Jeni O’Dowd: Watching Mark Latham’s implosion prompts reminiscences of a one-week fling with the previous ALP chief | USAEMALL.com

There’s a certain poetic justice in watching Mark Latham implode.

A man who spent the better part of two decades hurling bile at women, minorities, journalists, teachers – anyone who didn’t fit his narrow, angry worldview – is finally being dragged down by the very ugliness he so eagerly weaponised.

Once touted as a future prime minister, Latham now cuts a tragic, bitter figure: a political wreck clinging to the outer edges of relevance, lashing out while the world moves on without him.

His downfall isn’t just deserved. It’s long overdue.

I know this column risks triggering another Latham spray. But he’s always claimed to be a truth-teller, and so am I.

Years ago, Latham publicly revealed a brief fling we had decades ago, when we were twenty-somethings, in his much-hyped 2005 memoir, The Latham Diaries.

He wrote, “Cooper and I once had a fling, so it was weird to see her in such a senior role – who would have thought?” I was Jeni Cooper then, and a newspaper editor. And if you can even call a one-week misfire between two single adults a “fling,” well, sure. (Such a gentleman. Not.)

Then, in a Crikey Q&A, he doubled down, claiming he once wrote my weekly newspaper column. That never happened. Not once. It was pure fiction, a weird flex delivered with classic Latham arrogance.

Since then, I’ve followed his career closely. Not out of loyalty, but out of disbelief. I’ve tried, in vain, to reconcile the idealistic young man who spoke to me so proudly of Gough Whitlam’s mentorship – “a person of outstanding character and capacity,” Whitlam once said – with the wrecking ball of rage he’s become.

When Latham became Labor leader in 2003, he was seen as the party’s great generational hope, a working-class intellectual with policy ideas, raw charisma and a gift for plain speaking.

I remember having dinner with him in the city around that time, when I was editor of The Sunday Telegraph, with other senior media figures.

While we all headed off in taxis, Latham proudly declared he was walking to the station to catch a train home. That was Mark Latham back then. Principled, grounded, allergic to political polish. What a contrast to the angry figure he is today.

Back then, he had the electorate’s attention. But behind the scenes, there were already signs of volatility, recklessness and a deepening contempt for anyone who disagreed with him, including his colleagues.

Decades ago, when he visited me at my old place on Sydney’s lower North Shore, he joked that he shouldn’t even be seen in such blue-ribbon Liberal territory, that just being there felt like he was betraying the people of western Sydney.

Latham was proud of his roots in Ashcroft, proud to be the working-class kid from Green Valley.

He saw himself as the voice of the battlers and a champion for the Labor heartland with a fire in his belly. And now? That fire has burned into nothing but bitterness and bile.

Over the past week, the Latham circus has entered its darkest chapter yet. His former partner, Nathalie Matthews, has accused him of sustained emotional, physical, financial and sexual abuse.

Latham called the allegations “comically false and ridiculous.” Then, on cue, he posted this on Twitter: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

A man accused of severe abuse reached for the most tired, misogynistic trope in the book – and hit send.

And if that wasn’t enough, Latham also admitted to “fantastic” sexting from inside the NSW parliamentary chamber.

At the same time as colleagues sat just metres away, because, as he told Sydney Radio 2SM, “If you’re sitting there listening to Penny Sharpe droning on, then a woman that looks like Nathalie Matthews sends you a message, which one would you pay attention to?”

It was crude. It was contemptuous. It was entirely on brand.

He also allegedly photographed female MPs, including Eleni Petinos and Abigail Boyd, during parliamentary proceedings, sharing the images with explicit commentary. For this, he’s been referred to the Parliamentary Privileges Committee and faces a censure motion. It just doesn’t seem to end.

NSW Premier Chris Minns said Latham’s behaviour “would lead to immediate dismissal in any other workplace.”

NSW Minister for Water, Housing, and Homelessness Rose Jackson went further, calling him “a pig” and “a bigot.”

And yet, senior Liberal MP Damien Tudehope said he was “happy to work with him” to pass workers’ compensation amendments, while Liberal leader Mark Speakman declined to distance his party from Latham.

This is the problem. Some are treating Latham’s behaviour as an inconvenience instead of what it is: serial misconduct that wouldn’t be tolerated in any professional setting.

It’s not as if this is a new development. In 2017, he was dumped by Sky News after questioning the sexuality of a teenage schoolboy and referring to fellow presenters in offensive terms.

He’s mocked domestic violence campaigner Rosie Batty, made sneering attacks on LGBTQ+ students and teachers, and spent years using Twitter like a digital Molotov cocktail, lobbing insults at public servants, journalists and marginalised groups with glee.

Expulsion from NSW Parliament is possible but very unlikely. It’s rare, complicated and politically fraught. As an Independent, Latham has no party to sack him. And unless something criminal surfaces, he’ll likely survive – bruised, but still barking from the crossbench.

But just because he can stay, doesn’t mean he should.

Once, he stood for ideas. Now he stands for nothing but grievance. He claims to speak truth to power, but he can’t bear to hear the truth about himself.

Maybe it’s time he stopped blaming women, the media and the so-called “woke left” and asked himself one simple question: What the hell happened to me?

From where I am sitting, the only thing more tragic than watching his implosion is realising he chose it.

Mark Latham should resign. Not because Parliament demands it. But because decency does.

Parliament could act. Expulsion is on the table, in theory. But we all know it won’t happen. And what does that say? To every woman working in Parliament? To every young person watching from the sidelines?

It says power protects itself. That verbal abuse is survivable if you’re loud enough. That the rules bend for men like him.

And that, more than anything Latham could tweet, should shame us all.