(Image: Mitchell Squire/Private Media)

The truth of Australian politics universally acknowledged throughout this pandemic is that whenever you’re not sure what to do, find an outsider to blame, whether they be Chinese lab workers, asylum seekers, expat Australians — and now, foreign tennis players.

Looking for an anti-vax villain to reposition himself in the COVID centre after a too-early stumble into “self-responsibility”, Scott Morrison leapt at world men’s tennis No. 1 Novak Djokovic, swiftly measuring him up for the role of part-villain, part-scapegoat — someone powerful who could pay the price for all the weddings, funerals and family celebrations that two years of hard borders denied us.

And, on cue, Australia’s media fell into line, echoing the Morrisonian “rules are rules” mantra, long after the government gave up its hunt for insufficiently crossed “t”s, moving its caricature of the arrogant foreign rule-breaker into a moustache-twirling pantomime villain from the vaccine wars.

As ever, it reflected Morrison’s core skill: knowing how to weaponise media practice.

Struggling out of the wreckage as the long-foreseen summer Omicron surge crashed into the even longer lack of preparation, Morrison lunged for the media’s celebrity donkey — someone to carry along a narrative of otherwise far too complex issues.

Opting for Djokovic as his donkey of choice might have seemed peculiar — out of step with Morrison’s usual sports-loving schtick (which made a return appearance on the Murdochs’ Fox Sports pay-walled cricket commentary with his head-scratching “taking wickets in COVID” waffle).

But it aligned with the modern Liberal Party’s reflexive “tough on borders” tic, although this time more as farce to Howard’s tragic “we decide who comes into this country and the manner in which they come”. And a far safer choice than more readily available local options like, say, Craig Kelly or George Christensen.

For Djokovic, it was the fate of the celebrity in modern media. Ground down to stereotype, to churn news moments out of big social trends, filtering complexity through celebrity experience. Well handled, it’s a valuable tool, an opportunity to report our changing attitudes to relationships, personal behaviour and each other.

Celebrity break-ups normalised divorce. The market demand for diverse celebrities placed diverse faces on the news. Just these last few years, through Me Too, the celebrity-news link has turned entrenched harassment and abuse into a social moment that is driving overdue change.

Some people are born celebrities — like the now lesser-royal Andrew Windsor. Some become celebrities — like the famous-for-being-famous Kardashians. Others have celebrity thrust upon them, like sports stars, actors or musicians. Some leverage their status into politics like Donald Trump. Others, like Barack Obama, find their political careers turn them into celebrities.

However they get there, celebrities understand they have to play the game to get by. But it’s confusing. The rules keep changing — for celebrities and for media. Deprived of its monopoly on news, the media now is trying to carve out a new role for itself as a video referee, to analyse, second-guess and judge celebrity actions.

The problem is, media power — both soft and hard — no longer shapes our celebrity experience. The original fake news (hello, National Enquirer) discredited reporting. Paparazzi harassment culminating in the death of Lady Diana turned journalists into villains.

At the same time, celebrity power has grown. Social media delivers a direct route to their audience, bypassing television and magazines. In sport, in particular, competition for audiences and broadcast rights has made them too valuable to challenge.

In the parochial world of Australian politics, singling out Djokovic makes perfect sense.

In the real world, it’s a risky strategy. Truth is, if Australia wants to matter in the world of sport, it needs Djokovic more than Djokovic needs Australia.

The politics of international sport (and of tennis, where players are particularly powerful) is complex. And, in that world, Djokovic is not just a player. He’s a Player. It’s why the sole parliamentarian from that world, John Alexander, has been a leading critic of the government’s actions.

Australia is not the sporting nirvana we like to think it is. Governments and rights negotiators are continually pushing back against both distance and history. If the Djokovic saga has any enduring impact, it will be to make future rights that much harder.

Is Novak Djokovic really the villain the Morrison government has made him out to be? Let us know your thoughts by writing to letters@crikey.com.au. Please include your full name if you would like to be considered for publication in Crikey’s Your Say column. We reserve the right to edit for length and clarity.