Senator Pauline Hanson Wears Burqa in Parliament to Protest Ban Bill, Sparking Outrage

At 6:40 PM UTC on Monday, November 24, 2025, the Australian Senate chamber in Canberra fell silent—not from solemnity, but shock. Pauline Lee Hanson, the 69-year-old leader of Pauline Hanson's One Nation Party, strode into the chamber wearing a full burqa. She had just been denied the right to introduce her (Burqa and Other Full Face Coverings in Public Places) Bill 2025, a proposal to ban full-face coverings nationwide. So she wore one. And sat down.

The Protest That Shook the Senate

Hanson’s move wasn’t impulsive. It was calculated. For nearly a decade, she’s pushed legislation targeting Islamic face coverings, filing similar bills in 2014, 2017, and 2020—all defeated. This time, she didn’t just want debate. She wanted to force a confrontation. "I would like you to review your earlier ruling," she reportedly told Sue Lines, President of the Australian Senate since 2022. Lines, citing precedent set by former President Steven Perry, immediately ordered Hanson to remove the garment. "It’s not appropriate in this chamber for non-religious purposes," she said. Hanson refused. For nearly 12 minutes, the chamber stalled. Senators from the Australian Greens and Australian Labor Party rose in protest. Some shook their heads. Others muttered. One Labour senator later described it as "a performance piece designed to humiliate Muslim Australians."

A History of Symbolic Provocation

This wasn’t Hanson’s first burqa stunt. On August 22, 2017, she wore the same garment during Question Time to protest a proposed ban—ironically, the same tactic she’s now using to protest its rejection. Back then, she called it "a statement on security." Today, she said it was about "Australian values." The symbolism is deliberate: she doesn’t wear the burqa because she believes in it. She wears it to weaponize it. Her party, founded in 1997 and headquartered in Ipswich, Queensland, holds four Senate seats. Its platform has long centered on immigration control, anti-Islam rhetoric, and nationalist identity politics. The Bill 2025 would have outlawed burqas and niqabs in all public spaces—with exceptions only for religious ceremonies and occupational safety gear. Critics say it targets a community of fewer than 80,000 Muslim women in Australia, most of whom don’t wear full-face coverings. According to the 2021 Census, only 1.5% of Muslim women in Australia report wearing a niqab or burqa regularly.

Political Fallout and Parliamentary Rules

The backlash was swift. Adam Bandt, leader of the Australian Greens, called it "a racist political spectacle." Penny Wong, Labor’s Senate leader, said the act was "deeply disrespectful to Muslim Australians and undermines the dignity of this institution." No formal penalty was issued on the spot. But Senate Standing Order 195—on appropriate dress—gives the President authority to refer breaches to the Senate Privileges Committee. That committee can recommend suspension. Hanson’s actions may now trigger a disciplinary review, possibly delaying her ability to speak or vote for weeks. Meanwhile, the bill itself remains dead for now. But it won’t disappear. The Senate recesses until February 3, 2026. When it returns, Hanson can reintroduce it—provided she follows procedural rules. And she will.

Why This Matters Beyond the Chamber

This isn’t just about a dress code. It’s about how democracy handles hate disguised as protest. Hanson’s burqa stunt doesn’t challenge a law—it mocks a community. It turns a garment worn by a tiny minority into a political prop. And it works. Media cycles explode. Social media inflames. Fear spreads. Experts say such tactics normalize exclusion. "When a senator wears a burqa to protest banning burqas, she’s not debating policy," says Dr. Amina Farooq, a political sociologist at the University of Melbourne. "She’s performing dominance. And that’s dangerous in a pluralistic society." Australia’s Muslim population, growing steadily since the 1970s, now numbers over 800,000. Many feel increasingly targeted. In 2024, the Australian Human Rights Commission recorded a 37% spike in anti-Muslim incidents—many linked to political rhetoric. Hanson’s supporters, however, see her as a truth-teller. "They don’t want to talk about security," one commenter wrote on her Facebook page. "But she does."

What’s Next?

The Senate reconvenes February 3, 2026. If Hanson reintroduces the bill, it will likely face the same fate: committee rejection. But the real battle isn’t legislative. It’s cultural. Her stunt has already succeeded in one way: it’s made the burqa a national talking point—not as a religious symbol, but as a political weapon. Will the Privileges Committee act? Will public pressure force a reckoning? Or will this become another chapter in Australia’s slow unraveling of its multicultural consensus? The answer won’t come from the Senate floor. It’ll come from the streets, the schools, the mosques—and whether Australians choose to let fear dictate their democracy.