Pauline Hanson Was Going To Be Prime Minister. Then Someone Counted.
Photos surfaced this week of One Nation leader Pauline Hanson at the Grand Hotel San Pietro in Taormina, Sicily, with billionaire mining magnate Gina Rinehart.
Nothing says “true blue Aussie battler” like experiencing the monoculture at a luxury resort in Italy with “Dirt Mummy” (thanks comedian Henry Bretz).
For a few weeks, Hanson had the full glare of the political spotlight. Again.
One Nation briefly surged in a Roy Morgan federal poll, moving ahead of Labor for the first time.
Breathless coverage followed, and suddenly Hanson was being discussed as a potential prime minister. Podcasts dissected it. Papers ran “what if?” scenarios. Panels put on their serious faces.
Nobody won anything. Nobody built a path to government.
Political commentary did what political commentary does: started building the house before checking whether there was any land underneath it.
A few thousand people answered some questions, and for two weeks the nation’s political class behaved like someone had discovered a secret trapdoor under The Lodge.
That’s how polling works. It’s a snapshot, not a national referendum.
Even Anthony Albanese pointed out the obvious: polls are not elections.
Then Hanson gave her National Press Club address: “language problem”, “monoculture”, “social cohesion”. Different decade, same old script.
The irony of Hanson talking about language problems practically wrote itself.
Here’s the part nobody covers, because 76 is a boring number and “PM Hanson?” is not.
One Nation currently has two seats in the House of Representatives. Two. Governments are built on 76 seats.
Historically, One Nation has found it much easier to win votes than lower house seats. Even a breakthrough election would leave the party a long way short of government. Could it become the Opposition? That’s a different conversation entirely.
Then there was the reported $1.5 million Gina Rinehart plane donation, the UK grievance tour featuring Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, better known as Tommy Robinson, and a beer with Holly Valance at Jeremy Clarkson’s pub.
There was also a chat with Liz Truss, whose own prime ministership famously lasted less time than a supermarket lettuce.
None of it gets you anywhere near 76.
Politics has always had its theatre. But it also produces characters who could argue their case.
I once met Gough Whitlam while wearing a Mambo t-shirt mocking Hanson, a parody of the old Redheads match logo with “Rednecks” replacing “Redheads.”
He looked at the shirt, smiled, and said: “Well done, Comrade.”
Whatever you thought of Gough, the man could build an argument in full sentences.
Modern politics seems happier with a moment.
Every few years, Hanson gets rediscovered. A poll moves, headlines ask if this is finally her moment. The speculation begins long before the arithmetic.
Wake me when someone can explain a credible path to 76.
I’ll be by the pool in Sicily.