𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝

One of the more frustrating things about political discussion online is not disagreement itself. Disagreement is healthy. The problem is engaging with people who are deeply tribal, poorly informed about how politics actually functions, yet completely convinced they are politically sophisticated.

A recent exchange I had summed this up perfectly.

The discussion began after I shared comments from Senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price about the horrific conditions in some town camps and the death of young Kumanjayi Little Baby. Someone replied:

“Yeah but JP when are you gonna do something tangible… it’s been all talk to date?”

I responded with what I thought was a fairly obvious point:

“What do you expect her to do? She isn’t a government minister and every proposal she tables in parliament is voted down by Labor and the Greens.”

That should not be controversial. Opposition politicians do not govern. They can advocate, pressure, propose policy, campaign, raise awareness and attempt to persuade the public. They cannot implement government policy unless they are in government or have the numbers in parliament.

Instead of engaging with that reality, the reply was essentially: “That’s her job to work out.”

In other words, no actual answer, just vague outrage and demands for “leadership.”

When I pointed out that this was dodging the question, the conversation quickly deteriorated into personal attacks:

“You are being purposely obtuse…”

“You should stop talking rubbish…”

“You are either dumb or disingenuous…”

“A bit inexperienced with politics generally…”

That last line amused me because it reflected a common problem in online political debate: people mistake aggression for knowledge.

Apparently, if you understand the basic distinction between government and opposition, you are “inexperienced.” If you point out parliamentary realities, you are “making excuses.” If you ask someone to explain how an opposition senator is supposed to unilaterally implement policy, you are somehow the unreasonable one.

Eventually the person proposed that Jacinta Price should organise protests and demonstrations in affected towns. Fair enough, at least that was finally a concrete suggestion. I even agreed that bringing people to the camps to see conditions firsthand could be worthwhile. Too many Australians discuss these issues from a distance without understanding the reality on the ground. Direct exposure to conditions in some town camps might force a more honest national conversation.

But large-scale protests in places like Alice Springs are another matter entirely. Given the tensions and volatility that already exist in some areas, there is a real risk that demonstrations could quickly deteriorate into unrest or riots, ultimately making conditions worse rather than better. That would help nobody, least of all the residents already living with these problems every day.

But then the conversation drifted into suggesting she should join One Nation, followed by the predictable attacks on anyone unwilling to support Pauline Hanson.

At that point the discussion stopped being about outcomes and became what these discussions often become: political team sport.

What stood out most was the contradiction running through the entire exchange. On one hand, there was constant criticism that “nothing gets changed.” On the other hand, when I pointed to a real-world example of grassroots pressure helping stop the misinformation/disinformation bill, that too was dismissed.

According to this person, people power apparently does not matter either.

Then came perhaps the strangest part of the exchange. The person insisted the misinformation/disinformation bill had supposedly been “pushed through a week later with revisions” and claimed Pauline Hanson was now campaigning to get rid of it.

But that made no sense because the bill had already been dropped. You cannot campaign to repeal legislation that never passed parliament in the first place. They had clearly confused it with something else entirely.

Yet despite confidently lecturing others about politics and accusing people of “half truths” and “misrepresentation,” they blocked me when corrected.

That, in many ways, captures modern political discourse perfectly.

People increasingly approach politics not as a serious civic responsibility requiring facts, nuance and an understanding of institutions, but as emotional tribal warfare. Many do not actually want discussion. They want affirmation. They want slogans. They want outrage. And if you challenge them on details, they often resort to insults rather than substance.

Politics is complicated. Governments have limits. Oppositions have limits. The Senate has limits. Public pressure matters. Parliamentary numbers matter. None of that disappears because someone is angry online.

What concerns me most is that many of the loudest political voices online often possess only a superficial understanding of how the system works, yet speak with absolute certainty. They confuse cynicism with wisdom and hostility with intelligence.

That is not healthy for political debate, and it certainly does not help solve serious problems.

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

I’m often copied into posts or replies urging me to support One Nation, and sometimes met with insults when I don’t. This is simply an explanation of why I cannot.

I respect people’s right to join the party and to vote for its candidates. But I cannot ignore what I see as a repeated pattern of poor judgement and ethical concerns in decisions made under its leadership.

A particularly troubling example involved the hiring of a volunteer who had a prior conviction for serious child sexual offences and was later publicly defended by the party leadership when concerns were raised about the appointment.

This was followed by controversy surrounding the repeated engagement of a senior campaign staffer with a serious history of violent offending, including sexual and domestic violence related offences. Despite widespread public concern and criticism, there were multiple instances where the individual was re engaged in senior roles before ultimately being removed after significant political and media pressure.

Leadership responses to these situations have, at various times, been framed as offering “a second chance”, while concerns raised internally and externally were reportedly dismissed or described as politically motivated attacks rather than matters of standards or judgement.

Recent state and federal elections have also been associated with further vetting controversies, including candidates who reportedly had histories involving intervention orders, restraining order breaches, or other serious legal matters. In some cases, individuals were disendorsed only after such issues became publicly known.

These do not appear to be isolated oversights. Former candidates and insiders have publicly alleged that internal concerns about vetting and candidate suitability were not always acted on appropriately.

I am not suggesting the party leader is personally responsible for every individual’s past actions, nor for every decision made at organisational level. But as leader, there is responsibility for the standards set, the culture reinforced, and the judgement applied in senior appointments and candidate selection.

When leaders lower standards, it is perhaps unsurprising when volunteers or candidates appear to follow suit. Recent public controversies have only reinforced that concern for me, including incidents involving volunteers, public defence of questionable conduct by party representatives, and examples of candidates using language in public commentary that many would consider inappropriate for someone seeking public office.

That is not the level of conduct, professionalism, or judgement I expect from people seeking public office. People are entitled to criticise behaviour they disagree with, but public representatives should be capable of doing so without resorting to personal abuse.

When a party campaigns heavily on law and order, protecting women and children, and being tough on crime, repeated controversies involving staffing and candidate selection connected to serious criminal histories inevitably undermine its credibility. The rhetoric and the actions do not always appear to align.

Leading a protest movement is very different from governing. Government requires disciplined teams, consistent standards, and careful judgement in who is placed in positions of responsibility. In my view, the pattern of controversies reflects a politics of outrage rather than the stability and accountability expected of a governing party.

These repeated staffing and candidate controversies matter because leadership appointments are a direct reflection of judgement. While the party often frames such decisions as redemption or second chances, the issue is whether individuals with serious histories of violence or abuse should be placed into senior campaign or representative political roles, particularly in a party that emphasises law and order and community safety.

That distinction is important.

A leader’s hiring decisions reveal the standards they apply when responsibility and public trust are involved. In my view, these decisions demonstrate poor judgement and undermine confidence in leadership standards.

To me, this goes beyond politics. It speaks to judgement.

Decision making relies on personal standards, evidence, accountability, and risk assessment. In these cases, the willingness to prioritise redemption narratives while dismissing concerns as political attacks raises questions about consistency and safeguards.

That is not leadership I can place confidence in.

If judgement is compromised in high stakes personnel decisions, it raises legitimate questions about the quality of judgement applied elsewhere, in governance, policy, and accountability.

Some people may see these matters differently, particularly if they have never been personally affected by violence or abuse. But for those who have, the impact is not abstract. The seriousness of these issues cannot be set aside while simultaneously claiming to champion victims and community safety.

For these reasons, I cannot support a political party that, in my view, has repeatedly shown poor judgement in dealing with issues involving serious violence, abuse, and community safety.

I respect your right to support One Nation if you choose to do so. I simply ask that my decision not to is respected in return.

Knowledge, Narrative and Responsibility

One of the most significant problems in this country isn’t just political disagreement, it’s a widespread lack of understanding about how government and the public service actually function.

Most people don’t have even a basic grasp of roles and responsibilities: how authority is divided, how decisions are made, and who is accountable for what. The distinction between the ceremonial powers of the Governor-General of Australia, the executive authority of the Prime Minister of Australia, and the operational role of ministers and their departments is routinely blurred or misunderstood. Add to that a lack of awareness about how the public service operates — its continuity across governments, its advisory role, and the fact that departmental leadership is often administrative rather than political — and you end up with a public conversation built on shaky foundations.

There’s also very little appreciation of the history and structure of bureaucratic leadership. Senior public servants aren’t elected officials; they’re appointed for their expertise in governance, economics, law, and administration. Yet they’re frequently judged as if they were politicians, or dismissed outright because they don’t fit some imagined mould of what leadership “should” look like.

Layered over that is political tribalism, which makes the problem worse. People aren’t just uninformed about how the system works, they’re often selectively informed. The same action is condemned or defended depending entirely on who is in power. A decision that would be labelled incompetent, corrupt, or dangerous if made by one side is suddenly justified, excused, or ignored when made by the other. Principles become flexible, standards shift, and consistency disappears.

That double standard erodes any meaningful accountability. It rewards loyalty over scrutiny and encourages people to defend “their side” rather than assess decisions on their merits. And it makes some people afraid to speak up and the challenge for fear of being attacked, vilified and shunned. It fosters manipulative behaviour by skilled politicians who care more about winning than winning the right way. Once that mindset takes hold, facts become secondary to affiliation, and debate turns into a contest of narratives rather than an exchange of ideas.

The consequence is predictable. When people don’t understand how the system works , and filter everything through a partisan lens they misattribute responsibility. Decisions get blamed on the wrong individuals or institutions. Complex policy issues are reduced to slogans. And into that vacuum, misinformation thrives.

Social media accelerates the problem. Claims that align with someone’s political leaning are accepted and shared without scrutiny, while anything that challenges those views is dismissed out of hand. It stops being about facts or governance and becomes about tribe, reinforcing beliefs rather than testing them.

At that point, accountability breaks down. If voters don’t understand who is responsible for what, they can’t properly judge performance. And when standards are applied inconsistently, even clear failures can be waved away while minor issues are amplified into outrage. It becomes less about competence and more about perception.

You don’t need everyone to be a constitutional expert. But a functioning democracy does rely on a baseline level of civic literacy, and a willingness to apply the same standards regardless of who holds power. Without that, the loudest voices, not the most informed, end up shaping the narrative, and that’s a poor foundation for any country trying to govern itself effectively. 

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?