Before we explain One Nation voters, perhaps we should listen to them

 

Yesterday I wrote about the extraordinary enthusiasm political parties have for studying unhappy voters rather than themselves. This morning the Sydney Morning Herald delivered me an article about researchers studying 1,000 One Nation voters. Sometimes the universe is unnecessarily helpful.

In my living history interviews with people in their late 80s and early 90s across my local government area, I often ask what has changed in their lifetime. I am hoping for the broad sweep, social change, physical change, how the place has changed around them.

The most common answer I get is: too many people.

They are talking about people moving into the area from somewhere else in Australia. Sydney gets mentioned a lot. Immigration does not.

So when I read Paul Sakkal’s article in the Sydney Morning Herald this morning on what 1,000 One Nation voters say is driving them, I smiled.

The headline finding is immigration. Of the One Nation supporters who believe Australia is heading in the wrong direction, 39 per cent name immigration as one of the reasons. Fifty-seven per cent fear Australia’s culture and identity are changing too quickly. Forty per cent point to pressure on housing and infrastructure.

Then you read what people actually say.

One supporter says the issue is arithmetic. You cannot bring in that many people without building the houses. Another says the issue is who comes and whether they want to become part of what is already here.

Suddenly “immigration” is being asked to explain quite a lot.

We do love a complicated explanation. Apparently understanding something counts for less if it doesn’t require a consultant.

The research into One Nation voters comes with focus groups, voter segments, demographic differences, loyal supporters, newer supporters and analysis of what might persuade people to change their vote. All useful.

But perhaps people are also saying exactly what they mean.

There are more people than there used to be, and they do not like some of the consequences.

People do not experience population growth as a percentage. They experience another housing development, another traffic jam, another doctor’s books closed to new patients, another paddock covered in houses and another place that takes longer to get to.

Ask someone in their late 80s in my LGA what has changed and I may hear “too many people”.

Ask a One Nation voter what is wrong with Australia and I may hear “too much immigration”.

Before deciding those are entirely different conversations, it might be useful to ask what each person is actually describing.

The Scanlon Foundation’s long-running social cohesion research adds an important clue. In 2024, 49 per cent of Australians thought immigration was too high. Yet 85 per cent said multiculturalism had been good for Australia, 82 per cent said migrants were good for the economy and 83 per cent rejected excluding immigrants on the basis of race, ethnicity or religion.

The 2025 research is equally interesting.

Among Australians who thought immigration was too high, 58 per cent nominated the economy or housing as the country’s biggest problem. Only 9 per cent nominated immigration itself.

That does not make concerns about race, culture or identity disappear. The One Nation research itself shows a difference between newer supporters worried about migration numbers and parts of Hanson’s traditional base who are more concerned about the background of migrants.

But it does suggest that “too much immigration” can sometimes be shorthand for something much broader.

Too many people for the houses.

Too many people for the roads.

Too many people for the services.

Too much change, too quickly.

In my interviews, the people causing all this pressure can be Australians who moved down the highway. Scale the same experience up from a town to a country and suddenly the new arrivals have passports.

This takes us straight back to the leadership question I wrote about yesterday.

Political parties confronted with dissatisfied voters have an extraordinary appetite for studying the voters. Who are they? What do they want? What are they angry about? What message will bring them back?

Now we have research into 1,000 One Nation voters.

To its credit, the research reaches an important conclusion: One Nation’s rise is as much a story of Liberal failure as One Nation success.

That is more interesting than another voter profile.

Because the real question may be what happens when population grows faster than people’s confidence that governments can manage the consequences.

Housing, roads, hospitals, schools and infrastructure are experienced locally. So is change. People notice the paddock disappearing long before they read the population statistics.

Then politics arrives with an answer. Immigration.

That is a powerful word because it can turn a collection of complicated experiences into one problem with one number attached to it.

Politics loves a number. Numbers can be cut. Systems are messier.

So before politicians hear “immigration” and start competing over who can promise the lower migration target, it might be worth listening a little longer.

What are people actually describing? Because sometimes when someone in their late 80s tells me the problem is “too many people”, the people causing all the trouble came from Wollongong.

Pauline Hanson did not invent that feeling.

She may simply have become very good at telling people what to call it.

We elected them to watch the road. Turning the bus around means taking back the wheel.

Turning the bus around means changing who the system is wired to listen to, not just swapping the person at the wheel.

We elect politicians to watch the road ahead, see the trouble coming, and steer us around it, or fix it if we hit it anyway.

Here is what happened instead, in five charts.

Pay did rise since 2021. Prices rose faster, every single year, so the average wage now buys about 5 per cent less than it did. And this measure leaves the mortgage out, so anyone paying one off has gone backwards further than the gap here shows.

Same house, same loan, nothing changed but the interest rate. The repayment on the average new loan has gone from about $2,950 a month to about $4,500. That is an extra $18,000 a year out of a household that did nothing differently.

Renters copped it a different way. The typical New South Wales rent has climbed from about $450 a week a decade ago to about $670 now, roughly $11,000 more a year for the same roof over your head.

This is who the system looks after. Australia is one of the biggest gas exporters on earth, yet the tax the gas companies pay on it comes in below what we raise from beer. And over the past four years, $149 billion worth of gas left the country without a dollar of royalty.

Put all of it together and this is what it does to the country. Since 2015 the inner cities have edged ahead while the outer suburbs and the regions have gone backwards. The same nation, pulling apart into three.

Yes the people we trusted to watch the road let this happen, in full view.

The system they operate in answers to someone else. The big end of town, the lobbyists and donors and the organised money, gets the meetings and sets the terms. We have watched it: gambling reform stalled for years, gas shipped overseas for next to nothing while our bills climbed, a housing fix that took three years to arrive and still will not start until 2027. Every time, the obvious popular thing lost to the organised well-funded thing.

We handed trust over on the understanding they would act for us. People do not need telling how that turned out. They live it.

So how do we turn the bus around?  What is wrong with a system that lets the big end of town decide what gets done? Until that changes, with the donations, the lobbying, the comfortable jobs waiting on the other side, the next government will feel the same pull and mostly make the same choices, whatever colour rosette it wears.

Turning the bus around means changing who the system is wired to listen to, not just swapping the person at the wheel.

In practice that means tighter rules on lobbying and donations, daylight on who gets the meetings, and a press that asks the dull questions about who pays and who benefits. None of it is glamorous, and all of it is resisted, which tells you it would work.

We trusted them to see this coming. The least we can do now is refuse to look away from why they did not.

References

Prices vs pay

  • Australian Bureau of Statistics, Consumer Price Index, Australia (latest release, April 2026)
  • Australian Bureau of Statistics, Wage Price Index, Australia (March quarter 2026)
  • Reserve Bank of Australia, on the roughly 5 per cent fall in real wages since 2021

The mortgage

  • Australian Bureau of Statistics, Lending Indicators, for the average new owner-occupier loan size (around $736,000)
  • Reserve Bank of Australia and APRA, for the move in mortgage interest rates from mid-2021
  • Canstar and CoreLogic, for the current average monthly repayment

The rent

  • CoreLogic, for the rise in median advertised rents over the decade to March 2025 and the current New South Wales median

Gas vs beer

  • Australian Treasury and Senate Estimates figures for Petroleum Resource Rent Tax and beer excise revenue, 2024-25, as compiled by the Australia Institute
  • The Australia Institute, on the value of LNG exported royalty-free

Three Australias

  • RedBridge analysis of Australian Bureau of Statistics Household Income and Wealth, the ANU Regional Living Cost Index, and the Productivity Commission (2024)

With thanks to Vivien Twyford, whose “how do we turn the bus around” question inspired this piece, and to David Cornish, who pointed me to the Three Australias graphic.

Further reading: Political Trust in the “Places That Don’t Matter”

 

The Cleverest Bit of Marketing in Australia Right Now

Two founders in work aprons concentrate on detailed work at a cluttered workbench, while a relaxed man in a pale linen suit leans in the open doorway with one hand extended, palm up, doing none of the work but waiting for his share.
Never done a stocktake. Still wants his share.

Betty’s brother Kevin rang from Kiama last week, properly worked up. His daughter’s got a startup, a real one, the kind with late nights and not much sleep, and Kevin had just seen something online about the government coming after people exactly like her. “They’re punishing the ones having a crack,” he told Betty. “Did you see what they’re calling it? An aspiration ambush.” Betty hadn’t seen it. But she could hear that Kevin had already made up his mind, and that whatever he’d watched had done a very good job of helping him.

So she went and had a look. And what she found wasn’t really a tax story at all. It was one of the sharpest bits of marketing you’ll see all year.

We’ve spent two posts on GDP (See here and here).  Your house doesn’t count, and the country keeps shoving its money through the housing door instead of the door where things actually get built. If you missed those, the short version is: money put into a business grows the country, money put into an existing house just makes the house dearer.

Well, this week a bunch of young business owners turned that exact argument into one of the sharpest marketing campaigns you’ll see all year. And whatever you think of the politics, the craft is worth a look, because it’s a masterclass in how to win an argument before anyone’s checked the facts.

Here’s the setup. The budget proposed changing capital gains tax, the tax you pay on the profit when you sell something for more than you bought it. The change makes sense for the housing door, taxing property investors harder so houses stop being such a one-way bet. The founders even say they’re fine with that bit. The trouble is the same change also hits people who sell a business they’ve built. Same swing of the door, and it caught the workshop along with the houses.

Now watch what they did with it.

First, the name. They didn’t call it “proposed CGT discount reform.”

They called it an aspiration ambush. Two words, and you already know whose side you’re meant to be on. “Aspiration” is the good thing, having a crack, building something. “Ambush” is the sneaky thing done to you from behind. Stick them together and you’ve got the whole grievance in a phrase a headline writer can’t resist. That’s not an accident, that’s branding.

Second, the line. The letter says, near enough, we work the hours, we carry the risk. You can’t argue with it. It doesn’t mention tax rates or indexation or any of the stuff that makes your eyes glaze. It just plants a flag: we’re the ones doing the hard yards. Try writing a reply that starts “well, actually” to we work the hours, we carry the risk and see how you sound.

Third, and this is the bit I’d frame and hang on the wall, the silent partner meme. Some of them made fake ads casting the Prime Minister as a 47% shareholder in their business. One posted that he’s a bloke who has never done a stocktake and somehow still gets 47 per cent of the business and takes zero risk. That’s the silent partner gag, and it’s perfect, because it takes an invisible, boring thing, a tax on a sale that might happen years from now, and turns it into a freeloading mate who turns up at payday having done nothing. Everyone’s had a version of that bloke. You feel it before you’ve thought about it. Region Canberra

No wonder Kevin shared it. That’s the gag working exactly as designed, it travels from a screen in Kiama to a phone call with his sister before anyone’s checked a single number.

Fourth, the messenger. They didn’t wheel out grey men from a lobby group. They badged it founders under 40. Young, building things, the future. It’s much harder to paint a 35-year-old who started a company as a greedy fat cat, so the campaign chose faces that don’t fit the villain costume.

Put it together and you’ve got a textbook job: a sticky name, a line you can’t argue with, a meme that does the thinking for you, and the right faces out front. It went everywhere. Sky, the papers, an open letter straight to the PM. That’s what good marketing looks like, it makes its point feel like common sense before the other side has finished clearing its throat.

Now, here’s where Betty keeps her wits about her, because clever marketing is exactly the thing you should be most careful around. Being well-sold isn’t the same as being right.

Albanese’s comeback is, frankly, not bad either, it’s just nowhere near as catchy. He says the campaign is being run by right-wing parties and their allies, and that the meme misses how the tax actually works: it’s only paid when a business is sold, not every year, and most small businesses pay little or no capital gains tax when they sell. If he’s right, the “47% silent partner” doesn’t apply to most of the people sharing it. But “it’s only realised on disposal and most SMEs fall under the threshold” will never, ever beat a funny picture of the PM stealing half your business. The truer claim is losing because the catchier claim is winning. That happens a lot, and it’s worth noticing when it’s happening to you. Western Advocate Region Canberra

So two things are true at the same time. The founders have a real point, the tax change really does seem to clip the productive door as well as the housing one, and that’s the exact problem these posts have been about. And they’ve dressed that point in such good marketing that you should slow down and check it rather than just nod along. Both can be true. Usually are.

That’s the lesson, and it’s a bigger one than capital gains tax. The side with the better slogan isn’t automatically the side that’s right. They’re just the side that hired the better wordsmith. Your job, Betty, is to enjoy the craft, and then go and find out whether the thing it’s selling you is actually true.

Funny old world. We started by working out why your house doesn’t count, and we’ve ended up watching the country’s smartest marketers fight over the door it should’ve been going through all along.

Albo the Silent Partner – a budget explainer for Betty from Blacktown

Somewhere in Blacktown, Betty is reading the budget papers. Her accountant isn’t answering. Her family’s at work. The Treasurer is on the telly saying “distortions. This post is for her.

G’day Betty.

You rang your accountant. He didn’t ring back. Your daughter’s working two jobs and your son-in-law’s on night shift, so the family WhatsApp is all emojis and no answers. Meanwhile every news bulletin has someone in a suit yelling about “indexation” and “distortions” and you’re left wondering whether the bloke on the telly just took something off you or gave you something, and whether you should be cross about it.

Let me have a crack. No jargon. Promise.

What actually changed on budget night

A week ago, on 12 May, Jim Chalmers handed down the budget. Three things matter for normal people:

One. From July 2027, when someone sells an investment, a rental, some shares, a business, the tax rules change. The old deal was simple: hold it more than a year, only pay tax on half the gain. The new deal: you only pay tax on the bit that beats inflation (the “real” gain), but with a minimum tax rate of 30% on whatever’s left.

Two. Negative gearing, where landlords offset rental losses against their wage, gets limited to new builds only, also from July 2027. If you’ve already got an investment property, nothing changes for you. You’re grandfathered in.

Three. Family trusts get a minimum 30% tax from July 2028. This is the bit that’s upsetting small business owners, because a lot of them run their butcher shop or tradie business through a trust.

What it means for you, Betty

Here’s the thing the government has been hopeless at saying out loud: if you’re a pensioner, the minimum 30% tax on capital gains doesn’t apply to you. Pensioners are exempt. That’s in the budget papers. Nobody’s said it on the 6 o’clock news because it doesn’t fit either side’s story.

If you own your home, your home is not touched. The main residence exemption is untouched. Sell the house, no tax. Same as it ever was.

If you’ve got a bit of super, your super is not touched. The CGT discount inside super funds stays.

If you’ve got a rental you bought years ago, nothing changes for you unless and until you sell, and even then the old rules apply to the gains you’ve already made.

So far, so boring. So why is everyone yelling?

Why everyone’s yelling

Because of the bit that isn’t about Betty. It’s about Betty’s nephew Luke who runs a life-coaching business, or your neighbour’s daughter who started a little software company in her garage. When they eventually sell, the government takes a minimum 30% slice. Small business owners have started making AI memes of Anthony Albanese photoshopped into their shop windows as the “silent partner” the bloke who didn’t do any of the work but turns up on settlement day with his hand out.

That’s the meme. And memes win arguments these days, Betty, whether we like it or not.

Now , the government will tell you there are small business CGT concessions that still let eligible owners halve or even wipe their CGT bill on sale. That’s true. They are real and they are generous. But Jim Chalmers spent a week not saying it loud enough, and Anthony Albanese spent a week saying “we’re returning to the pre-1999 system” as if anyone under 50 remembers what the pre-1999 system felt like.

The bit that should actually worry you

It’s not the policy. It’s the competence.

A week after budget night, Labor’s own backbenchers are telling journalists they can’t explain it. The Prime Minister himself admitted yesterday that the trust changes “will take longer to develop”, which is political code for we announced it before we’d finished designing it. He’s said he’ll bring the CGT legislation to Parliament “in a fortnight.” Everything’s in a fortnight. Nothing’s actually happened yet.

If your accountant won’t ring you back and the Treasurer can’t explain the policy on Insiders, that’s not your fault, Betty. That’s theirs.

What to actually do

  1. Don’t panic-sell anything. The changes don’t start until July 2027. You’ve got over a year. Existing assets are mostly grandfathered.
  2. If you’re a pensioner, breathe out. The minimum tax doesn’t apply to you.
  3. Keep ringing the accountant. When he finally picks up, ask him two questions: does anything I own get caught by the new rules, and if so, when do I need to decide anything? That’s it. Don’t let him bill you for an hour of jargon.
  4. Watch the trust stuff. It’s the bit most likely to change between now and when it’s legislated. If anyone tells you what the final rules are before about September, they’re guessing.

The bottom line

The budget isn’t the disaster the memes suggest, and it isn’t the masterstroke the press releases suggest. For most pensioners and most homeowners, very little changes. For people who own businesses they plan to sell, or who use family trusts, there’s real stuff to work through and the government hasn’t finished working it through itself.

Anthony Albanese has earned his new nickname. He is the silent partner, silent on the bits that would reassure you, silent on the bits that would honestly admit what’s still being figured out. Until he starts talking like a human being instead of a Treasury press release, Betty from Blacktown is going to keep being confused. And so will the rest of the country.

Hang in there. Ring the accountant on Monday. And if he still won’t pick up, ring me.

Why Data Doesn’t Save the Nice People

One of these anglers is going home with dinner.

An infographic came through my feed this week, shared by one of my more thoughtful followers. You’ve probably seen one like it. “The Facts About Migrants in Australia.” Beautiful design. Sydney Harbour Bridge across the top. Pink graduation cap. Treasury figures. Census data. Sources properly cited at the bottom.

I fact-checked it. It’s accurate. Migrants really do pay more in taxes than they take out. They really are younger, better educated, more likely to be working. The numbers stack up.

And it will change exactly nobody’s mind.

Because while the well-meaning people are making infographics, Pauline Hanson and Angus Taylor are telling a story. And a story beats a bar chart every single time.

Here’s the thing nobody wants to admit.

Taylor and Hanson aren’t stupid. They’ve got staffers. They’ve read the Treasury paper. They know the average skilled migrant contributes about $200,000 over their lifetime while the average Aussie-born citizen costs the budget $85,000.

They just don’t care. Because they’ve worked out something the infographic-makers haven’t: the fight isn’t actually about the numbers.

The fight is about who you are, who’s on your side, and who’s making your life harder. Housing costs are through the roof. You can’t get in to see a GP. The roads are choked. Your kid can’t afford a house in the suburb you grew up in. Something’s gone wrong, and somebody needs to cop the blame.

You don’t beat that with a pie chart. You really don’t.

Why data doesn’t work on social issues

This pattern shows up everywhere once you start looking for it.

Crime stats have been dropping for thirty years. Tough-on-crime campaigns still win. Why? Because the fight isn’t about the trendline. It’s about whether you feel safe walking to your car at night.

The climate science is settled. The politics isn’t. Why? Because the fight isn’t about radiative forcing. It’s about whose town shuts down when the coal mine closes.

Same with guns in America. Same with drugs. Same with nuclear power. When the data is clear but the politics is loud, it’s almost always because the data is answering a different question than the one people are actually asking.

The migration infographic answers: “Are migrants good for the budget?” Yes, they are.

But Betty in Blacktown isn’t asking that. Betty’s asking: “Why can’t my daughter afford a house? Why does the bus take an hour now? Who’s looking out for me?”

And if your answer is “well actually, according to Treasury modelling…” you’ve already lost her.

What 20 years of running a charity taught me about this

I spent two decades running Action for Agriculture. Australian agriculture had an image problem with young people. Kids thought farming was boring, dirty, going broke, finished.

 We made infographics. Plenty of them. Good ones. But we never led with them.

We led with people. Young farmers, sharp, funny, articulate twenty-somethings doing extraordinary things with technology, sustainability, animal welfare. We called them Young Farming Champions. We put them in front of school kids. We ran the Archibull Prize where kids made art about agriculture after meeting these young farmers and hearing their stories.

Then, once the kids were hooked, once they’d met Cassie or Sam and thought “hang on, this is actually interesting,” then we’d hand them the infographic. The GDP figures. The export numbers. The sustainability stats. The careers data.

And by that point, they actually read it. Because they’d already decided they cared.

That’s the bit the pro-migration crowd is getting wrong. They’re handing Betty the infographic on the first date. Before she’s even sat down. Before she knows why she should care. And then they’re surprised when she walks out.

So what should the pro-migration side actually do?

Same order of operations.

Lead with people. Not “migrants” as a category. Specific, named, photographed humans. The Filipino nurse who looked after your mum in palliative care. The Indian engineer who fixed your suburb’s water. The Sudanese kid in your daughter’s class who’s just been picked for the rep team.

Get Betty curious. Get her invested. Get her thinking “hang on, that’s not the story I’m being told.”

Then, once she’s hooked, bring out the Treasury numbers. The 56% with tertiary qualifications. The $200,000 lifetime contribution. The employment rates. By then she’ll read them, because she’ll already be on the journey.

And here’s the bit the nice people really struggle with. Acknowledge what the other side is getting right. Housing pressure is real. Infrastructure lag is real. Wage pressure in some industries is real. If your pro-migration message pretends none of that exists, you sound like you live on a different planet to Betty, and she’ll vote for whoever doesn’t.

And the hard truth. The people making these careful, accurate, well-sourced infographics aren’t wrong. They’ve just got the order wrong.

Hanson and Taylor lead with story. Threat, identity, who’s on your side. By the time anyone gets around to checking the numbers, the emotional work is done and the data bounces off.

The nice people lead with numbers. And the story never gets told at all.

If you care about social issues, migration, climate, reconciliation, whatever your patch is, make your infographics. Make them beautiful. Make them accurate. But understand they’re the second move, not the first.

Hook them with a human. Seal it with the data.

That’s the order. We had it right at Action4agriculture. The pro-migration crowd needs to figure it out before the next election.

If this is renewal, Angus Taylor needs a new speechwriter

Every new leader gets a first moment.

When Angus Taylor stepped up to lead the Liberal Party of Australia, this was the pivotal moment. Fresh page. Fresh language. A chance to widen the tent.

He could have said this:

Australia is strong.
We are entering a decade defined by productivity, housing supply, energy transition and technological change.
Our task is to grow the economy, lift wages through innovation and manage migration with discipline so infrastructure keeps pace.
We are the party of aspiration. We back small business, we back home ownership, we back families who work hard and want opportunity for their children.
We will listen, we will modernise, and we will build a serious alternative government.

That would have framed the future.

Instead, here is what he said.

“I’m particularly conscious that we got some big calls wrong – especially on personal income tax. And it won’t happen again.”

“If an election was held today, our party may not exist by the end of it.”

“We’re in this position because we didn’t stay true to our core values – because we stopped listening to Australians, because we were attracted to the politics of convenience rather than focusing on the politics of conviction.”

And in a time that calls for social cohesion, here is the immigration frame he chose.

“In this country, our borders have been open to people who hate our way of life, people who don’t want to embrace Australia, and who want Australia to change for them.”

He could have said this

Control of our borders is a fundamental responsibility of government.
Migration must serve Australia’s national interest, support economic growth and maintain social cohesion.
We will ensure that every intake strengthens the country and reflects the standards Australians expect.

One version expands the horizon.
One version narrows it.

One version invites aspiration.
One version centres anxiety.

Politics is not only about policy. It is about tone and imagination. A first speech as leader is about defining tomorrow.

Australia is confident. Voters respond to leaders who sound that way.

The difference between these two speeches is altitude.

And altitude is everything.

If there were a masterclass in how to shrink a moment, yesterday’s speech from Angus Taylor would be the case study.

The Ugliness of Using Others to Do Your Bidding – The Proxy Wars

There’s something undeniably ugly about powerful entities—whether in the Middle East or right here in Australian politics—using others to do their bidding while stepping back from the dirty work. It feels manipulative and disingenuous. It’s a tactic that allows agendas to be pushed through complex systems without full transparency or accountability. And it’s no wonder that, for those of us trying to make sense of it all, it leaves a bad taste. The real issues, and the people they affect, often get lost in the shuffle of political manoeuvring.

I’ve been digging into how conflicts and politics work, and this recurring theme is hard to ignore. In places like the Middle East, we see countries like Iran using proxy groups—militias and organisations that fight on their behalf—to achieve goals without getting directly involved. It’s a way to influence events while keeping their hands clean, avoiding the immediate risks of being on the frontlines themselves.

The unsettling part? This very same concept exists in Australian politics. Here, political parties may not use militias, but they still rely on proxy groups in the form of advocacy organisations, unions, business groups, and media outlets to push their agendas while maintaining a safe distance from the consequences. Let’s break it down.

In the Middle East, Iran might back a militia to fight battles, all while claiming plausible deniability. In Australia, the playbook is a bit more polished, but the idea is similar. Political parties use third-party groups to do the heavy lifting.

Take the Australian Labor Party (ALP), which benefits from trade unions campaigning for workers’ rights, running ads, and mobilising support. The Liberal Party has its own proxies—business groups like the Minerals Council of Australia, which fight against regulation that might harm industry profits. Then there’s the role of the media. Outlets like News Corp Australia tend to lean into conservative policies, giving the Liberal Party a megaphone without the party itself having to say a word.

What ties all of this together is the idea of plausible deniability. Political parties benefit from these campaigns, but when things get controversial or unpopular, they can step back and say, “That wasn’t us.” It’s a clever way to play the game without getting your hands dirty, just like in the Middle East, where proxy groups do the fighting while those in power sit back.

In both cases, the strategy is clear: achieve your goals without direct involvement in the messier aspects. Whether it’s political influence in Australia or military conflict abroad, this approach allows those in power to keep their distance from the fallout, while others do the dirty work. It’s an age-old tactic, but it doesn’t make it any less troubling.

For the rest of us, it’s frustrating to see how real issues—be they workers’ rights, industry regulation, or even the integrity of our political system—are overshadowed by backroom manoeuvring and strategic distancing. In a system where proxy groups are doing the bidding, accountability often falls by the wayside.

So, the next time you see a heated political campaign or read an aggressive editorial in a newspaper, it’s worth asking: who’s really pulling the strings? The answer might not be as straightforward as it seems.

#PoliticalManipulation #ProxyPolitics #HiddenInfluence #PowerDynamics
#BehindTheScenes #AustralianPolitics #MediaManipulation #PoliticalStrategy #CorporateInfluence #PlausibleDeniability
#PoliticalAccountability #PoliticalProxies #ProxyWars

Footnote:

Back to the reason I did a deep dive into this issue in the first place is to me the most confusing aspects of the Middle East conflicts is the widespread use of proxy warfare. This means that powerful countries—such as Iran, the U.S., or Saudi Arabia—back local militant groups to fight on their behalf, rather than engaging in direct military confrontation. For example, Iran supports Hezbollah and various Shia militias, while the U.S. has backed Kurdish forces in Syria.

Proxy wars blur the lines between state and non-state actors. When these groups launch attacks or fight in regional conflicts, it’s not always clear who is pulling the strings or what their ultimate goals are. This indirect involvement of powerful nations adds another layer of confusion, making it hard for everyday observers to tell which country or group is driving the conflict.

Another reason why understanding the Middle East can be so challenging is the way media covers these events. News outlets often focus on specific incidents—such as a rocket attack or a military strike—without always explaining the broader context. While these snapshots are important, they don’t provide the full picture.

Moreover, the media often simplifies conflicts into binary narratives: good versus evil, ally versus enemy. In reality, the Middle East conflicts are not so black and white. Allies today could become enemies tomorrow, and groups that seem ideologically opposed may cooperate for strategic reasons. This oversimplification makes it even harder for the average person to get a grip on the true nature of the conflicts.

Politics plays a huge role in shaping how conflicts are portrayed. Governments around the world, including in the U.S. and Europe, often frame Middle Eastern conflicts in ways that align with their national interests. For example, Israel’s security concerns are frequently emphasised in Western media, while the humanitarian crisis in Gaza may not receive the same level of attention.

This selective reporting can skew public understanding, leaving many people with only part of the story. Without access to clear, unbiased information, it’s difficult for the average citizen to develop an informed perspective.

Amid all the political manoeuvring and military strategies, the human cost of these conflicts is often overshadowed. Civilians in places like Syria, Gaza, and Yemen bear the brunt of the violence, yet their suffering can be reduced to just another statistic. For those far removed from the region, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that real people—families, children, communities—are caught in the middle.

Understanding these conflicts isn’t just about knowing who’s fighting whom; it’s about recognising the profound impact these wars have on the lives of ordinary people. Unfortunately, this humanitarian aspect often gets lost in the geopolitical discourse.