Osher Günsberg’s mental health plan for the upcoming election

IF YOU’VE EVER been in a long-term defacto relationship, you’ll know that there’s a moment around the three-year mark where, if you’ve played your cards right and had good communication, the two of you are travelling in the same direction at such a clip that it starts to feel like the beautiful moment when a speedboat gets to a certain speed and the hull lifts out of the water, cutting through the wind chop like it was nothing, the momentum of your progress powerful enough to push through even the toughest swell.

Unfortunately for us here in Australia, this is what roughly half of us feel right around election time. If our favourite team is in power, we’re powering ahead and believing the good times will never end. This team is marriage material, don’t you say anything bad about them, Mum. Nobody has ever been so good for my franking credits!

Meanwhile roughly the other half of us have been hanging over the gunnels, seasick for three years straight and can’t wait to get a new person behind the wheel and right the ship. It’s such a short amount of time to get anything done, to right any wrongs, or even prove yourself worthy of another shift at the helm.

The wild part about all of it, despite what many people would have you think, is that every single person in this country is on that boat, and the rough seas and challenges of being afloat in a geopolitical ocean will affect every single one of us, regardless of who’s got their hand on the wheel.

I don’t know about you, but the thought of heading into another election cycle, one where the dangers of misinformation and disinformation are more critical than ever before, is frankly overwhelming.

So, in the interests of trying keep mentally healthy over the coming weeks and months, I thought it might be useful to unpack some of the tricks our politicians play on us. Because once you know how the magician saws the lady in half, it’s not scary any more.

Of course, this is easy for me to say and very difficult to do in reality because the techniques politicians use appeal to our basic psychology. All of us want simple explanations for complex problems. We prefer information that confirms what we already believe. And we all identify with groups that shape how we see political issues.

You’ll see politicians use these tricks anywhere from a press conference to a podcast, slipping into them like a nasty pair of mowing sneakers. They’re old, loose and dirty, but they keep you clean when the shit starts flying.

First up is False Equivalence. This is when a politician compares two unrelated or disproportionate situations as if they’re equally significant or morally equivalent. For example, when a Coalition MP blurts out, “Why should we punish our hard-working coal industry with climate targets when China is still building coal-fired power plants?” they’re playing the false equivalence card.

Don’t worry, Labor and the Greens do it too: “How can we worry about budget deficits when billionaire mates of the Coalition aren’t paying their fair share of taxes?”

It’s a classic way to redirect attention without addressing the actual issue at hand.

Next up, the Strawman. A move where a politician attacks a position that their opponents don’t actually hold. Labor might take an opposition health policy and insist that the Coalition is trying to “dismantle Medicare entirely”.

The Coalition might claim Labor wants to “shut down every coal mine in Queensland, because they don’t actually care about the hard-working Australians doing it tough out there”. Once the lie or exaggeration is out there, the policy is easier to knock over, like a man made out of straw.

As a proud Australian the next one shits me to tears. It’s using “proud Australians” as an appeal to tribal identities and setting up group loyalty as something that takes prominence over an actual discussion about policy.

If you hear phrases like “real Australians in the regions already know that…” or “anyone who truly cares about our nation would support…”

When a policy issue is framed in such a way it can make a disagreement on policy sound more like a moral failing and turn complex issues into simplistic loyalty tests.

Something that shows up all the time in personal relationships also shows up in politics: the fundamental attribution error. Essentially, a failing of mine is a justified action, a failing of yours is due to a defect of character. In other words, I have good reasons, but you have excuses.

When the opposition creates debt, it’s “a national disaster”, yet when the party in power makes a similar hole in the budget it’s “nation-building investment”.

You’ll see both major parties express outrage about their opponents’ behaviour while conveniently forgetting or reframing similar actions of their own.

My wife Audrey is Fijian, and so she doesn’t mind a goat curry on special occasions. However, a scapegoat is another thing altogether. If you hear someone trying to explain complex problems by blaming simple villains, usually groups with less political power, that’s someone who doesn’t have an actual solution.

Housing unaffordable? Blame immigration, not negative gearing or supply issues, and you won’t have to talk about policy. Referendum didn’t pass? Blame misinformation, and you won’t have to spend time addressing legitimate concerns about what was proposed.

Both of these play into another favourite game pollies love to play: Fear Factor (alas not the TV show hosted by a younger, thin-necked Joe Rogan). Fear is a powerful motivator, and is often easier to use than a nuanced discussion about policy.

When you hear politicians say things like “If we don’t act on climate change now, the Great Barrier Reef is as good as dead” or “If we pass this insane environmental policy, the Australian way of life will be destroyed!”, you’re not interested in what that action looks like or what those policies are – there’s no time to find out, this is clearly very urgent and if we don’t do something by tonight it’s all over!

Remember in primary school if a biff erupted at lunchtime, when the teacher on playground duty asked what happened one of the kids involved would simply shout “they started it!” Alas our politicians aren’t much past this move.

Whataboutism is a common move pulled by people not wanting to answer a straight question, and if you play it right people will forget why they were upset with you in the first place.

“How can I answer questions about sports rorts when Labor’s pink batts program caused the deaths of four young Australians?”

Just because seven-year-old kids with skinned knees rely on this to get out of picking up rubbish, grown men and women aren’t above using this move to avoid addressing direct criticism.

Finally, one of the most insidious tricks used in campaigning is the purity test.

It’s when politicians act as though the most extreme position is the only morally acceptable one.

It’s setting up a no-win for your opponent, which sucks the air out of anything they might say next. “If you support any changes to negative gearing, you don’t truly believe in aspirational Australians and their right to build wealth.” By using moral grandstanding, they shut down any nuanced discussion: “If you support any form of border control, you clearly don’t care about human rights”.

These moves are as predictable as the playlist on your local “Gold” radio station. You don’t have to wait too long to hear Celine Dion. You’ll hate it when it comes on, but you’ll still get goosebumps at the key change because she’s a master and can hook even the best of us.

The above is hardly an exhaustive list, but hopefully it’s enough to help you out next time you find yourself outraged out of nowhere by a political ad that has popped up in your feed. Before you repost it, or worse, attack someone in the comment box – perhaps take a breath and see if that ad is using any of the above moves to avoid talking about actual policy.

Being able to identify these patterns doesn’t mean you can’t have strong political views – it just means you might demand better, more honest conversations from the people who represent you.

I’ve found that if I take even the smallest amount of time to examine what I value, and which policy aligns with what I value, a lot of the more emotive political messaging doesn’t throw me like it used to.

Our democracy works better when we can recognise these tricks for what they are: attempts to avoid meaningful debate about policies that affect all of us, and frankly, our political discourse could do with a little more honesty and little less sleight of hand.

Related:

Osher Günsberg on managing temper tantrums

Osher Günsberg on saunas and the power of self-talk