The Conundrum Between Fight or Calm

There’s a popular line doing the rounds at the moment, most recently put by Kos Samaras from RedBridge Group, in a column published in The New Daily that voters across Western democracies are turning away from “managers” and towards “fighters.”

It’s a compelling argument. And to be fair, it captures something real.

When people feel ignored, under pressure, or let down by institutions, they do become more receptive to leaders who are willing to draw lines, name opponents, and prosecute a cause. You can see that energy on both sides of politics. It’s sharper, louder, and far more visible than the quieter business of consensus-building.

But I think that framing misses something important.

What’s actually changed is the environment. Social media rewards outrage. News cycles amplify conflict. Political incentives increasingly favour those who can cut through with force rather than those who can quietly deliver. In that kind of ecosystem, “fighters” don’t just exist, they dominate attention. And attention can easily be mistaken for preference.

You can see this play out in real time on social media every day.

Post something measured, fact-based, and grounded in evidence, even on issues people claim to care deeply about, and the response is often muted. Engagement drops off. The conversation is thinner, slower, and far less visible. It doesn’t travel.

Now post something provocative, emotionally charged, or outright misleading, and the opposite happens. It spreads quickly. It draws reactions, arguments, pile-ons. It creates momentum. Outrage, whether justified or not, has a velocity that facts alone rarely match.

This is where the argument needs more context.

Yes, there is a visible shift towards more combative political styles. Yes, leaders who “fight” and “name enemies” are cutting through more effectively. But part of that shift is being manufactured and amplified by the environment itself.

Algorithms don’t measure considered judgment, they measure engagement. And engagement is disproportionately driven by conflict, identity, and emotion. The more divisive the content, the more it is surfaced, shared, and reinforced. Over time, that creates a feedback loop where the loudest voices appear to represent the dominant view.

Political actors respond rationally to that incentive structure. Media organisations do too. And gradually, the public conversation becomes skewed toward confrontation, not necessarily because it reflects a deep, settled voter preference, but because it performs better in the channels that now shape perception.

That distinction matters.

Because when we look at this through that lens, the idea that voters are “abandoning” consensus politics starts to look less like a clear shift in values and more like a distortion of what we’re able to see and measure.

There is still a large, quieter cohort of voters who value competence, evidence, and the ability to build consensus, but their preferences don’t generate the same immediate reaction, so they don’t get the same visibility. They are present, but underrepresented in the noise.

So while Samaras is right to point out the rise of more combative political behaviour, it’s worth asking how much of that is genuine demand, and how much of it is a system that amplifies conflict and mistakes attention for endorsement.

Because if we confuse the two, we risk overcorrecting, rewarding the loudest voices while overlooking the broader, more durable expectations voters still have when it comes to governing.

And that’s where the real tension sits, between what cuts through, and what actually works.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐑 ..

This is controversial, but it needs to be said.

The response from Labor, particularly @Tony_Burke and @jeromelaxale to @AngusTaylorMP’s immigration address was nothing short of disgraceful.

What should have been a serious, necessary debate was once again reduced to a predictable barrage of accusations, blatantly misrepresenting his position and defaulting to claims of racism and lies. That shuts down discussion instead of engaging with the substance. We must not let that happen. 

Because the substance matters.

It is a fact, backed by Treasury analysis, that some cohorts within the migration program have a negative fiscal impact over their lifetime. Pretending otherwise doesn’t make it untrue; it just makes it harder to have an honest conversation about how the system should operate.

According to The Lifetime Fiscal Impact of the Australian Permanent Migration Program (Treasury Paper No. 2, December 2021), the estimated lifetime fiscal impact includes:

- Parent visa holders: approximately –$394,000

- Humanitarian migrants: approximately –$400,000 per person 

These figures are not opinion, they come from Treasury modelling. And the report itself makes clear that fiscal outcomes are a relevant consideration when assessing migration policy.

At the same time, the report also acknowledges that fiscal impact is only one part of a much broader picture. Migration brings social, economic, and cultural benefits as well as costs. But that’s exactly the point: you can’t selectively cite the positives while refusing to acknowledge the negatives.

We are living with the broader consequences right now.

Housing is under strain. Infrastructure is struggling to keep pace. Essential services are stretched. Record levels of migration are being used to prop up headline economic figures, while the practical impacts are borne by everyday Australians.

And beyond economics, there are social expectations that cannot be ignored. A functioning migration program relies on a shared commitment to Australia’s laws, values, and way of life. It is not unreasonable to expect that those who come here respect that, nor is it unreasonable to say that those who actively undermine it, or seek to reshape it in ways that conflict with those fundamentals, should not expect indefinite acceptance.

We are even seeing this tension play out within our own parliament, where some elected representatives, entrusted to serve Australia’s interests, are advocating more strongly for overseas causes or conflicts than for the cohesion and stability of the country they were elected to represent. That erodes public confidence and fuels the very concerns many are trying to dismiss.

For a long time, I’ve held the view that family reunion visas should be limited to spouses and dependent children, not extended family such as parents. That’s a policy position open to debate, but it should be debated on facts, not dismissed with insults.

And that’s the real issue here.

Instead of engaging honestly with difficult questions, about sustainability, fairness, and national interest, we get slogans, deflection, and character attacks.

Australia deserves better than that.

Switching Off Our Energy Strength While Running on Empty: Australia’s Energy Crisis

The first wind turbine used to generate electricity was built by James Blyth in Scotland in 1887, powering the lights in his home. Hydroelectric power dates back even earlier—used in 1878 by William Armstrong to light a lamp at his house, Cragside.

Harnessing the sun is far older still. As early as the 7th century BC, magnifying glass–like tools were used to concentrate sunlight to start fires. By the 3rd century BC, the Ancient Greece and the Ancient Rome used “burning mirrors” to light torches for religious purposes.

There is a reason these early energy solutions didn’t scale in a meaningful way, they were unreliable, dependent on weather conditions, and expensive relative to their output. In response, innovators developed more consistent and scalable energy sources, most notably fossil fuels. The result was transformative, industry expanded, prosperity increased, health outcomes improved, and deaths from cold declined significantly.

Today, there are calls to rapidly phase out fossil fuels in the name of saving the planet, with a return to weather-dependent energy systems often framed as “progress.” In Australia, this has taken the form of an increasingly aggressive policy push away from coal, gas and traditional baseload power, alongside the progressive closure or restriction of key mining and energy projects that have long underpinned both domestic supply and export strength. 

Critics argue this comes with real trade-offs, extensive land use, impacts on forests and agricultural land, and pressure on wildlife habitats, sometimes affecting already endangered species. There are also economic concerns, including rising energy costs, reduced industrial competitiveness, and growing strain on manufacturing.

Recent instability in the Middle East, and conflicts that have disrupted global energy flows, serve as a stark reminder of how fragile energy security can be when nations become reliant on external supply chains or ideologically constrained domestic production. The lesson is not abstract, energy is not just an environmental question, it is a strategic one. Countries that cannot reliably produce their own power place themselves at risk, economically and geopolitically.

This is why the question of energy self-sufficiency is becoming increasingly urgent. A nation rich in natural resources, like Australia, would historically have viewed abundant, reliable, domestically controlled energy as a strategic advantage. Yet current policy settings risk eroding that advantage, replacing it with a system more exposed to intermittency, global supply chains, and infrastructure vulnerability.

What is often ignored in this debate is Australia’s increasingly fragile position on fuel security. Despite being one of the world’s largest energy exporters, Australia holds only limited domestic fuel reserves and is heavily dependent on imported refined petroleum. In any serious global disruption, whether conflict, trade breakdown, or shipping constraint, that dependency becomes an immediate national vulnerability.

The steady dismantling of Australia’s refining capacity has compounded this risk. Where the nation once had multiple operational refineries, it now relies on a small number, leaving it exposed to external shocks and decisions made far beyond its shores. Put simply, Australia produces the raw resources, exports them, and then buys back the finished fuel, often at higher cost and with less control.

Rebuilding domestic refining is not an abstract policy idea, it is a strategic necessity. A sovereign refining capability would strengthen national resilience, reduce exposure to volatile global markets, and provide a reliable buffer in times of crisis. It would underpin critical industries, from agriculture to mining to defence, while restoring a layer of economic and industrial independence that has been steadily eroded.

Equally important is the question of upstream supply. Expanding domestic oil exploration and drilling would complement refining capacity and further strengthen Australia’s energy security. Rather than relying predominantly on imported crude and refined fuels, increasing local production would provide greater control over supply, reduce exposure to global disruptions, and better leverage Australia’s own resource base.

Supporters argue nuclear energy offers a path to maintain modern living standards while minimising environmental disruption. Yet at the same time, we are witnessing the large-scale clearing of old-growth forests and the industrialisation of rich agricultural land to accommodate renewable infrastructure, transformations that are often downplayed in the broader debate but are deeply felt by regional communities and environmental observers alike.

Critics of current policy settings argue that policymakers such as Chris Bowen and Matt Kean, despite positioning their agenda as environmentally responsible, are presiding over changes that risk long-term damage to landscapes, habitats, and food-producing land. From this perspective, the question is not just about intent, but about outcomes, and whether the path being pursued truly represents environmental stewardship.

And this is where the contradiction becomes impossible to ignore. While claiming environmental virtue, policymakers such as Chris Bowen and Matt Kean are, in the eyes of their critics, driving an agenda that is fundamentally reshaping and degrading the very landscapes they claim to protect.

If this is what is being called “clean” and “green,” then it is fair to ask, who are the real environmentalists, and what, exactly, are we trying to conserve?