The weekend brought news that marked not just the loss of two towering figures in Australian public life, but the closing of a chapter in how we understood politics, media, and national discourse.
On Friday, we learned of the death of Graham Richardson at 76, the legendary Labor powerbroker whose ‘whatever it takes’ ethos defined an age of hard-nosed, yet profoundly committed, political manoeuvring.
Richo, as he was known, embodied the realpolitik of the Hawke-Keating years, a time when politicians, for all their faults and factional battles, seemed genuinely invested in shaping Australia’s future. They debated infrastructure, economic reform, and social policy with a vigour that felt rooted in national interest, not just polls or personal gain. His passing felt like the definitive end of that era for those of us who study politics, a reminder that the game has shifted to something more fragmented, less substantive, and overly performative.
But then came Sunday’s news of John Laws’ death at 90, and it turned personal.
John Laws not only commanded Australia’s airwaves for over seven decades, but the kitchen of our 1970s three-bedroom, red brick house in Kingswood, what was then a semi-rural suburb on the outskirts of Penrith. Bounded by the Great Western Highway and the Blue Mountains Line. Nowadays in my federation cottage in Gunning bounded by the Hume Highway and the Sydney to Melbourne rail line, I sleep just like I did as a baby.
But I am afraid that the great Australian way of life that I love will die along with two of its proponents. It’s the end of an era.
I admired Richo from his days as a politician but also his commentary in the print and TV versions of The Bulletin with Newsweek. As a teenager, I remember laughing at him copping a bit of stick in Ravenshoe from timber workers whose jobs were threatened by his environmental policies. But in my first year as an artillery officer, his 1994 book Whatever it Takes had me enthralled. It was also the first year of my undergraduate degree in political science, and Richo’s exposé was about politics as realism rather than the endless political spin that typically drives us mad. I loved it.
But I had never interacted with Richo, and he was not someone that the five generations of my family who were alive in the 1970s listened to every morning. John Laws was different.
Laws wasn’t just a broadcaster. He was a cultural institution.
Laws’ voice bridged the gap between our kitchen and the world. When I heard the news that he was gone, I teared up and rang Alexandra to ask if we could do something that focused on the great man.
His departure leaves a void in the media landscape he helped define. For me, it stirs memories of a pivotal moment in my own career.
Back in 2013, amid the political football of the National Broadband Network (NBN), I had the unexpected honour of being interviewed by John Laws on his 2SM show.
He introduced me as a ‘telecommunications expert’, a label that caught me off guard but affirmed years of research into telecommunications policy. We discussed the NBN’s rollout, its political pitfalls, and the need to depoliticise such critical national projects.
Laws’ style was direct, probing, and unapologetically opinionated, yet he gave space for informed debate. That interview wasn’t just a platform, it was a milestone in my academic recognition, validating my work beyond the confines of publications and lecture theatres.
Inspired by that encounter, I later produced a podcast episode with Laws’ introduction and reflecting on my NBN research journey, the policy missteps, the cross-country comparisons, and the often-overlooked process of how scholars gain traction in public conversations. Laws’ endorsement, intentional or not, highlighted how media figures like him could elevate expertise and foster broader discussions about Australia’s technological future. In an age of echo chambers and soundbites, he reminded us that radio could still be a forum for substance.
John Laws’ legacy is complex. He was a master of talkback who courted controversy, championed causes, and occasionally ruffled feathers with his conservative views. But at his core, he was a storyteller who connected with everyday Australians, much like Richardson connected the dots in the backrooms of power. Together, their deaths underscore a fading breed of national figures who, despite their flaws, prioritised the nation’s narrative over fleeting trends.
But whenever I think of John Laws my mind drifts back to my childhood. I associate his voice with eating baked beans on toast with Mum looking out the window over the kitchen sink at the chooks and goats outside. John Laws’ talent was not just his commanding baritone and entertaining style.
He was the ‘everyman’ of the suburbs.
His voice echoed across generations, and in no small way, it helped shape mine. Rest in peace, Mr Laws.
Dr Michael de Percy @FlaneurPolitiq is the Spectator Australia’s Canberra Press Gallery Correspondent. If you would like to support his writing, or read more of Michael, please visit his website.
