If you ever doubted the words of Paul McCartney’s Can’t Buy Me Love, just look to Clive Palmer, the big-talking, big-spending head of the United Australia Party (UAP).
He might be running the most expensive election campaign in Australian political history, but to what end?
Millions and millions and millions of dollars wasted — and that just proves another adage: more money than sense. Palmer looks like he believes it when he says the party’s goal is to see Craig Kelly elected prime minister.
That cannot happen — it is not possible. Now, Palmer knows that, and it would be hard to find someone in the nation who would believe it. But his whole tenor — from the hodge-lodge of candidates choosing to run under the UAP banner to the advertising spree he’s embarking on — is to appeal to the lowest common denominator.
And we should not allow it.
Palmer and his oversized, no-frills road signs adding graffiti to the highways across the nation cannot Make Australia Great. But he can create fear, at a time in our history when too many people are scared.
And he is able — without impunity — to scream false slogans that run counter to all scientific health advice, muddying the water for those turned off by politics, and giving hope to the anti-vaxxers and conspiracy theorists the nation over.
The message spun by the UAP is simple: our freedom has been stolen and we are prisoners in our own homes; mandatory vaccinations are an outrageous affront to our democratic rights and should be outlawed; our jobs have been decimated by lockdowns that have served no other real purpose; the army has no role to play in our fight against this pandemic.
But rich and loud doesn’t mean true, and the UAP’s current advertising spend — reportedly 100 times more than the two major political parties — should not be allowed.
It’s dangerous. It’s fanciful. It is aimed at spreading fear. But by some quirk of democracy, it’s allowed.
How many more elections are we going to tolerate a multi-billionaire with limited regard for the truth marauding through the country? His spending means nothing to his deep pockets — and yet we are swamped in laws that force every few thousand dollars citizens donate to the political process to be declared.
Will we eventually be able to regulate truth in political advertising the same way as all other advertising? Who is going to act on this? Palmer says his activity delivers votes to the Coalition, but does it really? Or does it just distract from their ability to deliver more nuanced messages?
If Palmer cares so much for the future of our nation, why doesn’t he — and the rest of them — support a supertax on their excessive earnings, whether from mining, technology or anything else? Or perhaps we’d just settle for paying tax at the same rate as middle-income earners?
Palmer’s impact on Canberra is likely to be small. But the impact on those desperate for hope might not be. It plays like a game to him, and that’s offensive.
His life will not change the morning after the election. The pipeline of cash he’s subscribed to will just continue on, making up the millions he’s poured into advertising.
The Beatles were staying in the flash George V hotel when Paul McCartney dreamt up “Can’t Buy Me Love’’. Stories have it that an upright piano was even wheeled in to the hotel suite to make the songwriting easier. The pressure was on, because “I Want to Hold Your Hand” had just reached number one in America.
Palmer has money to burn, and an ambition he knows he’ll never reach.
He can stay in hotel suites until the cows come home — but his money is unlikely to buy much love, and we should encourage everyone to refrain from holding his hand.
