Decisions should be made advisedly

Bureaucrats play an important role in the decision-making processes of any government, regardless of its political colouring.
Ministers, and especially prime ministers, rely heavily on advice from disinterested public servants.
Without wanting to sound immodest, having served numerous governments over many years, I am proud of the quality of the independent, often fearless, advice I provided to my political masters - from all parties.
In fact I once overheard Paul Keating describe me as "the most disinterested man in Canberra". I took it as a rare compliment from a politician with whom I didn't always see eye to eye.
The whole concept of elected politicians acting on advice from public servants is predicated on the knowledge that some decisions turn out to be the wrong ones - the ship of state does occasionally hits the rocks.
Or, as former West Australian Premier, Sir Charles Court, once said to me at a Premiers' Conference back in the 1970s: "Rufus, sometimes everything just turns to (naughty word)."
On those occasions, our elected politicians are secure in the knowledge that they have based their decisions on advice from their departmental officers.
This system - a form of insurance policy for ministers and prime ministers - also guarantees that the public service interest is protected.
This system of collective responsibility means that when decisions are shown to have been wrong, no one individual - I stress, no-one - is held accountable. And that is as it should be.
Good bureaucrats soon become skilled in this system and, as I learned over many years, they must also know the type of advice - both generally and specifically - that politicians expect to hear and be willing to offer that advice, unpalatable though it may be from their personal viewpoint.
These thoughts were going through my mind as I waited in the Prime Minister's office in Parliament House a little more than a month ago.
It was the morning of March 20. As I had discovered earlier, it was the day the PM had been told he should address the nation to tell Australians he had decided to commit our troops to a war in Iraq.
My role had been made clear to me when I had taken a call from one of the PM's staffers the night before.
I was sitting in my Brisbane lounge room fingering my good wife Devon's latest self-published volume of poems for ladies, when the phone rang.
"Rufus, we need some special advice on an urgent matter and we know we can rely on you," the PM's offsider said.
I knew exactly what was expected of me and made arrangements to fly to Canberra on the first flight the following morning.
Although retired for some years now, my special advisory skills are still requested now and then.
In fact, as I sat in the PM's office that March morning, I recalled that it had been 18 months since my skills had been last called upon.
It was during the lead-up to the 2001 federal election.
You'll no doubt recall that the election that year was fought in the shadow of the illegal immigration issue.
In particular there occurred a specific incident which was to become highly contentious during and after the poll.
Of course I refer to the controversial "children overboard" affair.
On October 10, 2001, just a few days after the "children overboard" incident had occurred, I was sitting at home in Brisbane waiting for Devon to return home.
She'd been out at a meeting of her ladies-only support group at Lickers Café in the Valley when my phone rang. It was the then Defence Minister Peter Reith.
He asked me to get myself to Canberra as soon as possible.
"Rufus, we need some special advice on an urgent matter and we know we can rely on you," he'd said.
I knew exactly what was expected of me and flew to Canberra the next day.
After a preliminary briefing by Mr Reith, I was ushered into the PM's office.
John Howard was sitting behind his desk. He got up when Mr Reith and I entered and shook my hand.
"Good to see you again Rufus," he said and motioned for us to sit.
I looked at the PM and he looked at me.
"Do you have some advice for me, Rufus?" he asked.
"Yes, I do Prime Minister," I replied.
"I can advise you, Prime Minister, that I have been told the occupants of the boat intercepted by HMAS Adelaide on October 7 threw children overboard."
The PM looked at Mr Reith who smiled and nodded slightly.
"Thanks for coming Rufus," Mr Howard said as he again shook my hand.
My job completed, I flew back to Brisbane.
So it was in March this year I found myself once again in the PM's office, this time alone.
The door opened behind me and in walked the PM. I stood and shook his hand.
"Good to see you again Rufus," he said and motioned for me to sit.
I looked at the PM and he looked at me.
"Do you have some advice for me, Rufus?" he asked.
"Yes, I do Prime Minister," I replied.
"I can advise that the action you are preparing to take against Iraq is fully legal under international law.
"I can further advise that I have been told Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, and chemical and biological weapons."
The PM nodded slowly.
"Thanks for coming Rufus," he said.
I left his office and met up again with US Ambassador Tom Schieffer in the corridor.
We'd had a pleasant chat in his car on the way to Parliament House that morning, and resumed it for our drive back to Canberra Airport where I was to catch my plane back to Brisbane.
Maybe it was his accent, but during our drive I couldn't helping thinking back to an April day in 1965 when I was working for then Prime Minister Menzies.
Menzies called me into his office. I found him sitting at his desk with a map of South Vietnam spread out in front of him.
I looked at the PM and he looked at me.
"Do you have some advice for me, Rufus?" he asked.
"Yes, I do Prime Minister," I replied.

Rufus Badinage MBE, now retired, is one of Australia's leading experts on politics and public administration having worked as a senior bureaucrat for various state and federal governments.