“I remember seeing footage, several years ago, of a jubilant Malcolm Turnbull, then prime minister and Liberal leader, speaking in Tamworth to loyal members of the National Party.” These were the grassroots campaigners who had devoted weeks to re-electing their champion in New England—Nationals leader and deputy prime minister Barnaby Joyce—after it was revealed he held dual citizenship with New Zealand.
A lot hung in the balance. Turnbull’s government clung to a razor-thin majority in the lower house, and losing the Nationals’ leader would have meant more than just a numerical hit. It would have dealt a serious blow to the Coalition’s morale and legitimacy. When Joyce triumphed at the polls, Turnbull rejoiced and thanked voters in New England “for getting the band back together”, calling it a “great demonstration” of the “strength of our Coalition.”
It might feel a little unfair to real bands to use that analogy, but there’s something to it. Much like The Beatles, the Liberals and Nationals let their creative energy devolve into plain conflict. Like Simon and Garfunkel, deep-seated frustrations were buried, never resolved. And now, in a move that echoes Fleetwood Mac, the two political entities have decided to part ways—at least for now.
The Coalition has always been, above all, an agreement. Or more accurately, a series of agreements. It was born out of necessity, a pragmatic response to the harsh reality that neither the Liberal Party nor the agrarian-focused National (formerly Country) Party could govern alone for long.
The first of these pacts dates back to February 1923. Following a federal election that left the Nationalist Party—led by wartime prime minister Billy Hughes—short of a majority, the newly formed Country Party emerged with 14 seats, instantly becoming a political force to reckon with.
The Country MPs agreed to partner with the Nationalists—but not without extracting a price. The Nationalists had to sacrifice their leader in favor of a new prime minister, Stanley Melbourne Bruce. In return, the Country Party secured five of the 11 ministries and made their leader, Earle Page, both treasurer and de facto deputy PM.
Unbeknownst to them, Bruce and Page were laying the foundations of what would become a deeply rooted political tradition. This Coalition would endure for over a century, challenging Labor and cementing the two-party dominance that has shaped Australian politics—though that dominance now seems increasingly fragile.
The end of the Coalition in 2025 may seem significant, but it’s far from unprecedented. Like many bands, the Coalition’s century-long career has been peppered with discordant notes. Times of cooperation were often interrupted by bursts of rivalry and resentment.
In the 1930s, when the United Australia Party (UAP) emerged during the Great Depression, it initially chose to govern solo. Only after losing its majority in 1934 did the UAP rejoin forces with the Country Party, demonstrating how political alliances often serve convenience over ideology.
When UAP founder Joe Lyons died in 1939, his successor Robert Menzies took over and sparked a power struggle. Menzies insisted on selecting all ministers—including those from the Country Party—infuriating his allies. The Country Party exited the coalition until global instability and waning electoral success forced them back together.
The Coalition functioned reasonably well during long periods in power, such as from 1949 to 1972, and again under Malcolm Fraser and John Howard. But even during these “good times,” the relationship wasn’t without friction.
In the 1960s, Country Party leader John McEwen held such influence that he blocked the Liberal Party’s Billy McMahon from becoming prime minister after Harold Holt’s death. Fraser, too, was criticized for leaning too heavily on National Party preferences, while under Howard, Nationals leaders complained of being “overshadowed” and “undersold.”
By that point, the word “Coalition” had become almost synonymous with “Liberal,” a sign of the Nationals’ diminishing presence in the partnership. The Nationals may have held cabinet posts, but their influence was increasingly diluted, especially in media narratives and policy formulation.
Still, Howard came to understand the fragile nature of the Coalition dynamic. Early in his leadership, the alliance was severely tested by Queensland Premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen’s ambition to become prime minister himself.
As a poster boy for New Right populism, Bjelke-Petersen doubted the federal Liberal Party and his National peers had the mettle to take on Labor. His solo campaign fractured the alliance and revealed the deep disunity between the federal and state levels of both parties.
Ian Sinclair, then Nationals federal leader, later reflected that the spectacle of Howard, Sinclair, and Bjelke-Petersen launching separate election agendas was an “absolute farce.” The episode underscored the shaky foundations of Coalition politics, particularly across state lines.
In southern states, especially Victoria, it was not uncommon in the mid-20th century for Country Party MPs to switch allegiances or even govern with Labor’s tentative support. Queensland, meanwhile, operated in its own political orbit.
In that state, the Liberals and Nationals often ruled together with the Nationals as the senior partner. But Bjelke-Petersen formally ended the Coalition there in 1983, only to strengthen his party’s grip with a majority in the 1986 election. By his 1987 exit, both parties were reeling from internal fractures.
Eventually, the two Queensland parties merged to prevent future implosions. Now, federal members of the Queensland LNP are left trying to reconcile their hybrid identity as they face fresh divisions.
In 2025, Nationals leader David Littleproud declared the Coalition’s latest rupture a “principled stance”. Yet the exact nature of those principles remains unclear. Deputy leader Kevin Hogan expressed hope that the Coalition could eventually reunite—though how and when remains speculative.
The sticking points in this split revolve around key policy demands: a $20 billion Regional Australia Fund, divestiture powers to dismantle monopolies, improved regional mobile coverage, and a sustained push for nuclear energy development.
The last item in particular runs counter to prevailing electoral logic, but the other demands are deeply rooted in the Nationals’ historical concerns—especially the fallout from telecommunications deregulation and privatisation, which haunted them during the Howard years.
These policy clashes also highlight a more pressing concern: the Nationals’ fear of losing their regional stronghold to emerging populist parties. Back in the 1990s, One Nation nearly dismantled the Nationals’ grip in rural areas.
Just days ago, Pauline Hanson suggested that One Nation and the Nationals could even form their own coalition, so aligned were their platforms. That such a possibility could be entertained speaks volumes about how much the Nationals have shifted in the past three decades.
The latest break-up may offer both parties time for introspection and reorientation. But what they won’t have is each other to blame for future missteps. This political solo act demands accountability—and a deeper understanding of how their values align with those of the voters they claim to serve.
“Breaking up the band is easy to do. Touring alone is hard.” That line may have been said in jest, but it now rings truer than ever. The Coalition experiment has long blurred the line between necessity and ideology. And as the political tides shift, one thing is certain: the days of the automatic alliance are over.
