The problem isn’t just the Canberra bubble

Recent years have seen electoral results and other political developments that have particularly surprised those who consider themselves well informed, from practitioners such as politicians to direct close observers such as the mainstream media and academia.

Examples across democracies Australians are familiar with include the success of the Brexit referendum in Britain, the election of Donald Trump in the United States, the rise then return to earth of Emmanuel Macron and his En Marche! party in France, and the eclipse of longstanding parties across Europe.

But how much of this should really surprise us? So many experts experienced disbelief and shock in the wake of these developments, yet there is a rational explanation for all of this.

The word ‘populism’ is often used to describe this trend, but it’s a term I’ve always been uncomfortable with. Democracies are supposed to consider popular support and consent as a yardstick, so using it in a derogatory fashion is counter-intuitive. Rather, I contend that the key elements that should concern us are the attacks on politics itself and the dismissal of complexity in addressing various policy challenges, as if there are simple, easy solutions that are being ignored by a conspiracy of those in power.

When the motives of those involved in politics are impugned, as a substitute for focusing on the impact of specific policies or proposals, it is not political debate that is occurring but a drive towards political tribalism that is intentionally encouraging one group to not even listen to the views or perspectives of others.

These are the very factors making domestic politics ‘harder’ than it used to be, leading to frustration from those claiming to be directly engaged, and disengagement and disillusionment from the wider population. Alongside the unexpected electoral outcomes, there has also been a rise in political conflict regarding issues that are either binary in nature (such as the Brexit referendum) or where movements challenge the core institutions of politics without specific policy demands that can be implemented to address the relevant concerns.

For example, in the US, a key difference between the modern Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement and the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s is the generality of the demands of BLM. Whereas the push for civil rights included calls for the repeal or override of the Jim Crow segregation laws that condemned African-Americans to second-class citizenship, the generality of the BLM claims makes them more difficult to actually address. In particular, this reflects how the movement itself may not have determined the policy priorities that it believes will help it achieve its desired outcome.

Politics requires specificity. That is how public resources are allocated. It is how success is measured. The common experience of a grievance, no matter how valid, is impossible to address without some agreement on a course of action to resolve it.

Furthermore, the world in which all this has occurred has arguably changed more in the last decade than at any other time since television became commonplace in the 1950s. But unlike during the expansion of mass media, we have separated. We’re all spending more time talking and listening to people like ourselves, those who hold similar views of the world and its problems, those with whom we share similar social and economic experiences and lifestyles.

Decades ago, the historian Bernard Bailyn outlined the impact of ‘pamphlets’ on the American Revolution. Early printed ‘newspapers’ — not much more than handbills or leaflets, passed by hand in public houses, churches, shops and marketplaces — were critical in creating the environment for many otherwise conservative churchgoing farmers and traders to rise up against the British Empire. This culture continued in the politics of the new republic, before the rise of the mass media.

Some of these pamphlets were scandalous, containing outrageous personal abuse and extraordinary allegations about political opponents’ personal lives and policies. Eventually, they evolved into highly partisan newspapers with wide circulations. People at that time often received news based on the perspective it represented, just like the stories they heard and the sermons they attended within communities comprising citizens of similar views and outlook.

The mandates of geography and communication created communities of shared experience. Now replace the old technologies of handbills and the printing press with global connectivity and you have the modern world of digital and social media, with news no longer bound by location. People still seek, receive and believe information from sources they have come to know and trust, but often with little in the way of verification or fact checking, as is a norm of traditional journalism, and with algorithms and online communities replacing the community of church or town selecting what is heard, seen and read.

And, of course, there are the slurs and claims of personal abuse. The effect is the same, but amplified by the speed and capability of modern technology: a rise in personal and personality-driven comments and attacks; claims striving for an emotional response; and disputes over basic facts that previously would have been accepted, leading to a dramatic increase in the spread of disinformation.

In future years, we may view the 20th century world of a common, shared mass media as the exception rather than the rule. Our fragmented 21st-century media and information environment better reflects the experiences of the 18th and 19th centuries. Despite technology making it appear an evolution, it is actually a reversion.

The upshot is that those who seek to influence public debate, including political candidates themselves, can now go directly to the voters and distinct communities in much more targeted ways, often without the verification process inherent in the traditional media. This in turn opens up much wider opportunities for campaigns aimed at grievances, or even for simple lies or mistruths to gain traction, in a way that just wasn’t possible when mass media was shared.

Fuelling this is the same trend we see across the uglier side of social media: personal abuse. Assigning someone a motive, and abusing or insulting them from a distance or anonymously, is at the other end of the spectrum from respectful face-to-face interaction. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that this is intensified by people not having to see or meet each other, or that it’s a sadly effective way of blocking out alternative world views.

The style of campaign that impugns motives is increasingly coming from single-issue movements and minor parties – critically, those that do not need to govern. These groups are not subject to the requirement to have a coherent policy framework for government, with all of the internal compromises, trade-offs and policy prioritisation that this entails.

Compromise is critical in addressing public priorities, and it must involve complexity and nuance – exactly what is lacking in most social media content, which can be an echo chamber of people’s pre-existing prejudices, priorities and attitudes.

The memberships of political parties are a fraction of what they were two generations ago, and they continue to fall. Both major parties in Australia have well under 100,000 members – this across a nation of nearly 17 million voters. At the same time, community engagement with single-issue or specific-campaign movements is growing. Whether it’s an organised and openly electoral and political campaigning body, such as GetUp!, or a movement expressed through more direct public participation, such as the BLM protest marches of 2020, individual causes or perspectives that explicitly avoid a wide-ranging platform are succeeding, not failing, in attracting support.

In essence, movements that don’t require the sentiments of compromise or prioritisation are strengthening at the expense of political parties which need to do so in order to viably govern.

Modern minor parties have very different incentives to those of the parties intent on governing. They may advocate a particular policy agenda, or they may seek patronage and preferment in the allocation of public resources, or sometimes a combination of both. But a key aspect of minor parties, especially the newer incarnations, is who they see as their prime electoral competition. Historically, if a minor party was a breakaway from a major party, it often explicitly campaigned against that major party; for example, the Democratic Labour Party from the 1950s through the 1970s.

The Australian Democrats, the most prominent minor party of the previous generation, and until recently the most successful, had a different agenda, partly expressed so bluntly in inaugural leader Don Chipp’s famous words: “Keep the bastards honest.” Following on from the short-lived Australia Party, it was explicitly middle-of-the-road, with the aim of negotiating with both sides of politics.

The Greens, now Australia’s largest minor party, is a very different party to the Australian Democrats. The rise of The Greens as a national force shines a light on the trends outlined above: the demonisation of compromise; a specific ideological agenda; a lack of interest in cooperating with a governing majority or respecting its electoral mandate.

The language used by The Greens is instead often absolute and moralistic; for example, the claim that Australia’s immigration policies are responsible for people dying. Even more notably, it has been entirely open about competing with the Labor Party for progressive voters. Similarly, One Nation often tries to position itself in opposition to the Coalition, and particularly the National Party, knowing that its appeal to those parties’ supporters is a major component of its success. Looking at the social media activity of the minor parties, you often see emotive, simplistic claims that are critical of “both major parties” (that is, those who seek government).

What does all this mean for the citizens of this country? It is up to you, as much as your political representatives, to confound the challenges I’ve described. Seek out views that you have previously not seen, heard or read. Strive to understand the perspectives and experiences of those who hold views that are different to your own. Reject those who try to impugn others when you consider political debates. And, of course, be open to the idea that compromising on a particular priority is not a failure, but rather may represent progress, if not success; that it doesn’t preclude reconsideration in the future; that the perfect should not be the enemy of the good.

The ‘centre’ of politics is not halfway between Liberal and Labor, or in the middle of the Right and the Left. It represents an approach to practically addressing an important issue, even imperfectly, then moving on to the next one in the endless series of problems and other matters that politics and government must confront. The alternative is to become fixated on certain issues, never even temporarily resolving them, and have them motivate people to divide into burgeoning tribes.

Do we really want our politics to be more like those of the United States, where weighty issues like abortion and gun laws are argued over for decade after decade while other concerns remain unaddressed by the political process? The approach I’m advocating will not always mean an active state or government. It can mean a determination not to act, or to reduce the role of government. But it will ensure that all of our voices have the opportunity to be heard, and it will give government a chance to address the multiplicity of priorities and aspirations in our enormously diverse country. In the end, democracy is always in the hands of the citizens.

This is an edited extract from Challenging Politics by Senator Scott Ryan, published March 1 as part of the new In the National Interest series from Monash University Publishing.