Rooting around in the storeroom of the Fairfax Canberra bureau recently, a young colleague unearthed a relic from past journalistic whimsy: the (not so) legendary Golden Whisk.
This mock trophy consists of the standard wire kitchen utensil, sprayed gold and artfully mounted on a wooden plinth, replete with title plate.
![The ground is fertile in Australia for Donald Trump's beat-up politics.](/web/20160930124555im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/r/0/l/7/v/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gr1vp2.png/1472875555574.jpg)
Presumably, it would have been bestowed at the bureau Christmas party to the scribe responsible for the year's most egregious tabloid-style beat-up.
Such "in" jokes were common in the writing caper before the electric blender of 24-7 digital news turned the meat and two veg of print plus TV and radio into the "nutritious" puree we consume today.
The term "beat-up" is a flexible pejorative in journalism, liberally employed when sledging the yarns of competitors, but sometimes carrying a hint of admiration too.
That is, a grudging recognition that said "notorious beat-up merchant" has dominated the news again, perhaps through some incendiary quote or by teasing up an angle that others hadn't thought to pursue.
Of course politicians skewered by a story don't hesitate to sledge either, routinely dismissing any inconvenient coverage as "nothing but a beat-up". Or if the story proves hard to dismantle, there's always the reporter who is not worthy of respect.
In fact, politicians leave journalists in the shade when it comes to initiating beat-ups.
Their approach invariably involves the channelling of an otherwise diffuse public resentment, or impending disadvantage, spiced with nostalgia.
Godwin's Law dictates that the longer an argument continues (especially online), the more likely someone will make an injudicious comparison to Hitler – and lose the argument.
The trouble with this generally useful principle is that while it is intended to discredit foolish parallels, it has also effectively ended discussion of anything to do with the period, including the process by which something as unattractive as national socialism could gain popularity. And it is this rise – the story of how a civilised people could be divided and then inculcated with the most pathological hatreds – which is an enduring lesson for subsequent generations.
When he arrived in Berlin in early 1927, Joseph Goebbels was shocked at the insouciance of the locals and decided a headline-making statement was needed to introduce his fledgling party, which was at that stage little more than a fringe player.
Berlin needs the spectacular like a fish needs water, he famously observed.
Dismissing the moneyed and educated citizenry as merely part of the problem (sound familiar?), he focused instead on ratcheting up the resentments of workers, staging the first-ever Nazi Party meeting in Berlin's blue-collar district of Wedding – right where the communists held theirs.
Everything about the highly advertised event was a beat-up, including the actual physical beat-up Goebbels orchestrated to accompany it.
Variations on this method continue to this day.
A couple of weeks back on the NSW Central Coast, a bevy of extremist clowns from the Hansonesque Party for Freedom invaded a church service in menacing fashion, dressed in mock Muslim garb, to protest against Islamic culture and immigration.
The event was filmed by the activists and quickly posted on the internet – a propaganda exercise designed to be noticed.
Fringe parties making brash statements such as Pauline Hanson's proposal to end Muslim immigration is nothing new. The case against section 18C of the Racial Discrimination Act – with which most voters would have no contact – displays many of these qualities. Its methodology is clear: divide the community, set one against another, allege unreasonable favouritism, fan resentment, grab attention.
The suggestion that the law as it currently stands is a severe restriction on freedom is a stretch, yet one that is necessary, if outrage is your currency. A measured critique, proposing modest amendments, would not cut the mustard.
This demagoguery vortex is now ensnaring mainstream democracies – which are increasingly in thrall to hardline populists, who adopt strong positions and thus contrast with the major parties, who look weak and half-committed.
In the US and Britain, this process has already seen the extremes wash back over a discredited mainstream shredding the orthodoxy and lifting fanatical outsiders such as Donald Trump and the ex-UKIP leading Brexiteer, Nigel Farage, who spoke at a Trump rally just days ago.
It can happen here too. Especially if the major parties cannot even do the core work they are elected to undertake, such as budget repair. Continuing political gridlock even after the election, with the opposition agreeing to nothing beyond its own pre-election posturing, will only serve to undermine the authority of the establishment.
Fertile ground for noxious beat-up politics.
Mark Kenny is chief political correspondent.
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