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Pauline Hanson: Supplier of headlines, or slave to them?

Pauline Hanson: Supplier of headlines, or slave to them?

Friday 8 July, 2016
In this town, politics is a form of entertainment, with no-one more so than Pauline Hanson. But is she speaking for herself, or being spoken for?
The story starts here...

TBS is all about exclusives, especially if they are in a fleshed-out-on-gut-instinct, loosely tied in with musical theatre kind of way. When Pauline Hanson rode back into town this week, just as that other judicial redhead, Nicholas Angel, did in 2007, atop a white horse, the townsfolk sneered and reached for their guns. All week, Pauline has tap-danced upon the tall letters of newspaper headlines, and in turn she has fielded vast criticism. But we contend that there is something else afoot.

You see, when Pauline Hanson was re-elected, two Paulines (three if you count Pantsdown – Ed) re-entered the Discourse Dome: the one that Pauline is, and the one that we assume she is. From a media standpoint, this week was the great Gold Rush of 1851. Now, I’m not defending her xenophobic policies, nor would I ever brake in traffic for anyone who supported her, but therein lies the trap. I dislike Pauline Hanson through assumption; assumption based on the headlines which trickle down into my newsfeed, and which I give the most Titanic of wide berths. I’ll read the headlines and move on. After all, why would I read the article? It’s about Pauline Hanson. The situation further coated in unbalanced irony, as I am now writing a piece on Pauline Hanson.

But! There’s a reason. For recklessly imbibing antifreeze, I have figured it out. Pauline is here to keep our bleeding media industry alive. With print media looking wan and notable digital media agencies labouring under the free-market economy of opinion, what is needed is someone to drive content, and flesh out the inches of yore.

The rule with Pauline seems to be not what she said, but rather, what we, the media, can make her say. Much like the time that Renee Zellweger was a puppet, manipulated by the hand of Richard Gere in the musical/town of Chicago. As they wanted a show, not the truth, so do we.

As the vote was confirmed, they wheeled her out, and cued the music.

Where’d ya come from? Ipswich, Queenland.

Is Muslim Islam? Let’s ask science.

Do you like Halal? Not Interested.

We had strength, and she had none, but still we all reached for the vote. Oh yes, oh, yes, oh yes, oh, yes, we both, oh yes, we both, we reached for the vote, the vote, the vote, the vote, the vote, for the vote. The vote the vote the vote oh yes, oh yes, the vote, for the vote.

She’s so reprehensibleeeeeee…

Is Pauline the Lee Harvey Oswald of a larger plot? Merely the lamb to be korma-ed? Maybe. The ramblings of a man gone wrong at his own hand? Maybe. Maybe xenophobia is so hot right now, and, as our chum the Masked Lib pointed out, maybe her reappearance is the far Right countering the far Left.

But, why the persistent rumours of Channel 7 financially backing Pauline on some level, prior to the election? Why the reams of, as she put it, sensationalist headlines? It seems that Pauline’s mouth is moving, but the media speaks for her. Sensing this, Pauline took to Facebook last night to put into their rightful place, those who potentially make her dance.

I fear for tripping over this most monumental of media plots, and burning the hand that feeds us a Battered Sav and we see a Chicko, will now retract, and I, will disappear on a rainy night in Waterloo for exposing it, but I fear I must explain what I’ve seen from the dots I’ve connected. I’m not saying that Pauline Hanson is a creation of the media (I have not the proof), but the timing is strange. For the cupboard was bare, early on we’ve had Trump, that’s fizzled out, Dutton, that’s fizzled out, The Election, that certainly has fizzled out, and there’s suddenly space for ambiguity, and discussion in shades of grey. Suddenly we know nothing, but, suddenly, there’s Pauline, and the news again shines anew. The face that launches a thousand articles, memes and shakes of the head.

And that’s jazz.

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