This transcript has been edited for clarity and checked against the available source transcript and recording. Filler, false starts, and obvious transcription errors have been corrected without changing the speaker’s meaning.
James: Hello, and welcome to Graduate Theory. Today’s episode is a little different from an ordinary episode for two main reasons. First, it’s not just me hosting the show. I’ve brought on a friend of mine named Peter. We’ve been friends for many years, and he has come on to help me co-host because he has a little more domain experience with our guest.
Second, this is a much longer episode. It goes for about an hour and a half, which is a little longer than usual. It can be split into two parts: the first half focuses more on the law and what my guest has accomplished in it, while the second focuses more on the soft skills that helped him get where he did. This is a fascinating interview with one of Australia’s most accomplished lawyers of the last 50 years. It is truly special and fantastic to be able to sit down with him today. Without further ado, please enjoy.
Intro#
James: Hello, and welcome to Graduate Theory. Today’s episode is a little different. I have a co-host with me named Pete. He’s been a good friend of mine for many years and is a recent law graduate from the University of Adelaide. Please welcome Pete to the show today.
Peter: Thanks for having me on, Fricker. I’m looking forward to it.
James: Perfect. To introduce our guest today: he is a titan of the legal industry in Australia. Since graduating from university in 1970, he has been here, there and everywhere in the law. He has worked at what is now known as DLA Piper in Sydney for over 50 years, taking on roles including chairman and managing partner, and is now a consultant.
He has been president of the Law Society of New South Wales and president of the Law Council of Australia. He established the Australian Insurance Law Association and is now a life member of the Law Society of New South Wales. Affectionately known as Gilly, please welcome Michael Gill.
Michael: Thanks, James. Thanks, Peter.
Gilly’s Experience at University#
James: It’s great to have you on today, Gilly. I’m really excited to chat, and I know Pete is as well. We want to start by winding back the clock to when you were at university, particularly some of the challenges and your general experience there.
And are there any moments from university that really stick out to you?
Michael: Well, yes, many. To set the scene, I came from a working-class background in Sydney and went through parochial Catholic schools with huge classes and lots of discipline. I was the first in my family to go to university. I got a good result at school, thanks to the brothers who taught us, earned a Commonwealth scholarship and entered first-year law at Sydney University at a pretty young age.
I quickly learned that studying at university was very different from studying in a regimented, disciplined high school: you were really on your own. Without those learning skills—and with perhaps too many nights at the pub and too much football—I failed first-year law. I passed one subject out of four. On the relevant morning, I went to the newsagency and opened The Sydney Morning Herald. I was devastated to see the result. I’m not sure why I was surprised, but that’s another issue. I had to go home and tell my parents, who were more devastated than I was, and then tell my aunts, uncles and broader family.
Ultimately, I decided to go back, give it another shot and pay the fees the second time around. My great-grandmother helped me financially, which was good. I came to appreciate one of the most valuable lessons of my life: failure doesn’t have to be negative. You don’t reach that understanding quickly or easily, but there is a great deal of learning in everything we do, including things we may initially see only as embarrassing failures. Ultimately, we can come to see them as positive experiences that we can share with other people and that help shape who we are.
It would be incredible if we experienced only one failure in our lives; that’s simply not real. The sooner you learn to love yourself, including your failures, the more harmonious life becomes. You can say, “I tried that, it didn’t quite work; let me get on with something else.” After that, second-, third- and fourth-year law were a bit of a breeze.
That was the start of the academic side of law. In third-year law, I had to find articles of clerkship. Coming from my background, getting in was a huge challenge. It didn’t put me off; it built a lot of resilience.
Peter: That’s a good thing for people like Fricker and me to hear. At the very start of your career, you might build failures up in your head as the be-all and end-all and feel as though the sky is falling in. It’s a good reminder that the sun will come up again and you can keep moving forward. Eventually, hopefully, we will treat those failures as you do now: as great learning experiences and things you wouldn’t change. I’m sure you wouldn’t go back to first-year university now and pass with flying colours, because that experience helped make you the person you are and your career what it was.
Michael: The next phase, articles of clerkship, was like an apprenticeship. During third- and fourth-year law, you needed a job in a law firm. If you had lots of relatives who were lawyers and judges, or went to one of the GPS schools and had good networks, you could find a position very quickly. Coming out of the Marist Brothers at Parramatta, however, I think I wrote about 420 application letters and had about 42 interviews before I joined the predecessor of my current firm on 25 March 1968.
I started writing applications in August 1967 and got the job towards the end of March 1968. Interestingly, the job I ultimately got made the rest of my life. At the time, every rejection or unanswered letter felt like a setback. I now see that it was meant to be: in February or early March 1968, I read an advertisement in The Sydney Morning Herald from a little firm called Frank A. Davenport and Mant. I applied, got the job, and that became one of the most crucial steps in my career. I’m old now, so I can look back and see that I simply wasn’t yet right for those earlier opportunities.
What are the articles of clerkship?#
Peter: You’ve touched on it, but can you explain what articles of clerkship involved? Articles are no longer the process law students and graduates go through to start their careers. For listeners who may not be fully aware, what exactly did articles involve, and what lessons did you learn that might still apply to law students and recent graduates?
Michael: In simple terms, practical legal training.
Peter: Yes.
Michael: It was before institutes and colleges of law provided that training, so it was very serious. My master solicitor, John Mant, who only died recently, and I had to appear before the Prothonotary of the Supreme Court. We both swore to a very serious document called the articles of clerkship. It described what my master solicitor would do to train me and what I would commit to—such as not pinching the stamps.
Peter: Yes, an important one to uphold.
Michael: It was, because it is an example of the honesty and integrity that are critical to our profession. John and his fellow partners—there were 13 in the firm—took their role very seriously. Interestingly, I was the first Catholic they had ever employed.
The Law Society had produced a little booklet called the Articled Clerks Handbook. Page one had a heading called “Admiralty”, and I think the last page had one called “Wills, Probate and Administration”. Between the two, it covered the practical aspects of everything. I was lucky because they took it seriously. I had other friends who spent two years in firms doing nothing but discharge work, while others spent most of their time photocopying or filing documents. Photocopying is important when it is part of a discovery process and must be accurate, and filing documents is important too, but those tasks aren’t the whole thing. I received the full experience from very generous people.
Articles only died out because there was an explosion of law graduates in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and not every lawyer was a good teacher. We needed another way for the profession to provide this vital practical legal training. They set up the Leo Cussen Institute in Victoria, and we set up the College of Law in New South Wales after seeing Osgoode Hall in Canada. That probably covers it for you.
Peter: It’s interesting because I finished practical legal training and was admitted last year. The process was very different for me, yet hearing about it also sounds quite similar. The difference is that the training has been moved away from the firm and into an institute, although we still had practical work-experience requirements. You were doing that practical work every day for two years on real cases and examples. A lot of law students today still get positions as clerks in firms from second or third year, so they’re getting similar experiences.
The Start of Gilly’s Career#
Michael: It is important to learn the practical aspects at an early stage, because that training is equally important for your life as a whole. One of my first jobs as an articled clerk was as the low boy on the totem pole in one of Australia’s first major corporate-crime cases. It involved the collapse of H.G. Palmer. Our team was defending two of the directors, and I had three roles.
I was in charge of photocopying and had to make nine copies of everything on an old chemical photocopier—the sort whose copies faded after four years. The most terrifying role, however, was approaching the Queen’s Counsel running the case at the morning-tea adjournment to ask what he wanted for lunch. I had to cross the road at Taylor Square to what was thought to be the best place to buy a sandwich and coffee: traditionally for Sydney in the late 1960s, a Greek café. Counsel would tell me what he wanted, I’d get the other orders, then slip out and make sure everything was ready in the counsel room at one o’clock because we had only an hour. I hated interrupting him, because he wasn’t happy to be interrupted.
When court adjourned at four or 4:15, I had to wait for the transcript of evidence to be typed. At about nine that evening, I’d collect it from the court-reporting branch, return to the office and make nine copies. Then I’d deliver them to all the lawyers and barristers involved. I’d finish at about 11 or 11:30 and be back on the train at 6:30 or seven the next morning. That was simply the routine.
Peter: Wow. I’m in-house, so it’s certainly not something I’ve been exposed to. It sounds very full-on; there couldn’t have been much sleep in those days.
Michael: No. That was a big part of legal practice and still is for some people. Modern technology can be criticised, but it has certainly removed a lot of the unnecessary torture from the way we practise law.
Peter: I’m glad that, although all young law students and graduates must do their fair share of photocopying and scanning, mine was on a more modern machine. If we jump forward to when you finished your articles, what was the process? Did you have a formal admission and become a solicitor and barrister of the Supreme Court of New South Wales? Where did your career go in those early post-admission days?
Michael: We were a non-fusion state, Peter.
Michael: I was admitted as a solicitor only of the Supreme Court of New South Wales—not to be confused with a barrister, those wicked people who like to dress up in drag and other things.
Difference Between a Solicitor and a Barrister#
James: What’s the actual difference between a solicitor and a barrister, Gilly? I’m not too familiar with these things.
Michael: James, that’s a challenging question, fraught with a slight degree of cynicism on my part. Effectively, a barrister signs the roll of the Bar and spends most of their time acting as an advocate before the courts. Solicitors can do the same thing, and forever have done so in the minor courts. Otherwise, we work on the corporate side of things: documents, wills and probates, advice, setting up corporations and all that other work.
When I started, South Australia probably didn’t have an independent Bar. In the 1960s and 1970s, in the fused states such as Western Australia and South Australia, you were admitted as both a solicitor and barrister. The best barristers were often in law firms. John von Doussa, for example, was in his father’s firm, von Doussa & Gregory, before becoming a specialist barrister and then a judge. Others such as Ted Mullighan became judges largely after practising as barristers.
That was the main difference. There has always been debate in the Australian profession about which is the best system, but I think the distinction has blurred.
Gilly’s First Job in Law#
Michael: After being admitted by the court and signing the court roll, we had a party at the Law Society, where we were given practising certificates and became members. I then continued at the little firm, Frank A. Davenport and Mant. I was admitted in August 1970 and had a great leap forward in income. First-year articles paid seven dollars a week, second-year articles paid 15 dollars a week, and on day one as a solicitor I earned 85 dollars a week. To this day, that remains the biggest percentage jump in income I’ve ever experienced.
James: That’s amazing.
Michael: That was fortunate because about two months before I was admitted, I had married on 4 July 1970 while earning 15 dollars a week. I was working in a broad-ranging practice, but my master, young John, was developing a strong reputation in insurance. He also loved town planning. His real passion wasn’t the law, but it was his father’s firm and he probably felt some obligation to it. His father was a die-hard Liberal Party member, while John was a Labor Party supporter, so their conversations were always interesting.
In about April 1971, John told me he was retiring from the partnership. He had decided to move to Canberra to work for the National Capital Development Commission. I thought, “If he’s going to leave, the source of my work will be gone, so I’d better start looking for a job.” A couple of weeks later, his father called me into his office. He said, “I understand my son’s leaving the firm, and I understand you think you must get another job.” I explained that I wasn’t sure where John’s clientele would go.
He said he had spoken to a couple of clients and that they were more than happy to leave their work with the firm as long as I continued doing it. I don’t know whether that was true; I suspect he might have been bullshitting me because he didn’t want to hire somebody else. Still, it made me feel good. What followed felt even better, because he added without any prompting: “If you’re going to take on that responsibility, you will need to be a partner.”
Peter: Wow.
Michael: Yes. I went home and told my wife, who was about to give birth to our first child. She did so on 3 July, after I had become a partner on 1 July.
Peter: Wow. Pretty good.
Michael: Absolutely. John was also on the Young Lawyers Committee at the Law Society, and they invited me to take his seat. My career in what you might loosely call legal politics and related work also started from that. Going back to what I said earlier, wasn’t it fortunate that I didn’t get a job offer until I did?
Peter: It’s incredible how those things work. It’s a good lesson for anyone who might be getting disheartened after a few unsuccessful applications, both within and outside the legal profession. Not many people will get a job and become a partner within a year of admission, but it’s still a lesson that where you end up may be where you’re supposed to be. Every knockback happens for a reason. You have to keep moving forward, trusting yourself and what you’re doing, and eventually you end up where you need to be.
Michael: I think it underscores the importance of patience, Pedro. A job or professional career is not the totality of your life. During the 1970s, I also learned that one of the things most valuable to me was variety. I needed to do much more than spend my time finding legal solutions for clients.
Peter: Especially today, there’s a big push for work–life balance. I’m based in Adelaide, where our perception is that if you’re a partner at a Sydney firm, work is all you do. I’m quite comfortable here and don’t plan to move, but it’s good to hear that both then and now it is possible to have variety and balance in your life. Your career is important, but it isn’t the be-all and end-all of who you are. You want to be Michael Gill, the great man, not just Michael Gill, the great lawyer.
Michael: We shouldn’t use the word “great” unless it’s in relation to you two. Let me ask you a question.
What is work?#
Michael: Define “work” for me. What does the word mean to you?
James: Work is what you’re employed to do: your job or tasks for an employer. I might extend that to this podcast, which is probably work for me, although it’s fun and doesn’t feel like it. From a career perspective, I’d say that what you do for an employer is work.
Peter: In a career sense, I agree with Fricker. To give a lawyer’s answer, though, there are many other ways to interpret the word. I play soccer, and going to training and trying to improve could be considered work. I don’t think it’s limited to turning up and doing tasks for an employer. It depends on how you think about it, although I’m not sure that fully answers your question.
Michael: Very good answers. It’s something that will reveal itself to you personally, in your own circumstances, over time. Do you prefer James or Fricker?
James: James is fine. We have a few people named James in our friendship group, so two of my close friends call me Fricker because it’s easier.
Michael: I’m totally distracted by the Fricker thing. So, James, when you say you do something for your employer, can you think of an example that is only for your employer, in which you personally have nothing invested?
James: That’s a good point. Even with a basic task such as sending emails, it’s still a mutually beneficial relationship because they’re paying you. In terms of career progression, what you do drives your career forward, makes you more employable and grows your skill set. That benefits you as well.
Michael: Skills was one of the words I hoped you’d reach, setting money aside for a moment. Even a simple email has the potential to develop your knowledge and skills, as does every interaction if you think about it that way. I no longer see a work–life balance. Since retiring from the partnership in 2008 and having more time to read and think, I have come to see work as what you do while waiting for the real joys in your life. Once you reach a place where you think, “I really love doing this; this is me,” I promise you will never think of it as work again.
Michael: You might love the people you’re with and the opportunities it gives you to develop as a human being. It can help you return to your family each day as a decent person. You no longer have to leave work at the front door because it all makes sense.
It isn’t easy, because so much in life competes with attaining that space. Your generation faces difficult expectations about lifestyle and earning enough to live in a particular way. You and those close to you can become locked into the idea that, whatever else you do, you need a job returning at least a certain amount each month. Young lawyers from big firms sometimes come to me five years after admission and say, “This isn’t really for me. I hate working in the M&A department of Freehills or DLA Piper.” I ask them whether they have thought about the money. If money isn’t terribly important to you as a lawyer, the world is your oyster.
But if your first requirement is a salary of at least $100,000 or $200,000 a year, or to remain on the slippery ladder to partnership, you close off a huge number of options. Those options might otherwise include your authentic self.
Gilly’s Favourite Lawyers#
Michael: Think about three of the lawyers I admire most in life. People may see one of the choices as a little strange, but they are Mahatma Gandhi, Mikhail Gorbachev and Nelson Mandela—all truly great lawyers.
Peter: Interesting. That’s definitely not where I thought you were going. Why those three?
Michael: Where did you think I was going?
Peter: I don’t know where I thought you were going.
Michael: Pedro, this is our moment for candour and honesty. You can name names; I won’t be offended. Did you think I was going to mention people who were successful in the corporate world?
Peter: Yes, perhaps members of the High Court. Honestly, though, I had no specific names in mind. I understand why you admire them as people, but I’d be interested to hear why you admire them as lawyers.
Michael: Because the law is a very special and hugely privileged calling. We have the opportunity to stand in the most serious places, where lives are at risk, and say, “I speak on behalf of another human being. I represent this person.” That trust exists even in basic pro bono work around the suburbs and capital cities. Hopefully that is still broadly true, although our profession is not always blameless or perfect. Legal professional privilege and confidentiality—the law’s protection of what our clients tell us—are huge parts of what we do.
Not enough people enter the profession for what it is. Too many see it largely as a meal ticket to a significant income, or want to sit on a pedestal and be looked up to as an important person entitled to praise and gratitude. That isn’t reasonable.
Peter: That’s a perception held both within and outside the profession. As you said, the profession isn’t always blameless or without fault, which has been highlighted significantly in the media lately. It’s a great point for someone like me to remember as I progress through my career: make sure you’re in it for the right reasons. If you don’t enjoy it and money isn’t that important to you, there are opportunities besides climbing the firm structure. What advice do you give young lawyers who tell you money isn’t that important to them?
When Money isn’t fulfilling you#
Peter: How do you help them look beyond the traditional firm structure to find fulfilment in the profession?
Michael: It comes back to what we’ve been discussing. The starting point is a willingness to find our authentic selves. Don’t begin with what’s available in the law; begin with yourself. That’s an everyday question for all of us. You don’t answer it as you would a business plan, saying, “Next month I’ll analyse who I am and insert it into the paragraph before values and mission.” It is a constant quest: who am I, and what makes me the most joyful person I can be?
The answer may be uncomfortable after studying at university, starting to practise law and getting a taste of the work. One basic question is whether you want to spend your life in a back room analysing and producing paper, or working with people. Where are you most comfortable? When do you feel you can do not only the most good in some airy-fairy sense, but the work that gives you the most life? You want to reach 74, as I have, and look back knowing you didn’t waste it—though no experience is truly wasted, because it is all learning.
The world obviously needs good practising lawyers in private firms. They experience great pressure because the people running those firms have different motivations. Some care deeply about the value of their equity, whether they earn two million dollars a year and whether Mallesons’ partners make more than Allens’ partners. I don’t know why that happens, but some of it reflects greed, selfishness and wanting more.
Then there are millions of lawyers around the world who put their lives on the line for human rights, incarcerated children and the homeless. There are thousands of lawyers in prison, many alongside academics and social workers. Throughout Soviet and Nazi history and elsewhere, some members of our profession resisted, while others helped prop up and facilitate corrupt regimes. That is the power lawyers have in many lives. I hope every day that the basic decency and ethics of judges—and their response to our calling—will prevail. That may take us too far into politics, so I’ll return to your question.
Think of a lawyer from Springfield, Illinois. You can probably name a famous one.
Peter: I think I’ve got one in mind: Abraham Lincoln.
Michael: Absolutely. But do you remember anything he did as a lawyer?
Peter: Not specifically.
Michael: No. You remember something else. You don’t remember a single submission he made to a court, but you remember the Gettysburg Address. If you don’t remember it and want a lesson in beautiful, short writing, look it up. Think too of John Kennedy, who established the Peace Corps and spoke about asking what you could do for your country rather than what your country should do for you.
That message asks what you are doing about an issue and why you couldn’t do better, rather than treating every problem as someone else’s responsibility. Think about the human-rights movement, climate change, the lawyers caught up in fighting it, and the role the law can play.
Since retiring from the partnership, I have defined myself explicitly as a lawyer, but teaching in developing countries in Southeast Asia has undoubtedly become one of my great joys. I absolutely love it and learn so much from the students. I can’t teach them domestic law, but I can discuss the rule of law, access to justice, pro bono practice and professional skills.
You can enter government or corporations and lead by example. If you see bad behaviour, you can try to change it. If you can’t change it, you can resign and find another job, making your values and principles clear to anyone who will listen. One of the great things about lawyers is that we know the law. We can respectfully challenge a policeman whom we think has gone beyond their role, or stand in court and say, “With respect, Your Honour, I disagree with what you’ve just said.”
Peter: You’ve touched on an important point for people at the start of their careers: the law can be involved in almost anything. In Adelaide, for example, there’s a major focus on the space industry and the new space agency. If that interests you, space law governs our relations in space, what you can do there and where you can go. There really isn’t a limit. Your advice is very helpful: discover what drives you and what your values and core beliefs are. The law touches every aspect of our lives, so if you want to make something happen, it can help you do so.
When Gilly Found Himself#
James: Can I jump in there, Gilly? Were there times when you were doing something that didn’t feel like you, given what you’ve said about authenticity? Perhaps you became involved in something, realised it wasn’t for you and left it behind—or realised it was for you and pursued it more deeply. Can you give us an example?
Michael: There have been a few. One that may resonate with your broader audience involved a job offer. In the mid-1990s, banks and finance companies were going through demutualisation. Many banks and life and general insurers had been mutuals, owned by their account holders or policyholders. Then financial advisers arrived saying they had to free up capital. A household name such as AMP was no longer owned by its policyholders, but converted into a listed company. If you had an AMP policy, you received cash, but shareholders now owned the company.
These significant changes brought changes at the top. Companies decided they needed what was then an unusual role in Australia: a general counsel who wasn’t simply an in-house lawyer, but worked at the CEO’s elbow on everything. At the time, I was in private practice leading a large team of insurance lawyers. A headhunter approached me, and after three or four weeks I understood what was happening. I was offered extraordinary money for the mid-1990s, plus stock options when the company floated, because I was probably one of the best-known insurance lawyers in the country.
After careful due diligence, however, I concluded that the company might behave in ways I wouldn’t be comfortable with. I kept my wife informed, and my children—born in 1971 and 1973—were old enough to understand the value of a large cheque. The offer on the table looked irresistible, but ultimately it was unacceptable to me. I didn’t regret declining it for a second. Someone else took the role and my life continued very comfortably financially, although I could have doubled my income in one step.
Peter: Wow.
Michael: There was something about it that made me uncomfortable. I’ve since told people that it isn’t just about getting a job offer; it’s about getting one that is truly and authentically you. At times you can be desperate to receive an offer, but you must consider what you’re giving up in return.
James: It’s interesting that you place authenticity and being comfortable with what you do at a much higher value than money. Money can’t buy that authenticity or the feeling of working on something you’re passionate about. Young people can focus on the dollars and chase the highest-paying job, but it’s important to consider an organisation’s mission, how it achieves that mission, whether it aligns with your values, and whether your colleagues are people you aspire to be like. You treat that as by far the most important consideration.
Peter: A lot of graduates forget that because finding a first job can be brutal. Even then, you should research each company or firm when you apply. If you can see from the outset that it won’t be a good fit, you don’t have to apply for every available role. It’s also important to remember when you have that first job and are considering a move.
Michael: Once you start compromising your core values and beliefs, you’re on a slippery slope. There are remarkable examples around the world, perhaps none better than some fine lawyers who signed on with Donald Trump. Some, such as Michael Cohen, have served time in prison. Read their stories and consider what they lost by signing on to something that was wrong. Once you surrender your reputation, despite all our theories of forgiveness and second chances, it is very hard to get back. That isn’t unique to the law, though it has particular importance there. Let’s return to a happier topic.
Gilly’s experience overseas#
Peter: I’d like to change tack. You were born, raised and began your career in Sydney, but you’ve had considerable interstate and overseas experience. How did you become involved in other jurisdictions—not only court work, but trade missions to China and similar work? From Adelaide, my perception is that Sydney and Melbourne can sometimes become bubbles. It would be interesting to hear how people can expand their horizons beyond those big markets.
Michael: Again, it comes back to who you are, as well as patience and some luck. In 1981, when I was 33, I became president of the Law Society of New South Wales. That was something of a novelty, and the media would ask what I had done to get there. My work, meanwhile, allowed me to see the world at my clients’ expense. I acted as an insurance lawyer for London, European and American insurers and reinsurers, and gradually developed a reputation in the field.
In about 1974 or 1975, I went to the London insurance market because I had been working with Lloyd’s of London, where business was transacted in a very specialised way that I didn’t fully understand. I told my partner I needed to go to London because I was appearing in court to explain how contracts were formed in that market. I went and spent several valuable weeks with clients and underwriters. At that time Australian insurance lawyers didn’t generally travel to see clients, so I became a slightly unusual figure and began receiving more work. When I became involved in a significant matter, I would travel to London to brief the parties and take instructions. Occasionally my wife, Kathy, came with me and we added a holiday to the end of the trip. That wasn’t entirely enjoyable for her, of course, because she was home raising the children while I was gallivanting.
Coincidentally, I moved from Young Lawyers onto the Law Society Council at 26, when the average councillor was about 50. I brought some unusual ideas. We were also entering an era when professional-negligence claims against lawyers became important, and I was building a reputation in that field. As a Law Society vice-president in the late 1970s, I helped establish professional-negligence insurance for lawyers. Most states now have insurers of that kind. I also worked with the state government on groundbreaking insurance legislation.
Michael Kirby—later a High Court judge, the author of many significant judgments and an openly gay jurist—was then leading the Australian Law Reform Commission. I had known him since I began practising, when he and Murray Gleeson were junior barristers. The commission helped establish a new legal regime for insurance in Australia. I made many overseas trips explaining to other markets how it differed from what they were accustomed to. The combination of those activities developed my reputation, brought plenty of work and involved considerable travel.
It also involved a great deal of speaking. As a Law Society office-bearer, I received presentation and media training and became comfortable with it. Everything was connected. I established the Australian Insurance Law Association and several insurance publications, and ultimately became president of the international association, which led me to many countries. Much of it happened by accident. Many clients in other places became close personal friends, so the relationships gained a dimension beyond the professional one.
Is Gilly Driven or Relaxed#
James: I have a question for you, Gilly. People I speak to on the podcast often seem to fall on one of two sides. Some are highly driven: they chase big goals and are serious about getting what they want. Others are equally successful but pursue their goals in a more relaxed way. Were you on the driven side, setting targets and deadlines, or were you more relaxed—taking an opportunity, doing your best and seeing where it led? Which way do you lean?
Michael: The best possible answer is the one everyone gives: it depends on the time of your life and the circumstances. We are often not our own best judges; the people closest to us may have more accurate opinions. In my defence, I’d say I wasn’t driven, although my late wife and some former partners might disagree. If you asked whether I was determined, I would say yes. I have strong views and am not easily dissuaded, but as I progressed through life I became a much better listener and judge.
When I was younger, determination sometimes meant reaching the end quickly because I had to know the answer. I now understand that the real value was in the journey. As an African proverb says, “If you want to travel fast, travel alone; if you want to travel far, travel together.” I’ve come to understand that much better.
I dislike categorising people. Think about sport. The great cricketer Doug Walters would sit in the dressing room between innings, smoke cigarettes back-to-back, play cards and chew gum. He never showed any sign of being driven, but he was unbelievably tenacious. Steve Smith and Michael Clarke looked to the whole world as though nothing mattered more than never getting out. Then there is the other Gilly, Adam Gilchrist, who looked as though he was always having tremendous fun, yet was absolutely determined and tenacious and wouldn’t give the English a micrometre.
It is useful to be conscious of these traits, but don’t beat yourself up about them. I wonder about the word “driven”. We could Google its etymology, but to me it connotes something coming from outside you, almost as though you have no control, like a runaway locomotive. Aspiration, tenacity or determination seem more powerful because they come from inside you and you have more control over them. I wouldn’t label any of those traits good or bad, right or wrong, because at different times they can create breakthroughs.
I see a great deal of my determination in my eldest grandson. More importantly, the rest of the family tells me, “Michael, he’s exactly like you.” He’s very determined, but also loving and generous, and a spectacular basketball and rugby player who gives everything to the team. We must avoid judging people by a single line in their balance sheet. When you look at only one line, you miss the rest and may make inappropriate comparisons. Read René Girard: you can look at somebody and think, “What a mean person,” but perhaps that applies only in that circumstance. You don’t know what was happening in their life at that time or what else they had going on. I’ll get off the soapbox, Gilly; you’re not here for that.
Peter: It’s useful life advice. You never know what someone else is going through. You’ve picked up two points: how other people perceive you, as with your family seeing you in your grandson, and the fact that we don’t always know someone else’s full story. Our perceptions may not match the truth. Someone who annoys you or rubs you the wrong way may have other things going on. Keeping an open mind and trying to be tolerant and respectful goes a long way, both at work and in life generally.
Michael: And the other side is that he is quite unlike me. I see characteristics in him that I would have died to possess at his age. I would have loved his courage to stand by his convictions and respectfully challenge his parents. I was raised in an environment where you couldn’t have those conversations. I love that about him. He and I are very close, which is why I say you must look at the whole person.
How Gilly Dealt with Imposter Syndrome#
James: I wanted to ask about imposter syndrome: being in a position but feeling you don’t deserve to be there or don’t have the skills to perform the role as well as expected. You made partner about a year into your legal career and later became president of different organisations. Were there points when you thought, “I’m not sure I can do this”? If so, how did you deal with those thoughts?
Michael: The first thing I’d say, James, is that this is the first time I’ve heard the expression “imposter syndrome”. I’m probably grateful that, when I was an imposter, I didn’t know the syndrome existed, because I might not have tried.
More seriously, I can’t think of any important circumstance in which I felt alone. Whatever serious work I did was in the company of other people. I might have been leading, but there was always a team of supportive people who didn’t mind that I wasn’t perfect. That gives you tremendous confidence.
I did sometimes feel alone when being interviewed, particularly by an aggressive journalist, or speaking about insurance law here or overseas when somebody in the audience might know more and challenge me. In the late 1970s, the Law Society gave me presentation, public-speaking and media training. The legal profession was moving into marketing for the first time; before then, professional ethics treated advertising as a terrible thing. Suddenly we had to appear publicly alongside other spokespeople who understood promotion.
One trainer taught me that, if you are invited to speak because you’re seen as a subject expert, about 98 per cent of the audience will know less than you. The joke was that the other two per cent, who might know more, would probably be too afraid of embarrassing themselves to ask a question. That gave me confidence. Another wise person taught me the power of both asking questions and saying immediately, “I don’t know the answer to that.”
Probably hundreds of young lawyers worked for me. Each reached a new point in my estimation when I first heard them say, “Michael, I don’t know the answer to that question, but I’ll find out for you.” Many young lawyers—and this applies beyond the law—enter the workplace thinking they possess complete knowledge and cannot admit ignorance in front of a superior. Saying “I don’t know” is one of the most important steps in maturing as a human being.
Peter: I relate to that. Young professionals, not only lawyers, can fear looking stupid in front of a boss or more senior colleague. I’ll take on board that it’s okay to say you don’t know.
Michael: It’s essential. One other practice, connected with my Catholic background, was important to me. Before any meeting that concerned me, I took about a minute to pray and clear my head. It placed me in a more sacred, calm space where I could tell myself, “This might be a rugged meeting with difficult agenda items, but you’re surrounded by people. Australia has abolished the death penalty and we don’t crucify people anymore. The worst outcome is that you don’t achieve what you wanted, and that isn’t the end of the world.” In a situation where you feel out of your depth, that can put you back on dry land and remind you that this is only one event in the larger scheme of things.
James: I get the sense that you’re a very humble person, Gilly. That humility is important when you’re asked something you don’t know. If you pretend to know more than you do, you can create awkward situations.
Michael: It can backfire badly, whatever your area of endeavour. It is much easier to remember the truth. If you’re guessing and throwing things out, someone may later ask, “Didn’t you tell me something different two weeks ago?” Remembering a lie can be difficult. We can all identify with that; there is nobody on the planet who hasn’t bent the truth from time to time and been caught out.
Gilly’s Rituals and Practices#
James: You described taking a minute to pray and put yourself in a better space before a meeting. Were there other principles, habits or rituals you followed consistently that helped you accomplish what you did? Many people would look at your career and say, “That’s what I want for myself.”
Michael: Rituals are incredibly important, but let’s put them aside for a moment. Trust is also critical: work out who the most important people in your life are. Who can you turn to with your anxieties, fears and worries? None of us is immune. Most people experience anxiety, depression or self-doubt to some extent, both personally and professionally and in their relationships. We all need anchors, whether they come from religious belief or somewhere else. Those people may be the friends you see on an occasional Saturday night, but they may be entirely different.
Personal relationships are important because so many challenges occur in isolation. If you can’t find a way out of that isolation, you may encounter loneliness, anxiety and related problems. I often mentor people who struggle with the emotional side of their lives. When your internal thoughts—personal, professional or business—turn towards the dark side, you need rituals or methods that help you transition out of it. Everybody needs them.
I’ve always encouraged people to buy a helicopter, which normally evokes a smile or laugh. It’s a metaphorical helicopter, but keep it ready. When you’re totally absorbed in internal thoughts, jump into it, rise 200 metres and look down at yourself, asking loudly, “What the fuck is going on down there?” Develop techniques or rituals that create those out-of-body experiences. You may still need books, a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but the technique helps you understand in a detached way what is happening inside you. I’ve just given you the helicopter as a method for shifting perspective. Do you need something like that? How do you handle negative thinking personally?
Peter: I have one. It isn’t a helicopter or an out-of-body experience, which I don’t think I’ve had, though it sounds worth trying. I like to go for a long drive south from where I live, towards Sellicks Beach. I stop, look at the beach and try to empty my mind. By Adelaide standards it’s a long drive—about 45 minutes—though by Sydney standards that’s a trip to the shops. Being in the car with music playing is my approach.
Michael: You’ve developed a technique that works for you, which is excellent. And James?
James: Like Pete, I get out of the house, although I prefer to walk. Near my house in Adelaide is Mount Osmond, a great lookout over the whole city. I walk there without my phone and deal with whatever is going on. Here in Melbourne, I’ll walk along the Yarra and get it out of my system. During the last 500 metres on the way home, I refocus: the long walk is over, and it’s time to get back in the zone. I find that helpful.
Michael: Those techniques may apply more readily to personal circumstances than professional or business ones, where you sometimes have to adapt. In a serious mediation or court case, you may not be able to jump in the car or take a long walk. You may nevertheless become so distracted by an opponent’s unethical conduct that you think more about that than the issue you are trying to resolve for your client’s benefit.
Across my whole life, I have become comfortable with the idea that I know very little. Human beings know very little about many issues, and that may never change. I accept that as part of who I am, so I don’t beat myself up when something evades my analysis. Perhaps that’s how it’s meant to be.
Illness is a good example. I have friends who handle it brilliantly. One is the great Adelaide lawyer and my fellow insurance lawyer John Fountain, who has lived with leukaemia since 2009 and has an extraordinary way of dealing with it. Other people in similar circumstances naturally ask, “Why did this happen to me? Why do these things happen to children?” I don’t know. My wife died at 70; that is what life sometimes brings. When acceptance forms the background to your question, many other things become easier to handle.
James: That’s profound. I like that a lot. I have one question left, but first, Pete, is there anything else you’d like to ask? I’m sure we could talk with Gilly all day.
The Most Interesting Matter Gilly Has Worked On#
Peter: One more legal question, purely out of curiosity: what is one of the most interesting matters you’ve worked on?
Michael: It wasn’t a case. Is that all right?
Peter: Of course—a matter or whatever form it took.
Michael: It’s easy to choose because it was only seven years ago. In 2015, the Insurance Council of Australia asked me to lead a task force examining the effectiveness of pre-contract documents provided when people arrange insurance. For non-lawyers, these are the consumer legal documents that inundate you when you open a bank account, take out insurance or do something similar. They concern consumer rights, financial literacy and related issues.
It was an amazing exercise for many reasons, including the first time I had been asked to work with a behavioural scientist. Just before we submitted our report to the Insurance Council board, one of the younger insurance-company representatives on the task force called me to discuss its title. They referred to a list of social-media abbreviations, such as LOL, and suggested using a newly added expression as the report’s name. I checked it with my three daughters, who had never heard of it either, so we called the report Too Long; Didn’t Read. People around the world became excited by it; I even presented it in the Netherlands. The abbreviation is, of course, TL;DR.
That expression applies to almost every piece of consumer material intended to help people make wise decisions: it is too long for them even to be interested. A few weeks after publishing the report, I spoke to lawyers at the firm who had earned it a great deal of money drafting these documents for insurers and banks. I told them the reality: they had produced documents that were excellent for their clients and completely useless to their clients’ customers.
Peter: Now.
Michael: I began to see more clearly that the best outcome isn’t always a legal one.
Peter: I can apply that lesson at work. I write a lot of disclaimers and similar material for our customers that realistically nobody reads. It’s worth thinking about how to write them in a way that actually communicates.
Michael: This connects with the banking Royal Commission. Kenneth Hayne, the former High Court judge who led it, made clear that a legal outcome isn’t always the right one. For many reasons we don’t have time to explore, corporations over the last 50 years have sought legal sign-off. They ask in-house or external lawyers whether something is legal, then senior management and the board proceed. I had been saying for about 15 years—and Hayne later said—that obtaining a legal opinion is the start of the process. You must then decide what you should do.
Peter: I’m definitely going to keep that one locked away. That’s good.
Michael: That applies to every human being, James, because all of us are consumers. We know what it’s like to be left on hold by Telstra while being told our call is important. When they say I’m being recorded for training purposes, I say, “I’m also recording you for feedback purposes.” That creates a little silence. If my call were truly important, they would have more people answering phones. Consumers know the message is delivered through gritted teeth, but someone in marketing says, “You have to tell them their call is important,” without worrying about how inconsistent the company’s behaviour is. That’s a bit of career advice. Did you get something out of it?
Gilly’s Advice for New Graduates#
James: I have one final question to close the interview. This podcast is about graduates and people starting their careers. What advice would you give someone entering the workforce in 2022?
Michael: So, James, when do you start your career?
James: In my mind, it’s when you get your first full-time job.
Michael: Does your tertiary education have nothing to do with your career?
James: I think it does. Yeah, it definitely does.
Michael: So what is your question?
James: How about advice for entering the workforce?
Michael: Are you familiar with 18 and Lost, Pedro? James, I think you are. It was written by a group of students and asked what they knew at 26 or 27 that they wished they had known at 18. The knowledge, experience, values and skills you bring to choosing a university course are far less developed than they are at 26, after one of the most formative periods of your life.
The first lesson, James, is that keeping an open mind and an open heart is more than a fashionable phrase; it is one of life’s great survival skills. You haven’t wasted your school or tertiary education, but remain open-minded about how you will use it throughout your life. Be prepared to extend yourself without guilt, remorse or shame. If you’re tempted to think, “I’ve made a mistake,” remember that you haven’t: like me in first-year law, you’re learning.
Begin to understand what ignites your passion, where your light comes from and what feels authentically you. Do it for yourself rather than an employer, your parents or other people who have expectations of you. Learn to distinguish your own feelings from the bombardment of social media and other material that pushes you in a particular direction. Somewhere along the way, your inner voice may say, “I’m not quite sure about that.”
I tell anyone who will listen that we have three important ways of knowing: head, heart and gut. Keep them in balance and listen to all three. Then walk down life’s path understanding that it is a process and a journey, not merely a destination. It’s fine to say, “In five years, I’d like to be a senior associate at DLA Piper,” but it shouldn’t occupy you completely. Leave room for surprises and embrace them. You may think, “I didn’t expect that. What a gift. How did I meet somebody at a nightclub at 11:30 who can contribute to my curiosity about my career or something else?”
Life is more than a single career. It is about activating all your unique gifts and leaving none on the shelf. That is a lot to digest, but I can add one more practical point. In business circumstances involving clients, be generous—not to build a reputation, but because people respond to generosity. We all know how we feel about people who are genuinely generous: they aren’t looking for anything in return, but simply want to do something for us. That activates something in us, just as it does in others. Cynics may ask, “Why did they do that? What’s in it for them?”, but we should rise above that because we understand the value of unconditional generosity.
Generosity has the same effect in personal relationships. Early in a relationship, you may do something small without realising how much it means: perhaps you tidy the kitchen while waiting to take somebody out, instead of sitting and watching one of Adelaide’s football teams on television. Whole-of-life skills, business skills, professional skills and personal skills are the same. You don’t become one person when you put on a suit, another in a basketball uniform and a third when you change clothes again. These are life skills; we don’t put on different outfits for them.
Peter: I think that’s a perfect note on which to end.
James: I agree. Thanks so much for your time today, Gilly. That was a great note to end on. I’ve learned a lot from this conversation, so thank you for sharing your time with us.
How To Contact Gilly#
James: Thanks as well, Pete, for coming on. It was a good experience.
Peter: Thanks for asking me, and thank you, Michael, for everything you’ve shared over the last couple of hours. It has been insightful and interesting to talk with you.
Michael: Lastly, Peter, thank you for wearing the tie. It was a nice reminder to me of what they are.
James: Gilly, one last thing: if a listener wants to learn more about you or get in touch, where’s the best place to do that?
Michael: Give them my email address.
James: Sure. I’ll leave it in the show notes so people can find it.
Michael: Not a problem.
James: Wonderful.
Outro#
James: Thanks for listening to this episode. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. If you want my three key takeaways, please go to GraduateTheory.com/subscribe, where you can receive them and all the information about each episode straight to your inbox.
Thanks so much for listening again today, and we’re looking forward to seeing you next week.