s recently developed ‘Women’s Cabinet’ might suggest. It is everyone’s business.

Ultimately in Sex, Lies and Question Time Ellis reveals a complex array of feelings towards her time in politics. One is sheer anger. Regarding the toxicity of parliament she states: ‘As I write these words almost ten years later I feel seething rage.’ But there is also a sense of trauma and continued frustration. Even now, she still feels compelled to deny putrid allegations and rumours that were made against her, and to justify her decision to leave politics to spend more time with her family. In a slightly overbearing manner, she insists that politics is a rewarding career for young women, and that women parliamentarians make a valuable contribution to our society.

But there is also regret. Ellis – along with some of her former ALP colleagues – considers what more they should have done to protect Julia Gillard or to expose sexist behaviour towards women. These are honest moments of reflection, and perhaps guilt. During the worst of the onslaught against Gillard, the strategy was to ignore it: the attacks were a distraction from the real work, and it was a tactical error to show how much it affected you. Though there is no guarantee things would have turned out any better, Gillard herself now wishes she had called it out sooner and more often.

Ultimately, this is Kate Ellis’s message. Following years of #MeToo activism, women who speak out are finally being believed. It is increasingly recognised that ‘speaking out’ takes enormous courage, is often done at great risk to one’s career, and can attract vicious backlash. Each time someone speaks out, the hope is that the broader conversation is advanced. This is what we have learned from Brittany Higgins. And this is what Kate Ellis is asking of us now: to stand up, and speak out.