Where power is bought and policies sold
The Liberal Party claims to represent middle-class Australians, but fails even its own members. A dissident’s political memoir of their time in the party, as told by Heath Clark.
AT FIRST, THE SIGNS were small. A preselection decided before anyone had voted. A policy idea shut down because it came from the wrong person. A job quietly handed to someone’s mate. But it didn’t take long before I saw it clearly: this wasn’t politics. It was an exclusive club, controlled and closed to real change.
That’s when I realised the Liberal Party I joined didn’t exist.
My entry into the party was not one of choice but rather a force because of environmental factors. I began to question common narratives from society, within the education system and even from friends. I saw a very real threat of one-sidedness and polarisation, so I decided I’d do something about it. I quickly searched for a place of like-minded, more receptive and open-minded individuals, and I thought that place was the Liberal Party. I always knew of its controversies, but I believed the original values the party marketed itself on were noble and even desired by society. I was idealistic and hopeful of the party at the time, but that would quickly change.
When I first joined the Liberal Party, there was a sense of excitement. It felt like I’d stepped into something bigger than myself — a movement, a tradition, a place where ideas mattered and good people could help shape the future. You’re welcomed, praised, and told you’re the future of the party, everything seems wonderful, but it didn’t take long for the cracks to show. The energy fades, and in its place, you find a machine designed not to empower members but to protect power for the few already holding it. We were told the Liberals advocated for the middle class and the party was serving the best interests of its members, but it was anything but that. The façade fell quickly.
There’s no doubt the Liberal Party does a good job of hiding the truth. It puts on just enough free events, offers cheap tickets, and gives limited access to politicians to create the illusion of openness. But beneath that surface, it’s not a political movement. It’s a club. A place where connections matter more than ideas, and power circulates among those who already have it.
Some people take years to see this. Others never do. But stay long enough, and it becomes obvious how hollow it is. The party is dominated by older, self-interested businesspeople who are fat and satisfied. They set the direction, protect their interests, and show a polished face to the public while dismissing the average member. What appears to be political engagement is often just a glorified networking event, where politicians, donors, and careerists trade influence while pretending to serve the public.
The party claims to represent middle-class Australians and its members, but it fails even its own. I remember meetings where members voiced real frustration. Some even called out the party directly for not listening, but to do so was a surefire way to get blacklisted in the party. But it didn’t matter for regulars. Policies were rarely born from the members. They were handed down indirectly (and directly) from politicians and business figures with influence, often shaped behind closed doors before being presented as settled. Party meetings are set in advance, and from my perspective, the only input from members was asking questions. When the members asked the real questions, you’d get a lot of bumbling, mumbling and doublespeak from the politicians and the chair.
I always knew corporate interests played a role. What I didn’t expect was how deliberately the party shut down any avenue for real reform. Yes, there were mechanisms to contribute; conventions, petitions, policy proposals — but they were hollow. They existed on paper, dressed up to look like democratic participation, but in practice, they meant nothing.
Members could spend months crafting policies, only to see them watered down, mangled, or ignored. That is, unless the idea came from a faction boss or “business ally”. Then the same proposal would glide through with barely a glance. Influence moved quickly when it had money or connections behind it, a big name on the document.
At the grassroots level, much of the policy discussion was dominated not by vision, but by vested interests. We’ve all sat through 40-minute PowerPoint presentations from so-called business council “experts” — many of them party members — whose focus seemed less about policy cohesion and more about how to ‘push back against green tape’ or dodge environmental standards. It felt more like a strategy and political games seminar for self-preservation than a serious conversation about the future.
And while I can’t speak to specific cases, it didn’t go unnoticed that some of the most “established” members also seemed to benefit from conveniently timed grants and subsidies by the Liberal Government. In a party that claims to champion merit and free market forces, the optics were, at best, questionable — jobs and subsidies for mates.
The party runs on double standards and systemic gatekeeping. Pitch a comms idea, offer to help in a campaign office — none of it matters if you’re just a regular member. You’re there to take orders, not give them or expand them. The people at the top make sure it stays that way. The last thing they want is someone exposing their mediocrity by doing it better. Even offering feedback can be seen as a threat. So most people stay silent. I learned that early. I stopped speaking and started watching instead.
The party often preaches so-called “democratic processes” but in practice, factional deals, internal power brokers and networks of influence decide outcomes well in advance. Pre-selection votes and internal ballots become a farce, because delegates are already brought or pressured, members vote under the suggestion of the same powerful members to be in their good books. At office elections, I’d have one or two members whisper in my ear the outcome, and sure enough, position after position, they were spot on. Branch stacking was also common, as well as a growing number of “ghost branches” (branches “on paper” but with no real activity). At the end of it all, ordinary party members are left disillusioned, knowing their voices mean nothing unless they’re part of a faction or patronage system. Yet despite how much these people hope to secure influence, power is rarely given. More often, it is taken. It is seized by those with the will and the means, not granted to those who merely hope or deserve it.
I was elected as a Young Liberal senior vice president in 2024 unanimously, and in 2025, when I left the party, in the same yearly Annual General Meeting, people were voted in without challenge. At least in the youth wing, many members shared spreadsheets with “swing members” outlining their perceived ‘influence’ and ‘roles’ within the party. I was introduced to multiple groups, where I was encouraged to align with their factions, often accompanied by promises of support or advancement that ultimately felt unfulfilled. After leaving the party, I still had access to these internal documents.
When I checked them, I noticed that names had been changed, mine removed from “promised roles” — replacements added quickly, highlighting how cold and controlled these internal dynamics were.
But if we look more specifically to the youth of the party, they are essentially given toys and are put in kindergarten play pens. I know because we all had roles that did nothing. We might think that we’re proposing policies, but are instead playing with toy phones that don’t do anything. Contrast this to Labor and the Greens, where young people have degrees of influence and importance in shaping the party’s future. The Young Liberals represent the more extreme versions of party politics; they are also well known in society for their overrepresented number of scandals, which reflects a broader culture of entitlement, privilege & secrecy. Their Wikipedia page is often all people need to see to know.
In some circles of the Young Liberals, fundraising dinners with donors and politicians — ranging from $800 to $1500 a head – became less about party support and more about status. I’ve heard rumours of members, not necessarily donors themselves, purchasing expensive tickets seemingly to gain proximity to influence. It reflected a broader culture of transactional ambition, where political access and perceived relevance were too often equated with how much someone could spend, not what they stood for. There was a recurring obsession with status and image among some YL members — where social media followings, flashy suits, and proximity to politicians mattered more than ideas or policy, and even friendships. For some, relevance was something you could buy or fake, creating an atmosphere where ego and optics often overshadowed substance.
Especially in Tasmania, the party youth had grown twisted as time progressed, attracting more strange individuals. For starters, there were those who appeared disconnected from the realities faced by everyday Australians. Some flaunted considerable wealth, spending their time gambling, trading cryptocurrency, or investing in stocks and property. In other instances, some members might have been unemployed only to secure a job through what seemed to be political family connections, highlighting the role of privilege and access rather than merit.
In some cases, disturbing rumours and screenshots were circulating of inappropriate messages or behaviour in private chats, and I’ve been exposed to such messages, unfortunately, whether it be sexually suggestive, impulsive, immoral content or members trying to harass people. While much of it was later deleted or denied outright, it contributed to a broader sense of dysfunction and immaturity within the group — where boundaries were blurred and accountability was rare. This culture of being “above the law”, engaging in risky behaviour, I believe, spreads from the youth wing to the party as time progresses — just look at the scandals that occurred under past Liberal governments and then compare that to the young liberal scandals.
I encountered individuals who rose quickly through the ranks — not always because of merit or integrity, but sometimes through charisma, manipulation, or unchecked ambition. In one case, someone regularly shared deeply personal stories in a way that felt less like vulnerability and more like emotional leverage. They often positioned themselves as superior, and treated others with open disdain if they didn’t measure up to their worldview. It was another reminder that status in the party was often driven by performance and dominance, not by substance or principle.
Then you had the Christians, some of whom lurked in the party, rarely showing themselves at events. Many Christians refuse to join on moral/practical grounds, while those who do join and engage got caught up and some lost vision.
What many might find surprising is how tightly disciplined the party was behind the scenes, very different from the image outsiders might have. Internal opposition was often sidelined (no one wanted to be the opposition), and misinformation sometimes circulated. I even heard rumours of extreme tactics used to secure loyalty, including allegations as shocking as people being hooked onto drugs to “buy votes”. While these claims are serious and usually echoed from mainland branches, they are difficult to verify and remain unproven.
The youth wing and party also use relevance as a discipline. I remember volunteering for political candidates during election campaigns, and even that was not free of its issues. Secretariat tracks your every move and often (like was the case for me) if you fall behind, even missing an event for one day (with notice), you lose relevance instantly. Political candidates and campaign offices stop calling you; someone else slots in to replace you quietly, and you’re not notified of when campaign meetings are. I remember being selected as the social media manager for the Clark electorate, but in reality, nothing ever came of it because of the prior reasons.
The Secretariat also didn’t trust me in the first place, but with all this, I lost relevance at the table. While part of it was probably slop and poor communication (which the Tasmanian Liberals are known for), there was still that factor. Indeed, my relationship with Secretariat was one that became strained as time went on. When establishing my media business, I travelled to political offices in Hobart to build cordial relations with all the major parties (establishing media publicity opportunities).
First up, the Greens office, which was very kind and open, asking lots of questions about our programs, interviews and certainly interested in participating in future projects. Next, the Labor office, the person running it was very respectful and also interested in our opportunities. Lastly, the Liberals, which when received, were given a cold corporate welcome. They received my information, walked off and as I was told by inside members days later, I was scoffed at as a no-hope and a joke.
The fact that my own party rejected me, a small business owner contributing to society, told me everything that I needed to know about the Liberals. The unofficial reason for this decision? “We were too scared of our candidates saying the wrong thing.” Officially, however, they claimed an unwillingness to enter media agreements. But the situation didn’t end there. In time, individuals within the party attempted to influence my business directly — feeding me questions and suggesting lines in an effort to make me their mouthpiece, which I rejected, of course, but it clearly showed the type of people who thrive in this party.
It is with this that I learnt that the battle wasn’t just politics but also of myself. Between idealism and reality, loyalty and disappointment. A battle where both the party and I would fight over me to suppress, to conform and to accept the realities that existed. A battle of regrets, ambitions, yet the decision to keep pushing forward, questioning, and fighting for truth, for independence was equally challenging.
Given all this, there is not much confidence in the party’s members to make reasonable reform. Some are too self-interested, and willing to be sold a lie, only interested in their career progression and stepping over others…the others because they are scared, unwilling to take a risk for fear of being boxed in a corner and expelled. For those willing to make reform, they can’t because the party has made sure it won’t happen. But more critically, if they ever did try to reform, they would be cut down by opportunists. Similar to how politically unpopular policies are cut to pieces by opposition parties, often “doing the right thing” becomes a punishment.
The Liberal Party of today may try to modernise, rebrand its policies to keep up with contemporary Australia, but nothing will be done to reform its culture and structure. There is no liberalism left in the Liberal Party — only submission to corporate interests and a deep-rooted culture of entitlement. This rot poses a far greater threat than any single policy ever could. Without genuine accountability and a culture of integrity, even the best ideas will be twisted, silenced, or sold to the highest bidder. Reform becomes impossible, trust erodes, and the very essence of democracy is undermined from within.
Regardless, the message of today that should be taken is: if the Liberal Party doesn’t care for, or listen to its members…why would it ever listen or care for you?
It’s a question that entangles many parties, but especially the Liberals, who have faced a reputation that’s now choking them. From John Howard to Peter Dutton, the party has seen a considerable decline in relevance and trust. Whether that be taking a holiday to Hawaii during a national crisis or releasing your policies three days before the election, the Liberal Party has failed voters on many occasions. Despite people saying “the Liberals are in the pockets of big business”, I believe a great sum of their losses has been driven more by incompetence — incompetence driven by this internal rot. If you’re looking for evidence, just look at the Federal Election. If you want evidence of policies, look at the TT–Line Spirit fiasco, the infrastructure investment that’s disproportionate to Tasmania’s population and a proposed stadium enabling bill. The list goes on.
In fact, if we look at the 2025 Federal election, corporate interests are flocking away from the party to alternatives since their defeat, suggesting that a lot of their failures have been brought on by themselves, rather than the corporations. For the Labor Party, arguably, they have a problem with being “too in touch” with the average Australian at times to a point that the Murdoch media machine and other parties crush them (such as Labor’s 2019 Federal Election campaign). Although I think Labor also suffers from a similar disease to the Liberals, but to a lesser extent. In fact, some may argue that the greatest difference between these two parties is not their policies, but rather their party culture.
This disconnect with Australia wasn’t more obvious than on 3 May 2025, in Hobart. On election night, party members were cruising and celebrating, convinced they were on track for a challenging yet likely win. Everyone was locked inside an echo chamber — from the sources of their polling to their internal discussions — convinced they would form government. Yet, less than two hours into the count, it was announced that
Labor would form a majority government with an expanded seat share. The Liberals had suffered a defeat as crushing as Morrison’s in 2022. But instead of reckoning with the result, members seemed desensitised, partying and drinking the night away as if nothing had happened. The scene was surreal — almost reminiscent of that one moment in Downfall (directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel), where the Nazi regime partied in the Reichskanzler (Reich Chancellery) during its final days despite the world collapsing around them. While of course their ideologies are completely different, the scene unintentionally captures perfectly what’s going on in the party.
A woman approached a group of Young Liberals that night and said bluntly, “We’re fucked.” Politicians at both state and federal levels sat silently, drinks in hand, hiding the disbelief on their faces. Following that night, political staffers told me that various MPs had gone into hiding — some disappearing on holidays, others reportedly shaken, overwhelmed by the aftershock of the loss.
Like any regime that suffers such a staggering blow, the internal battles, the backstabbing and oppression rolled to full force. People started blaming each other for the loss, blaming staff offices and state/federal teams. Friendships that took months to years of formation were shredded in an instant, and especially in the young Liberals, Messiah complexes began to emerge. People who saw themselves as saviours only deepened the divide and chaos.
In the machine that is the Liberal Party, I was not one of these people and I didn’t fit.
I was not removed by a vote or a confrontation. I was sidelined through quiet exclusion, strategic isolation, and calculated indifference. Over time, I was boxed out and treated as an outsider in a system that once promised inclusion. While others climbed the ladder by saying the right things and serving the right people, I was penalised. Not for incompetence, but for being a journalist, refusing to conform and not being “one of them”. I did not play their game. I created my own path, worked around their structure. The party demanded loyalty without reward and obedience without principle. I walked away because there is a difference between being committed to change and being complicit in decay.
At the end of it all, the ones who claimed to be reformers — the very people who promised to bring the party back from the fringes were the same ones who forced me out. The irony isn’t lost on me. They spoke of change, but in the end, they became something else entirely: pawns of the very system they said they’d fix. They didn’t reform the machine — the machine reformed them, reshaped by it. They become a different animal altogether. And so the cycle continues, sustained not just by the old guard but by the youth who will take the party to the grave.
So far, I’ve faced criticism from both in and out of the party — accused of speaking without substance and failing to “fix it from the inside.” But trying to fix the party from within is often a trap. Real change demands courage and exposure as much as, if not more than, insider politicking.
When I came to this realisation, I didn’t bother reforming the party internally because I knew I’d be cut down immediately, but I also didn’t sit right, keeping quiet and staying on.
The real problem today is that people focus on the wrong issues. The Liberals are scrambling, confused about what’s broken right now, but they keep talking about everything except the root cause. It’s not policy, leadership, or gender representation. What’s really broken is themselves…their culture. Culture that remains shrouded, ignored by both the party and the media. That has to change.
People need to start talking openly and honestly because calling out a broken system for what it is is the first essential step toward breaking it down. Only then can we build and hopefully, create a truer, more original Liberal Party that truly represents the people.
Heath Clark is the founder and publisher of Thought Digest Media Group (TDMG), an independent youth-led platform delivering fearless journalism and fresh perspectives on politics, society, and culture.
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