Unfinished business—the phrase that revealed the deeper truth
Seven years after losing his parliamentary seat, Tony Abbott has returned to the centre of Australian conservative politics — not through election, but through the party machine itself, assuming the presidency of the Liberal Party unopposed. His return raises a question as old as political parties themselves: whether a figure who embodies a movement's truest convictions can also be the one to broaden its appeal. The Liberal Party, diminished and divided, has placed its restoration in the hands of a man whose greatest strength and greatest liability may be the same thing — an uncompromising certainty about what he believes.
- A party haemorrhaging members and seats to teal independents and One Nation has turned to its most polarising former leader in a bid to arrest its decline.
- Abbott's acceptance speech, broadcast live on Sky News with barely concealed hunger, spoke of 'unfinished business' — signalling ambitions that extend well beyond an unpaid administrative role.
- Some Liberal MPs are openly alarmed, with one describing the appointment as 'another step on the road to our self-destruction,' fearing Abbott's culture war rhetoric will repel the moderate voters the party desperately needs.
- Opposition leader Angus Taylor personally recruited Abbott and is now attempting to replicate his mentor's greatest political hits, deploying slogans that echo Abbott's own three-word formula against the Albanese government.
- The party is navigating a fundamental contradiction: the man most likely to win back disaffected conservatives to the right may be the same man who makes the centre permanently unreachable.
Tony Abbott returned to the public stage on a Friday afternoon in late May, freshly elected as Liberal Party president — a role his predecessor had kept almost entirely invisible. Few expected Abbott to follow that example. At 68, he remained Australia's most prominent conservative voice, a fixture on Sky News and a close ally of the Murdoch media world, and his election to the unpaid administrative post carried the unmistakable weight of a political comeback.
Angus Taylor, who first entered parliament in Abbott's 2013 landslide and had personally asked him to take the role, welcomed the appointment warmly, calling Abbott a 'great patriot' uniquely suited to rebuilding a party facing existential pressure from teal independents and One Nation. Taylor's own political style bore Abbott's fingerprints — his campaign slogans echoing the former PM's famous three-word formulas, his attacks on Labor's tax policies deliberately mirroring the 'axe the tax' campaign that once killed a carbon price.
But inside the party, the reaction was fractured. Abbott's acceptance speech spoke of 'unfinished business,' and allies confirmed his first ambition was a return to federal parliament itself — his name already circulating for a byelection as far off as 2028. For some Liberals, that hunger was reassuring. For others, it was alarming. One MP called the appointment 'another step on the road to our self-destruction,' warning that Abbott's hardline positions on immigration, his culture war rhetoric, and his regular Sky News platform would define the party's image whether Taylor wished it or not.
The paradox was not lost on those watching closely. Abbott had been one of the most effective opposition leaders in the country's history, and his capacity to prosecute a political argument remained formidable. Yet the same convictions that made him a hero to the conservative base had cost him his own seat to an independent. As party president, he would chair the Liberal federal executive and help select the next campaign director — roles that were traditionally ceremonial but that no one seriously believed Abbott would treat that way. The boundary between party machine and parliamentary leadership, always porous, seemed likely to dissolve entirely.
Tony Abbott stood before the cameras on a Friday afternoon in late May, freshly elected to lead the Liberal party machine, and the echoes of his old slogans filled the room. "The door must be shut," Angus Taylor, the new opposition leader, had declared just days earlier when he took over from Sussan Ley—a phrase so rhythmically familiar, so deliberately repetitive, that one Liberal MP couldn't help but note it sounded exactly like Abbott himself, only longer. Abbott had always preferred his political messaging in three words, not five. Now, seven years after losing his seat to independent Zali Steggall in Warringah, the former prime minister was back, not in parliament but in a position that was supposed to be invisible: party president, an unpaid administrative role that his predecessor, former South Australian premier John Olsen, had managed to keep almost entirely out of public view.
But few in the Liberal party expected Abbott to fade into the background. At 68, he remained the most high-profile conservative in Australia, a prolific writer and frequent presence on Sky News, deeply connected to the Murdoch media empire and to the party's rightward faction. Taylor and his allies believed Abbott was exactly what the Liberals needed—a figure who could resurrect a party hemorrhaging grassroots members, facing existential threats from teal independents and One Nation, and struggling to articulate a coherent vision. Taylor himself had first entered parliament in Abbott's landslide 2013 election victory, and he had personally asked the former leader to take the role despite reservations from some colleagues. "I welcome him," Taylor said, calling Abbott a "great patriot" and describing him as uniquely positioned to rebuild.
But the party was fractured on the question of what Abbott's return actually meant. In his acceptance speech, delivered live on Sky News with the energy of a man hungry for the political arena, Abbott spoke of "unfinished business"—a phrase that revealed the deeper truth beneath his stated motivation of duty to a party in crisis. He had been cut short, he believed, with more to contribute. His first priority, according to allies, was a return to federal parliament itself. He had been mentioned for a Senate seat in 2023, had been open to running in 2025, and his name was already being floated for the next byelection scheduled for 2028. Politics, for Abbott, was unfinished.
That ambition terrified some Liberals. One MP called his appointment "another step on the road to our self-destruction." Others worried that Abbott's obsession with culture wars—his hardline stance on immigration that went beyond even Taylor's rhetoric, his openness to aspects of White Australia-era policy, his recent speeches raging about emissions reduction, mass migration, and what he called the nation's "spiritual malaise"—would poison the party room and make it even less electable. "His political views are offensive to many in the party," one MP said. Another cautioned that the public would assume the party held whatever views Abbott expressed on his Sky News platform, where he appeared regularly with his former chief of staff, Peta Credlin. The fear was not just that Abbott would influence Taylor, but that he would do so visibly, loudly, and in a way that would define the party's image for years.
Yet there was also a paradox at work. Another Liberal MP captured it: "Sometimes he's brilliant, sometimes he's crazy, sometimes he's halfway in between. But paradoxically, he's the guy that might take us to the right further, but also the guy that was the number-one prosecutor against One Nation." Abbott had, after all, been one of the most effective opposition leaders in Australian history. His demolition of Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard, his "axe the tax" campaign that killed Labor's carbon price, had become templates that Taylor was now trying to replicate—deploying phrases like "axe Labor's toxic taxes" in his campaign against Anthony Albanese's changes to negative gearing and capital gains tax. The question was whether that magic could work again, more than a decade later, against a Labor government that was not yet the "hot mess" it had once been.
As party president, Abbott would chair the Liberal federal executive, the party's top administrative body, and would effectively choose the new campaign chief alongside Taylor. He intended to push for what he called the "democratisation" of state and territory branches, giving members more power over candidate preselections—a move that could reshape the party's internal power structure. The director of the rightwing lobby group Advance, Matthew Sheahan, was rumored to be among the candidates for campaign chief, offering a glimpse into the direction the party machine might take. For disillusioned conservatives hemorrhaging to One Nation, Abbott's return offered hope that the party was finally listening. For others, it was a warning that the Liberals were about to move further right, further into culture war territory, further away from the mainstream voters they needed to win elections. The party president's role was traditionally ceremonial, operating at arm's length from the parliamentary leader. But few believed Abbott would respect that boundary, and fewer still believed Taylor would enforce it.
Notable Quotes
I owe the Liberal party big time, and that's why I regard it as my duty to serve the party in this time of existential crisis.— Tony Abbott, in his acceptance speech as party president
His political views are offensive to many in the party. If he continues to speak out on matters that interest him, the public will believe the party also holds those views.— Anonymous Liberal MP expressing concern about Abbott's influence
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a party president matter so much? It's supposed to be administrative, isn't it?
In theory, yes. But Abbott isn't a ceremonial figure. He has a megaphone—Sky News, his writing, his connections to Murdoch media. The party president chairs the federal executive and helps choose the campaign chief. That's real power over messaging and strategy, not just paperwork.
So Taylor is essentially bringing in his ideological mentor?
More than that. Taylor is trying to replicate Abbott's success as opposition leader—the "axe the tax" playbook, the aggressive messaging. But he's also inviting someone who openly supports White Australia-era immigration policy into a position where he can shape the party's public face.
And Abbott wants to come back to parliament?
That's the unfinished business. He lost his seat in 2019 to an independent. He's been waiting for an opening—a Senate seat, a byelection. The party presidency gives him a platform and keeps him relevant while he waits.
What's the actual fear inside the party?
That Abbott will drag them further right on culture wars and immigration while the party is already bleeding voters to One Nation and teal independents. That his views will become the party's views in the public mind. That he'll poison the party room and make them less electable, not more.
But some think he's the answer?
The right wing of the party does. They see him as someone who understands their grievances, who won't compromise on immigration or cultural issues. For them, he's hope. For moderates, he's a liability they can't stop.
Can he actually change the party's direction from a non-parliamentary position?
That's the real question. Officially, no. But if he's constantly on Sky News influencing the narrative, constantly in Taylor's ear, constantly pushing for "democratisation" of preselections—he doesn't need formal power. He just needs a leader who wants to listen.