My big fat LNP Christmas 

Family Christmas lunches have a way of revealing both the charm and chaos of belonging. The rituals, rivalries, and rotating menu of grievances come with the territory. Tension simmers, personalities clash—but still, we show up. Not because it’s easy, but because shared history and hope bind us, even when everything else pulls us apart.

If you’ve ever survived your own intense, opinionated, emotionally-charged family Christmas lunch, congratulations—you already have some idea of what awaits the thousand-odd LNP members gathering for the 2025 State Convention in two weeks.

Before my Nonna died, our family would often gather for a big Christmas lunch. She would host and conduct the day—and the menu—like an orchestra. Except, when she couldn’t. Those strong personalities and long-held grievances can only be kept in check for so long. Add a tipple or six, and watch the sparks fly.

While the past month in state politics has been all about the Budget and Estimates (which I won’t rehash here), the coming month for the LNP will centre on its first state convention in government since 2015. So, swap the ham for policy proposals, crackers for campaign reviews, and eclectic family characters for an array of opinions, and you’re right at the table.

First to arrive is the capofamiglia (or “head of the family” in Italian), trying to keep the peace and stop the estate from imploding. With carefully chosen words and the haunted look of someone who’s explained the need for unity one too many times, a warm welcome is extended to all while efforts are made to keep the conservative cousins and moderate uncles from colliding in the hallway.

As with any family gathering, the speeches start out in earnest—then spiral into thinly veiled jabs.

Enter that cousin who turns up late in a Hilux with a “Just Say No To Net Zero” bumper sticker and a disdain for anything post-1995. He corners a few unfortunate younger relatives to explain how net zero is a globalist conspiracy and how he’s thinking of launching a podcast “about freedom”. You know the one—the cousin who sees family not as a source of shared values and support, but as an inconvenience to be resisted rather than embraced.

Not long after, the grumpy old uncle arrives—part farmer, part bush lawyer, part bush scientist. His property’s just down the road from the aforementioned cousin, so they’ve spent a bit of time together. He starts sentences with “Back in my day…” He’s got a belt buckle the size of a small electorate and an uncompromising commitment to saying the quiet parts out loud. This year, his hot take on climate and energy policy: “Not now. Not ever. And certainly not with wind turbines near my paddock.”

One saving grace: the eccentric Grandpa from New South Wales couldn’t make it this year, busy herding bulls. He once lived in Queensland but moved south for greener—and more elevated—pastures. Still, his presence looms large, and his closest allies leave out a rum and coke in his honour. Text messages will no doubt be exchanged throughout the gathering.

While the elders settle at the table, the next generation clusters at the traditional kids’ table—furiously posting to social media, quoting Margaret Thatcher, and trying to out-libertarian each other without spilling their drinks. One floated an idea for turning Centrelink into a blockchain. Bless their neoliberal little hearts.

Every now and then, someone suggests modernising how the family does business—maybe a Teams call or a group chat on WhatsApp—but these ideas are quickly quashed by an alliance of relatives who still rely on handwritten phone books and make weekly contact via landline.

By the time dessert arrives, that intense cousin is now holding court, demanding the party abandon net zero without offering a viable alternative. The uncle applauds. The rest of the family is frustrated and just wants to talk about something else. Meanwhile, in my family anyway, Nonna is shifting uncomfortably in her seat for the fiftieth time. All she ever wanted was a joyous celebration of family. Now her dream is under threat. At this point in the day, she’s quietly aging by the minute, while attempts to steer the conversation back to common ground are met by a choir of angry kookaburras.

Still, there’s always hope. The majority just want to spend time together and have an honest conversation over a nice meal. Somewhere between the cold roast beef and the backhanded compliments, this group is trying to chart a path forward—to support the capofamiglia, to hold the family together, and to create something others might want to be part of.

As someone who’s attended these conventions—I mean lunches—for nearly 30 years and still loves them, who chooses to spend three days every year at a political conference talking to MPs, Ministers and Senators about policy and politics… perhaps I’m the maddest relative of all, and I just don’t know it.

As with family, political parties are at their best when united by shared identity and common purpose. And while a few strong characters may dominate the table, the quiet majority usually get on with the job, looking forward.

Well, that’s been my experience of Christmas lunch with the LNP.

I’ll let you know how this one goes.