With all that considered, why do they suck so bad at trying to convince the right to jump ship on to their rickety communist junk?

Here’s former ABC journalist Quentin Dempster on X:

“Pauline for PM: forced divestment of houses for temporary visa holders; round-up/deport over-stayers; reject Muslim migrants on ‘national security’ grounds; uncontrol guns; revoke neg-gear CGT reforms; paywalls for ABC/SBS; more x frack/drill/open cut coal; no EVs/renewables “

As the Spider-Man meme goes – I already bought it Quentin, you don’t have to sell it to me.

I don’t think One Nation is more libertarian than the actual Libertarians, but when it comes to economics, they’re still serving up more common sense than the Coalition at the moment.

Another smug professional leftist, Cheek Media’s Hannah Ferguson, delivers another inadvertent advertisement for One Nation in a video “Have a family member who wants to vote One Nation? Send them this!” as if mere exposure will sink into them like a hypodermic needle delivering cleansing political correctness straight to their bigoted veins.

Holding her lavaliere mic for some reason (You can clip them to your clothes, doncherknow!), she says,

“She’s voted against procedural fairness, against workplace protections, against increasing housing affordability. She’s also voted against making TAFE free, against criminalising revenge porn, against increasing access to subsidised childcare, against increasing political transparency, and against increasing media diversity. So, what is she for? Well, reducing tax for high income earners. She is for that.”

The HORROR!

We already know that Hannah and Cheek have a tenuous grasp on the truth much like lions are herbivores because they eat them – so why would any dyed-in-the-wool conservative believe her? And why are we still pretending that university educated professionals are on the side of workers?

Also, how dare common-sense family values Hanson vote against criminalising revenge porn? That’s because she actually voted for it – before voting against it. That’s because an amendment from the SA Centre Alliance watered the bill down from outright criminalising revenge porn to instead hand the eKaren more powers and create a prohibition as a civil matter, not a criminal one. Yeah, I would’ve voted against that BS too (as did the Editor of this very publication.)

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Why leftists just regurgitate the policies of their opposition as proof they shouldn’t vote for them could be explained, at least in part, by their moral outlook. The Moral Foundation Theory, put forward by social psychologist, freedom in academics activist, and outspoken proponent of the Under 16s social media ban Jonathan Haidt and others, ‘we can say that the moral domain in WEIRD cultures (Western, Educated, Industrialised, Rich, and Democratic) is fairly narrow, comparatively speaking.’ You aren’t going to get many people agreeing to bring back trial by combat, or something equally ridiculous.

The research aimed at mapping moral foundations over five dimensions: Care, Fairness, Loyalty, Authority, and Sanctity (also dubbed ‘Purity’ in some literature). In the original paper, they wrote “the typical liberal scores were higher than the typical conservative scores on Care and Fairness, and the typical conservative scores were higher than the typical liberal scores on Loyalty, Authority, and Sanctity.”

If people just cared more, the world would be fair, according to a typical liberal (in the American parlance.) What is “fair?” As fellow Liberty Itch scratcher Warren Wang says, “fair” is a moral distinction that’s often (and deliberately) conflated with mathematical concepts of “equality” or legal tenets of “justice.”

Of course, broad political care and justice inevitably flow from the barrel of a gun – not so caring or fair when you take the property or livelihood of someone who built it using the sweat of their brow, is it sweetie?

Haidt et. al. also examines how others infer other’s traits – on the care dimension, if a politician or public figure says they care, well, they can identify with that cause. Like they’re signalling… a virtue?

Although social science isn’t exact, leading with care and fairness is so innate and obvious to a leftist they tend to believe it should be apparent to everyone. Psychologist Paul Bloom described this in his 2016 book Against Empathy: A case for rational compassion.

“Empathy is the act of coming to experience the world as you think someone else does,” he wrote. Empathy can blind morality. Remember: empathy is bottomless, and empathy can also lead to violence, anger, and acts of evil. All care and no responsibility leads to shitty socialist government. When things go to pot, it leads to people looking for an escape route.

When it comes to interpersonal perception, it would seem that the typical leftist believes everyone has the same capacity for empathy and sense of fairness. Which, as humans, we absolutely do. However, their failure to realise that having the capacity does not correspond to exercising it as a rule.

Here’s a tip for both sides of politics: if you want to convince the other side of your efficacy, you need to meet them on their literal moral high ground. If you care about the rights and freedoms of your fellow man, understanding what Lenin said about “sweeping away the bourgeoisie” will either chill you to the core or inspire your lust for bloody revolution.

If you aren’t a sociopath, I’d hope it would tend towards the former.

Or you can make the same mistakes over and over. The Right will thank you for the free advertising – and right-wingers don’t even believe anything comes for free!

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Governments love talking about productivity. They simply don’t seem to recognise it when they regulate. The consequences extend well beyond economics; one of the quiet casualties of procurement creep, as I described recently, has been freedom of association.

Freedom of association has never meant simply the freedom to join an organisation. It equally protects the freedom not to join one. It recognises the right of employers and employees to negotiate lawful workplace arrangements suited to their own circumstances without governments favouring one lawful model over another.

When access to taxpayer-funded work increasingly depends upon adopting politically preferred industrial arrangements, freedom of association begins to look less like a right and more like a privilege dispensed by government. That should trouble anyone who genuinely believes in liberal democracy.

Governments should not be using taxpayers’ money to reward politically preferred commercial behaviour. Their role is to create a level playing field where businesses compete on merit, capability and value for money, not on their ability to satisfy whichever political priorities happen to be fashionable at the time.

Some readers will argue that governments have every right to impose conditions on those seeking public contracts. Of course they do. The real question is whether those conditions improve outcomes for taxpayers or merely satisfy political objectives. There is an important difference.

Australia once understood that distinction remarkably well. There was a time when our major infrastructure projects were conceived by engineers, economists and experienced public servants who expected to spend decades building institutions rather than election campaigns. Governments changed but institutions endured. Planning horizons stretched twenty or thirty years into the future because infrastructure was viewed as a national investment, not tomorrow’s media announcement.

Today, too much of that long-term thinking has been replaced by ministerial advisers, media strategists and political consultants whose planning horizon rarely extends beyond the next announcement and opinion poll. Infrastructure has increasingly become political theatre. Procurement has become one of its principal props. Taxpayers continue funding the performance.

Somewhere along the way, politicians also confused wearing a high-vis vest with understanding infrastructure.

A high-vis vest is a safety device, not a photo-op fashion accessory. Standing in front of an excavator doesn’t make someone an infrastructure expert any more than wearing a stethoscope makes them a surgeon. If our elected representatives spent half as much time understanding how projects are actually procured, costed and delivered as they do posing for photographs on construction sites, Australia might finally begin reversing its productivity decline.

The purpose of government is not to choose winners. It is to ensure everyone has the opportunity to compete fairly. That simple principle has been quietly disappearing from Australian public policy for far too long. Perhaps Lord Acton should have added another sentence to his famous saying that “absolute power corrupts absolutely”.

Absolute power rarely arrives all at once. More often it arrives one regulation at a time, one procurement guideline at a time, one compliance checklist at a time, until eventually nobody remembers what the original purpose was.

That original purpose has never been complicated. Government procurement exists to obtain the best possible outcome for taxpayers. Not the best political outcome, or the best media opportunity. Not the best outcome for whichever interest group happens to enjoy the greatest influence at any particular moment. The best outcome for taxpayers.

That simple principle should be guiding every procurement decision made by every level of government in Australia.

Instead, governments have steadily expanded the list of objectives that procurement is expected to achieve. It must now solve social problems, industrial relations problems, environmental problems, diversity problems and political problems, all before it is allowed to solve the engineering problem. The more objectives governments attach to procurement, the further procurement drifts from its primary purpose.

That is not sophisticated public policy. It is mission creep.

There is another consequence that receives remarkably little attention. Transparency suffers. When procurement decisions become dependent upon subjective policy considerations rather than objective commercial criteria, it becomes far more difficult for taxpayers to understand why one tender succeeded while another failed. Capability, price, delivery and quality can be measured. Political preferences are far less transparent.

Good procurement should be capable of surviving public scrutiny. If taxpayers cannot easily understand why one business was selected over another, confidence in the system inevitably declines. That matters because confidence is one of the most valuable assets any market possesses. Without confidence there is hesitation, complacency, suspicion. Eventually, without merit, there is mediocrity.

History tells us that countries become prosperous not because governments successfully manage markets, but because they create conditions where markets can function freely and fairly.

Labor’s instinct has generally been to respond to problems by writing another rule. The Coalition’s instinct has too often been to complain about the rule once it has been written. For decades it has been spooked by industrial relations debates, reluctant to defend free enterprise with conviction and content to fight yesterday’s political battles instead of preventing tomorrow’s.

Australians deserve better than an opposition that simply arrives late to every argument. They also deserve governments prepared to govern by principle instead of opinion polls. Australia does not suffer from a shortage of regulations; it suffers from a shortage of governments prepared to ask whether another regulation is necessary in the first place.

We have no shortage of capable manufacturers, innovative contractors or skilled tradespeople. What we increasingly lack is the confidence to trust them. Instead of allowing open competition to determine the best outcome, governments attempt to manage commercial relationships from Canberra and Spring Street.

For a nation blessed with extraordinary natural resources, remarkable ingenuity and world-class businesses, we have become strangely reluctant to let merit do the heavy lifting. Perhaps we should introduce a simple aptitude test before anyone is allowed near infrastructure policy. The next time a politician stands in front of an excavator announcing another multi-billion dollar infrastructure project, don’t ask how much it will cost.

Ask a far more important question: Who does government procurement really serve? Because if the answer isn’t taxpayers, then everything that follows is simply politics disguised as public policy.

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Australia is about to learn a lesson that should have been obvious from the beginning: if you punish the people who provide rental housing, eventually they stop providing rental housing.

Who could possibly have seen that coming?

For years, both Labor and Liberal governments have searched for villains to blame for the housing crisis: developers, landlords, investors, negative gearing, capital gains concessions. Everyone except the people making housing harder, slower and more expensive to build.

Now we are watching the predictable consequences unfold in real time.

Across Australia, governments have systematically increased the cost, complexity and risk of owning investment property. Higher interest rates; more taxes; more compliance requirements; more regulations; more paperwork; more restrictions.

Then they stand before the cameras and wonder why investors are heading for the exits. It’s like smashing every window in your house and then complaining about the draft.

The uncomfortable truth is that private investors provide the overwhelming majority of Australia’s rental housing. Around one-third of Australians rent privately. Only a small fraction live in public housing.

That means every time an investor decides the game is no longer worth playing, the rental market loses another provider. Fewer rental properties, more tenants competing for them, higher rents.

This is not advanced economics; it’s Year 9 supply and demand. Yet somehow Australia’s political class continues to behave as though supply and demand are optional theories rather than economic reality.

Victoria provides perhaps the best example of how not to run a housing market. The state already has some of the highest property taxes in the country. Landlords face growing compliance obligations, increasing minimum standards, and mounting costs. Some of these standards are reasonable where they relate to genuine health and safety concerns, but increasingly they have crossed the line from safety into bureaucracy.

Properties that fail to meet each new requirement face expensive rectification works before they can be rented again. Some owners will comply; others will sell. Some will simply leave properties vacant because the compliance costs exceed the returns.

The result is exactly the same: less housing, more competition, higher rents.

And while governments lecture investors about their social obligations, they seem remarkably uninterested in the incentives that drive investment decisions in the first place.

The modern Australian approach to housing policy appears to be based on a simple formula. If something works, regulate it. If it survives regulation, tax it. And if it survives taxation, regulate it again.

Then establish a parliamentary inquiry to investigate why nobody wants to invest anymore.

Meanwhile, demand continues to surge and Australia’s population keeps growing.

Housing construction struggles under labour shortages, builder insolvencies, planning delays, infrastructure bottlenecks and endless layers of government approval. Governments keep turning on the demand tap while sitting on the supply hose. Then they act shocked when nothing comes out.

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Rental vacancy rates remain near historic lows. In many suburbs prospective tenants are competing against dozens of other applicants. Families with stable employment and solid incomes are attending inspections alongside forty or fifty other hopeful renters.

That is not a healthy market; it is a market screaming that supply is nowhere near demand.

Yet rather than asking how we can build more homes, the political debate revolves around how many more obstacles can be placed in front of the people willing to provide them. This is where the major parties reveal how little separates them.

Labor’s instinct is always more regulation, more intervention and more control. The Liberals talk a better game but rarely reverse Labor’s policies once they’re in place. Too often they merely manage the machinery built by Labor rather than dismantle it.

The result is what many Australians increasingly recognise as the Uniparty. Different slogans. Different press conferences. The same underlying assumption that government knows best.

A genuinely libertarian perspective starts from a different premise. Investors are not charities. Developers are not charities. Builders are not charities. People respond to incentives.

If government makes housing investment less attractive, less profitable and more risky, the market will produce less housing. That is not greed; it is human nature.

The next phase of this experiment is already becoming visible.

Higher borrowing costs, changes to capital gains tax treatment, restrictions on investment structures, increasing compliance obligations and ongoing regulatory uncertainty are steadily eroding the attractiveness of residential property investment.

Perhaps each one of these measures could be defended individually. But housing markets do not operate on individual policies; they operate on cumulative incentives. And the cumulative message being sent to investors is crystal clear: take your money elsewhere.

Rental housing does not magically appear when investors leave. Governments certainly are not building enough homes to replace them. Public housing waiting lists are already stretched. Construction activity remains constrained. New dwelling completions are struggling to keep pace with population growth.

The maths simply doesn’t work.

The greatest irony is that many of the policies being sold as solutions to housing affordability may ultimately make housing less affordable for the people who rent.

Politicians keep confusing home ownership with housing supply. They are not the same thing. A property does not become more affordable because an investor is driven from the market. The number of houses has not increased. The number of people needing somewhere to live has not decreased.

All that changes is the number of rental properties available. And when that supply shrinks, renters pay the price.

Australia’s housing crisis will not be solved by demonising investors. It will not be solved through more taxes, more regulations or more political grandstanding. It will be solved by building more homes.

That means freeing up land, cutting planning delays, reducing barriers to development, encouraging private investment, and recognising a simple truth that both major parties seem determined to ignore. Housing supply comes from incentives, not slogans.

The people who suffer the most will be the young couple attending their tenth rental inspection; the single parent competing against fifty other applicants; the family forced further and further from work, school and community because there is simply nowhere affordable left to rent.

Australia isn’t suffering from a housing shortage. It’s suffering from a shortage of politicians who understand incentives.

“You can’t regulate, tax and punish your way to more housing any more than you can regulate your way to rain during a drought.”

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The book is fundamentally about virtue, and translates to how we confront the many challenges and temptations in our lives. Spenser uses the framework of mythical knights, who each have to face different trials. There are six books in total addressing a different virtue: Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, Friendship, Justice, and Courtesy.

I am focusing here on just Book Two - Temperance.

According to my trusted Roget’s Thesaurus, the word, temperance, means:

• Sedateness

• Sobriety

• Restraint

• Cardinal virtues

Temperance is one of the four cardinal virtues of classical philosophy, with the others being prudence, justice and fortitude. They were regarded as the structural conditions of a well-ordered life by Aristotle, Cicero and Aquinas. Without them, no person or polity could function with genuine dignity.

Prudence governs the mind’s judgement; justice governs our relationships; fortitude governs our response to danger and suffering; temperance governs our ability to restrain from the temptations of excess and move to a more ordered life under reasoning.

Spenser places temperance at the heart of Book Two of The Faerie Queene, as the lens through which to examine what happens to human dignity when self-rule collapses. The knight at the centre is Guyon, who is faced with the challenges of extremes and disorder. This story is an apt allegory for the disorders of any age, including, and perhaps even more so, for our own.

We don’t hear much about temperance in the modern age, but it is strongly associated with the Arthurian legends – the world in which Spenser has based his book. However, my focus is not King Arthur’s realm, but our contemporary one, specifically as it relates to our political class. Just imagine if it was required of them to attend classes in the Art of Temperance!

It is not out of spite I highlight politicians; it is in service to what we ought to all hold dear in our democracies – a sense of fairness, duty and a good dose of honour. Sadly, democracy in the West is now more in name only, as we watch the whole edifice crumble from lack of effective democratic leadership, and deteriorating economies.

We can only imagine the time and effort it took to produce this poem; how much fortitude was required to stay with it. The patience Spenser would have had to complete it would surely leave the modern mind in a spin.

We live in times where many politicians do not even read proposed legislation put in front of them, never mind the concept of writing a book of almost 1300 pages, roughly 300,000 words, taking about 15-20 years to complete. That is dedication – a virtue in itself.

To be fair, however, politicians have little say on the finality of legislation which is dictated by Ministers and the party rooms of major players. Independent members, or those of minor parties, do have a massive challenge with regard to the time spent reading copious amounts of legislation, and working directly with their constituents.

The point I am making here is to lament how we fail to regard detail when it is detail that can often make the difference in lives. Not to suggest we can all write an epic poem, but we can take those exemplars and their dedication, and apply it to the best degree possible in our own lives and polities. How this relates to my political analogy in a libertarian sense, is that the state should aim for less legislation rather than more. Perhaps then, more of the detail can emerge from the darkness.

The stanza I address here has nothing to do with politics. But it does have everything to do with the nature of mankind, how we conduct ourselves in life generally, and when under immense pressure. I argue that the link is a natural one to make.

I doubt anyone would deny that too many politicians ignore the will of the people who they represent, and I venture to say it has gone further, now being a case of indifference. It is entirely within reason to connect the individual with the office they hold, given that the decisions they make affect every aspect of our lives.

Let’s begin with Spenser’s original words:

Of all Gods works, which do this world adorne,
There is no one more faire and excellent,
Then is mans body both for power and forme,
While’s it is kept in sober gouenment;
But one then it, more fowle and indecent,
Distempred through misrule and passions brace:
It growes a Monster, and incontinent
Doth loose his dignities and natiue grace,
Behold, who list, both one and other in this place.

Of all the works God created, there is none fairer than the human body, both in strength and form – form in an Aristotelian sense: not merely shape, but that which orders our sense of reason, will, and passions. While we manage to keep it in a steady state, it is sublime. But if we allow it to become unchecked and unruly, it becomes something foul and indecent; like a monster that loses its entire dignity and native grace. If you look here, you will see both conditions side by side.

Read in 2026, it is not difficult to hold this up as a mirror to our current political class. Spenser’s “sober government”, as he applies it to our own body and form, can be applied just as well to that which we increasingly lack in public life – a true sense of honour among those who are meant to serve us, not rule over us.

There is nothing sober about a government that allows itself to become deformed through the tendency to tyrannical rule.

Why did I choose an epic poem to use as an allegory for modern politics? Because it matters as we navigate our way through these turbulent times, unsure if the world we know will land on its feet or adopt a whole new persona. What better way to hold a mirror up to our lost and rambling ways than to move through enchanted forests, courts and battlefields where every monster, castle, challenge, and temptation figures something we already know?

Why else do we gravitate to the wonder of times unknown but merely dreamt of?

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Measure twice. Cut once.

It is not merely a saying; it is a philosophy. It is an acknowledgement that reality does not care about your assumptions. Steel does not care about your feelings. A bridge does not care about your ideology. A machine does not care about political slogans.

Get the measurements wrong and the consequences arrive quickly. The larger the project, the more important the measurement.

Which raises an obvious question. If we are to spend trillions of dollars transforming modern economies, dismantling reliable power generation, covering productive farmland with transmission lines, subsidising favoured technologies, and fundamentally changing the way people live and work, shouldn’t we be absolutely certain we understand the problem?

Or are we making the biggest cut in human history before we’ve finished measuring?

For decades Australians have been told that “the science is settled.” Settled: what an extraordinary word. Science is never settled.

Science advances because people question assumptions. Every major scientific breakthrough in history began with someone challenging what everybody supposedly knew to be true.

Yet climate politics has evolved into something very different from science. It has become a belief system. A modern secular religion. And like all religions, it has its priests, its sacred texts, its rituals, its sinners and its heretics.

The priests are the politicians, bureaucrats and professional activists who assure us they possess special knowledge unavailable to the common citizen. The sacred texts are the reports that few people read but everybody is expected to obey. The rituals involve carbon credits, emissions targets and declarations of Net Zero virtue.

The sinners are motorists, miners, manufacturers, farmers and anyone else unfortunate enough to produce something tangible. The heretics are those who ask inconvenient questions.

Like the effectiveness of Net Zero and whether you are a denier.

Like the economic cost and whether you are irresponsible.

Like whether Australia’s sacrifices will make any measurable difference and are you opposing science itself.

This is not science; this is theology. The irony is that genuine science looks remarkably different.

Astronomy is science. Astronomy studies the heavens through observation, measurement and evidence. It seeks to understand the immense forces that shape our world. It studies the Sun, the Moon, solar cycles, planetary motion, ocean systems and the countless interactions that influence life on Earth.

Astronomers understand complexity. Astrologers prefer certainty. And increasingly, climate politics resembles astrology far more than astronomy.

The Sun delivers extraordinary amounts of energy to Earth every second. Ocean currents circulate heat around the globe. Volcanic activity affects atmospheric conditions. Long-term natural cycles continue to be studied and debated by scientists around the world.

Yet much of our political class speaks as though one of the most complex systems in the known universe can be reduced to a single variable and controlled by government decree.

That is not humility; it is arrogance. The arrogance that has infected both major political parties.

Labor and the Coalition pretend to be fierce opponents. They shout at each other across the chamber. They accuse each other of incompetence. They fight over details. Yet on climate policy they increasingly resemble two branches of the same establishment.

Labor promises Net Zero. The Coalition promises Net Zero.

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Labor subsidises selected technologies. The Coalition subsidises selected technologies. Labor expands government intervention. The Coalition argues about the speed of government intervention.

The destination remains identical; the argument is merely about which road to take.

Millions of Australians who are sceptical of this agenda look at Canberra and see no meaningful choice at all. The debate has become a contest between the fast lane and the slow lane on the same highway.

Meanwhile the consequences continue to accumulate. Electricity prices rise despite endless promises of cheaper power. Manufacturers struggle to compete against countries that prioritise affordability and reliability.

Investment leaves. Industries contract. Workers pay more. Families pay more. Small businesses pay more.

The political class responds by announcing new subsidies funded by the very taxpayers already paying the inflated costs.

It is a policy failure so spectacular that it requires additional policy failures to conceal the original one.

Even more remarkable is the moral vanity that accompanies it. Australia accounts for a tiny share of global emissions, yet governments behave as though the future of the planet depends upon whether a plumber in Frankston drives a diesel ute or an accountant in Melbourne buys an electric vehicle.

China continues to build coal-fired power stations. India continues to prioritise economic growth.

Developing nations continue to pursue affordable energy because they understand a truth that Western politicians have forgotten: prosperity is not the enemy of humanity. Prosperity is what allows humanity to solve problems.

The wealthy societies of today have cleaner air, cleaner water and better environmental outcomes than the poor societies of yesterday. Economic growth is not the problem. It is often the solution.

This is where the libertarian view diverges sharply from both sides of politics. The answer is not climate denial. The answer is recognising the limits of government knowledge and government power.

Politicians cannot accurately predict next year’s budget position. Bureaucracies struggle to deliver infrastructure projects on time and on budget. Yet we are expected to believe these same institutions can successfully redesign energy systems, influence global temperatures and manage planetary climate outcomes decades into the future.

That requires a level of faith usually associated with medieval pilgrimages.

A freer society would trust innovation more than regulation; competition more than mandates; markets more than ministers; adaptation more than panic; human ingenuity more than bureaucratic planning.

Most importantly, it would remember the lesson that built every factory, bridge, workshop and successful enterprise in Australia.

Measure twice.

Cut once.

The climate will continue to change, as it always has.

The Sun will continue to rise. The Moon will continue to pull the tides.

Nature will continue to ignore political narratives.

The question is whether Australians will continue to hand power to politicians who claim certainty about things they cannot possibly know with certainty. Because the bigger the cut, the more important the measurement. And there has never been a bigger cut than Net Zero.

The time has come to stop treating climate policy as a religion and start treating it as every sensible tradesman would treat any major project.

With scepticism. With humility. With evidence.

And above all else, with a tape measure in hand.

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More than a century ago, Lord Acton warned that “absolute power corrupts absolutely.” He wasn’t talking about procurement, but he could just as easily have been. History repeatedly shows that when power becomes concentrated, whether in governments, bureaucracies, corporations or unions, transparency suffers, accountability weakens and vested interests inevitably emerge.

The answer has never been to concentrate more power. It has always been to disperse it through competition, transparency and the rule of law.

Recent reports concerning corruption and undue influence in government procurement should concern every Australian, regardless of political persuasion. Rather than asking how another layer of regulation might fix the problem, we should first ask a much simpler question. What is government procurement actually supposed to achieve? Government procurement should not be a political reward system. It is a fiduciary responsibility.

Every dollar spent building a road, bridge, railway, hospital, school or defence facility belongs to taxpayers, not politicians. Governments are merely custodians of that money. Their responsibility is straightforward: purchase the highest quality outcome from the most capable supplier for the best possible value while ensuring appropriate standards of safety, quality and delivery. Anything beyond that risks turning procurement into an instrument of politics rather than public service.

Unfortunately, Australia has quietly drifted away from those principles. The latest proposals to give greater priority to industrial relations arrangements in Commonwealth procurement continues a trend that has been developing for years. Governments are increasingly using procurement to pursue broader social and political objectives rather than simply securing the best outcome for taxpayers.

This is not really about one particular proposal; it is about something much bigger. Government procurement has quietly suffered from what might be called procurement creep.

It began with sensible requirements. Contractors needed to demonstrate financial capacity, technical competence, workplace safety systems and an ability to deliver projects successfully. Few would argue with those fundamentals. Over time, however, governments kept adding new objectives: environmental reporting, diversity targets, ESG disclosures, modern slavery declarations, indigenous participation, cybersecurity, industrial relations. Individually, each new requirement might sound reasonable but collectively they transform procurement from a commercial exercise into a political one.

The result is that governments increasingly evaluate businesses not just on their ability to build something well, but on their willingness to satisfy an ever-growing list of policy objectives that often have little to do with building anything at all. That should concern anyone who believes governments exist to spend taxpayers’ money wisely. It should also concern anyone who believes in free enterprise.

Every additional procurement requirement narrows the field of competitors. Every additional compliance hurdle discourages another business from participating. Fewer bidders rarely produce better prices. Reduced competition rarely improves innovation. The laws of economics haven’t been suspended simply because governments are writing the cheques. Ironically, the biggest losers are often the very businesses politicians claim to champion.

Large corporations frequently welcome complexity because it becomes a competitive advantage. Every new compliance requirement protects established players from smaller, more agile competitors. Large organisations simply hire another compliance manager, another lawyer or another industrial relations adviser. Small and medium-sized enterprises don’t have that luxury.

They have owners who already wear half a dozen hats. They quote work during the day, chase debtors at night, train apprentices, manage cash flow, comply with workplace legislation and somehow still find time to innovate. Every additional procurement hurdle may appear insignificant to a government department, but collectively they represent hundreds of hours that could have been spent improving products, investing in new equipment or creating jobs.

Politicians regularly describe small business as the backbone of the Australian economy. They just keep forgetting to stop breaking its back. This is also one of the least discussed reasons for Australia’s productivity problem. Governments love holding productivity summits. They commission reviews, establish taskforces and release glossy discussion papers asking why productivity growth has stalled.

Perhaps they should begin by reading their own procurement policies.

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The United States? Ol’ Blighty? No: he’s talking about Australia. Of the 1930s, unfortunately.

If you can believe it, the Labor party constitution enshrined nationalisation as an objective in their platform until 2013. Just like when you buy plane tickets using modern smartphones and Web 2.0 when the actual computers running the booking system aren’t too far removed from reading punch cards, socialising the means of production was buried beneath talk of social democracy via the free market – even Kevin 07’s mantra of “economic conservatism” was dreaming of cuddles with Red Ted Theodore. (He even had his own Mungana scandal – pink batts.)

He was Hayek in the streets but Keynes in the sheets, to coin a phrase. When the Global Financial Crisis hit shortly after his election (what is it with Labor prime ministers coming in just as global finance goes to hell?) his first instinct was to spend upwards of 1% of GDP – then another $42 billion stimulus two years later.

Slow, steady surpluses devolved into the red quickly, and their rudderless Coalition counterparts did nothing to tame it – and now we’re staring down the barrel of a $1.022 trillion government debt with almost no appetite on either side (if we’re still pretending there’s two sides) to rein it in.

We were threatened at gunpoint to “trust the science” during the pandemic but when it comes to the dismal science, we’re just sort of winging it. We’ve always done it that way. Maybe it’s why we kinda suck?

According to Harvard University Kennedy School’s Economic Complexity Index, which ranks countries by their ability to manufacture and export a diverse range of complex goods and services, Australia’s economic complexity ranks 105^th out of 145 countries, just below Botswana.

Do you want to invent something? Raise capital for some new app that has a clock bolted on to an AI blockchain cloud solution? Don’t bother. Go overseas. If you want to make some real cash, buy a bunch of houses instead. Dig stuff out of the ground; don’t make anything with it though. Well, that was the conventional wisdom, anyway. Australian government has historically shunned boffins who know a lot about something, preferring their own heady smell of Dunning-Kruger style expertise.

German-born Australian economist Heinz Arndt remarked that the Commonwealth “in the 1950s and 1960s had the advice of better economists inside than were to be found outside […] They did not feel the need for outside help, so that university economists were more remote from government than in most other western countries.”

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Despite Robert Menzies snuffing out Labor’s lightman on the hill Ben Chifley with promises of V8-powered free enterprise against horse and cart socialism in 1949, Menzies through Treasurer Arthur Fadden retained the counsel of staunch Keynesian economist Sir Douglas Copland, former Prices Commissioner (we really were insane, weren’t we), Vice-Chancellor of the ANU and once and future founder of the Committee for Economic Development of Australia in 1960. Full employment forever and always, inflation… eh, worry about that later. Something about spoons and shovels and ditches come to mind.

Economic historian Alex Millmow described his approach as to “stabilise the economy and ensure a certain measure of security for all… it would be necessary for the nation as a whole to engage in public investment and not be fearful of national debt.” Sounds very, very familiar.

This Keynesian consensus ran through successive Coalition parliaments from Menzies’ election right until McMahon’s defeat in 1972. Funnily enough, tariffs on imports of clothes and cars were cut by 25% overnight by the Whitlam government – on the advice of two economics lecturers: Fred Gruen of the ANU, and Brian Brogan of Monash University. Too bad about the whole big bloated government thing.

Australia has only really experienced significant monetary reform once or twice in its history – most recently being the floating of the Australian dollar in the 1980s by the socialist revolutionaries Hawke and Keating. They encountered dogged bureaucratic resistance yet encouragement from (you guessed it) actual economists.

An actual economist Dr. Jim Chalmers, Ph.D. (on how great Paul Keating was… as a statesman) is not. Whoever he consulted to cook up the CGT changes and negative gearing wasn’t an economist either. Writing in 2023 in lefty rag the Monthly, he penned an essay, “Capitalism after crises.”

He advocated (and still does) for government to involve itself in capital markets to collaborate with enterprises that suit the government’s social and environmental priorities. He calls this ‘values-based capitalism’ which just sounds like microwaved Marxism; it’s a steaming pile when you open the door; if you dare dig a few scoops in, you realise it’s the same cold mushy gruel they’ve been serving up for going on 200 years now. Capitalism weathers crises just fine, Jim; leftist politicians like you stoke and exploit fears. “It’s not just our economic institutions that need renewing and restructuring, but our markets as well,” he wrote. No offence, but it sounds like some fucking commie gobbledygook to me.

When economics is left to economists, we do great things – at least in pieces. When we leave it to politicians and bureaucrats who think they know better – well, we get the 2026 Federal Budget; or worse. Let’s leave the plane flying to the pilots, yeah?

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Tobacco provides little benefit to the user other than temporary pleasure, while increasing health risks for the user. Social media, on the other hand, is both a mode of enjoyment and a digital extension of the public sphere. People use social media to socialise, stay in touch, do business, communicate with employers, access news, and participate in public life.

Similarly, comparing social media to bars and drinking is not a valid comparison because, in many jurisdictions, minors are allowed in bars (at least during daylight hours) and the only restriction is buying alcohol. Many jurisdictions allow minors to drink on private property.

Some even allow them to drink at a pub with parental permission. For example, my first ‘pub drink’ was at an outdoor bar in Wellington New Zealand when my mum bought a jug of beer to share with 16-year-old me and my then 15-year-old brother. Isn’t it ironic that parents have more control over whether their children can access an actual vice than social media and the internet?

To further the irony, the process of ordering alcohol online is far less invasive than the online identity verification processes for social media. I just show my ID when I receive or pick up my package. This shows the important distinction between showing ID to buy alcohol and tobacco, and uploading an ID online to use social media. Unlike flashing my ID in person, uploading an ID online creates a digital record that can be tracked and recorded, and is capable of being leaked.

Despite this, some will argue that social media has addiction potential. However, something with addiction potential does not automatically make it a vice that requires age-gating. Food also has addiction potential, yet no reasonable person would consider it a vice. Like with food, people simply need to learn self-control to use social media in a healthy way, a process better started at a younger age and under parental supervision.

Another common comparison is with driving, meaning people need to obtain a certain level of maturity to do it safely. Though there is some merit to this argument, I would argue that social media is different as the act of driving can create fatal hazards to others and young people can easily participate in society without driving.

I regard the sudden focus on social media as a ‘social evil’ as bizarre and downright suspicious. I do not believe social media is responsible for our current social ills, but rather it gives greater visibility and awareness to the current problems within our society.

I do not accept it is the biggest issue facing younger people, or primarily responsible for their current anxiety and poor wellbeing. In fact, I would argue the current distress of young people is caused by factors such as:

• The cost of living. Many young people fear they will have a lower standard of living than their parents and will be poorer than them.

• Unaffordable housing and a highly competitive housing market. Many fear they will never be able to own a house and will struggle to find a rental.

• Difficulty in finding employment and a highly competitive job market.

• The fact that higher education no longer guarantees success. Younger generations were told that university would guarantee a job and success, but it didn’t.

• A culture war that frames complex and nuanced issues in a black and white manner with little to no tolerance for deviation from either extreme position.

• The ever-present threat of personal and financial ruin over minor and non-existent transgressions (cancel culture) and unrealistic demands of perfection. There is no empathy, mercy or forgiveness, and many young people do not remember a world without cancel culture.

• The pointless suffering of younger generations due to pandemic policies that young people are not allowed to complain about even to this day.

• The systematic alienation of young men.

• Lack of affordable activities. For example, going to the movies is far more expensive than it used to be. Going out in general is far more expensive than it used to be.

• Less privacy and freedom compared to previous generations.

• Less outlet for escapism. A lot of creative media has been injected with polarising politics and people are increasingly unable to explore and process thoughts and fantasies that are socially unacceptable.

• Lack of hope for and concern about the future.

I find the sudden drive for legally mandated identity verification to be driven not by any genuine desire to protect the welfare of children and young people, but by government and corporate interests.

For the government, forcing people to attach their identity to every online account allows the government to better track and target people on the internet, including political dissidents, whistleblowers and anyone else the government doesn’t like.

For Big Tech companies, it allows them to more closely track and collect more data on their users. Big Tech has been under pressure from advertisers for at least the past ten years to ensure that paid advertisements are seen by real people rather than bots. Personal data has become incredibly financially valuable. Data brokers that buy and sell data and data centres that store and process the data also profit from this data-based ecosystem.

The requirements are financially crushing for smaller competing websites, which means less competition and more control for Big Tech. Connecting real identities to internet accounts also allows the government and Big Tech to more easily exclude targeted individuals and groups from the internet.

Although it is reasonable to age-gate activities such as smoking, drinking and driving, to compare such restrictions to social media age restrictions is a false equivalency driven by far more insidious intentions.

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The issue gained particular currency in South Australia, where it was also claimed Adelaide’s water supply was at risk.

As wiser heads knew, and time has proved, the Millenium Drought was not unique and certainly not an indicator of the future. It was simply Australia being Australia, with its droughts and flooding rains.

Nonetheless, it resulted in a plan to send vast amounts of water down various rivers, most of it ending up in the Murray, supposedly to benefit the environment, keep the mouth of the Murray open, and to guarantee water for Adelaide.

The Plan called for the ‘return’ of 2,750 GL of water to the environment plus an additional 450 GL under certain conditions (now mostly achieved). This water came from farmers and rural communities in Queensland, NSW and Victoria, some through efficiency measures but mostly by buying water rights from farmers. That was water that would otherwise would have been used to irrigate crops.

These numbers were never science-based. They were back of the envelope calculations negotiated by politicians based on political considerations. There are a lot of votes to be won by saving the environment, even when it doesn’t need saving.

In South Australia there were six marginal seats for which both sides of politics were competing on the basis of offering the most water. The additional 450 GL was only added at the last minute in order to get the South Australians to agree to the Plan.

Under the Plan, of the 2,750 GL, SA is guaranteed a minimum of 1,850 GL a year. Delivering that much water means the Murray is now abnormally full all year round.

It was an absurd figure. According to the SA EPA, the state’s total water consumption is just 1,000 GL per year, of which agriculture consumes three-quarters. Households, manufacturing and mining account for the remainder.

Adelaide also has a $1.8bn desalination plant capable of producing half its household and industry requirements. The plant is obliged to use renewable energy though, which means it is expensive and rarely operates.

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With so much water being sent across the border, a large proportion of it ends up in the so-called lower lakes, Lake Alexandrina and Lake Albert.

Until the 1930s these lakes were open to the sea, in common with every other river estuary in Australia. But then five barrages were erected which substantially changed the natural environment.

The barrages block sea water from entering the lakes, thus ensuring they only contain fresh water from the Murray. This prevents tidal flows from keeping the Murray mouth open, which is now quite silted and requires almost constant dredging.

Somewhere around 800-900 GL simply evaporates in the lower lakes. This is fresh water worth hundreds of millions of dollars in the water trading market, delivered from the eastern states via the Murray River, that evaporates into the atmosphere for zero environmental benefit.

Evaporation is unavoidable, but if the Murray mouth was open and the sea was free to enter the lakes, it could be seawater (or at least a mixture of fresh and seawater) that evaporated instead.

In this unreal world of environmental politics, it is assumed that sending more and more water down the Murray is somehow good for the environment and will keep the Murray mouth open. As is now apparent, this is completely wrong. Water only benefits the environment when it is present in the right place, in the right quantities, at the right time.

Put simply, the MDBP is perpetuating an artificial environment in SA at the expense of Australian farming and rural communities. The loss of water for irrigation in southern Queensland, NSW and Victoria has devastated many regional communities, while its wasteful loss in South Australia is unforgiveable.

Perhaps the environment is marginally better off in a few limited areas but, in terms of overall benefit, it is probably worse off.

What ought to happen is for the SA government to demolish the barrages and remove Bird Island, a sand island that has formed in the mouth of the Murray as a result of the effect of the barrages. This would allow the Murray to run free.

If a new weir was built across the Murray near Wellington to prevent seawater from moving too far up the river and contaminating either Adelaide’s supply in dry years, even a repeat of the Millenium Drought would be of no concern. Lakes Albert and Alexandrina would simply become intermittently saline and, with the Murray mouth open, the long-suffering Coorong would recover.

The MDBP was always a political solution to a political problem, but its consequences are not minor. We are long overdue for a dose of non-political reality.

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I like Numberblocks. It is a clever BBC maths cartoon that explains numbers visually and playfully. For a child stuck in the car, it is one of the better ways to pass the time. Normally, I barely pay attention. After all, how wrong could a children’s maths program be?

Then came an episode called Happy Campers.

In the episode, Two had brought two apples. He gave one apple to One. Now Two had one apple, and One had one apple. The result was equal. Simple maths.

But then One says, “It’s equal.” And Two says, “And that’s fair.” These two lines are repeated multiple times in the episode. The word fair immediately caught my attention. I paused the video and explained to my seven-year-old son that I disagreed.

If Two brought the apples, they are Two’s apples. It is up to Two whether he wants to share them or not. If he gives one apple to One, that may be kind, generous, or nice. It creates an equal result. But it has nothing to do with “fair”. Two can decide what to do with his apples because they are simply his apples.

The next episode kept playing, but my mind stayed with those two apples.

How did “equal” become “fair” in maths education? Is this harmless child-friendly language, or part of a broader corruption of words? Has the political phrase “fair share” shaped the way children are taught to think about division, ownership, sharing, and equality?

Because this is not a small distinction.

Equal is a mathematical word.

Fair is a moral word.

At first, I wondered whether this was just a BBC thing — typical left-leaning messages sneaking into a children’s program. Then I dug further, and what I found was more surprising.

NSW Department of Education’s official curriculum resources include an Early Stage 1 mathematics lesson titled “Let’s share to be fair”. The task is about creating equal groups and sharing fruit equally into groups. Another NSW resource, “Sharing collections”, also points teachers to “Let’s share to be fair” as a resource focused on sharing fruit equally into groups.

So in official NSW maths education material, “fair” is being used where the actual mathematical concept is “equal”.

That is where the language becomes dangerous.

The phrase “fair share” is everywhere in politics. We are told that the rich should pay their fair share, corporations should pay their fair share, and resources should be shared fairly. But what does “fair” even mean?

Equal dollars? Equal percentages? Equal sacrifice? Proportional contribution? Need-based redistribution?

The power of “fair share” is that it sounds morally obvious before it has been defined. Nobody wants to be unfair. So once a policy is labelled “fair”, anyone who questions it can be painted as selfish, greedy, or unjust.

That is how language does political work.

And the pattern is not limited to Australia. While the US Common Core and England’s National Curriculum mostly use cleaner mathematical wording such as “equal shares” and “equal groups”, New Zealand’s official curriculum resources use “Fair shares”; Ontario’s curriculum support explicitly says “fair-sharing or equal-sharing”; France uses partage équitable — equitable or fair sharing — in official maths material; and Spain has linked division with repartos equitativos, or equitable distributions.

Different countries use different wording. But wherever government education material turns equal division into “fair sharing”, the same conceptual slide appears: a measurable mathematical result becomes a moral claim.

This fits a broader pattern in our media, politics, and education system.

Good words are quietly redefined. “Safety” can come to mean scrapping freedom. “Inclusion” can come to mean conformity. “Love” can come to mean never criticising anything. Even “science” can become “How dare you do your own research?”

These are good words. That is precisely why they are powerful.

Orwell warned in Politics and the English Language that political language is designed “to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable”. That is the genius of corrupted language: it does not usually announce itself as propaganda. It arrives wearing respectable clothes.

This matters most in education. Adults may detect rhetorical tricks. Children usually cannot. They absorb language before they can analyse it. If they repeatedly hear that equal outcome is “fair”, they may absorb the moral assumption long before they are old enough to question it.

So teach the maths. Teach equal shares, equal groups, and division. Use mathematical words for mathematical concepts. Do not dress up arithmetic as morality. Do not smuggle ideology into a worksheet and call it numeracy.

When language is corrupted, thought follows. And when children’s language is corrupted, the future follows.

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We are heat treaters (modern-day blacksmiths), and by necessity use a lot of energy for our processes. We need to heat up engineered and manufactured metal components, to (in most cases) harden them through metallurgical processes.

We use large amounts of electricity and numerous types of energy intensive gas including natural gas, oxygen/acetylene mixes, LPG (propane), nitrogen and ammonia.

Any increase in energy pricing has a negative effect on our business. We get no government assistance and there is no government acknowledgement of the essential nature of our business to the Australian manufacturing industry.

Without heat treatment, most manufacturing would cease, as nothing could be finished off (hardened) and all parts would need to be imported, creating time delays, cost increases, and an unhealthy reliance on global supply chains.

Think of all the critical infrastructure projects like power stations, water treatment plants, mining, agriculture and the many types of transport that would require 100% import of spare parts if heat was not done here in Melbourne, Victoria.

But that doesn’t suit the current political narrative: politicians and bureaucrats have no understanding of not only business, but the importance of essential engineering to our national independence. Our Sovereign Capability is at extreme risk.

We are not just facing increased prices for electricity (and other energy sources), but we (Victoria) will also soon have blackouts like the other stupid countries that have shut down their coal fired power stations without first ensuring replacement sources.

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What amazes me is the ideological pursuit of high energy input (embodied energy) wind and solar, to supposedly lower the world’s output of CO2, when in fact the opposite is the case.

These so-called renewable energy components (wind turbines and solar farms) actually increase the output of CO2 globally due to their embodied energy, if you follow their manufacturing supply chain and energy input.

These technologies do offer remote access to electric power where connection to the grid is not possible. But to replace the entire balanced grid with unstable sources of power – such as wind and solar – is asking for industrial disaster. I’m a Materials Engineer so I do understand the whole picture, unlike our politicians and bureaucrats.

Did I mention the disastrous carving up of precious agricultural land and farming businesses for an entirely new grid network? The current grid is designed for a balanced and tuned load between supply and demand, and only large generators can provide this.

Nicola Tesla designed the system over a century ago while he was inventing the 20^th Century. The only new way to lower the world’s output of CO2 while ensuring on-call demand and a balanced grid, to replace coal power stations, would be with nuclear power. If it’s good enough for Europe, Canada, the USA, why do Australia politicians think they know better?

Modern nuclear designs are inherently safer, except for terrorist attack or sabotage. Chernobyl type designs were never adopted by the west as the design was considered too dangerous. Fukushima ultimately failed because the final diesel back-up generators of the American designed plant were at basement level, being safe from USA earthquakes but not Japanese tsunamis. This was a preventable disaster.

The right design – fit for purpose, like most things - is what Australia needs if we are to have a stable, sustainable cost-effective energy supply. One size does not fit all, and manufacturing should be considered an essential Sovereign Capability with a guaranteed, cost effective, stable and sustainable energy supply.

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What he meant by this is that a country can be generous with taxpayer-funded benefits, or it can be relaxed about who enters and remains. But it can’t do both indefinitely without bankrupting itself, or breeding resentment and inviting electoral backlash.

Based on recent polling, the two major political parties in Australia are learning that lesson the hard way.

For years, Australians were told that high immigration was an unqualified good. More people meant more growth, more workers, more students, more customers, more demand, and more multicultural street food festivals. Presumably, it also meant more Treasury officials congratulating themselves on GDP figures that looked better than anyone’s lived experience.

Australians don’t live in Treasury spreadsheets. They live in suburbs where rents are unaffordable, roads are clogged, hospitals are stretched, schools are crowded, wages are stagnant, and young people cannot get a foot in the door of the industry they trained for.

That is why the immigration debate has shifted so rapidly. Australians are, by and large, fair-minded people. We know that migrants have helped build this country. The problem is not migration in the abstract, but that Australia’s political class has treated population growth as a cost-free solution to Australia’s economic and demographic issues.

High levels of migration have not been cost-free. Young and working age Australians understand this better than most. They’ve been told to study hard, work hard, save and be patient, while each year they’re asked to compete with hundreds of thousands of additional people for housing, jobs and public services. It is a spectacular way to energise several generations of voters to vent their frustration at the ballot box.

The issue of access to welfare makes the problem even sharper. Many Australians probably assume that non-citizens cannot receive welfare. That assumption is wrong. Permanent residents can access a range of taxpayer-funded benefits, subject to waiting periods and eligibility rules. The current debate was sharpened by Angus Taylor’s proposal that a future Liberal government would restrict a litany of welfare payments and services to Australian citizens, including JobSeeker, pensions, parenting payments, carer payments and the NDIS.

The usual suspects immediately reached for the smelling salts. Apparently, drawing a line between citizens and non-citizens is now “divisive”, “mean” and “far-right”. How exhausting.

If citizenship does not mark the boundary of full political membership and access to taxpayer-funded benefits, what does it mark?

A migrant who comes to Australia to work, start a business, fill a genuine skills shortage, pay their own way and eventually becomes a citizen should be welcomed. That is a story of contribution. It is the kind of immigration Australians have historically supported.

But a migrant who comes here without work, without the means to support themselves, or with an expectation that Australian taxpayers will underwrite their life before they have made the commitment of citizenship, is a different proposition.

Libertarians should be especially clear-eyed about this. In a freer world, with a much smaller welfare state, lower taxes and less government intervention, immigration could be far more open. If people came here to work, trade, build, invest, and rely on themselves, their families, their employers, charities and civil society, the argument for restricting movement would be much weaker. But that’s not the country Australia has chosen to be.

Australia has built a vast welfare state. We tax heavily, regulate heavily, and redistribute heavily. We have been taught to look to Canberra for income support, housing subsidies, childcare payments, disability support, aged care, health care, energy bill relief, disaster payments and cost-of-living handouts. The state has placed itself at the centre of almost every major financial decision in life.

Once the government has promised to provide cradle-to-grave security, immigration can no longer be treated as a purely private matter. The taxpayer is dragged into the equation. The private decision of one person to move countries becomes, in part, a public fiscal commitment imposed on everyone else.

That is the problem Friedman rightly identified.

Open borders and private charity can coexist. High immigration and individual responsibility can coexist. A generous welfare state and strict citizenship prerequisites can probably coexist. But high immigration, weak citizenship thresholds and a giant taxpayer-funded welfare state cannot coexist for long without serious consequences, including a breakdown in the social contract.

The major parties have avoided this truth because they both benefit from the illusion. Labor likes the welfare state. Big business likes high migration. Universities like foreign students. Treasury likes headline GDP growth. State governments like stamp duty from rising property prices. The Liberal Party, when in office, lacks the spine to challenge any of it. The result is the uniparty’s favourite policy cocktail: more people, more spending, more pressure, more bureaucracy and, of course, more tax revenue.

Nobody should be surprised by One Nation’s surge in popularity.

It seems obvious, but too few politicians and bureaucrats are prepared to say it aloud: if you want full access to the Australian social safety net, become an Australian and contribute.

That shouldn’t be controversial. It’s a great honour that so many people choose to come to Australia. What it says is that they think what we’ve got is great, and they would like the same opportunities for themselves and their family.

It’s even more of an honour when those migrants choose to become an Australian citizen. It says: this is my country, these are my people, these are my obligations, and these are my rights.

A liberty-first approach would reduce the welfare state, reduce taxes, restore individual responsibility, and then allow greater freedom of movement. But until that happens, we should stop pretending that Australia can run a huge welfare system while importing enormous demand for it.

A country that welcomes contributors is confident. A country that imports welfare dependency is reckless. Friedman was right; Australia can have a big welfare state, or it can have high immigration levels, but it cannot have both.

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“Ordinary Australians.”

Politicians use it. Journalists use it. Activists use it. Commentators use it. Every election campaign seems to be designed around helping them, protecting them, supporting them or fighting for them. Every budget is supposedly crafted with them in mind. Every policy failure is measured by its impact on them.

Yet for all the times the phrase is repeated, nobody ever seems to ask the obvious question.

What exactly is an “ordinary Australian”?

I have spent a fair bit of time thinking about that question and, the more I think about it, the less sense it makes.

Is an ordinary Australian the nurse working a twelve-hour shift caring for patients while navigating endless paperwork and staffing shortages? Is it the teacher who spends evenings and weekends preparing lessons, mentoring students and helping shape the next generation? Is it the doctor carrying the responsibility of making life-changing decisions every day, or the paramedic who rushes towards emergencies while everyone else is running away?

Perhaps it is the engineer designing the bridges, roads, water systems and infrastructure that modern society depends upon. Maybe it is the architect designing our cities, the scientist developing new technologies, or the farmer producing the food that fills our supermarkets.

Or perhaps it is the electrician keeping the lights on, the plumber keeping the water flowing, the fitter and turner maintaining machinery, the welder building critical infrastructure, the truck driver delivering essential goods, or the small business owner who risks everything to employ local people and keep their doors open.

Maybe it is the retiree who spent forty years working, paying taxes, raising a family and contributing to their community before finally stepping away from the workforce. Maybe it is the volunteer firefighter, the sporting club volunteer, the charity worker, or the parent who quietly sacrifices their own ambitions to create opportunities for their children.

The more examples you consider, the harder it becomes to identify anyone who genuinely deserves to be described as ordinary.

What I have noticed, however, is that the people who use the phrase almost never include themselves in the category.

Have you ever heard a television commentator describe themselves as an ordinary Australian? Have you ever heard a senior bureaucrat, political adviser or member of parliament proudly identify themselves as ordinary? Have you ever heard one of the countless experts who appear on our screens and in our newspapers include themselves among the people they are constantly talking about?

Neither have I.

The phrase is almost always directed at somebody else. It is usually applied to people outside the political class, the media bubble, and the institutions that increasingly dominate public life. It is a label placed on the people who build things, grow things, fix things, teach things, create things and keep society functioning while others discuss them from a distance.

That is why the phrase feels so uncomfortable.

On the surface it sounds harmless. In reality, it carries an unspoken assumption that there is a distinction between those who lead public debate and those who are the subjects of public debate. Between those who possess wisdom and those who merely receive it. Between those who make decisions and those who are expected to live with the consequences.

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The implication is subtle but unmistakable. There are apparently people qualified to explain how society should function, and then there are the “ordinary Australians” who should simply listen and comply.

This mindset helps explain why trust in so many institutions has declined so dramatically. Australians are not rejecting expertise; most people value genuine expertise and experience. What they are rejecting is the growing tendency of some people in public life to confuse expertise with superiority.

A doctor may know more about medicine than I do. An engineer may know more about engineering. A teacher understands education. A farmer understands farming. A manufacturer understands manufacturing. Expertise is valuable and should be respected.

The problem arises when expertise in one field becomes a licence to lecture everyone else about every aspect of life. When people who have spent their careers inside institutions assume they understand the lives of those who work outside them. When practical experience is dismissed while theoretical knowledge is elevated.

Too often we see those who create wealth, produce goods, solve practical problems and take commercial risks treated as though they are somehow less informed than those who have never faced those challenges themselves.

Australia did not become successful because of a handful of politicians, commentators or policy advisers. It became successful because millions of people from every background and profession contributed something valuable.

Teachers educated our children. Nurses cared for our families. Doctors protected our health. Engineers designed our infrastructure. Farmers fed our communities. Entrepreneurs built businesses. Tradespeople developed skills. Workers showed up every day and took pride in doing their jobs well.

None of those contributions are ordinary. In fact, they are extraordinary.

Not because they make headlines or attract media attention, but because they require commitment, sacrifice, responsibility and effort. They require people to put the interests of others ahead of themselves. They require people to contribute to something bigger than their own immediate needs.

For generations, Australia understood this. We respected achievement regardless of whether it came from a university lecture theatre, a factory floor, a farm, a workshop, a hospital ward or a family business. We recognised that a strong society depends on people with different skills, experiences and talents working together.

Somewhere along the way, that understanding began to erode. We started celebrating those who manage systems while overlooking those who make those systems possible. We became increasingly obsessed with credentials while paying less attention to character. We began dividing people into demographic groups rather than recognising them as individuals.

Perhaps that helps explain why so many Australians feel disconnected from modern politics and public life. They are tired of being categorised. Tired of being managed. Tired of being analysed. And above all, tired of being underestimated.

So perhaps it is time we stopped accepting the label altogether.

Perhaps it is time Australians stood a little taller and took a little more pride in what they contribute. The teacher, the nurse, the doctor, the engineer, the architect, the farmer, the tradesperson, the entrepreneur, the volunteer, the retiree and the parent all contribute to making Australia a better place.

None of these people are ordinary. They are the people who make Australia work.

Our future will not be determined by those who talk the most about Australia. It will be determined by those who continue to build it. Those who create, produce, teach, heal, invent, mentor, employ, volunteer and serve.

So the next time a politician appears on television claiming to speak for “ordinary Australians”, ask a simple question.

If the people who educate our children, heal our sick, grow our food, build our homes, create our jobs and keep our nation functioning are merely ordinary...

What exactly does that make you?

Many will be confused by the fact that they voted in an election not long ago, probably without knowing which one. Plenty of people have no idea that there are parliaments in each state capital as well as Canberra.

They may not vote informally, as that tends to be a deliberate choice. More likely they will enter a donkey vote (ie sequential numbers down the page) or vote for the candidate with the nicest teeth or hair.

In most other countries, such people would typically not bother to vote. On election day they would simply go to work, watch or play sport, go shopping, or do whatever else they normally do on a Saturday. If Australia was like those countries, this might be around 30 percent of voters.

Australia is one of only a handful of countries in which voting is obligatory. There is a cluster in South America including Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, Peru and Uruguay, a few in Europe (Belgium, Liechtenstein, Luxemburg and Slovakia), plus Nauru, Singapore and North Korea. All the countries with which we like to compare ourselves, including the UK, USA, New Zealand and Canada, have voluntary voting.

Those who live and breathe politics cannot contemplate how anyone could be disengaged from voting. They tend to view it as an education challenge: if it is all properly explained, everyone will take it seriously. They see a lack of eagerness to vote as simply an information deficit.

No doubt it would be nice if absolutely everyone was genuinely committed to electing the best possible candidates based on a comprehensive understanding of their policies. But reality is not like that.

Elections are often decided by margins of less than five percent, which makes the votes of low information, disengaged people highly influential. It makes sense to ask: what is being achieved by forcing them to vote?

Compulsory voting supporters worry that optional voting will result in a loss of support for their side of politics. Labor supporters tend to worry more than conservatives, despite the fact that left-leaning parties have never had any trouble winning elections in countries where voting is voluntary. New Zealand and Canada are just two examples.

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Proponents of compulsory voting also argue that compulsion improves the quality of the democracy. One of their favourites adages is that while you may not be interested in politics, politics is interested in you. You are affected by the results of elections, so you must participate.

The problem is that there is simply no evidence that countries with compulsory voting achieve better democratic outcomes than countries with voluntary voting. No matter the measure – political stability, civil rights, social cohesion, economic performance – the evidence is just not there.

What the evidence shows is that countries with a history of turbulent governments, such as Italy, would be no better off if they had compulsory voting. That includes now, when its government is stable. Some say that governing Italy is absolutely impossible – and totally unnecessary.

Equally, would Australia be better off it had voluntary voting, like Italy? That also includes now, when we’ve had eight Prime Ministers in the last 20 years. We could similarly ask, if all those governing us died in a plane crash, would the whole country come to a grinding halt as they seem to believe?

The only arguments that make rational sense are based on principles.

From a libertarian perspective, voting should of course be voluntary. Libertarians oppose coercion, so invoking the power of the law for merely staying home is unacceptable. Compulsion is also the opposite of free choice, a key libertarian principle. The freedom to choose not to vote at all is equally as relevant as who to vote for.

Compulsory voting actually makes the democratic process less responsive to the views of the electorate, as political parties can ignore their primary constituency and instead concentrate solely on swinging or whimsical voters. Under voluntary voting a candidate needs to appeal both to their supporters (who otherwise might decline to vote) and swinging voters (who might vote for other parties).

Under compulsory voting, representatives of safe seats face no democratic pressure. Voluntary voting would mean that no seat was truly safe as supporters may refuse to vote. Representatives need to be constantly aware of the views in their electorate and take no victory for granted.

Genuine democracy is based on universal suffrage, yet the right to do something implies that you have a choice not to do that thing. It would be absurd to say that Australians have the “right” to pay tax; paying tax is a legal obligation, not a right. Making voting compulsory changes it into a legal obligation rather than a right.

The right to vote should be a civil freedom, like free speech or free association. Free speech does not imply a requirement to speak and free association does not imply a requirement to join clubs. Likewise, the freedom to vote should not mean a requirement to vote.

Turbulence is not new, though, and we must never think that modernity is immune to the injustices and evils of the past. But when I echo Machiavelli – no, not in his ruthless, scheming demeanour, rather in the sense of putting on my finest robes at the end of the day to sit and commune with the ancients – I do wonder at how they would judge us and the choices we make. Naturally it comes down to context of the times.

I have been reading Macbeth, and am particularly interested in the message of what sort of character is subject to the lure of tyranny, and it raises that perennial question for our own times.

What makes the circumstances ripe for tyranny?

Is it inevitable that assuming the position of leadership will turn one from being righteous to malevolent? Shakespeare’s Macbeth reads as a blueprint to address such questions.

Duncan, the king of Scotland, has been slain by his once loyal general, Macbeth, urged on by his wife’s insatiable desire for power. One of Scotland’s most loyal patriots, Macduff, serves as a mirror to the king’s son, Malcolm, who has to test his own soul as well as that of Macduff’s loyalty to Scotland.

It sets the scene for a brilliant strategy in determining who can lead and remain untainted from the political hypnosis held in the poisoned cup of leadership.

Shakespeare has Malcolm question his fitness to assume the crown on the basis of his own human vices.

He points to Macbeth as a man he once thought honest, begging the question, why would he then be?

‘A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;

That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:

Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,

Yet grace must still look so.’

History shows that few people can refuse the allure of political temptation to engage in ways that deceive the public – those they are tasked with representing. There is always a story of corruption to hit the mainstream media, not to mention those closely aligned with parties who either partake in or know of the inside skullduggery of factional wars. It is really a case in life, too; how many of us are always strong enough to resist the easier path to our dreams rather than sacrifice much to wait?

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And when Malcolm presents his innermost longings to Macduff, assuming that he would judge him accordingly as a man unfit to wear the crown of king, even that did not sway the loyal nobleman. For in his eyes, there was no soul viler than Macbeth, hence no person could match his excessive desire for power:

‘Not in the legions of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn’d

In evils, to top Macbeth.’

Although Macduff acknowledges that untamed intemperance results in the fall of many kings, he urged the young man to not abandon his inheritance.

That Malcolm assesses his own weakness, and questions whether he is fit to govern, reveals that he is worthy of doing so. But it was through the impassioned elegy for the decay of Macduff’s beloved Scotland, that Malcolm had an epiphany.

Interpretation of this passage argues that this was a test for Macduff rather than for Malcolm: because he admits that he has done no wrong, claiming he is chaste and good of heart. But it could indeed be an epiphany – the final act of self-examination. Haven’t we all been there at one time? Where we are about to embark on a mighty project in our lives, but we harbour doubt that we can succeed, so we pause; reflect; and then decide to take the leap – or not.

In contrast to Malcolm’s testing of Macduff’s patriotism, and his own interrogation of his inner motives, Macbeth wavered. He was pressured by his wife’s devious intent to become Queen and relish all the largesse the position offered.

I find the saddest indictment upon our political class and, indeed, upon the citizenry, is that we don’t pay attention to what the past has gifted us with the lessons from history. Thousands of years of examples and warnings of what to do and what to avoid.

Oh, but could we here in 2026 be so blessed as to have such mentors for each and every person who enters the political arena. Sadly, for western nations, these past few decades have seen quite the opposite. Our parliaments are littered with self-righteous and bedevilled individuals who seek merely their own comforts at the expense of the populace.

Political skullduggery is often better seen through the prism of art and drama. It is not just confined to the parliamentary chambers or halls of congress, where most times we are provided mere sloppy entertainment rather than anything of substance to gauge how these people are representing us.

Shakespeare relayed an important message: that kingship is earned through moral self-knowledge; by the ability to interrogate one’s own soul; and to exercise strength to accept an almost poisoned chalice, but one where a will to cleanse is stronger than the urge to corrupt.

Macduff becomes the catalyst who makes Malcolm realise he is ready.

What will become the catalyst for those politicians of today who are willing to interrogate their own souls in pursuit of a poisoned political chalice?

At the same time, senior Liberal figures continue to publicly reject the idea, saying they would “never ever” form a coalition with One Nation. The Nationals have also shown little enthusiasm. This leaves many voters wondering what is really possible.

Coalitions are actually very common in parliamentary democracies around the world. In countries that use proportional representation, such as many in Europe and Israel, single-party governments are rare. Most governments are made up of at least two parties working together.

New Zealand, for example, is currently governed by a coalition involving National, ACT and New Zealand First. NZ First insisted on policy shifts on issues such as immigration as a condition of joining the coalition.

The government of Israel is comprised of a coalition of five parties. One of them, Shas, insisted on military service exemptions for yeshiva students (ie those in full-time religious study).

In the Netherlands, three parties currently form a minority government. A previous coalition member, PVV (led by Geert Wilders), demanded strict asylum/migration controls, border closures, and deportations as a condition of entering.

In Sweden, the coalition government is comprised of three parties. However, its survival relies on the support of a fourth party, with that support subject to strict immigration reforms, a tougher path to citizenship, deporting non-citizen criminals, a crackdown on gangs, closer inspection of religious schools, capping welfare benefits, limiting non-citizen access to welfare, a reduction in fuel taxes, and expansion of nuclear generation.

Our experience with coalitions in Australia is different, based on the long-running Liberal–National coalition. That has led many to assume coalition agreements must be negotiated before an election and should offer a shared policy platform.

In fact, that is not how most coalitions are formed internationally. More often, parties contest elections independently and negotiate afterwards, once the final numbers are known. Each party focuses on winning as many seats as possible. Only after the election do discussions begin about whether they can work together to form government.

Coalitions also come in different forms. Some involve sharing ministerial positions, as happens with the Liberals and Nationals. Others are more limited arrangements. A minor party may simply agree to support the government on key votes, or guarantee “confidence and supply” — meaning it will support the government in no-confidence motions and budget votes – as is the case in Sweden.

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It makes no political sense for the Liberals, Nationals and One Nation to announce a coalition before the next election, due in 2028. Any such announcement would inevitably become a major political target for Labor and its supporters, distracting attention from the policies that each party seeks to promote.

It would also exclude other minor parties that might win seats and help achieve a non-Labor majority.

Greater political advantage will be seen with each party campaigning separately. That allows them to appeal to different groups of voters and promote policies that are not necessarily the same. On issues such as gas exports or the Paris Agreement, for example, each party can argue its own approach is better without needing to settle any disagreements beforehand.

What matters most is keeping communication open and avoiding unnecessary acrimony. There are two key reasons for this.

The first is practical politics. If post-election negotiations become necessary, they are much easier when parties have not attacked each other in destructive ways and there are no personality conflicts.

The second reason involves preferences. In House of Representatives elections, voters must number every box for their vote to count. If a voter’s preferred candidate is eliminated, their vote is transferred according to those preferences.

This means parties need to think carefully about what they do with their How-To-Vote cards. If the Liberals, Nationals and One Nation want to maximise the total number of non-Labor seats, they need to ensure their voters’ preferences flow to one another before Labor or the Greens.

Preference flows often decide the outcomes. In many electorates, conservative parties may be behind on first preferences but can still defeat Labor if preferences are tightly exchanged. Equally, if those preferences do not flow efficiently, Labor can win seats despite lacking first-preference support.

Strategic thinking on preferences has long been difficult for the Liberal Party. The party has typically focused exclusively on winning seats itself and is reluctant to assist smaller conservative parties (aside from the Nationals), even when cooperation could improve the broader result for the political right.

This has had major consequences in the Senate, as I have discussed previously, where the Liberals will not be able to achieve a workable majority for the foreseeable future.

Current polling suggests there could be many seats at the next election where Labor leads on primary votes while the Liberals or Nationals and One Nation compete for second place. If the Liberals or Nationals are third, they need to be comfortable with their preferences electing One Nation candidates. Reassurance to their voters that this is intended will be needed.

One Nation will similarly need to ensure their voters are comfortable electing Liberals and Nationals, in preference to Labor. The ‘plague on both their houses’ mentality runs deep among the party’s supporters, but it is not politically constructive.

Only then, if enough seats are won on the anti-Labor side of politics, can discussions about some form of coalition or governing agreement take place. Until that happens, it is not a discussion worth having.

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No other nation on earth has been handed a better set of natural advantages and then worked so hard to squander them.

We sit on mountains of iron ore, oceans of gas, vast reserves of coal, lithium, uranium, rare earths, copper and bauxite. We have some of the best agricultural land on the planet, enormous coastlines, political stability, abundant sunshine and proximity to the fastest growing region in the world. By every natural measure, Australia should be an industrial superpower.

Instead, we increasingly behave like a quarry with a housing market attached.

Countries with virtually no natural resources, like Japan, became manufacturing giants through discipline, industrial planning and national ambition. Japan imports the raw materials it needs because it has no choice. Australia exports its raw materials because it increasingly seems incapable of doing anything else.

That is not clever economics. That is national laziness dressed up as economic sophistication.

Australia digs it up, ships it out and then buys it back at ten times the price after another country has refined it, manufactured it and added value to it. We export iron ore and import finished steel. We export lithium and import batteries. We export gas while Australian manufacturers pay crippling energy prices. We shut down refineries and then act shocked when fuel security becomes a national issue.

It is insanity.

At some point Australians need to ask a serious question. What exactly is our long-term economic plan? Is the vision for this country simply endless immigration, rising house prices and bulk commodity exports while the productive economy slowly collapses underneath us?

Because that is where we are heading.

The political class talks endlessly about “innovation” while allowing the industrial base that actually creates innovation to erode. They speak about “the future economy” as though economies magically float into existence through PowerPoint presentations and government announcements. Real economies are built by people who make things, process things, transport things, repair things and design things.

Manufacturing is not nostalgia. Manufacturing is civilisation in physical form.

A country that cannot make things eventually becomes dependent on countries that can.

COVID exposed this brutally. Suddenly Australians discovered that global supply chains are not acts of God. They are fragile systems controlled by nations that prioritise themselves first when pressure arrives. Pharmaceuticals became scarce. Industrial components disappeared. Shipping costs exploded. Lead times blew out. The fantasy that Australia could survive indefinitely as a post-industrial service economy collided with reality.

And still many of our leaders learned nothing.

The SEMMA (South East Melbourne Manufacturers Alliance) Manufacturing Blueprint warns that Australia risks becoming “a highly taxed nation that produces little” with declining sovereign capability. That statement should terrify policymakers. Instead, it is typically dismissed as old-fashioned thinking by people who have never run a factory, never met a payroll, and never worried about keeping production lines moving.

The arrogance is breathtaking.

Modern Australia increasingly celebrates consumption more than production. We glorify property speculation while treating manufacturing as an inconvenience from the past. We reward financial engineering more than industrial engineering. We created a culture where young people are told success means sitting behind a laptop in climate-controlled comfort rather than building the physical economy that keeps the nation alive.

Meanwhile countries like Japan, Germany and South Korea quietly continue to manufacture advanced products, export value-added goods and protect their industrial capability because they understand something Australia has forgotten: wealth is not created by moving money around. Wealth is created by producing things the world needs.

Japan had no iron ore.
Japan had no coal.
Japan had no gas.
Japan had no vast continent filled with mineral wealth.

What Japan had was seriousness.

Australia has the resources but increasingly lacks the will.

We have become a nation rich in assets but poor in ambition. We think selling the farm is the same thing as building a future. We comfort ourselves with high living standards while ignoring the fact those living standards are increasingly dependent on exporting finite resources to countries smart enough to convert them into industrial dominance.

Even now the opportunities remain staggering. The South East manufacturing region of Melbourne alone contributes $54 billion in regional output and supports more than 232,000 manufacturing jobs. Manufacturing is not dead; it survives despite decades of political neglect, crushing energy prices, excessive regulation and policy instability.

Imagine what Australia could become if governments actually backed productive industry instead of suffocating it.

Imagine affordable energy.
Imagine serious local content laws.
Imagine industrial policy designed around capability rather than political slogans.
Imagine vocational education treated with the same respect as university pathways.
Imagine a tax system that rewarded production instead of speculation.

Australia should be one of the richest and most capable industrial nations on earth. The raw ingredients are all here. What is missing is leadership with the courage to think beyond election cycles and quarterly headlines.

The smartest country in the world would take Australia’s natural advantages and build the most advanced industrial economy in the Southern Hemisphere.

The dumbest country in the world would export raw materials, import dependency and slowly dismantle the industries that create real prosperity.

Modern Australia is dangerously close to doing both at the same time.

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Registrations have surged from around 20,000 in 2018 to over 45,000 by 2025, with States such as Queensland seeing increases exceeding 110% in primary and 167% in secondary levels. New South Wales and Victoria report similar dramatic rises.

This trend represents far more than a niche choice—it embodies a libertarian resurgence in parental authority and individual educational freedom against the creeping monopoly of state-controlled schooling.

In a country where compulsory government education has long been the default, families are reclaiming their natural right to direct their children’s upbringing.

Homeschooling is legal nationwide, though bureaucratic hurdles vary by state and often demand learning plans, periodic reviews, and alignment with the Australian Curriculum. These requirements themselves highlight the tension: parents exercising independence must still seek permission from the same state apparatus they are seeking to escape.

The core academic advantage lies in radical personalisation. Traditional classrooms enforce a one-size-fits-all model dictated by government bureaucrats and union interests.

Homeschooling rejects this central planning.

Parents tailor instruction to a child’s unique pace, talents, and curiosities, enabling mastery-based progression rather than age-based conformity.

Australian data consistently shows homeschooled students outperforming state averages on NAPLAN testing, with advantages persisting even upon return to conventional settings.

Free from repetitive drills and institutional pacing, children delve deeper into interests, integrating real-world learning—budgeting at markets, biology in the garden, or history through family travels. This approach aligns with libertarian principles of spontaneous order and individual discovery.

Without rigid bells or standardised testing quotas, learning becomes efficient and joyful. Families draw on diverse voluntary providers: curricula from Euka Future Learning or My Homeschool, private tutors, online platforms, and community co-operatives. These emerging educational markets demonstrate how competition and choice outperform monopolistic public systems.

Reduced homework and flexible schedules prevent burnout, fostering genuine intellectual curiosity rather than compliance.

Mental health and family well-being gain immensely.

Government schools expose children to peer pressure, bullying, and the ideological conformity often pushed by state-approved materials.

Homeschooling shields young minds from these while allowing more sleep, exercise, and unstructured play—essential for developing resilient, independent thinkers.

Parents report stronger bonds, deeper communication, and the ability to address neurodiverse needs (autism, ADHD, giftedness) without battling under-resourced bureaucracies. In libertarian terms, this restores the family as the primary institution of society, superior to distant state mechanisms in nurturing emotional security and character.

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Socialisation myths crumble under scrutiny. Homeschooled Australian children easily engage across age groups through sports clubs, arts co-ops, community events, and mixed-age learning groups. This produces superior outcomes: greater empathy, leadership, and real-world confidence compared to institutional segregation by age.

Voluntary association, not compulsory proximity, builds authentic social skills. Many homeschooled teens transition seamlessly into university or entrepreneurship, demonstrating self-motivation and maturity prized in free societies.

Economically and philosophically, homeschooling advances liberty. It reduces reliance on taxpayer-funded systems, potentially easing fiscal burdens on the state. Families save relative to private schooling while investing directly in resources aligned with their values.

For rural, remote, or shift-working Australians, it offers unmatched flexibility untethered from bureaucratic calendars. During disruptions like pandemics, homeschoolers adapted rapidly through family ingenuity and market innovations, unlike rigid public institutions.

Critics, often defenders of the status quo, raise concerns about oversight and socialisation. Yet evidence from growing numbers and strong outcomes refutes this.

Success hinges on parental dedication and voluntary networks such as the Home Education Association, which provides advocacy, resources, and mutual support—civil society at its finest, operating without coercive mandates.

Libertarians rightly view compulsory schooling as a relic of 19th-century nation-building that centralises power over minds. State education risks ideological capture, stifles diversity of thought, and treats children as collective assets rather than individuals with rights mediated through parents. Homeschooling counters this by affirming parental sovereignty—the fundamental liberty to raise one’s children according to personal ethics, culture, or faith without state permission slips for basic upbringing. It encourages personal responsibility: parents who choose this path invest time and effort, reaping rewards in capable, principled offspring.

Challenges, however, do exist. Homeschooling demands significant commitment, financial trade-offs for single-income families, and navigation of regulatory mazes in some jurisdictions. Not every parent can or should homeschool. Yet for those who do, the advantages compound: superior academics through customisation, enhanced well-being free from institutional stress, rich voluntary social experiences, and education aligned with family values rather than government agendas.

As registrations climb, Australia’s homeschooling families illustrate a powerful truth: decentralised, parent-driven education produces better results while expanding human freedom. In an age of expanding state influence over childhood, home education stands as a bulwark for individual liberty, family autonomy, and voluntary cooperation. It empowers parents to reject mediocrity by monopoly and instead cultivate independent minds equipped to thrive in a free society.

For the libertarian-minded, homeschooling is more than an educational option—it is a declaration of independence from the collective and a recommitment to self-reliance and parental duty.

As more Australians embrace it, the advantages will only grow clearer: freer families raising freer, more capable individuals.

Australia’s personal income tax system has progressive rates, which in theory means high income earners at the top end of the scale pay a higher rate of tax. However, the thresholds are not automatically indexed to inflation, which means an increasing number of Australians now find themselves in the higher brackets.

In 2008-09, Australia’s top income tax rate was adjusted to 45 per cent for every dollar you earn over $180,000. If that $180,000 threshold had been indexed to inflation, the top income tax rate of 45 per cent would now kick in at around $275,000. The reality is that in 2025-26, it kicks in at just $190,000. It’s a similar story for the lower income tax thresholds.

Treasury has described bracket creep, or “fiscal drag”, as what happens when higher tax rates apply to more income earners over time, because thresholds remain fixed while incomes rise. The Parliamentary Budget Office (PBO) has made the crucial point that bracket creep is not limited to workers who shift into a higher bracket for the first time. In fact, anyone who pays income tax and receives a pay rise can be affected, because more of their income is taxed at higher rates even if they stay within the same headline bracket. Treasury bureaucrats know it’s an issue, and to their credit the PBO has described bracket creep as a source of revenue growth “without any explicit policy change”.

That is the whole scam in one sentence – no vote, no announcement – just more tax with no accountability.

If the government wants to raise taxes, it should legislate a tax increase and defend it in public. Instead, successive federal governments have relied on a more convenient method: let inflation do the dirty work, then occasionally ‘return’ some of the proceeds in the form of tax cuts, preferably just before an election with great fanfare to ensure maximum media coverage.

It is the political equivalent of stealing your wallet, handing back the loose change, and expecting a thank-you note (or vote, as it were).

The current debate has sharpened because the Coalition is now promising to index income tax thresholds to inflation. In Angus Taylor’s 2026 budget reply speech, he proposed that a future coalition government would index the bottom two income tax thresholds from 2028-29 and the top thresholds from 2031-32.

Credit where it is due, the principle is right, although it can’t come soon enough. Tax brackets should be indexed, and government should not be rewarded for inflation. A worker whose pay rises by 4 per cent while prices rise by 4 per cent has not become 4 per cent richer. Yet under a non-indexed tax system, our government treats that worker as a more lucrative extraction opportunity. If the government causes, tolerates, or fails to contain inflation, it should not then profit from the damage.

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Labor Treasurer Jim Chalmers has attacked the Coalition’s policy as irresponsible, warning that it would reduce revenue and threaten services. That is not really an argument against indexation, it is an admission that his government is addicted to increasing tax revenue. If your fiscal strategy depends on quietly taking more from hard-working Australians every year without asking them, the problem is not the indexation proposal, the problem is out of control government spending.

The temporary, discretionary income tax relief proposed in Labor’s budget is not a structural fix. It leaves the Treasurer in control of the tap and workers dependent on the mood of the bureaucracy, the electoral cycle, and whatever confected “cost of living” package fits the evening news.

The long-term numbers show why politicians like bracket creep. Recent reporting of Parliamentary Budget Office projections shows personal income tax revenue rising from 12.4 per cent of GDP to 14.5 per cent by 2036 without reform, with the average tax rate rising from 24 per cent to 28 per cent. That is a huge shift in the tax burden, achieved by inertia rather than honest tax reform . The machine simply keeps taking more.

This matters for liberty because taxation is not merely an accounting exercise. It is the transfer of power from individuals to the state. Every extra dollar taken by government is a dollar not spent, saved, invested, donated, or enjoyed by the person who earned it.

Libertarians oppose bracket creep because it offends both economic efficiency and democratic honesty. It punishes work, weakens reward for effort, and expands government by stealth.

Bracket creep hits people whose income is visible and easy to tax: wage and salary earners. Younger Australians, in particular, rely more heavily on labour income and have fewer opportunities to shelter income through assets, trusts, superannuation concessions, or capital gains arrangements. Labor’s budget has embraced inflation-adjusted treatment for capital gains by moving toward taxing real gains rather than inflationary gains, but when wages are inflated by the same economic forces, workers are apparently fair game.

The indexation of income tax rates is not a new idea; many countries already do it. In fact, Australia had tax threshold indexation during the Fraser years, before governments abandoned it in favour of discretionary adjustments. The reason is obvious: discretion benefits politicians; indexation benefits taxpayers.

Indexing tax brackets to inflation would not solve every problem in Australia’s overgrown tax system. It must be paired with spending restraint and broader tax reform. Otherwise, it risks becoming another campaign bauble rather than a genuine shift in the relationship between citizen and state. It would not automatically reduce spending, flatten the bureaucracy, or stop politicians inventing new ways to separate us from our hard-earned money. But it would help to make one important rule clear: inflation should not be a revenue strategy.

If politicians or bureaucrats want higher taxes, let them say so openly. Let them introduce the legislation, debate it, and face the voters. Until then, bracket creep remains what it has always been: a stealth increase in tax, quietly feeding the beast while workers are told to be grateful for crumbs.

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This is true of all democratic systems: judges are expected to interpret the law rather than create it. They are deliberately unelected and independent so that they can decide disputes impartially.

Their legitimacy comes from applying statutes passed by elected parliaments within principles established by constitutions. When judges move beyond interpretation and begin effectively making policy, they risk undermining democracy and weakening public confidence in the courts.

Law-making belongs to parliament where elected representatives can be voted out if the public disagrees with them.

Supporters of judicial activism argue that judges must adapt the law to changing social values. However, judicial creativity undermines certainty. Both citizens and governments need to know that laws will be interpreted according to established principles rather than the personal philosophies of individual judges.

In 2026, the New South Wales Court of Appeal struck down anti-protest laws introduced after the Bondi Beach terror attack, the court holding that the legislation “impermissibly burdened” the implied constitutional freedom of political communication.

While the ruling was praised by civil liberties groups, the reality is that judges were intruding into inherently political matters involving public safety and protest regulation.

During protests surrounding the 2026 visit of Israeli President Isaac Herzog to Sydney, NSW courts initially upheld expanded police powers restricting demonstrations, accepting the government’s argument that the measures were necessary for public safety. Later, however, broader anti-protest measures were declared unconstitutional. The judges were profoundly influencing political and social disputes.

The problem is, not a single word in the Australian Constitution provides for freedom of political communication. It is entirely, from beginning to end, an invention by the judges of the High Court.

Another example, by the High Court, is its decision in Love v Commonwealth (2020), where it ruled that Aboriginals who are not citizens cannot be considered “aliens” under the Constitution.

The Constitution contains no explicit exception of this kind; the court effectively created a new constitutional category.

There are other cases: for example, the High Court has decided that prisoners serving sentences of three years or less cannot be prevented from voting, while those serving longer sentences can be, despite the Constitution saying no such thing. In another case the High Court decided it, not Parliament, had the power to supervise when electoral rolls must close.

Inevitably the lower courts see the example of the High Court and follow suit, deciding cases according to their individual biases. In the Tickle v Giggle case, for example, it was open to the court to interpret the definition of “gender identity” in the Sex Discrimination Act in a way that did not undermine the rights of women. It chose not to do so.

In the ACCC case against Coles, the court declared that 12 weeks must elapse between reasonable price increases and promotional cuts, if consumers were not to be misled. That ought to be a business decision, not the opinion of a judge. Merely setting out some key principles around honesty, transparency and accountability would have been far more appropriate.

Even in my defamation case, the court simply chose to disregard provisions of the Parliamentary Privileges Act which makes it unlawful for a court to interpret what was said in parliament, to conclude (with zero corroborating evidence) that something had not been said in parliament and therefore I could be found liable.

It seems to me that some judges believe they know better than politicians and simply base their decisions on what they think should be the outcome, rather than what the law provides. I suspect this reflects the same level of contempt for politicians found in the community; politics is messy and full of compromises, leading many people to conclude they could do a better job.

The problem is that this leads us to a similar situation to Israel. Israel’s High Court of Justice possesses unusually broad authority because the country lacks a single written constitution. The court has claimed the power, despite no legislative backing, to review government actions, strike down legislation, and intervene extensively in administrative decisions.

The Israeli court has become very powerful and unaccountable, effectively shaping national policy on issues ranging from security to settlements and religious matters. It even claims the power to appoint its own judges.

The controversy reached a peak in 2023 and 2024 during attempts by the Israeli government to implement reform, prompting mass demonstrations. Those opposed to the current government feared that reducing the court’s powers would weaken checks and balances, while government supporters argued that unelected judges had accumulated excessive influence over elected governments. It was a dangerously partisan period.

The Israeli example demonstrates the dangers when courts move beyond interpretation into governance itself. With judges as central political actors, public trust in both democracy and the judiciary is eroded.

Democratic legitimacy depends on elected representatives making policy decisions, with clear boundaries between judging and governing. A strong democracy requires not only independent courts, but also judges who recognise their proper role.

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