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.