Pauline's plight in good hands

The Bug was the only media organisation invited to join the Pauline Hanson Support Group in its on-going vigil outside the Brisbane Women's Prison. Our reporter gives this exclusive insight into what makes group members tick as they bravely protest the jailing of the One Nation founder.

It's 6.30am on a clear spring morning that still has a decidedly winter's feel to it, and members of the Pauline Hanson Support Group are stirring from their sleeping bags and reaching for their flasks of piping-hot white tea.
They cluster together and speak softly and incredulously about the recent decision not to grant Hanson bail until her appeal is heard. Cupping their enamel mugs for added warmth, they vote unanimously by a show of hands to maintain their protest outside the prison until their heroine is released unconditionally.
A spokesman for the group wanders over, wiping liquid from his scalded forearm. Asking not to be named because he says they are watching and know who and where he is, he explains that the vote they had just taken, while symbolic of their determination to free the red-headed former federal politician, is meaningless because they are all really only members of a support group of the support group, a structure that ensures the main support group is not able to be taken over by nutters or imbeciles with shady un-Australian agendas.
He's quick to point out that the word from inside is that Pauline has had a comfortable night and is getting on bravely with her illegal incarceration.
But he moves closer and with head bowed forward conspiratorally, confides that Hanson is appalled at the number of Aboriginal women who have committed crimes just so they can go to prison and avoid having to get a real job.
"They're just sitting in there on their big fat black arses doing bugger all and bludging on the public purse," he says.
The other picketers come up and clearly want to have their say as well.
Moses Horowtiz, of Wynnum Central, who also asks not to be named, sums up the feeling of other picketers when he pokes out the eyes of the man standing beside him, Jerome Horowitz (no relation) who responds with a heartfelt "nyuk nyuk nyuk".
Mr Larry Fine on Camp Hill, vents his frustration over the jailing of the former Senate candidate and fish-shop owner by squeezing his nose very hard and then twisting it sideways with a pair of pliers before either of the Horowitzes can, and then running his hand up and down in front of his face and going "whoo-whoo-whoo" over and over again.
The red-haired former independent federal MP for Oxley has even attracted protesters from overseas, including one man who says simply: "Call me Gyro."
"You know people think I must have a gear loose to have come all this way at my own expense to fight for Pauline's release," he says quietly, "but they don't understand that this is the greatest political imprisonment and the greatest travesty of justice since those decades Ozzie Nelson spent in that South African jail."
Another group member, from Sydney, says he doesn't know a lot about Hanson and her beliefs apart from her 0% flat rate tax proposal, but adds that he is amazed at how few picketers possess their own mobile phones.
"I could probably make quite a few sales here if only I can convince them that mobiles aren't a Club of Rome plot to give God-fearing people brain cancers to make them more susceptible to overthrow by their alien masters."
But it's probably the last member of the group to wander over who epitomises what the support group is all about.
Raymond Babbitt looks skywards for what seems like an eternity and then whispers: "Do you think it's going to rain, man?"
And before you can frame a considered answer, he adds softly: "There's exactly 43 sticks left in that matchbox you've got in your back trouser pocket."