By Peter Mackay, March 22nd, 1999
I¹m exhausted, I've got a splitting headache, I'm sunburnt, my lips are chapped, my mouth burns from too much hot coffee drunk too quickly, my mobile phone battery is dead, my head is spinning from seeing too many people in too short a time and all I really want to do is have a nice cold beer, then curl up and sleep for a week.
I¹ve just spent two days on the campaign trail with Pauline Hanson and David Oldfield, and I¹ve only started to get a feel for what drives them.
Well, I drove them for a while, between Crookwell and Goulburn in the New South Wales Southern Highlands, but that¹s not what I mean.
It¹s kind of hard to explain, so I might as well start at the beginning.
Canberra Airport, half past seven on a Monday morning. I¹m fresh, bags packed, ready to go. The schedule calls for Pauline and David to fly in from Sydney at five to eight, to be met, whizzed over to a small plane and seen off to Tumut.
The day starts to go downhill from that point. The arrivals board shows Pauline's plane as delayed. A forty-five minute delay right at the start of a day crammed with activity and deadlines. Great!
Oh well, I can't make Qantas fly any faster, so at least I can go off and check on the small plane we've booked. I meet up with the candidate for Burrinjuck, Don Tarlinton, who is to accompany Pauline and David around the electorate before launching his campaign that night in Goulburn. Don is a middle-aged farmer, a likeable chap with a keen sense of humour and an easy-going manner. He's been lining up people for Pauline to meet for the last two weeks, and he¹s determined that she see and hear what¹s been going on in the bush.
Rick, the pilot, is ready to go. He's got a small twin-engined plane, a four-seater. Pre-flighted, clean, full of fuel, hot to trot. We tell him about the delay, and he says that he¹ll be ready to go when we are.
Back to the arrivals lounge, and we wait for the flight to arrive. I duck out to feed the meter, and when I return, there's Pauline visible for miles in a flame-red jacket, David Oldfield by her side, talking into a mobile phone. We walk down to the general aviation terminal, heads swivelling as we go past.
Pauline has that effect on people. Maybe Elle McPherson would get more attention, but I don¹t know. By contrast, anyone in her company sort of fades into the background. People have eyes only for Pauline -- they all know her, they've all made their mind up, and it seems that they all want to tell her about it.
As the day goes on, I get used to the same sentiments, expressed in a thousand different ways. "Pauline, I've just got to tell you that you have to be the bravest person in the world. You're the only one who¹s got the guts to stand up and say what everyone else is thinking. Good on you. Give 'em hell!"
Pauline might have been the Member for Oxley, but she speaks for most of Australia, judging by the evidence.
Pauline, David and Don join Rick the pilot in the plane, and the engines are cranked. The port engine is a little slow to start, but eventually they taxi out and take off.
Phil from the aviation company gives me a little jargon: "Wheels in well at oh-niner-zero-five.", he says as the undercarriage is raised, and I report the fact to the reception committee at Tumut.
The plane only had seats for four, so I am left behind with Gary from the campaign committee. We will drive to Crookwell and meet up at the airport there, whilst Pauline visits Tumut and Boorowa, small towns in the grip of the decline affecting rural Australia.
As we drive through the countryside, I notice that the growth caused by last year's spring rains is now tinder-dry. The Native Vegetation Act makes it almost impossible for landowners or firemen to reduce fuel loads from areas at risk to bushfires, with the consequent result that bushfires occur more frequently and are more devastating when they do occur.
National parks, for instance, are never cleared, and are havens for every weed under the sun. And every feral animal you can think of. Dogs, pigs, rats, cats -- you¹ll find very few native animals in a national park. Keeps the greenies happy in the cities, I guess, but farmers don't like living near national parks, because they have to put up with the "collateral damage". Losing hundreds of sheep annually to feral dogs is no joke.
And there's no doubt that the bush is suffering. Fresh coats of paint are rare indeed, and it seems that the only people driving new cars are those with government jobs.
Crookwell is a small town in a pleasant setting. An old town, many of the houses straight out of last century. Tourism is a big money-earner here, but seed potatoes and wool are still important. A huge bushfire here recently devastated many graziers.
Pauline is scheduled to arrive at the airport at quarter to two for lunch in Crookwell. Gary and I arrive in plenty of time, and find that somehow the word has got out. Charlie, a local landowner, and Rose from a nearby house join us as we scan the skies. Rose tells us how she admires Pauline¹s courage. "But I don't agree with everything she says, mind you."
Hard to find anybody who'll admit to supporting Pauline Hanson totally. What they mean, I suspect, is that they don¹t want to be tarred with the same racist brush.
The truth is that Pauline's platform is strongly anti-racist, but her constant statements that she regards all Australians as equals, and that people should be treated on need and not race don¹t seem to have penetrated. My feeling is that only a few people actually think that Pauline expresses racist views, but that they get all the media attention and everybody else keeps their head down lest it be kicked.
I've seen Pauline in action, and she treats everybody equally, regardless of their colour. One Nation has an Aboriginal candidate in this election, and a couple of Asian candidates. At least these people hear and understand her message of equal treatment.
Pauline and David had visited the Lachlan electorate a few days earlier, and the word back from Wilf Reid, the One Nation candidate there, was that any timetable was going to be inadequate. "She just falls further and further behind." he said "There are so many people who want to meet her and talk with her that everything takes longer than you planned for."
So it was no surprise to see that the plane was late. We looked around the deserted airstrip and listened to stories of how it had been crowded with aircraft during the recent fires. One aircraft could dump two tonnes of water at a time on a fire, and there had been helicopters of every description.
At the moment there were three cars and five people. I scanned the sky, tried the UHF and punched up the mobile phone. Nothing.
After an hour, I contacted the air charter company. Apparently the port engine had failed to start for the takeoff at Boorowa and the party had been given a lift by car. They would arrive in another hour.
We piled into the cars and headed into town. Lunch was intended for Lynam's, a cafe in Crookwell¹s main street, and the members of the recently launched One Nation branch were sitting around, nursing their third cups of coffee. There were groans as the bad news was passed -- Pauline wasn't expected for another hour. Me, I ordered a cup of tea and relaxed, there were worse places to spend an afternoon than such a pleasant coffee shop, and it certainly beat waiting in the hot sun at an airport for a plane that would never arrive.
My cuppa arrived, but before I could take a sip, Pauline and David walked in to cheers and applause, having made better time than expected. Handshakes all round, cameras appeared, smiles and laughter.
Something about that woman. Everyone wants to talk to her, and she listens to all. How can her minders move her on, when people have been waiting for years to shake her hand? People might wait on other political figures, but I really don¹t think that Bob Carr or John Howard have the same sort of sentiments expressed to them. Maybe Gough Whitlam in the old days got the same treatment, but it's a rare politician that stirs up the blood nowadays.
Pauline has that magic touch. Any number of people shake her hand, stars in their eyes, telling her how much they admire her for her honesty and courage, then, when they step back to give someone else a go, they say to me, "I don¹t agree with everything she says, mind."
I smile. I've heard it before.
After a while, the greetings are over, lunch is brought out, and the smiles fade. Pauline listens to some of the local landowners talk about their difficulties. Times are often hard in the bush, but this goes beyond droughts or floods or fires. Governments have apparently abandoned the bush in favour of multinational interests. The small farmer is rapidly becoming extinct and we are moving into the age of giant agricultural corporations.
Farmers are being slowly ground under by a flood of fees, a raft of regulations, and an army of bureaucrats. It takes time and money to do anything on the land nowadays. The recent fire has undoubtedly pushed a few over the edge -- farmers are supposed to carry insurance, we know, but there isn't too much money around for insurance premiums nowadays.
Pauline listens intently. These people are lifetime National Party voters, but they feel that they aren't getting the representation they need. The Liberal Party calls the shots in the Coalition, and the voices from the bush are becoming weaker as the years go by. What can Pauline do for them, they ask?
Pauline and David finish up and move outside. A young lady on crutches has hobbled up the street to meet Pauline and is photographed by the local paper, smiling broadly. In fact the same sort of pictures appear in the next edition of every paper in the electorate. Tom from Tumut has his arm around "the most beautiful woman in the world", in Boorowa the local butcher has eyes only for Pauline, and in Queanbeyan a young man in a wheelchair twinkles as his heroine kneels beside him.
Something about that woman.
Next stop is Goulburn, where we are scheduled to tour the Supertex factory half an hour ago. With Pauline's plane out of action, my moment of glory arrives. Don has lent me his "other car", a battered Falcon straight out of the Seventies. David Oldfield looks around as he slides into the passenger seat "Geez, they don't make 'em like this any more!"
I have to agree. Short on luxuries, this is the car that Don bumps around the paddock in when he checks his cattle. Still, it's all we¹ve got, and we head off down the road to Goulburn.
Pauline and Don are discussing the Native Vegetation Act in the back seat. Pauline is increasingly upset as she learns the details of this and other bits of nonsense from Sydney. She is horrified when she discovers that farmers are only allowed to retain 10% of the rain runoff from their land.
David is away on party business, holding a mobile phone to his ear and riding the network as we cruise up and down the hills past the wind farm. I'm fascinated by this man. Judging by his end of the conversation, he's busy sorting out a dozen different crises and running the campaign virtually single handed.
This is a man who uses a mobile phone to the full. He needs every feature, every function that he can squeeze in. And he¹s not impressed by mobile phone coverage in the bush.
I haven't met too many people who are. Outside the major cities and away from the Hume Highway, coverage is scratchy and patchy. The analogue coverage is on the way out, and the digital network a poor substitute. Mobile phones are a handy device for people on the move, as so many rural people are. Or for those working away from the house.
All too soon the road enters the outskirts of Goulburn, and we are winding through the back streets to the Supertex factory. As we pull up, David puts away his mobile, and Pauline waves and smiles at the reception committee.
Supertex makes towels and bathrobes from cotton, and is one of the ever-diminishing number of textile factories remaining in Australia. It employs 220 people, which is a pretty decent chunk of Goulburn's workforce. They are trying to compete with Asian companies on quality and service, as they cannot hope to match their wages and conditions. So far they are succeeding, and may they thrive and prosper.
The workforce is near the end of their shift, and there are a lot of smiles and looks as Pauline walks through the buildings, listening to the manager explain how it all works. A young man plucks up his courage and asks Pauline to sign his cap. She whips out a textile marker she keeps for the purpose and obliges with a smile and a few words.
After the tour, it's back to the vehicles. Neil, the president of the Goulburn branch, is waiting with his somewhat more luxurious car, and we follow him back to the motel.
Here we have a quick shower and change of clothes before the next item on the agenda -- drinks with some of the local members. As always, Pauline poses for pictures, signs things and chats with the troops. She's had a long day on the road, she¹s facing a press conference in fifteen minutes and a speech at Don¹s campaign launch after that, but she¹s relaxed and comfortable as she listens to people who have been members for a year or more without ever seeing her.
I¹m starting to get a rough idea of where she draws her strength from.
Next stop is the Goulburn Soldiers Club, where a crowd of over 200 are filing in for the show. Pauline and David quickly walk down the side and disappear backstage for their press conference. A party minder tells the people that they¹ve waited for two years, and asks them to wait ten more minutes.
I recognise a few of the faces as I look around. Of course the party faithful are here, but some of the people Pauline has met today have also turned up to hear some more. Phil from the aircraft company has driven up to Canberra, bringing his wife and family with him.
Pauline emerges in due course to a standing ovation and the launch begins. David Oldfield speaks first, and gives an outline of the party's policies for the campaign, dwelling heavily on the rural and regional policy. Low interest loans for small businesses and farmers feature prominently, and David reminds the audience that 2% might seem a very low rate, but that they are probably getting about the same rate on their bank accounts.
High interest rates have done for quite a few rural businesses over the last ten years. It makes sense to me to for the government to help out people who are actively engaged in creating wealth for the country and earning export dollars.
Don is next up, a most unusual farmer. He has a stock of books from government bookshops, and a file of newspaper clippings. He's been waiting for this moment, and he gives the audience both barrels. A third of rural railway lines have been closed down, including lines to Tumut, Boorowa and Crookwell. Rural health is at third world standards. Education has been run down, with services withdrawn from the bush, and farmers on declining incomes unable to meet rising school fees.
The list goes on and on. 30% of the State¹s population lives west of the Blue Mountains, but only 15% of State spending makes it across. Farmers face senseless legislation from a government advised by greenies. Roads are deteriorating, with spending from the 3x3 fuel levy diverted to other things. Government priorities are awry, with grants to overseas countries and the Gay Mardi Gras, but spending on hospitals slashed.
Again he stresses that both Labor and Coalition governments have let down rural Australia, and that the only bush they care about is Homebush.
Labor and Liberal put their prime efforts into attracting city voters, where government can be won or lost, and the Nationals, who are expected to stand up for rural folk, get leaned on by the Liberals whenever they are part of a Coalition government.
A strong protest vote for One Nation is the only way to put the message that rural folk are not happy. Only One Nation will work to overturn the continuing imbalance between city and country. But if country people vote the same old way they will continue to be treated the same old way.
Pauline Hanson, a lady who needs no introduction, is introduced by two people. One Nation is obviously building up a party structure!
"Today we¹ve been to a lot of small towns that politicians rarely visit." she begins "We've been listening to the issues, listening to the grass roots, listening to the people."
This is important to Pauline. As a fish and chip shop owner, she listened to real people, and she's still doing it. She tells a little story, another little piece in the puzzle of what keeps her going. A woman approached her and said "Pauline, they¹re about to take our property off us" Her husband, standing beside her, interrupted "Dear, there's nothing she can do."
His wife replied "I know that, but maybe she can help the next person."
Pauline is no longer in Parliament, but she is seen as somebody who can help others. I can vouch for this: at least once a day, Pauline is approached by somebody who has exhausted all other avenues -- their local MPs, the media, the ombudsman -- and is desperate for action, rather than the eternal runaround. There are some heart-rending stories around.
Pauline notes that the Liberal and National parties pinch her policies all the time, yet still maintain that she is simplistic, ill-informed and all the rest of it. This is far from the truth -- Pauline Hanson is on record as being the first Federal parliamentarian to point out the dangers of the OECD¹s Multilateral Agreement on Investment, a treaty that was later quietly dropped.
Pauline is often well ahead of the pack, but the big parties initially criticise her before later quietly adopting her common-sense policies as their own.
For too long, she tells us, Australians have adopted a "she'll be right, mate" attitude. Somehow the government will fix things up. Well, it's too late for that attitude -- we¹re out on our own in a hostile world, and our elected representatives are busy selling us out to multinationals. "The only way to get good government is to get good opposition." She continues "We haven¹t had a good opposition in this country for many years."
Ain¹t it the truth? In every Parliament in Australia, we have Labor and Coalition taking turns in government. Yet when you look at the way they do things, there is very little difference. In New South Wales, both sides are promising to get tough on crime. But they promised this four years ago at the previous election. Why didn't John Fahey get tough on crime when he was running the show? And why hasn't Bob Carr got tough on crime in his last term, as he promised four years ago?
The truth is that they make promises at election times that they have no intention of keeping, and their opponents let them get away with it, because they do exactly the same when it is their time. Australia would have a dozen Darwin rail links by now if governments had kept their promises.
In fact, rural Australia would be booming, if governments had kept even half their promises. Every election, we get both sides promising us that they, and only they, will ³get the country moving again². They recycle their election jingles, I¹m sure of it.
Yet, like the people who tell Pauline their tales of disaster and desperation, we get the runaround. State Government blames Federal Government. Liberal blames Labor. Nationals blame Liberals. Tim Fischer tells us that globalisation is the way to go.
Fair suck. It's way past time for somebody like Pauline to stand up and point out the bleeding obvious -- the country is slipping downhill despite all the election promises.
There's something about Pauline. Unlike most campaign launches, which are restricted to the party faithful, this meeting has been well advertised. The audience is fired up, and there are frequent bursts of applause. I notice a couple sitting near the back who aren't clapping - perhaps a thorough search would reveal membership cards from one of the major parties somewhere on their persons!
All that Pauline and the other speakers have said is plain common sense -- there are none of the shonky policies, racism and ignorance that One Nation¹s critics constantly tell us are part and parcel of the party. In fact, race doesn¹t get a mention at all, save for one official who points out that he has an Aboriginal daughter and a Japanese mother-in-law.
One cannot help but wonder why Pauline has attracted such constant and strident criticism. Criticism that turns out to be misdirected. If One Nation is such a threat that the major parties put Pauline last on their how to vote forms, then why is it that the National Party¹s messages are virtually the same as One Nation's? Does the National Party really feel that every other party, including the ALP, is preferable to One Nation?
The meeting finishes with a question and answer session, something not usually found in campaign launches, where the politicians prefer to tell people their views, rather than listen to them. As a finale, Goulburn branch president Neil presents Pauline with a jumper made of local wool, colour carefully chosen. Pauline gives Neil a kiss and he turns bright red.
After the meeting, Pauline climbs down from the stage and is promptly surrounded by the crowd. Bert has written a book, which he presents to her. He spends a few minutes chatting and spends the next half hour floating around with stars in his eyes. I reckon Bert's in love.
I suspect that Pauline has captured many hearts tonight and over the past couple of years. Something about her. It takes a while, as ever, for the crush to clear. Everyone, it seems, wants to meet her, shake her hand, get her to sign a book or a piece of clothing.
After half an hour or so, party minders start glancing at their watches, but Pauline won¹t be hurried -- while there are people waiting to meet her, she is happy to stay and listen.
Eventually the crowd disperses, and Pauline is driven away to dinner at the motel, a dinner commencing at ten o¹clock. Gary and I join her and David, along with Neil, Don, Phil and his family.
Phil¹s teenage daughters sit next to Pauline - something to tell friends at school the next day, I dare say!
Pauline is buoyant. A long, difficult day, more to come starting early next morning, but she bubbles with enthusiasm and energy. She talks about her day, the people she has met, the places seen, the problems shared. As midnight approaches, the talk turns towards the next day¹s program. Don and David have some dilemma that needs to be solved, a decision made immediately.
Pauline listens, sticks up her hand, smiles "I'm the boss!" and makes the decision. Nobody's puppet. David Oldfield is a political partner, but nobody is in any doubt as to who is running the party.
We're up at dawn the next day. After a quick breakfast, we assemble in the carpark for the ride out to the airport. Pauline is giving a radio interview over her mobile phone, and David is inspecting the day¹s itinerary.
Today we have a larger plane, part of a package arranged by Phil as compensation for the engine breakdown yesterday. We are to fly to Merimbula on the far South Coast, tour the nearby towns, fly to Cooma, then on to Canberra for another meeting and speech in Queanbeyan that night. As ever, the local candidate has drawn up a tight timetable to take in as much of his electorate as possible, and I express my doubts that it will work as written.
The plane is waiting at the airport when we arrive, along with Matthew Swift, the candidate for Monaro, Ian his campaign manager, and Jerry the pilot, a tall young Dutchman with an engaging smile.
This time there is room enough for me. We climb aboard, strap in, Jerry guns both engines and we thunder down the strip and into the air. Pauline is up front, sunglasses on, looking out for landmarks. Matthew points out the Snowy Mountains in the distance. The rest of us are buried in paperwork of various kinds.
I'm scribbling notes, David is leafing through the morning papers (chuckling over a picture of Liberal Kerry Chikarovski with a child yawning in the background), Matthew and Ian are going over the itinerary, making notes on the important issues in each town. Bombala has been promised a timber mill, for instance, but it was also promised one before the last election. Without any detailed costings or a business plan, it is likely that this current promise is worth about as much as the last one.
We climb above the thin overcast, and enter a gleaming pure world of snow white cloud tops beneath and clear morning sky above. Pauline is entranced, Jerry has seen it before, David finds that mobile phone coverage doesn¹t extend into this fairyland, and the rest of us are exploring the picnic basket full of snacks. My main interest lies in finding something to suck on to help my ears adjust to the pressure, but it is still only a few minutes after eight, and breakfast has been either hurried or skipped entirely by most of the group.
David finishes his newspapers and moves seats to join in the discussion over issues. The Bombala Mill is just one of many promises that get a run every election -- one town has been promised that its school will be re-opened half a dozen times.
"Regardless of who wins government, we¹ll make them keep their promises," David growls.
We draw closer to the coast, and suddenly we are out over the ocean at Merimbula, looping around over the headland and gazing down into the blue waters. We roar low over a caravan park and down onto the bitumen strip. We have a reception committee awaiting us -- the local journalist, half a dozen members, and the One Nation candidate for Bega, Robyn Innes, who runs the popular Boathouse at Batemans Bay.
A familiar little scenario is run again. Greetings are exchanged and items brought out for autographing. Everyone in the tiny terminal wants to say hello, it seems. Merimbula is such a pleasant place that celebrities must be fairly plentiful, but somehow Pauline is special.
Into cars, and we're out on the highway heading south towards Eden. I'm lucky enough to be sitting beside Robyn Innes, and she reels off a list of problems with rural life that haven¹t been addressed by governments, or worse, caused by government interference. Robyn is an ex-Liberal, and is scathing about the treatment her branch received when visited by John Howard. "We got a pat on the head, and a thank you for having raised five hundred dollars for the campaign."
I assure her that Pauline is different, but I suspect that she already knows.
I am struck by the general decency of One Nation members. The press paints an image of resentful rednecks, uneducated, stupid, and looking for someone to blame, but both Robyn and Geoff (our driver and Bega branch president) are successful in business, well-spoken, well-educated, pleasant company. One Nation members are not particularly different from the general community with the exception that they care about the country rather more than most Australians.
Almost to a man, it seems, they have been lifelong supporters of various political parties, but have changed their views when Pauline exposed the failings of their preferred parties.
I am reminded of the child who cried out that the Emperor had no clothes. Pauline has done nothing but point out what is obvious to all, but she has endured incredible vilification for doing no more than speak plain common sense. She tells us that she is not particularly brave, but there are reserves of courage there that keep her going. If she were the stupid racist that her enemies portray her as, she would have realised the jig was up long ago, and she would not be getting this astonishing support from everyday Australians throughout Australia.
No, there¹s something more to Pauline Hanson than her opponents would have us believe.
There is certainly no shortage of people in Eden willing to say hello and shake her hand. This is something more than politeness, or willingness to be seen with a celebrity. People might regard John Howard with interest, and they may line up to be photographed with Elle McPherson, but nobody tells Kim Beazely that they admire his courage, and nobody asks Kylie Minogue to give the bastards hell.
All over Australia, in every street, in every shopping centre, Australians of every description cluster around Pauline to tell her how much they admire her. For what? For doing no more than speaking her mind in public.
Admittedly, there are those who react with hostility. Every now and then, somebody walks round a corner, sees Pauline and stalks past, their face a mask of hatred. So much for tolerance!
In Albury, some university students threw beer over Pauline and stole her handbag. Now, a week later, she has still not had a moment to go to a bank and request replacements, let alone use her passbook to get some money out. She has 35c in her pocket -- not enough to buy a cup of coffee.
Now she puts her foot down, goes over to a bank, and interrupts the campaigning long enough to do some banking. But I can¹t help but notice that the teller is smiling and chatting. I'll bet I know exactly what she's saying, too.
The local paper, the wharves, a brief stop at a scenic lookout, and it's back up the highway to Bega. Here the local branch is waiting to hear her in the RSL. While Pauline speaks to the members, two policemen wait outside, looking on as David and a few party officials talk into mobile phones. Some crisis over nomination forms, I gather, but it's all sorted out eventually. The telephone companies must make a fortune out of One Nation!
The campaign rolls on. Morning tea in one town, lunch in another, afternoon tea in a third. It becomes increasingly obvious that we¹re not going to be in Queanbeyan at four o'clock. Eventually we get back to the plane and we're off to Cooma. I look down on forests and farms. From up here there's no disguise -- everything the farmer does is visible, and dam capacity, crops, numbers of livestock, cultivation, all can be seen.
Aerial photography was once a tool for the farmer, a way to plan and manage the land, but now it¹s a weapon of the bureaucrats. Leave a field untilled for ten years, it can¹t be used again. Clear some scrub without a licence, the fact is immediately obvious. Put in a new dam, put up a shed, eventually someone back in Sydney will look at an aerial photograph and start asking questions.
At Cooma, the branch president is waiting with his car. He¹s been waiting for two hours, and there's a crowd in town also waiting. We pull up at Centennial Park, near the flags and memorials to the men and women of the Snow Mountains scheme, and Pauline is instantly the focus of attention. Schoolchildren hover around the fringes of the crowd, and if someone offered Pauline a soapbox, she¹d be on it in a flash.
The media are here, of course, but this is a long way from the staged photo-opportunity you'd expect from the leader of a national political party. This is real grass-roots campaigning, and this is Pauline at her best. Happy, smiling, posing for the cameras, signing T-shirts, shaking hands. Her political enemies might not like it, but Pauline is a politician that people clasp to their bosom. Literally.
Something about that woman. She's not a bad looker, but that's not it.
Back to the car, we pile in and head back to the plane. Dean, the local president, is pleased and proud as he drives us. I know how he feels. A precious cargo aboard.
We've missed the street walk in Queanbeyan, but the waiting people will be able to meet Pauline at a branch meeting later. For the moment, we¹re back in the air, the buildings of Canberra coming closer. Matthew points out his home as we fly over it, and Ian takes a picture as we land in Canberra. This isn¹t the time, but Pauline will be back in Canberra and back in Parliament one day.
A quick cuppa in the terminal before the meeting. Pauline chats with Phil, David is back on his mobile, and Don is pouring the coffee. I excuse myself and race home to pick up my daughter, Mary, a month away from teenagerhood. She wants to meet Pauline. Doesn¹t everyone?
We arrive a few moments before the official party, and Mary is able to say hello and shake Pauline's hand, before Matthew leads them upstairs. Another standing ovation, more speeches and a few more titbits of news.
One Nation will not be doing any preference deals this election. The major parties have all put One Nation last, so New South Wales' optional preferential voting system will be used to deny a flow of preferences to the major parties. This will be a tight election, and those votes could have been used to give victory to one side or the other. All they had to do was ask.
But the strategy of the major parties is clear. After one in four Queenslanders turned from their traditional loyalties, One Nation had to be crushed.
Ever since Pauline won a seat in Parliament by the simple expedient of standing up and speaking her mind, the established order has been threatened. I watched Tim Fischer in the National Tally Room say that he had faced off a full frontal assault from One Nation, but the truth was that all of the major parties had mounted a savage attack on the new party. They were afraid that people might actually vote for One Nation rather than playing the game by the old rules.
So much for democracy!
Pauline Hanson says that she is no hero, but there must be something to keep her going after years of constant vilification. How on earth does she keep going? How can she possibly find the strength to keep it up?
I¹ve been with her for only two days, and I¹m exhausted, yet I¹ve peeped at her itinerary for the next day, and I know that she has to be in a radio studio a few minutes before seven the next morning, before stopping at every small town on her way to the South Coast, where she is scheduled to cook fish and chips at The Boatshed in Batemans Bay. The afternoon is full of appointments and she finishes off with another campaign launch.
How does she do it, day after day, month after month, year after year?
I know.
She draws her strength from the people she meets. The ordinary Australians who tell her to keep it up, to keep fighting, to keep speaking the truth. Every handshake, every smile, every brief chat, every little contact recharges her batteries and keeps her going, determined not to break faith with those who have supported her. She's not fighting for a party, a pension, the perks of office. She's fighting for Australia, for the everyday, decent Australians who have been sold out by those who should be standing up for them.
Every time an Australian business goes to the wall, every time a bank sells out on a farmer, every time a country school closes, Pauline feels it. She feels the pain, she knows what it¹s doing to the country.
She sees the hate-filled faces of her critics, the chanting mobs, the cowards who stole her handbag, the louts who throw fruit and eggs, and she contrasts them with the smiles and the encouraging words from the ordinary Australians who support her, who wish her well, who wait for hours for a chance to meet her.
Pauline Hanson and One Nation aren¹t going to go away. Not while Australians in every town across the country keep encouraging her to keep going. She knows she is right, and she knows that her opponents would rather tell lies about her than face the truth.
City and country, black and white, migrant and native. To Pauline they are all Australians and they are all equal. This is the plain truth that propelled her into Parliament, and made her the focus of hatred for every minority group in the country. Standing up and speaking the truth got her the votes of one in four Queenslanders and earnt her the opposition of every established political party.
Whether she is ultimately successful or not only time will tell. But as I look at my daughter lining up to have her photo taken with Pauline, I know that someone¹s got to stand up for the sake of the country, for the future of all of us.