They were once the most unthinkable Pauline Hanson voters of all. Now, young people and migrants explain to PETER VAN ONSELEN why they have shifted their vote – to One Nation

The sausages were sizzling and the faithful were already gathering when Pauline Hanson arrived at One Nation’s Victorian headquarters in Pakenham on Sunday afternoon.

It’s a modest warehouse, more industrial storage unit than traditional political headquarters. But that’s very One Nation, especially in a state where the party hasn’t traditionally been expected to do well. 

The cheers started the moment Hanson’s unmistakable shock of red hair came into view through the window of a four-wheel drive. Sitting in the front passenger seat, she waved towards those waiting for her.

One supporter glowed with excitement when Hanson waved in her direction.

‘She waved back! She waved back!’ the twenty-something exclaimed. The number of younger people at the event surprised me.

As Hanson exited the vehicle, phones went up and supporters pressed forward for selfies. She began working her way through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting people with the ease of a politician who’s been doing this for a while.

She didn’t rush through the encounters either. Hanson took her time posing for photographs, hearing people’s stories and responding to what they wanted to tell her.

One shy and reluctant supporter stood back watching until a woman nearby encouraged him to approach. ‘Go and do it,’ she told him. ‘She really listens.’

A young man produced a Metallica album and asked Hanson to sign it. At first she appeared reluctant, concerned it might be some sort of stitch-up. Once it was made clear that the album had nothing to do with Midnight Oil frontman and former Labor minister Peter Garrett, she happily added her signature.

The young man walked away delighted, clutching his newly autographed heavy-metal souvenir.

But this event felt different to those I’ve covered in the past.

Less than 24 hours earlier, One Nation had pulled off its stunning victory in the Secret Harbour state by-election, sweeping Labor out of a seat it had held since 1989 and securing the party’s first lower house foothold in Western Australia.

Luke Herdegen’s victory transformed Hanson’s Victorian visit into something of a victory lap. The result was fresh enough for supporters to still be checking updates on their phones and significant enough to give the gathering an unmistakable swagger.

The Victorian state election is due in November, and to say this crowd is sick of the Labor government would be the mother of all understatements.

For years, One Nation supporters have been told their vote was wasted. Secret Harbour provided a powerful rebuttal.

‘Yesterday proved we’re not just here to make a point anymore,’ retired truck driver Gary, 68, said. ‘We can actually win seats. 

‘I’ve supported Pauline since the early 2000s, through all the ups and downs, and I never thought I’d see the party in this position.’

Gary was one of several long-time supporters in attendance, but the crowd was by no means an assembly of Hanson-era veterans.

There were young couples, tradies, small business owners, parents with children and a noticeable number of people in their twenties. There were Australians from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds too, including some who laughed at the suggestion that their presence might surprise Hanson’s critics.

It didn’t resemble the narrow, monochrome gathering One Nation’s opponents often imagine.

Mia, a 23-year-old retail worker attending her first political event, said she’d taken an interest in One Nation only during the past 12 months. That makes her one of the many younger voters whose support has helped propel One Nation from single digits to a level pegging with Labor in national polling.

In fact the Newspoll released the day after this event put One Nation’s primary vote nationally slightly ahead of Labor’s.

‘I’m working all the time and I still can’t afford to move out of home,’ she said. ‘Rent is ridiculous, groceries are ridiculous and buying a house feels completely impossible.

‘The major parties keep telling people my age how well they understand us, but nothing gets better. 

‘They talk like an HR department. Pauline talks like a real person.’

That perception of authenticity is central to Hanson’s appeal.

Her critics hear simplistic answers to complex problems. Her supporters hear a politician willing to say directly what others smother in talking points, bureaucratic language and political calculation.

Merchandise was on sale to help raise much needed funds for the minor party, especially in Victoria.

One item was a bar mat carrying a picture of Hanson alongside the words: ‘I’ve got the guts to say what you’re thinking!’

I saw a few people asking for it, but the One Nation caps were the standout item. Supporters bought them and immediately put them on.

Not everyone in Pakenham had arrived because of immigration, and not everyone agreed with every One Nation policy.

Some spoke about housing and the cost of living. Others mentioned crime, as Hanson did early in her speech, along with energy prices, government debt and their frustration with Victoria’s long-serving Labor government.

Several expressed contempt for the Liberals, who they regarded as too divided and timid to provide an effective alternative.

Rebecca, a 44-year-old bookkeeper and former Labor voter, said her break with the party had been gradual.

‘I voted Labor most of my adult life, but they’ve been in power here so long they don’t seem to listen anymore,’ she said.

‘Everything costs more, the state is drowning in debt and basic services don’t seem to be improving. 

‘Then you look at the Liberals and they’re fighting among themselves so much of the time. I came here because I’m looking for something else.’

That phrase, ‘something else’, captures much of One Nation’s present momentum.

Its coalition of support isn’t especially tidy. Older loyalists who’ve backed Hanson for decades now stand alongside first-time voters who discovered her through social media. Voters angry about immigration mix with families primarily worried about power bills, rent or the prospect that their children will never own a home.

Interestingly, the supporters most eager to discuss cutting immigration were among the most ethnically diverse people in attendance. Their complaint wasn’t about migration itself, but that too many modern migrants don’t embrace the Australian way of life.

One of them made precisely that point to Hanson before posing with her for a selfie.

‘Michael’, who didn’t want to give his real name, is a 48-year-old Pakenham small business owner whose family migrated to Australia when he was a teenager. He said there was no contradiction between his background and his support for One Nation.

‘People assume that because I’m a migrant I must hate Pauline Hanson,’ he said. ‘I don’t. My family came here legally, worked hard and respected the country.

‘There’s nothing racist about saying immigration has to be controlled and infrastructure has to keep up. You can welcome migrants while still asking how many people the country can sensibly accommodate.’

Nearby, 20-year-old apprentice Liam said he’d previously viewed all political parties with equal indifference.

‘I used to think politics was just old people yelling at each other in Canberra,’ he said. ‘Now I’m paying tax and trying to save money, and I realise how much their decisions affect me.

‘I don’t agree with everything One Nation says, but at least they seem angry about the same things people my age are angry about. My mates feel the same way.’

Paul, a middle-aged father wearing a newly purchased One Nation cap, raised something more emotional.

‘Why is it that being proud of our country gets attacked these days?’ he asked. ‘I’m proud to be Australian. 

‘That doesn’t mean I hate anyone else or think I’m better than them. But we’re made to feel like even saying you love this country is somehow offensive.’

That sentiment ran beneath many of the afternoon’s conversations. For some attendees, One Nation’s appeal wasn’t primarily a list of policies. It was the permission the party gave them to express national pride without first apologising for it.

Motivations among those gathered varied, but their shared conclusion was that Australia’s political establishment had stopped listening.

The significance of the event’s location was difficult to miss.

One Nation’s Victorian leader, Warren Pickering, is contesting the ultra-marginal seat of Pakenham at November’s state election. The party has established its state headquarters there and regards the fast growing outer suburban electorate as fertile territory.

Pakenham contains many of the voters reshaping Australian politics: mortgage holders under pressure, young families confronting inadequate infrastructure and former major party supporters increasingly willing to shop around.

If Secret Harbour showed that One Nation could capture a Labor seat in Western Australia’s mortgage belt, Pakenham offers a test of whether the same formula can travel east.

The media turnout reflected the change in One Nation’s standing. Camera crews and reporters crowded around Hanson when she held a press conference, with questions focusing as much on where the party might win next as on whether its current surge could last.

There were also signs of One Nation’s growing professionalism.

The mainstream media weren’t the only ones recording proceedings. One Nation’s own people had cameras and video equipment rolling throughout the event, interviewing attendees and capturing material presumably destined for the party’s social media channels.

What looked on the surface like a casual community barbecue was also being documented and repackaged as campaign content.

‘Secret Harbour wasn’t a fluke and it wasn’t just a protest vote,’ Hanson told the Daily Mail, exclusively on the sidelines. ‘Those people voted for One Nation because they wanted One Nation representing them.

‘The major parties have taken Australians for granted for too long. People are sick of being told everything is going well when they can’t pay their bills and their kids can’t afford a home.’

Hanson warned Labor against dismissing the result as a localised backlash.

‘If Anthony Albanese and Labor think this is only happening in Western Australia, they’re kidding themselves,’ she said.

‘I’m hearing the same concerns everywhere I go. People are worried about immigration, housing, electricity, crime and the cost of putting food on the table. They don’t believe the major parties are listening to them.’

Hanson said Victoria presented One Nation with an enormous opportunity.

‘Victorians are paying the price for years of debt, taxes and bad decisions,’ she said. ‘They’re looking for an alternative, and Warren and our candidates are giving them one.

‘They laughed at us in Western Australia too. They’re not laughing now.’

Pickering ended his own speech with a line perfectly calibrated for a One Nation gathering built around a barbecue and national pride.

‘Burn snags, not flags,’ he declared.

Hanson laughed.

‘I like that,’ she said.

Before the press conference came the obligatory barbecue stop. Hanson accepted a sausage in bread – there was ‘not enough sauce’ – and chatted with supporters while cameras recorded every bite. 

When someone in the crowd called it a ‘victory sausage’, those around him laughed, although Hanson didn’t appear to hear the comment from afar.

Hanson remains comfortable with the unpolished rituals of retail politics that increasingly appears awkward or contrived when attempted by more carefully managed leaders.

There’s rarely much mystery about the version of Hanson voters encounter. The language, humour and bluntness are much the same whether she’s standing before television cameras or eating a sausage outside a suburban campaign office.

That’s not to say her movements were entirely unmanaged.

Most of those surrounding her were unpaid state helpers, but Hanson’s new chief of staff was also present. He kept a low profile, one eye on the clock and another on proceedings, ensuring the odd awkward moment didn’t become the theme of a local media report hunting for a gotcha moment.

A few protesters arrived near the end of the event, shouting ‘you’re all Nazis’ from the edge of the gathering.

Camera operators immediately pivoted towards them. A few supporters turned to respond, but organisers urged everyone to remain calm, which they did.

Hanson glanced in their direction before carrying on, unfazed and already preparing to move to her next engagement.

Two men watching nearby thought the accusation was absurd.

‘It’s just stupid,’ Dean said. ‘They don’t know any of us. I’m here because I’m worried about what sort of country my kids are going to inherit. How does that make me a Nazi?’

His friend was equally dismissive.

‘If everyone you disagree with is a Nazi, the word doesn’t mean anything anymore,’ he said. ‘And if they want people to stop voting for One Nation, standing there abusing everyone is a funny way to go about it.’

Whatever one thinks of Hanson or One Nation, the accusation fitted poorly with the people I’d spent the afternoon talking to.

The protesters’ presence was a reminder that Hanson remains one of Australia’s more polarising political figures. But they didn’t define the afternoon.

It was little more than a brief interruption to a gathering whose more important story was the changing composition and growing confidence of the crowd.

A sizeable group remained after Hanson left, talking among themselves, buying the last of the merchandise and discussing the Secret Harbour result.

Organisers had hoped as many as 300 people might attend. The final turnout appeared to be around half that number. It wasn’t the overwhelming crowd they’d wanted, but nor was 150 people at a suburban party headquarters on a weekend a bad showing for an organisation that has historically struggled in Victoria.

The night before a regional function saw Hanson address a crowd of nearly 1,500.

Several people who lingered had just seen Hanson in person for the very first time.

‘I didn’t really know what to expect,’ Sophie, 29, said. ‘You hear so much about the sort of people who support One Nation, but everyone here just seemed normal. There were families and people from all sorts of backgrounds.’

Another first time attendee said Hanson was ‘pretty much exactly the same in person’ as she appeared on television.

‘She doesn’t suddenly change the way she talks because cameras are around,’ he said. ‘I think that’s why people trust her, even if they don’t agree with every single thing she says.’

One Nation’s rise can’t be explained simply by claiming Australia has suddenly shifted sharply to the right.

Many of the people in Pakenham didn’t speak in conventional ideological terms at all. They spoke about bread and butter issues and a political system they believed had become detached from everyday life.

The party has become a repository for a range of grievances that once flowed separately towards Labor, the Liberals, the Nationals or political apathy.

Hanson doesn’t need those voters to agree about everything. She just needs them to agree that the people currently running the country are failing them.

The danger for the major parties is that they continue to treat One Nation voters as people to be condemned rather than understood. Albo started to do that with his first response to the news from WA on Saturday night.

Dismissing them as angry, ignorant or prejudiced may provide a burst of moral satisfaction, but it’s unlikely to win a single vote back.

Some of those in Pakenham have supported Hanson for years. A small number said they weren’t yet certain whether they’d vote for One Nation in November, although by the time they left they appeared closer to doing so.

They’d been curious enough to attend and dissatisfied enough to listen.

That alone should concern Labor and the Liberals.

As the media packed away its cameras and volunteers began clearing the remains of the barbecue, it was hard to dismiss what I’d just seen as meaningless.

Secret Harbour had turned discontent into an electoral victory. In Pakenham, One Nation supporters were beginning to believe their turn might be next.