𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

“The weakness of the party has turned many like me away, and the years when they had the opportunity to do something are lost and behind us. The only way back is a deep cleaning cycle, and this will be painful.”

Well, the “deep cleaning cycle” began in 2022 and continued in 2025. The result? Australia is in a mess.

And “painful” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

It’s far more than painful for the more than 45,000 businesses that have entered administration or closed their doors. It’s more than painful for families struggling to keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and the lights on. It’s more than painful for those sleeping in cars, living on the streets or relying on overstretched food banks simply to survive. And it’s far more than painful for Australians trying to get ahead while facing an ever-increasing tax burden under the Labor government.

This is the price of voting to “teach the Liberals and Nationals a lesson”. Australia is now into its second term of a Labor government that, in my view, is systematically undermining the nation’s economic strength and prosperity. Yet sentiments like the quote above suggest some people are prepared to do it all over again. That is madness.

The lesson people think they are teaching political parties is, in reality, a punishment borne by the Australian people. And Australians have suffered. Worse still, Labor’s agenda is far from complete.

When voters become so consumed by their own grievances and narrow self-interests that they lose sight of the broader consequences of their vote, the entire nation pays the price. Governments change, policies change and economies change, but the damage inflicted on businesses, families and communities can take years—sometimes decades—to repair.

No political party is perfect. Every party deserves scrutiny and criticism. But voting out of spite, or to punish one side without properly considering the alternative, is a luxury a country can ill afford.

Yes, I am angry. Not because people voted differently to me, but because so many seemed more interested in “teaching a lesson” than in considering the long-term consequences for Australia. Political frustration is understandable. Political myopia is far more costly.

𝐖𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦

“Our talent for division, for seeing the parts, is of staggering importance – second only to our capacity to transcend it, in order to see the whole.” — Iain McGilchrist

Iain McGilchrist is highlighting the fundamental tension between how our brains attend to reality. One mode of thinking analyses, categorises and breaks things down into parts, while another integrates those details to perceive the unified, living whole.

We need both. Our talent for division—the rational, focused and detail-oriented mode of thinking—is what allows us to solve problems, build tools and function effectively in our daily lives. But if we remain trapped in that analytical mindset alone, we risk losing context and meaning.

Once we’ve analysed the “parts”, we need to step back and see the bigger picture. We need to ask the what, why, how, when, where and at what cost? We need to understand the relationships, dependencies, trade-offs and unintended consequences. That is how we move beyond analysis towards a more holistic search for truth.

McGilchrist argues that losing this holistic perspective is one reason modern society often feels disconnected or chaotic.

Have we become so skilled at arguing over the parts that we’ve lost the ability to see the whole?

Increasingly, I think the answer is yes.

Political exchanges over recent months have reinforced something I’ve been thinking about for some time. Debate increasingly revolves around isolated facts, individual grievances and ideological talking points, while the wider context is ignored. People defend one part of the picture without asking how it fits into the whole.

Perhaps that helps explain the fracturing of political reason and public debate. The critical path is often missing. We increasingly make political demands without seriously examining the likely consequences, the trade-offs involved, the dependencies that determine success, or whether the proposed solutions have any realistic prospect of achieving their stated objective.

Good public policy requires both rigorous analysis and thoughtful synthesis. One without the other produces either ideology or technocracy. Neither produces wisdom.

The absence of that only reinforces my belief that we need more people willing to connect the dots rather than simply argue over them.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞

One of the recurring themes in my writing is simple:

I think, therefore I question.

Not because I assume wrongdoing, but because democracy depends on citizens being willing to observe, question and evaluate those who hold power and influence. That isn’t cynicism. It’s civic responsibility.

Yesterday I shared a Financial Review column about Pauline Hanson and Gina Rinehart meeting at an exclusive resort in Sicily.

My accompanying comment was hardly controversial:

“These two are becoming very chummy. And the sudden appearance of Hanson at the hotel, with rooms going for $2,000 a night, is curious.”

That was it.

It was curious because Senator Hanson was still on an overseas trip that had already raised questions about the use of parliamentary travel and expenses. Her presence at an exclusive resort in Sicily looked to be an unannounced detour before travelling on to meet Australia’s Ambassador to the Holy See, Keith Pitt. Nothing more than that—just curious.

Yet the reaction was extraordinary.

I was called a parasite, a communist and an enemy of Australia. I was accused of being a “white woman destroying the country”, a Labor lefty, a liar, a hypocrite, a smear merchant and, in one particularly vile comment, “a stupid shank.”

Not one of those insults addressed the point I had actually made.

Instead of discussing the meeting, many chose to attack the person who observed it.

That reaction tells us something important.

We have reached a point where, for some people, questioning those they support is considered an act of disloyalty. Political identity has become so tribal that even mild observations are treated as personal attacks. Evidence gives way to emotion. Loyalty replaces reason. Abuse replaces argument.

Ironically, some of the same people who demand adherence to Australian values seem quite comfortable abandoning the civility, respect and fairness that should underpin them. If this is what passes for our political culture, or even Australian culture, we are in serious trouble.

And that is a dangerous direction for any democracy.

I don’t care whether the subject is Anthony Albanese, Gina Rinehart, Pauline Hanson, Angus Taylor or anyone else. If someone occupies a position of power or influence, they should expect public scrutiny. The standard should never depend on whether they belong to “our side.”

I’ve written many times about whataboutism. It’s intriguing that some of the very people criticising Anthony Albanese over his relationship with Anthony Pratt were outraged when I made a similarly mild observation about Pauline Hanson and Gina Rinehart. They called me a hypocrite, but the label was directed at the wrong person. Consistency means applying the same standard regardless of whose side someone is on. Whataboutism and personal abuse are both ways of avoiding the actual question.

And it hasn’t dawned on some people that when someone deploys whataboutism (“Yeah, but what about the other side?”), they’re implicitly conceding that the original criticism has at least enough merit to warrant deflection. Otherwise, why deflect instead of defend?

At the same time, they’re often inviting scrutiny of their own side’s actions without even realising it. Not everyone who uses whataboutism appreciates that they’re weakening their own position.

I refuse to accept that this is how political debate should work.

Civilisation advances through curiosity. Democracy survives through scrutiny. Neither survives if citizens become afraid to ask reasonable questions because they fear being shouted down by the tribe.

So I’ll continue asking questions.

I’ll continue to comment on the observations I make. 

I’ll continue weighing evidence.

And I’ll continue judging public figures by the same standard, regardless of whose supporters happen to be offended.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐔𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

I feel most people would agree that judging and critiquing the suitability of something—whether it’s a business proposal, a new job, a company, a place to live, or even a potential friend—is not only sensible, but essential.

So why do we react so differently when the same thing happens in politics? Why do we so often choose words that inflame rather than clarify?

It’s a question I’ve found myself asking more and more.

The chorus of “You’ve got to stop attacking…” rings loudly across social media. Yet, in many cases, what is being described as an attack is nothing more than judgment, criticism or critique.

There is a genuine distinction between these words.

• Attack implies hostility, malice, or an attempt to damage someone.
• Criticise means pointing out faults or perceived faults. It can be fair or unfair.
• Critique is a reasoned evaluation of strengths and weaknesses.
• Judge means to assess or form an opinion based on the available evidence. We all make judgments every day.

On social media, however, these four words are increasingly treated as though they mean the same thing. They don’t.

Labelling every disagreement an “attack” immediately frames the other person as aggressive and the recipient as a victim, even when someone is simply analysing an argument, questioning a policy, or assessing a political strategy.

It raises an interesting question.

Has social media conditioned us to interpret disagreement as hostility?

I suspect it has.

Most of us who spend any time on X have, at one time or another, been accused of “attacking” someone when all we’ve really done is point out weaknesses in an argument or question the evidence supporting it.

In politics, parties are supposed to judge each other’s policies, critique strategies and criticise decisions. That’s the essence of democratic debate. If every disagreement is labelled an attack, honest discussion becomes increasingly difficult because people become defensive before they’ve even considered the substance of the argument.

Words carry emotional weight.

Compare these two statements:

• “He attacked the policy.”
• “He critiqued the policy.”

Most people picture two very different interactions, even though the underlying event may be identical.

I think we’ve become increasingly careless with language. Words such as attack, slam, destroy and blast are often used where question, challenge, critique or disagree would be far more accurate.

Perhaps it began as a headline-grabbing tactic in the media. Whatever its origin, it has seeped into everyday social media language, where it too often shuts down discussion before it has even begun.

Just an observation.

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Descartes wrote, “I think, therefore I am.”

I prefer my own version: “𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

Someone made a very relevant comment this morning:

“But I don’t think a lot of Australians are interested in the principle of democracy at this stage. They are too angry, disillusioned, confused or not really engaged.”

And therein lies the problem. Anger, disengagement and confusion create fertile ground for simplistic slogans and emotional politics.

A few months ago, I wrote about the difficulty of being a voice of reason in an overtly tribal society, where issue after issue in public debate has hardened into moral absolutes, leaving little room for caution, complexity or constitutional restraint.

I also wrote about how social media has accelerated the collapse of nuance. Complex legal or constitutional arguments rarely survive the demand for instant outrage. Calm voices are flattened into caricatures, accused of “both-sideism” or cowardice simply for refusing to inflame. Ignorance and misunderstanding flourish, mistruths spread like wildfire, and facts are buried in the melee. Behind much of that lies the fuelling of anger.

And I will restate it.

Being the voice of reason isn’t about cold calculation. It isn’t driven by anger, ideology or playing to the loudest crowd. In Australian politics, reason means exercising judgment under pressure—choosing what is right over what is easy, and holding to principle even when it comes at a political cost.

Reason is not the absence of conviction. It is conviction disciplined by evidence, proportion and principle.

Hard times test a country. When met with restraint and fairness, they don’t weaken us—they sharpen our sense of responsibility to one another. That is how trust is built and social cohesion is maintained.

A politics without reason slides into division and outrage. A politics guided by reason resists that pull, values proportion over theatrics, and remembers that unity in Australia is earned through fairness, restraint and respect—not slogans. Perhaps we have lost sight of that, but we should strive to regain it for all our sakes.

If we are to dig ourselves out of this hole, we have to rediscover the value of reason and the principles that underpin democracy. That doesn’t mean avoiding difficult conversations or pretending genuine differences don’t exist. It means challenging ideas honestly, resisting the temptation to inflame, and refusing to let anger become the driving force of our politics.

Each of us has a responsibility to be that voice—even when it means standing apart from the tribe.