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Most famous people are given a simple label that sums them up. William of Normandy is the Conqueror. Louis XIV is the Sun King. Former Australian cricket captain Allan Border is Grumpy.
Now, Donald Trump is derided or deified as the supreme populist. But what actually defines a “populist”? We usually say we know one when we see one. Napoleon Bonaparte was a populist. So was Adolf Hitler. His fawning mate, Benito Mussolini, too. The ridiculous but nasty president Juan Peron of Argentina was a professional populist.
But what is the actual DNA of populism? Populism certainly is different from popularity, which merely is being liked. Populist politicians go far beyond soliciting public affection. They demand to be loved.
This gives the first criterion for a populist. They have an ego the size of Western Australia. Every populist, from Caesar to Bonaparte, has believed they were the genius child of destiny. The Great Man in History theory is them.
That egotism then grounds a belief that they embody their nation. They are adept at identifying a central character of their people, and both responding to and feeding it. Napoleon commodified the French notion of Gloire, a glorious destiny. Hitler marketed the idea of the Volk, one people united in a supreme culture. Mussolini promised Italy a return from irrelevance to a Roman imperial future.
Trump follows this pattern. He has tapped into a deep well of national pride, reward for hard work, Christian morality and international supremacy. Make America Great Again is simply the trademark for this version of American identity. As protector of the American dream, Trump has the great populist advantage: he has a personal relationship with millions of Americans.
It is no surprise populists ascend when national character is most threatened. Napoleon’s France was shattered by the Revolution. Peron’s Argentina was a social and economic wreck. Trump’s America is a bedrock of popular disappointment, laced with economic hardship, a decline in international prestige and a dismissive liberal social agenda that makes no sense in Idaho.
Trump shares one other fundamental populist characteristic. He does not tolerate institutions blocking his progress. From the integrity of congress to free elections to the rule of law, Trump is indifferent. Napoleon dissolved the French parliament with Grenadiers. Trump is not in that class, but he may be wistful.
The most obvious question for Australians is whether a populist leader might ever arise in the leafy incompetence of Canberra?
This a hard question, because populism as a political philosophy has made little headway in Australia. It has never captured the peaks of power. So we lack historic examples.
Federation was a quiet political process, endorsed by a calm popular vote. Our one serious constitutional crisis, the dismissal of Gough Whitlam, evaporated without producing a Maximilien Robespierre or a Che Guevara.
Even the titanic pressures following World War I, in the midst of the Great Depression, produced the ludicrous New Guard. Its only achievement was to disrupt the opening of the Harbour Bridge.
There have been occasional populist movements, but they have been distractions rather than disruptions. Pauline Hanson’s One Nation reflects the same disappointed nationalism fuelling Trump, but has never dominated our politics.
The real question is why our nation has never fostered populism: Could it actually be immune? That would be a bold claim. But for a start, there are some basic institutional settings that do mitigate populist politics.
Obviously, compulsory voting prevents a directed surge of disaffected voters from swamping the system. Where everyone votes, it is hard to ride a single wave of popularity into power. Mind you, compulsory voting is not in the Constitution, so it could be legislated away.
We also have a strong upper house, deep respect for the rule of law and a federation where power is diffused between the centre and the states. But so did lots of countries that experienced populism. Perhaps the most important structural protection is our head of government – the prime minister – is not also our head of state, so we do not mix up power and legitimacy. Correspondingly, our head of state – the governor-general – is not elected, and therefore not a populist office.
But accepting all these structural restraints, is there something about Australians as a people that repels populism?
You need to be careful of jingoistic self-congratulation. But there is something about Australians and populism that just does not gel. Part of it is a tendency not to take ourselves too seriously. Epics of national character as a base for grand plans are seen as uppity conceit. Even better, they are funny. The Australian sense of humour is fine-tuned for detecting vanity. We laugh at haughty royals, self-important politicians and noisy progressive capitalists.
Australians are also a practical people. We invented the stump-jump plough and Australian rules football. We do not like visionaries selling theories, whether extreme economic experiments or climate absolutism. To the extent we have a basic value, it is still the concept of the “fair go”. This idea of responsibility of the community for the individual, and the individual for the community, is hard to confect as unrestrained populism.
We do not subscribe to ideas of glory, Volk, restored greatness or any other highfalutin national psychology.
A combination of common sense, basic fairness, healthy cynicism and an inherent mistrust of grand plans makes Australia a poor hunting ground for populists. After all, our greatest national hero was the donkey as much as Simpson.
Long may he reign.