HECTOR Kinloch died last week. Hector was a great teacher because he stirred the conscience of his students. He did not have the intellectual depth of a Manning Clark, nor his literary style. He was not a performer in the P. S. Atiyah style. He did not nag his students like Leslie Zines. Nor did he lecture with the Victorian certainty of John Ritchie. He had a peculiar human style: his human weakness was manifest. And that was his strength.
The troubled ex-gambler suddenly game into the public eye in Canberra when he opposed the casino, just before ACT self-government in 1989. Suddenly he found himself drafted into the Residents’ Rally and elected a Member of the Legislative Assembly. The man who had taught generations of students about the great period of American independence suddenly found himself elected in the nascent Assembly of this tiny polity.
He was not suited to it. He was decidedly uncomfortable in the machinations of manipulating numbers to do down Rosemary Follett’s minority Government. He was far too decent. He believed in the ideals of the Rally with some passion: people organising governance for the good of all in the classic style of the Federalist papers. But he could not see the personal ambition and the motives of some of the others in it until it was far too late. He earnestly believed that what he was doing was for the benefit of his fellow citizens: oppose the casino, oppose big development and promote education.
Hector had a passionate belief that the national capital was no place for a gambling casino, and made it his business to convince everyone of his view: it was no co-incidence that the initials of the organisation that he was co-founder, the National Association for Gambling Studies, had the acronym NAGS.
His passion for the cause was best exemplified by his angry smashing of a model for the casino which was displayed with great pride by civic authorities. On that occasion, Hector was profoundly apolgetic about his behaviour, but never about his cause.
On one score, however, Hector was marvellous in politics. He was an exquisite orator, not in a bombastic style, but with great use of under-statement. The damned shame is that when Hector got the Speaker’s nod in the Assembly, it was usually late at night. The public and press seats were vacant, as was much of the Assembly itself. His speeches were a delightful mix of wit and integrity _ utterly wasted in that forum.
Bizarrely, in that first assembly he was like the father of the Assembly without having had the time-serving experience to assume the role. He carried it from his character.
Hector carried his commitment to teaching to the end. Fighting cancer and the ravages of chemotherapy, he was first warden at Fenner Hall (the newest ANU residence for students) and continued to teach at the ANU Centre for Continuing Education, passing on his vast knowledge of American history.
One of the ironies of his life was that if humankind consisted of more people with the integrity and decency of Hector Kinloch there would less need for the Hector Kinloch-style historians to teach students about venial people in politics.
Ah yes, we were amused by his foray into local politics from the great arena of world history; we were fascinated by his wrestle with his own conscience about gambling; and we were annoyed by his determination to impose his view on gambling upon us all, but we could not help but respect Hector’s integrity, take joy in his good humour nor mourn his passing.