The politics of division: the masters

In more than four decades of following Australian politics, two names stand out when I think about division: Pauline Hanson and John Howard.

That is not because they were the most extreme politicians Australia has produced. Nor is it because they were the most powerful. Rather, it is because both understood something fundamental about politics: fear, resentment and cultural conflict can be powerful political tools.

Before the rise of Pauline Hanson, Australian politics was generally built around broad consensus. Australians argued about tax rates, industrial relations, welfare spending and foreign policy, but there remained a strong belief that despite disagreements, the country was moving forward together.

Hanson challenged that idea.

When she entered federal parliament in 1996, she gave voice to Australians who felt ignored, particularly in regional and rural communities. Many of those concerns were genuine. Economic restructuring, declining industries and growing insecurity had left people feeling abandoned by political leaders.

But Hanson did more than identify grievances.

She directed those grievances towards targets. Migrants, multiculturalism, Indigenous Australians and later Muslims became recurring themes in her political narrative. Australia, she argued, was changing in ways that ordinary Australians neither wanted nor controlled.

Supporters saw her as courageous. Critics saw her as divisive.

The debate over Hanson often focuses on whether her views were right or wrong. The more important question may be what effect her politics had on Australian society.

Her critics were never concerned solely with the opinions she expressed. They were concerned about the consequences of framing fellow Australians as threats to national identity. Over time, the language of grievance and cultural conflict escaped the walls of parliament and entered the broader public arena.

The result was not merely disagreement. It was division.

Political debate became increasingly hostile. Social media amplified anger and resentment. Nationalist movements found larger audiences. Public discussion became less about solving shared problems and more about identifying those supposedly responsible for them.

Not all of these developments can be attributed to Hanson. Similar trends emerged across much of the Western world. Yet in Australia, Hanson became the most recognisable symbol of a style of politics built around grievance, suspicion and cultural division.

What made her influence significant was not simply what she believed, but the way her politics encouraged Australians to view one another. Citizens who disagreed were no longer merely opponents with different ideas. Increasingly, they became people to fear, distrust or resent.

The consequences remain visible today. Much of the bitterness that dominates social media and public debate reflects a political culture in which outrage often attracts more attention than understanding.

John Howard’s contribution to division was different, but no less significant.

Howard was an extraordinarily skilled politician and, debatably, one of Australia’s most successful prime ministers. His political talent lay in identifying cultural fault lines and turning them into electoral advantages.

The debate over Aboriginal reconciliation provides perhaps the clearest example.

Howard rejected what he saw as the “black armband” view of Australian history and argued Australians should take pride in their achievements rather than dwell excessively on past injustices. Many Australians agreed with him. Others believed he was encouraging the nation to avoid confronting difficult truths about dispossession and historical injustice.

The result was not simply a disagreement about history. It was the creation of opposing camps, each increasingly convinced the other represented a threat to Australia’s future.

The same pattern emerged during debates over asylum seekers.

The Tampa affair in 2001 remains one of the defining moments in modern Australian politics. Howard’s declaration that Australia would decide who entered the country resonated strongly with voters and helped secure electoral success.

Politically, it was masterful.

Yet it also transformed asylum seekers from a humanitarian issue into a cultural and political battleground. Questions that once centred on compassion, international obligations and human rights increasingly became questions of identity, security and belonging.

What Hanson and Howard shared was an understanding that politics is often easier when voters are given someone to blame.

For Hanson, the targets were frequently minorities and political elites.

For Howard, the targets were often intellectuals, activists, academics and those portrayed as disconnected from mainstream Australia.

Neither invented division. Political conflict has always existed. But both helped normalise a style of politics that emphasised cultural conflict as much as policy debate.

The consequences are still with us.

Today, Australians increasingly encounter politics through outrage, conflict and tribal loyalty. Social media did not create these divisions, but it has amplified them. The bitterness visible online often reflects deeper fractures that have been developing for decades.

A healthy democracy requires disagreement. It requires vigorous debate, competing ideas and passionate advocacy.

What it cannot thrive on indefinitely is a political culture in which fellow Australians are encouraged to fear, resent or despise one another.

Democracy depends on argument.

It does not depend on division.

The two are not the same thing.