Booing political leaders is a time-honoured tradition

Certainly, the popular impression from the evening television news is that they are at it most of the time - pressing the flesh, wearing hard hats on industrial sites, kissing babies, downing a beer in the public bar, scoffing the proffered snag at a suburban barbie.

But the reality is what we are seeing is not so much a slice of life as a staged photo opportunity, carefully arranged, rehearsed and choreographed.

A few days ago, many Americans were surprised to hear loud booing, and even chants of "lock him up", when President Donald Trump appeared on the big screen at game five of the baseball World Series in Washington, DC. What on earth was happening?

As it turns out, this was a rare appearance in the open public. When we see the President on television being fêted by crowds, mostly they are wearing "Make America Great Again" campaign caps. In other words, they are party faithful, dutifully rounded up and primed. At other times, his public ventures mostly consist of eating in his own restaurants, playing golf at his own clubs, and waving from the steps of Air Force One.

But on Sunday, another America - presumably not made up of those owning MAGA caps - saw its chance and took it quite spontaneously. The White House insisted it was not entirely hostile, as some people were actually cheering.

Some commentators expressed dismay, even surprise, at the booing. Fox News commentator Dana Perino said: "I never thought he would get booed. I thought Americans won't do that, Americans would cheer."

Popular television host and satirist Stephen Colbert said it had been a long time since Donald Trump faced anything other than a crowd of hand-picked supporters. "I have a feeling it's going to be a while before he does that again," he said.

History is full of rulers living in bubbles - either of their own making or imposed by minders. The Soviet dictator Josef Stalin lived in fear of the people, and readily believed the stories told to him by his entourage of how well the peasants were doing under his rule, their banquet tables veritably groaning from the weight of roast turkeys.

However, every now and then the curtain of pretence slips and we catch a glimpse of the bubble-dweller, far removed from everyday life.

One such famous example was when the late US president George Bush (the elder) was allowed to walk into a supermarket, and expressed his unconcealed amazement at the technological marvel of an automatic scanning machine. What planet are you from, Mr President?

Booing is by no means unknown in Australian political culture. Indeed, it is probably more common here than in most places, as evidenced by an American commentator at this year's Australian Open tennis in Melbourne, when he said he couldn't understand what the crowd was booing at. An Australian in the commentary box directed his attention away from centre court towards the big screen on which Prime Minister Scott Morrison had appeared.

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It often has its amusing side. Back in 1975, Gough Whitlam's Labor government was decidedly unpopular in Queensland. A Queensland Labor senator, Ron McAuliffe, was also the national rugby league president, and invited Whitlam to a game at Lang Park in Brisbane.

The moment Whitlam appeared on the ground, the crowd erupted in loud, continuous booing. Unshaken, Whitlam turned to the senator, saying: "Don't ever invite me anywhere again, McAuliffe. I had no idea how unpopular you are."

Just when Australia began booing politicians is unclear. It was not always like that.

Back in the time of World War II, prime minister John Curtin would often take time out on a Saturday afternoon to watch a football game at Manuka Oval - usually in the company of an office junior who was a keen football fan. They sat among the crowd.

Even the redoubtable Bob Menzies, a staunch Carlton supporter in the then-VFL, liked to attend games when he could, and was often seen sitting in the outer rather than in the stands.

Not all political leaders, then, have lived in a bubble.

It is not widely known that when John Howard was treasurer in the government of Malcolm Fraser in the early 1980s, his home phone number was listed in the directory - a most unusual thing for a politician.

I asked him once whether he was ever bothered by callers. He replied: "Occasionally, there's the bloke who just wants an argument and I understand that. But mostly I find it opens up some very informative exchanges. I never regretted it."

That now seems a very distant era.