There is a paradox at the heart of right-wing populism in Australia.
The more outraged we are by the likes of Barnaby Joyce and Pauline Hanson – and apparently now Angus Taylor and his new front bench of hate – the more powerful they become.
For years, critics have responded to every provocation, every inflammatory soundbite, every exaggerated claim with immediate condemnation. Social media lights up. Opinion writers rush to rebut. Panels convene. Fact checks circulate. The cycle repeats.
And through it all, they win.
Not because their arguments are strong. Not because their policies are coherent. But because outrage is oxygen.
Populist politics thrives on attention. It does not distinguish between positive and negative coverage. Visibility is the currency. Every furious share, every alarmed headline, every “can you believe she said that?” post extends reach. Algorithms reward engagement, and outrage is engagement’s most reliable fuel.
Their supporters do not recoil when critics attack. They feel vindicated.
When “elites” appear horrified, it reinforces the central populist narrative: that powerful, out-of-touch interests are threatened by someone who is “telling it like it is”. Alarm becomes proof. Criticism becomes validation. Condemnation becomes campaign material.
There is also a psychological effect at play. Outrage energises not just opponents, but followers. When supporters see strong emotional reactions from people who are unaffected by the issue at hand, it signals that their champion has struck a nerve. It emboldens them. It strengthens in-group identity. It sharpens the us-versus-them boundary.
And that boundary is the entire project.
Populist figures often operate from positions where governing responsibility is limited or diluted. They are not required to deliver comprehensive reform. They are not burdened by the daily compromises of executive office. Their role is rhetorical, symbolic and reactive. That makes attention even more valuable. Visibility sustains relevance.
In that environment, silence can be more destabilising than protest.
When inflammatory remarks land in a vacuum instead of a storm, they lose velocity. When the cycle of outrage is interrupted, the amplification mechanism weakens. When the media chooses not to elevate every provocation to national crisis status, the incentive to provoke diminishes.
This is not an argument for ignoring harmful ideas altogether. Dangerous rhetoric must be challenged. Misinformation must be corrected. But there is a difference between strategic rebuttal and reflexive amplification.
The question is not whether something is offensive. It is whether responding in the most dramatic way possible serves the public interest or serves the speaker.
Consider the dynamics of attention. Social media platforms prioritise content that generates strong emotional reactions. Anger, fear and moral shock travel faster than measured analysis. When critics quote inflammatory statements in order to condemn them, they are still spreading them. Often to audiences that would never otherwise encounter them.
The result is a paradoxical alliance: supporters share in admiration, opponents share in alarm, and the message spreads regardless.
There is also a deeper civic cost. Constant focus on polarising personalities crowds out substantive debate. Instead of discussing practical policy solutions, infrastructure, health services or regional investment, public discourse becomes a rolling reaction to the latest provocation. Politics becomes theatre. Serious governance becomes background noise.
Meanwhile, real issues go underexamined.
Take the recent example of Pauline Hanson declaring there are “no good Muslims”. The statement was shocking, offensive and immediately condemned across the political spectrum. Calls for apology flooded social media. Commentators dissected her words. Politicians lined up to denounce her.
And every repetition of that phrase, even in condemnation, ensured it travelled further.
Each demand for an apology. Each outraged tweet. Each Facebook post expressing disbelief. Each headline quoting the line. All of it extended the lifespan of the provocation.
Even those who wouldn’t “repeat her words” alerted people that there were words, so they quickly google to see what Hanson has said now.
I will not repeat her words, but last night and today's comments from Pauline Hanson are wrong and cruel.
They are comments not worthy of someone who holds public office.
Please just apologise. — Tony Burke (@Tony_Burke) February 17, 2026
Her supporters saw the reaction and felt affirmed. Critics felt morally compelled to respond. The media cycle turned exactly as designed.
If the objective is to diminish this kind of politics, we have to recognise when we are participating in its marketing strategy.
It is very hard though. It requires discipline. The instinct to react is powerful. Silence can feel like complicity. But not every provocation deserves amplification. Sometimes the most effective response is to starve the spectacle.
If Barnaby Joyce and Pauline Hanson get energy from alarm, then alarm is a resource we control.
The way to make it stop is not to shout louder. It is to stop giving them exactly what they want.
Just stop talking about them.
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