Dancing to illusion of own prejudices

Tanith WirihanaTe Waitohioterangi

Opinion

Politicians in their suits and ties, with silver tongues and clever lies, prophets of deceit — oracles of illusion preaching unity whilst sowing the seeds of division. Sham soothsayers such as David Seymour delivering sermons ad nauseum from manifestos of manipulation — promising to guide you to strawberry fields; yet, as the power of persuasion fades, you slowly begin to realise it was nought but a psychedelic tapestry of dreams, where the shadows of hollow people danced to the illusion of their own prejudices. 

I have paid no attention to any election since 2014. All Covid policy arguments aside, all I know is that in 2020 Labour — despite being handed the first political majority since First-Past-the-Post, and the ultimate mandate for change — failed to deliver, resulting in the crucifixion of their lukewarm centrism.

In fact, most of this was written eight weeks before New Zealand suffered a bad case of electile dysfunction and voted for the triumvirate of tragedy.

I have sat back, caught in a malaise, and find it interesting how easily people in this country — in particular boomers — are influenced by conservative brain-rot, 1930s style rhetoric, agitation and, dare I say, demagogy.

In the past, agitators often characterised the audience as “victims” or “dupes” — perpetual sheep that are doomed to a Sisyphean curse, forever trapped in a cycle of manipulation and deception, continuously cheated by various forces (ie, the Maowries, illuminati, foreigners stealing our gawd dern jooerbes).

Against these perpetual sheep, the agitator propagates the idea of a comprehensive and carefully planned political conspiracy. Sensationalising and oversimplification of complex societal issues ambulate towards an outgroup — a common enemy. The agitator teases the tendency of frustrated individuals to ascribe their misfortunes to a caricaturised elite, secret cabals, foreigners, “Maowries” . . . exploiting popular stereotypes and conspiracies to fuel vague resentments and expand suspicions about the motives of entities or groups of people.

By framing various events and social developments as deliberate plots, the agitator induces paranoia-like reactions among the audience. Like Master Yoda said, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

From this suffering, a path of escapism emerges. As a drug dealer ensnares their addicts, and cultivates dependence on their illicit narcotics, the political agitator is in fact a political “crack-peddler”, leveraging the emotional vulnerability of the audience to establish a cycle of dependency.

In this cycle, followers perpetually seek validation and guidance from the agitator, relying on them to address perceived societal injustices.

The agitator’s manipulation of these themes aims to galvanise a shared sense of trauma or vulnerability among the audience; the agitator then frames themselves as the sole guide against this perpetual deceit. They alone have the capacity to expose “wrongdoing”.

They simplify complex issues into emotionally resonant narratives, that are prima facie acceptable. They also appeal to a sense of identity (we are Kiwis not pakeha!) and belonging that aligns with the audience’s identity, aspirations and prejudice, creating an exclusive group dynamic. They reinforce key messages consistently, making these ideas familiar and more acceptable over time.

In the latter half of 2006, a National Party advertising consultant proposed framing Maori as degenerate criminals and utilising this to both stereotype Maori and simultaneously depict the party’s opponents as being “soft on crime”. Although rejected, the National Party has recycled this rhetoric since losing the 2017 election and has used it as a side issue that has gained political volatility.

As I said before, “The right-wing machine works prodigiously, stretching the truth like chewing gum. Meanwhile, their propaganda machines work relentlessly . . .”