Thursday, 3 September 2026

𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦

I’ve been observing a shift on here for some time now and I find it concerning. It’s to do with the ‘fear’ or ‘belief’ that if we say anything at all about One Nation, we are just driving more and more people to their cause.


Not because of something One Nation has done or said, but because of an observation we have made and articulated.


To set the scene, this is not essentially about One Nation. It is about human behaviour — behaviour that could attach itself to any political movement, leader or ideology.


But I’ve noticed it more recently, particularly around One Nation support because of the present political environment. Hence I’m using the lived behaviour to highlight the shift.


We have witnessed something similar on the other side of the political divide with what the right labels ‘cancel culture’. The underlying behaviour is remarkably similar; it’s just the driver or the method that differs.


Traditional cancel culture essentially says: say this and we will punish you for saying it.


What I’m observing now is somewhat more subtle: don’t say this because something bad will happen if you do — and it will be your fault.


Using One Nation as the case study, it manifests as:

  • You’ll drive people to One Nation.
  • You’ll make them stronger.
  • You’ll upset their supporters.
  • You’ll alienate conservative voters.
  • You’ll help Labor.
  • You’ll be accused of attacking One Nation voters.

In other words: SILENCE YOURSELF.


So the pressure isn’t coming from government, moderators or formal censorship. It comes socially, particularly through social media. And the mechanism isn’t necessarily prohibition. It’s guilt.


The observer or critic is made responsible not merely for what they say, but for how somebody else might choose to react to it.


It may not always be deliberate, but its effect is remarkably powerful: eventually people begin censoring themselves. Those applying the pressure may not even recognise what they are doing. But political actors can recognise the behaviour, benefit from it and, more importantly, learn how to exploit it.


And this highlights a shift from grounded reasoning to emotive tribal loyalty and fear of upsetting the status quo.


In the end, speech is constrained without anyone formally constraining it.


And there is an even more interesting contradiction here.


The people saying “criticising One Nation will only drive people towards One Nation” are inadvertently removing responsibility from the person supposedly being “driven” to the cause.


An adult voter hears criticism of a political party, becomes offended by it, in some cases alarmed by it, or leaps to the conclusion that the establishment is beating up on the ‘little guy’ and consequently supports that party more strongly.


Yet somehow the observer or critic is held responsible for the supporter’s reaction.


Up goes the cry:


STOP DOING THAT. YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE.


But at what point did we stop holding adults responsible for how they respond to an argument?


The voter has agency. They make the decision. They choose how to interpret information and they choose how to respond to it.


If someone hears criticism of a political party and responds by becoming more committed to that party, that is their decision. It may be worth understanding why they reacted that way, but responsibility for the reaction cannot simply be transferred to the person who made the original observation.


Otherwise we arrive at a rather extraordinary proposition: the observer must remain silent because another adult cannot be expected to take responsibility for how they respond to what the observer says.


And in essence, what this is exposing is:


The fragility of critique or observation


We’ve begun confusing criticism with hostility.

  • Question a policy → you’re attacking the party.
  • Question the leader → you’re attacking the supporters.
  • Question the supporters’ reasoning → you’re insulting them.
  • Make an observation → you must have an ulterior motive for making it.

Once that happens, genuine scrutiny becomes almost impossible because criticism — or merely observation itself — is treated as the offence rather than something to be answered.


The discussion ceases to be: Is the observation correct?


It becomes: Why did you say it?


Or worse: You shouldn’t have said it because look what might happen as a result.


And something rather important has happened in that exchange.


The observer has become the subject of the argument.


The original observation no longer has to be examined. Instead, attention shifts to the person making it: their motives, their loyalties, whose side they are supposedly on and what consequences they might supposedly cause by speaking.


The argument itself conveniently disappears.


We then shift to the tribal trap

  • Tribalism then provides the enforcement mechanism.
  • Criticism from outside the tribe proves you’re an enemy.
  • Criticism from inside the tribe proves you’re disloyal.

Which leaves remarkably little room for independent thought.


Recently, despite very clear evidence to the contrary, I’ve been accused — or had it suggested — that I am a Labor supporter or somehow loyal to Labor. By ardent One Nation fans.


Conversely, I’ve been accused by Liberal supporters of being blind to the danger of driving more people to One Nation.


When in reality I’m merely engaging in observation and highlighting concerns that I have about the rise of a party based more on emotion, anger and we just need something newthan rigour and suitability.


The dialogue goes something like this.


From some One Nation supporters comes:

  • You’re attacking us.
  • You’re attacking Pauline Hanson.
  • You’re part of the establishment.
  • You must really support Labor.

Yet from some Coalition supporters comes another version:

  • Stop criticising One Nation.
  • You’re driving conservative voters further towards them.
  • You’re making the problem worse.

If it wasn’t so utterly bizarre, it would be funny. But it isn’t funny. It’s dangerous.


Different motivations. Same behavioural outcome. In essence BE QUIET.


And neither side actually has to address the original observation.


Free speech for me, but not for thee


What I also find intriguing is that many people can simultaneously proclaim their commitment to free speech while attempting to socially punish speech they dislike.


Not necessarily through formal censorship, but through ridicule, ostracism, pile-ons, accusations of betrayal, demands for silence or warnings that “you’re helping the other side.”


Free speech becomes:


You are perfectly free to speak, provided your speech doesn’t threaten my political attachment.


There is a particular irony here for those on the political right.


For years, parts of the right have quite rightly objected to cancel culture. Don’t silence unpopular opinions. Don’t confuse offence with harm. Don’t punish people simply because they have expressed something you dislike.


But what happens when the uncomfortable speech comes from inside your own political house?


Suddenly it becomes:

  • Don’t say that.
  • You’re damaging the cause.
  • You’re alienating people.
  • You’re driving voters away.

Which raises an uncomfortable question.


Was the principle really free speech, or merely freedom for speech with which we agreed?


Whether the political attachment is to the party mopping up the defectors or, conversely, to the party they are defecting from, the pressure can ultimately produce the same result.Silence.


And this where manipulative actors rise 


And where another distinction becomes important.


Not all of this behaviour is necessarily orchestrated. Much of it can arise organically from tribalism and the human tendency to protect groups, beliefs and identities to which we have become emotionally attached.


But political actors can recognise that behaviour.


And they can exploit it.


Political actors benefit enormously when supporters become resistant to external criticism. They don’t actually need to silence critics themselves.


The supporter army does it for them.


And the strongest political movements aren’t necessarily those that persuade followers that every criticism is false.


They are those that persuade followers that criticism itself is evidence of persecution.


At that point criticism can actually reinforce allegiance.


The political actor then trades on it and manipulates it:

  • I’m being targeted.
  • They’re frightened of us.
  • The establishment is attacking me.
  • I’m being treated unfairly.

The headlines follow. Supporters rally. Another criticism arrives and becomes further proof of persecution.


It becomes a vicious circle.


When people begin withholding legitimate criticism because they fear the reaction to the criticism or observation, nobody has formally censored them — but speech has nevertheless been constrained.


And just consider for one minute where that leads us.


What we are effectively being told is:


Don’t question populism because questioning populism might strengthen populism.


But what we really should be asking is what is driving this swell towards populism in the first place.


The grievances may be entirely legitimate. Anger at governments, frustration with the major parties and a belief that institutions are no longer listening don’t materialise from nowhere.


But acknowledging the legitimacy of the grievance does not require us to suspend scrutiny of those who offer themselves as the answer to it.


In fact, surely the opposite should apply.


Think about the implications of accepting the proposition that scrutiny itself is the problem.


If criticism or observation causes support to increase, then the political movement gradually becomes safer from scrutiny precisely as its followers become more emotionally attached to it.


But that is precisely when scrutiny becomes more necessary, not less.


Free speech isn’t tested by our willingness to defend speech we agree with. It’s tested when somebody says something about our own side that we don’t particularly want to hear.


And scrutiny isn’t dangerous because people might react badly to it.


The greater danger is reaching the point where we become frightened to scrutinise at all.


Because once we accept that silence is preferable to risking somebody else’s reaction, nobody needs to cancel us.


We’ve learned to do it ourselves.

Tuesday, 1 September 2026

𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧: 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫?

Let me preface this by saying I don’t think Pauline Hanson is evil, as she is perhaps portrayed by Anthony Albanese.

But I do question her motives, her tactics and, most importantly, where the political movement now building around her could ultimately lead.

 

And to me, therein lies the danger.

 

And there is considerable irony in Albanese repeatedly portraying Hanson as dangerous and divisive because Labor played a major part in creating the political environment in which she is now prospering.

 

Labor helped create the opening

 

Under Albanese, Labor became extraordinarily effective at destroying the personal credibility of its Coalition opponents.

 

It began with Scott Morrison.

 

Many conservatives were already angry after the Covid years and blamed Morrison for restrictions and lockdowns, despite many of the most draconian restrictions being imposed by state governments.

Swinging voters were disillusioned too.

 

Then came the relentless political assault on Morrison’s character and credibility. Higgins became part of a much wider political narrative about Morrison, his government and ultimately the Coalition itself.

 

Whatever people now think about the events surrounding that period, politically it worked.

 

Morrison was destroyed.

 

And Labor won.

 

Then came Peter Dutton.

 

For a period, Dutton looked entirely capable of becoming Australia’s next Prime Minister. Personally, I think he would have made a particularly good PM.

 

So Labor went back to a strategy that had already proved spectacularly successful: don’t simply defeat the opponent’s policies — destroy the opponent.

 

Again, it worked.

 

Unfortunately for the Liberals, many conservative voters still smarting over Morrison joined the fray. They stopped listening to what Dutton was actually saying. They deserted the Liberals and swinging voters went with them.

 

And despite three years of Labor presiding over worsening cost-of-living pressures, housing shortages, rising debt, and interest costs, increasing taxes and growing community concern about immigration, energy and law and order, Australians returned Labor with a substantially increased majority.

 

That decision has consequences.

 

And I suspect there are more than a few voters who still don’t want to admit they got Dutton wrong. They bought into the hype or allowed single-issue grievances to cloud the much bigger question: who was best equipped to govern the country?

 

But this isn’t a piece about Peter Dutton.

 

It is about what happened next.

 

Because into that disillusionment rode Pauline Hanson.

 

Like Boudicca riding in to save the Iceni

 

A sizeable group of Australians felt politically homeless.

 

Some are former Liberal and National voters. Some are traditional Labor voters. Some have simply lost confidence in both major parties.

 

They are angry.

 

They are frustrated.

 

And many genuinely believe nobody has been listening to them.

 

Hanson talks to that anger.

 

She repeats their frustrations.

 

She tells them the political establishment has failed them.

 

And, critically, she gives them somewhere to direct the blame.

 

The Uniparty Is Born

 

It is a clever slogan. Paint Labor and the Coalition as essentially the same thing, tell disillusioned voters neither represents them, and present One Nation as the outsider coming to their rescue.

 

It’s wrong, but politically it works.

 

Hanson may not be highly educated, but anyone who underestimates her political instincts is making a serious mistake.

 

She is a cunning and battle-hardened political operator. A career politician selling an anti-establishment message despite having been part of the political establishment for decades.

 

She has spent 30 years being ridiculed, dismissed, and mocked by the political establishment.

 

Some of it deserved.

 

Some of it not.

 

Now she speaks to Australians who believe the political establishment is doing exactly the same thing to them.

 

Perhaps that is why she understands anger extraordinarily well. She has carried plenty of her own.

 

And that makes her extraordinarily effective at harvesting grievance.

 

She understands social media.

 

She knows which issues and headlines to seize upon, and she is extremely good at converting complicated problems into emotionally powerful, easily digestible answers.

 

Whether those answers form workable government policy is almost secondary.

 

They feel right to an angry electorate.

 

And there lies the problem.

 

Because we don’t have Boudicca riding in to save the Iceni.

 

We have the Pied Piper

 

I used the term Pied Piper in a discussion about Hanson on X today and afterwards realised it encapsulated what has been troubling me.

 

I used the same description for Bill Shorten in 2019.

 

Shorten tapped into the frustrations of younger Australians and helped create an intergenerational political divide. I called him the Pied Piper because I believed the economic policies he was selling could ultimately lead the country — and us — over an economic cliff. The electorate wisely woke up and rejected his divisive political agenda.

 

Ironically, many of those policies subsequently resurfaced under Albanese.

 

But the Hanson phenomenon is different in one important respect.

 

She has turned political dissatisfaction into something approaching a personality movement.

 

People who quite rightly condemn political tribalism elsewhere are increasingly reluctant to question Hanson at all.

 

Criticism of One Nation is interpreted as support for Labor.

 

Questions about policy are dismissed as establishment thinking.

 

Questions about candidates are brushed aside.

 

Questions about parliamentary experience, economic competence, policy costing, or the practicalities of governing are increasingly met with some variation of:

 

At least Pauline says what everyone is thinking.

 

But saying what people are thinking and governing a country are two vastly different things.

 

Identifying the problem isn’t the same as solving it

 

This is where I believe the real danger lies.

 

It isn’t that every concern Pauline Hanson raises is wrong.

 

Far from it.

 

Immigration, energy, housing, cost of living, government waste, debt, and the failures of the major parties are all perfectly legitimate political issues.

 

Indeed, many are the same issues Peter Dutton raised and that the Coalition under Angus Taylor and Matt Canavan is now prosecuting, along with a number of substantive policies.

 

The danger is the growing assumption that because someone correctly identifies a problem, they must therefore possess the policies, people, discipline, and competence required to solve it.

 

But where is the evidence that One Nation possesses those things?

 

Anger is not a substitute for competence.

 

One Nation may be able to tell voters what is wrong. That doesn’t automatically mean One Nation can govern.

 

But these are the questions that few of the faithful seem willing to ask.

 

Could Pauline Hanson actually run Australia?

 

  • Not give a good interview.
  • Not produce a viral social-media clip.
  • Not deliver a memorable line or stunt in the Senate.
  • Not tell an angry electorate what it wants to hear.

 

Could she govern?

 

  • Could she manage Cabinet and the bureaucracy?
  • Could she oversee a multi-trillion-dollar economy?
  • Could she manage national security, defence, foreign affairs, Treasury, health, education, and relations with the states?

 

Could the parliamentary team around her fill the ministries and junior ministries required to run a federal government?

 

  • Where is the depth of experienced personnel?
  • Where is the detailed, costed policy architecture?
  • Where is the demonstrated administrative competence?

 

Those aren’t insults.

 

They are questions we should ask of anyone presenting themselves as an alternative government.

 

Yet increasingly we are entering the politics of personality rather than the politics of practical competence. And any attempt to ask those questions is met with a wave of anger.

 

That, in itself, should concern everyone.

 

Anger is a powerful political drug

 

Pauline Hanson has survived Australian politics for three decades because she understands something many politicians don’t.

 

People want to feel heard. And right now millions of Australians feel they are not. But there is another side to that.

 

Many aren’t listening either.

 

They are listening to one voice — Hanson’s.

 

Labor helped create the anger.

 

The Coalition failed to contain it. And now, when it says we listened and we are addressing it, many of those voters are no longer listening.

 

Hanson has harnessed the anger.

 

And the media, inevitably attracted to the spectacle, amplifies it.

 

But Australians should remember something before following any political Pied Piper.

 

The person who most convincingly tells you why you are angry is not necessarily the person capable of fixing what made you angry.

 

We made a serious mistake at the last election by allowing personalities, grievances, and individual pet issues to overwhelm the larger question of who was best equipped to govern the country.

 

We should be incredibly careful about doing it again.

 

Because eventually the Pied Piper presents the bill.

 

And by then, it may be too late to ask where she was leading you.