In this compelling interview, Dr. Maxine Newlands—an expert in environmental politics and ocean governance—warns that the “Australian political system has essentially stepped back from climate change.” Speaking with ECPS, she highlights how rising polarization and populist denialism have rendered climate policy too risky for major parties. “Politicians avoid addressing it altogether,” she explains, noting that even terms like “climate change” were strategically omitted from campaigns. Dr. Newlands critiques the media’s role in spreading disinformation and urges a more pluralistic approach grounded in community voices, Indigenous knowledge, and the Blue Humanities. Her analysis provides a powerful lens into how populist narratives have reshaped Australia’s environmental politics and what it will take to restore trust and democratic inclusion in climate action.
Interview by Selcuk Gultasli
In this in-depth and timely interview with the European Center for Populism Studies (ECPS), Dr. Maxine Newlands—a leading expert on environmental politics, ocean governance, and media ecosystems—offers a powerful diagnosis of Australia’s political retreat from climate leadership. Drawing on over a decade of research on the Great Barrier Reef, climate denialism, and populist media strategies, Dr. Newlands, Adjunct Professor in Political Science at James Cook University, Queensland, Australia, outlines how environmental discourse has become increasingly politicized in ways that have paralyzed mainstream policymaking.
“Australian political system has essentially stepped back from [climate change],” she states early in the conversation, framing the issue as a casualty of polarization and populist backlash. As climate change rose in political salience over successive election cycles, so too did opposition to it—especially from the populist right, which “either denies climate change outright or downplays its severity.” This dynamic, according to Dr. Newlands, has left the major parties “highly risk-averse,” with climate no longer functioning as a credible electoral issue.
Reflecting on recent electoral patterns in Australian politics, Dr. Newlands underscores how the Morrison government deliberately avoided the term “climate change” during its campaign, fearing it had become a political liability. This conscious rhetorical avoidance, she argues, exemplifies how populist pressure has warped the national conversation, “creating a vacuum” that has since been filled by more radical or issue-specific groups, such as the Greens or environmental NGOs.
Throughout the interview, Dr. Newlands unpacks how this climate retreat has been reinforced by media manipulation, especially from Rupert Murdoch’s syndicates, and disinformation campaigns that have framed environmental regulation as a threat to sovereignty, jobs, and national identity. These narratives are particularly potent in resource-rich regions like Queensland, where “climate becomes intertwined with concerns over foreign influence” and where populist slogans—like “Don’t take my mining job, and I won’t take your soy latte”—gain traction.
Against this backdrop, she calls for renewed, pluralistic approaches to environmental governance—ones grounded in the arts, Indigenous knowledge systems, and the Blue Humanities—to “open up the narrative” beyond the rigid binaries of denial versus technocracy. In her view, it’s not enough to combat populism with more data or more policy: what’s needed is a new cultural imaginary—one capable of re-enchanting the public’s relationship with nature and democracy alike.
Here is the lightly edited transcript of the interview with Dr. Maxine Newlands.
Populist Pressure Has Made Climate Too Politically Dangerous to Touch
Thank you very much for joining our interview series. Let me start right away with the first question: In the light of your work on climate denialism and environmental media, how would you interpret the electoral retreat of both far-right and green populisms in the 2025 federal election? Does this suggest an emergent fatigue with ideological extremes, or a recalibration of populist rhetoric within major party discourse?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: I think it’s worth acknowledging the historical context of where climate change and climate denialism have sat within Australia. There’s been a slow increase over a series of election cycles where climate change has repeatedly been positioned as a key issue. We’ve had many elections branded as the climate change election. In 2019, for example, the narrative from the left focused heavily on net zero targets, climate impacts, and climate mitigation—particularly highlighting the Great Barrier Reef as a central concern.
This buildup has been met with a strong pushback. The conversation became polarized between a populist right that either denies climate change outright or downplays its severity, and a more progressive side where the issue was front and center.
This tension has politicized the debate to such a degree that the Australian political system has essentially stepped back from it. So yes, to an extent, we can ask whether denialism and populism have worked—because climate change has now become such a fraught issue that politicians avoid addressing it altogether. For example, in the election cycle under Scott Morrison, about three or four years ago, his Liberal-National coalition made a conscious decision not to use the term "climate change" at all in their campaign. It had become such a hot-button issue that they feared it would be hijacked or weaponized.
Understanding that landscape is crucial. The constant pressure from the populist movement has made the major parties highly risk-averse regarding climate change as an electoral issue. As a result, that political vacuum has been filled by the Greens, more radical green and environmental groups, and progressive activist and lobbying organizations. So, while there are many engaged stakeholders, the two major parties have adopted a very low-risk appetite when it comes to foregrounding climate change during elections.
Climate Policy Becomes a Battle for Sovereignty in Populist Strongholds
To what extent has the performance of populist environmentalism—particularly among regional independents—relied on symbolic appeals to land, livelihood, and sovereignty? Can these aesthetic registers be disentangled from the exclusionary logics of right-wing nationalism?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: No, is the simple answer. The populist right in Australia is very conservative—protectionist, nationalist—and often views Australia as a self-contained unit, rather than part of a global context. Within that framework, pressures on issues such as UNESCO World Heritage sites, like Kakadu National Park or the Great Barrier Reef, tend to generate highly binary debates.
You’ll see populist groups rejecting the influence of international organizations—typically referencing the UN—insisting that such bodies shouldn’t tell Australia what to do with "our" Great Barrier Reef, for example. This leads to a rejection of external input and turns climate debates into questions of sovereignty and national control.
In this way, the climate conversation becomes intertwined with concerns over foreign influence on domestic policy—particularly on issues like net-zero targets. The “external” becomes an enemy figure for the populist movement, which aligns with a classic populist playbook: identifying an outside threat to rally domestic support.
This tactic is particularly effective in regions like Queensland and Western Australia, both of which are heavily dependent on mining industries. Queensland, notably, is also home to the Great Barrier Reef, making it a focal point for these tensions.
Minor parties such as Pauline Hanson’s One Nation, as well as individual senators, often deploy this narrative, casting environmental policy as a threat to national sovereignty. This frames the issue not as one of ecological stewardship, but as a defense of Australia’s sovereign decision-making over its land, resources, and environment.
Disinformation Turns Reef Policy into a Battlefield of Economics vs. Environment
Drawing from your research on social media ecosystems, what role did digitally mediated climate disinformation and “blue denialism” play in shaping voter perceptions of reef policy and environmental restoration during the recent electoral cycle?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: This is an interesting one because, as I mentioned earlier, the reef hasn’t played a central role in the election narrative for the last couple of election cycles. In both 2020 and 2022, it wasn’t really part of the core political narrative. In 2019, it featured a bit more prominently, and during that cycle, social media played a significant role—disinformation definitely did as well, as we showed in the paper I co-wrote with my former student.
What we found was that traditional legacy media on the right—particularly Rupert Murdoch’s publications—were central to spreading certain narratives. Many of these are regional outlets, publishing syndicated stories across different communities, and they also produce The Australian, the only national newspaper. These outlets frequently framed stories by questioning environmental policy decisions, particularly focusing on the cost of net-zero policies from the Labor Party to individual voters—essentially promoting an “economics versus the environment” narrative.
This framing is often reinforced by climate denialism from certain political parties. Sometimes it’s outright denial; other times, it’s a refusal to engage with the science around coal burning, CO₂ emissions, or broader human impact.
Social media, in this context, becomes the platform through which these narratives are amplified. That’s where much of the disinformation circulates.
It’s important to note that the media landscape consists of two distinct dynamics: one is the dominant, loud “middle press” or mainstream media echo chamber; the other is a more decentralized network of progressive voices. You essentially get an echo chamber versus a network dynamic.
Because our political landscape is fairly binary, this dynamic tends to favor dominant, populist narratives. Preferential voting does sometimes complicate this, but the arguments remain largely the same—recycled each election cycle.
We hear the same populist talking points echoed in the UK and Europe: that climate change isn’t man-made, that it has nothing to do with coal. Or, if they don’t go down that path, the narrative shifts to fearmongering—claims that electricity bills will skyrocket, the lights will go out, or that renewable energy is unreliable (e.g., “wind turbines only work when it’s windy”). These are classic, well-worn lines used by populist parties everywhere—tried, tested, and repeated in every election cycle.
The Greens’ Paradox of Power in Parliament
How do you interpret the Greens’ simultaneous Senate gains and House losses within the broader context of Australian environmental politics? Does this reflect a strategic misalignment between parliamentary ambitions and the affective terrain of regional constituencies?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: The Greens did really well in the last election—back in 2022—by their standards. They gained two inner-city seats and the seat of Brisbane, which is the capital of Queensland. If you’re not familiar, these seats were heavily affected by flooding caused by heavy rainfall and a cyclone occurring at the same time. That cyclone hit the north of Queensland, and the resulting water flowed southward.
In that context, the Greens performed strongly, winning lower house (House of Representatives) seats. At the time, they already had representation in the Senate, but not as many seats as they do now.
Fast forward to the current cycle, they’ve only retained one of the three lower house seats they previously held in Queensland. This may be partly because people no longer have the same lived experience of those extreme weather events—flooded homes and damaged infrastructure. Voters may have reverted to the major parties: Labor or the Liberal Party.
But as you mentioned, the Greens made gains in the Senate. They now hold 11 Senate seats and, in effect, will hold the balance of power. The Labor Party has the most seats, followed by the Liberal-National Coalition, and then the Greens. If the Greens negotiate effectively with Labor, they could help deliver the 39 or more votes required to pass legislation in the Senate.
This sets the stage for a significant trade bloc—a shift in power. While the Greens have lost ground in the Lower House, where they now hold only one seat, they’ve gained considerable influence in the Senate. Maintaining a working relationship with Labor will be key, especially around contentious climate issues like net-zero targets. Australia has set different emissions targets: one around 2035 and another by 2050. The feasibility of these timelines is under debate.
What I’m trying to say is that, in the last election, Greens benefited more from urban dynamics. Regional factors were less influential. But this time, due to the way Senate seats are allocated—state-wide rather than by individual electorates—regional and preferential votes may have played a bigger role in their Senate success.
We don’t yet have the full data, but it could turn out that this broader, more regional voting base helped the Greens in the Upper House, while they struggled in the urban inner-suburban seats they performed well in last time.
Beyond Technocracy: Reclaiming Ocean Narratives Through the Blue Humanities
Given your leadership in reef restoration policy and blue humanities scholarship, how might populist critiques of technocratic ocean governance—often framed as elite overreach—be constructively re-engaged to foreground environmental justice and democratic inclusion?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: This is an interesting one. Over time, both the Reef Restoration Project and the Blue Humanities have emerged as relatively novel conceptual frameworks. They haven’t been explored or developed to the same extent as broader marine science. We’ve had small-scale reef restoration for quite some time, but at scale—what we’re now attempting—it’s about understanding how ocean systems function together.
It’s important to note that reef restoration has often been framed in binary terms: either we intervene to save the reefs and corals worldwide, or we do nothing and let them die. That binary framing has become problematic, and I think that’s where the perception of elitism comes in. The message becomes: “Either let us do this, or the reef will die.” That kind of either-or position limits the conversation. Initially, around 2017–2018, this was the dominant narrative. But now, there’s growing work focused on reframing our relationship with the ocean—rethinking the narratives around the “blue” and how we interact with it.
For example, in the Reef Restoration Project, one study involved surveys and in-depth interviews with more than 100 people. What they found was that individuals who had direct experiences with the reef—such as snorkeling—developed a stronger connection. They began to see the reef not as a scientific playground but as part of their community.
The Blue Humanities framework opens up this space for dialogue. The goal is to ask: What do we need to do to protect the oceans? How can we address climate change? And crucially, how can we do this without relying solely on science?
There are complementary approaches. The Blue Humanities draw from the arts, social sciences, politics, and history—areas that help people engage with these issues in diverse ways. This helps dismantle elitism and fosters a more participatory action research model, where people can understand and engage based on how their minds work and how they relate to the world.
So yes, I understand your point—it is technocratic, and it can be elitist. And while the scientists working on reef restoration are outstanding, their approach is highly engineered and solution-driven, operating within rigid technocratic systems.
The Blue Humanities—and other interdisciplinary methods—allow us to open up the narrative, create new stories, and still aim toward the same goal: encouraging people to bear witness to what’s happening. The difference is, these stories aren’t confined to foundational or pure science frameworks, like those used within RRAP (Reef Restoration and Adaptation Program).
Restoration Requires Political Will, Not Just Scientific Evidence
What institutional safeguards or communicative strategies would you recommend to inoculate reef science and environmental policy-making against the populist backlash tactics identified in your recent analyses of media manipulation and science skepticism?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: Oh, that’s a PhD in itself—not just a paper. And it’s a hard one, because, as I’ve alluded to, this is part of a global problem. It’s deeply connected to how people receive information and how narratives are framed.
At the end of the day, there is a need for policymakers to recognize that there’s space for restoration and for alternative or complementary methods to more traditional approaches. But it’s a slow process. Regulation can be slow—unless we have a crisis like the pandemic, where we clearly demonstrated that things can move quickly when needed.
Still, this is something that requires political will—and that’s not unique to Australia. It applies globally, whether you’re talking about coral reef restoration or broader ecosystem restoration, including marine and terrestrial systems, which have been studied and implemented far longer than ocean restoration.
I think it’s really about a convergence of efforts and, importantly, about shifting the broader mindset. That includes scientists being honest and realistic about what large-scale restoration can actually achieve—and then crafting policies that support and enable those realistic goals.
Women Wanted to Be on the Front Line—Not in the Kitchen
In your work on gender and environmental activism (e.g., Knitting Nannas and anti-fracking movements), how do you see the gendered performance of care and stewardship contrasting with masculinist populist narratives of control, particularly in climate policy debates?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: There are a couple of things I think of here. It’s very interesting that, in the last election cycle in Australia, we saw the emergence of what some have called the “Teals.” These are independents who prioritize climate change mitigation and adaptation as core policy issues, while also adopting an economically pragmatic approach. Although they are all independents, many began receiving financial support from Climate 200 in 2019. What’s notable is that many of these independents are community-based or city-based—and predominantly women. Not exclusively, of course—there are men in the mix—but there is a gendered dynamic worth highlighting.
There’s a connection here to movements like the Knitting Nannas. In both cases, these women have encountered patriarchal systems that try to define their roles and restrict their participation. In mainstream politics, as well as within broader activist spaces, this has often meant being side-lined or pigeon-holed.
One anecdote from the Knitting Nannas stands out. That group, a female-led anti-fracking movement, emerged partly because women involved in broader environmental groups—such as Lock the Gate—found themselves confined to “traditional” support roles, like cooking at protest camps, instead of being allowed front-line or leadership roles. They wanted to be out there, leading, visible, and equal. So they created a space where they could do that—and the act of knitting became a form of peaceful resistance and identity.
I think we are seeing a broader gender shift, particularly within activism and increasingly within the independent political movement. Women are stepping forward—not because this is solely a gender issue, but because they are reaching a point where their leadership is more visible and impactful.
It’s also important to remember that, since Federation in 1901, Australia has only had one female Prime Minister. But now, things are shifting. The deputy leader of the Liberal Party is Susan Ley, and the Greens’ Senate leader is Larissa Waters, while Prime Minister Anthony Albanese leads the Labor government.
So we’re seeing change, particularly in a political culture as historically conservative as Australia’s. Movements like the Teals, community independents, and the philanthropic and grassroots funding that supports them are helping make that change possible. It feels like we’re witnessing the beginnings of a move toward greater gender parity within the political system.
Time Will Tell If Hyper-Local Politics Can Dislodge Extractive Power
Given the strategic expansion of community independents into regional and rural electorates, how sustainable is their model of hyper-local environmental governance amid the entrenched political economies of extractivism and agrarian populism?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: I think time will tell. I know that’s a very wishy-washy answer, but ultimately, time will be the judge—particularly in Australia. We’ll see whether Australia follows a pattern observed elsewhere in the world, where voters move away from the traditional two major parties and toward independents and minor parties, especially because of hyper-local issues that directly affect them.
These include concerns like healthcare, education, early childhood care, and other day-to-day needs. The community independents tend to frame their approach not through the lens of agrarian politics, but through the broader needs of the community. They present themselves as advocates for the community as a whole, rather than emphasizing any one specific sector.
We’re seeing independents increasingly occupy that space, while, in some states, traditional conservative parties—particularly the Liberals (who are the conservative party in Australia)—appear to be retreating from regional and rural constituencies.
If we look at the last election, for example, the National Party—a right-leaning, rural-focused party—lost only one seat, whereas the Liberals lost many more. The Nationals, with their agrarian populist base, largely retained their support. While there are both progressive and populist factions within that party, they have managed to hold on to their core constituencies.
This suggests that agrarian populism still resonates in regional Australia. Meanwhile, the Liberals are struggling to define their role in these areas, which has sparked ongoing debate about whether the coalition between the Liberal and National parties can or should continue in its current form.
So yes, voters are turning to independents and to the Nationals to represent regional issues—but whether this momentum continues over multiple election cycles or proves to be a one-off anomaly remains to be seen.
The Blue Humanities Help Us Tell Ocean Stories Through Plural Voices, Not Just Science
To what extent can the cultural narratives embedded in the Blue Humanities reconfigure public imaginaries of marine ecologies in ways that resist populist reductionism and foster more pluralistic ocean ethics?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: The key with that would be to have that kind of variety of pluralistic voices. As we talked about earlier, it’s about having a different lens in the way that you tell the story of the ocean. One of the key ways of doing that, I would suggest, is through co-design with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, particularly in Australia.
They have lived on the land for a lot longer—65,000 years. They understand how the land and the oceans work. They understand the cycles and the way the system functions. And something like the Blue Humanities is not about co-opting or imposing; it’s clearly about understanding different ways of thinking and different ways of looking for solutions.
So it’s certainly not about cultural adaptation of Indigenous knowledge, but being willing to at least understand it and learn about it. And then, you have two different systems running in Australia, particularly around marine science. There are projects by the Australian Institute for Marine Science, for example, where they have a whole division or strand—I’m not quite sure of the technical term—that’s very much around assisting Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.
But it’s also about giving them autonomy and support to do their own projects. And at the same time, you have the scientists understanding that when they go onto sea country, when they go on country, respect needs to be shown. And that isn’t something that was happening ten years ago.
So, looking at the Blue Humanities and the cultural components that make up Australia, it’s not about adopting those perspectives, but about recognizing, understanding, accepting, and seeing how those two things can possibly work together—whether side by side or through a process of co-design. And obviously, it’s about collaboration. The Blue Humanities—this is why we have authors from Torres Strait and elsewhere—is to try and explain to people who may not be familiar how you can understand the relationship with water, the ocean, and the marine space in a way that isn’t rooted in that traditional, science-based, pure science, basic science kind of approach.
It’s Either Jobs and Mining or Nothing—That’s the Binary We Must Move Beyond
How should we understand the electoral backlash in coal-reliant regions as both a repudiation of top-down climate policy and a symptom of deeper socio-economic dislocation? Can climate justice be effectively articulated in such communities without capitulating to extractive populism?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: I think it can. The classic example that comes to mind is Queensland. In Queensland, we have strong senators who have adopted some of those populist strategies. But at the end of the day, those communities have been heavily reliant on the mining industry. The mining industry has been a key source of employment.
The political debate has often been framed around the loss of jobs. But there is just about enough space within those communities for alternatives. So we hear about things like just transition—moving away from those mining industries. And by mining, I mean fossil fuel mining, coal, etc.
I’m looking more specifically at those areas. But we are still mining in Australia—it’s about creating communities that are provided with an alternative, so those communities don’t just die off because the industry has moved away.
By the same token, we still have a lot of coal mining in those areas. For example, what used to be the Adani mines, now operated by Bravus, is a key player in that region.
That’s where the tension and electoral backlash come from. You’ve also got embedded conservative values in that state, which are tapped into by populist narratives that frame things around a North-South divide—“us and them.”
We had a classic campaign run by the Nationals in 2019. Our two biggest cities—Sydney and Melbourne—are south of Queensland. They ran a bumper sticker campaign with a slogan along the lines of, “If you don’t take my mining job, I won’t take your soy latte.” That created a binary opposition—don’t tell us what to do, we need the mines for our jobs and families.
That kind of populist rhetoric around coal was up against significant activism, like the Stop Adani campaign, which aimed to prevent the mine from opening. We’re still trying to find pathways for these communities to transition, but you’re right: the backlash has come because of that binary—it’s either jobs and mining or nothing.
That kind of framing makes the debate difficult. But ultimately, those communities will have to find alternatives—or rather, policymakers and governments must create them. One of the conversations we’ve had recently was around nuclear. Australia has a moratorium on nuclear power; we don’t have nuclear power stations, just one nuclear facility used for research and medical purposes.
They were trying to introduce the debate around nuclear power as an alternative for those communities, but that hasn’t worked. It’s not a viable long-term solution.
So that kind of repudiation is now folded into a broader debate around what we do next. But it’s increasingly becoming a grassroots, community-based debate. These communities are being held up as either the victims or the winners of whatever policy is yet to be decided.
We Haven’t Got That Far-Right Green Appropriation
And finally, Professor Newlands, do you perceive any co-optation of environmental discourse by far-right actors—such as eco-nationalism or green nativism—and if so, how should progressive movements strategically differentiate themselves in such contested semiotic terrain?
Dr. Maxine Newlands: I’m not sure we have that kind of extreme right-wing environmental discourse in Australia. Are you referring to the kind of green anarchism or radical eco-politics sometimes discussed on the far left? If so, not really. We certainly have a wide range of progressive groups—lobby organizations like GetUp, activist networks, and foundations such as the Bob Brown Foundation—but I don’t think any of them operate at the level you’re describing, at least not with significant electoral impact. It’s not something that has featured prominently in recent election cycles. There may be minor parties or independents entertaining such ideas, but that kind of radical or anarchist spectrum doesn’t really factor into mainstream political debate here, including within the Greens.
We have people that are more proactive, and people and organizations that host events. They may put on a protest, they’ll stage a high-profile action, or they’ll take their position to Canberra in order to generate public awareness. I’m thinking of organizations led by former leaders of the Greens, for example, like the Bob Brown Foundation. But to the point of it being anarchic, I would say personally I’m not aware of anything like that—that doesn’t mean it’s not there, but it’s hard to measure.
You’ve kind of got the middle ground. You’ve got Labor, which is progressive to the left on the environment, and they’re introducing their net zero targets. They have a whole suite of regulation and policy under the umbrella of “nature positive,” which includes things like biodiversity credits as well as net zero. Then you have the Greens, a little further left, and maybe a couple of others. But they generally tend to be more activist, lobby, or advocacy groups—things like the Environmental Defenders Office, which is a group of lawyers that help or advise activists like the Knitting Nannas.
But we haven’t got that far-right green appropriation to any significant degree. Let’s see what happens—it’s interesting that the Liberals lost so many seats this time around. It gives Labor, and as I said earlier with the Senate, a much bigger block to get things through.
For example, in the last election there was a bit of caution about whether the whole suite of environmental policy and regulation under “nature positive” would get through, so it was withdrawn. We would probably expect to see a version of that come back now, because there’ll be more confidence in getting those sorts of measures passed—which, of course, naturally negates any of those more far-right amplifiers, because the main political parties are already doing what those voices might be demanding in terms of regulation.
