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Messy politics aside, this much is clear: Australia is being cruelly parsimonious in resettling people, at a moment when it is of greatest global need.

There are more people in the world requiring protection right now than at any time in human history, but Australia is obsessed with cutting numbers in the face of febrile anti-migration rhetoric.

Even at 20,000, Australia resettles fewer refugees now than it did when Malcolm Fraser’s government was in power.

In 1980-81, Australia accepted 22,545 refugees for resettlement. The population of this country then was less than 15 million.

It has since nearly doubled, to 28 million, but the Australian government – despite its prevarication – has been clearly contemplating cutting its resettlement numbers by one-third, from 20,000 back to 13,750 (a nadir last reached during the Morrison government).

Critically, too, the global need for sanctuary is now so much greater. Nearly 130 million people are displaced around the world, more than 1% of humanity.

Never in human history have so many people been forced from their homes, by persecution, by violence or climate shocks, by economic instability and political fragility.

The United States – historically the global leader in refugee resettlement – has vacated the field in recent years, slashing its numbers, and outright barring the entry of nationals from multiple countries.

It appears Australia is now contemplating following suit.

The government’s handling has been confusing. First, it was reported Australia was cutting its humanitarian intake. The government insisted this was old news, this had always been policy, just one unknown to the Australian public, and it seems the government’s own backbench. Suddenly, in the face of rising party disquiet, by prime ministerial intervention, the cuts were off. They would not happen. Twenty thousand would remain.

Barely a month ago, the Labor party’s national conference committed to maintaining Australia’s humanitarian intake at its current level of 20,000 places a year “while also continuing to aspire to achieving 27,000 places per year”.

Lest there be any doubt that it is politics, not policy, driving this decision, Anthony Albanese was explicit in citing the resurgence of Pauline Hanson’s party as a catalyst.

“We’re worried about trying to get numbers right,” the prime minister said at the conference. “We’re responding to national needs. There is a current spike in the support for One Nation, quite clearly, but we’ve responded.”

There is much in these proposed cuts that is simply performative. Australia’s humanitarian intake represents a small fraction of the country’s overall migration program. A cut of 6,250 places – reserved for people who need protection from persecution – from a net overseas migration figure of 300,000, only makes a difference (a calamitous one) to the lives of those rejected.

Australia might wish it so – it might feel it too, by dint of distant geography – but this country is not removed from the massive movement of people around the globe.

Australia, in this hyper-connected world, is intimately joined.

Afghanistan has just marked the sorry anniversary of five years since the withdrawal of western troops, including Australia’s, and the fall of Kabul back into the hands of the Taliban.

Thousands remain in need of protection, some of them persecuted specifically because of their work supporting and protecting Australians. But Australia ended its program of dedicated places for persecuted Afghans this year.

Debates over migration are legitimate. Governments have the right to deliberate on the size and shape of their migration programs. But reflexively seeking to cruel Australia’s humanitarian intake – places in this country for some of the world’s most vulnerable people – is crude, unthinking populism.

It is little wonder the world sees horrific scenes like those recently witnessed in Ceuta, like the mass drowning off the Myanmar’s Ayeyarwady coast, like the stubbornly persistent death toll on America’s southern boundary: in a world of closed borders, of high fences, and locked doors, too often there is nowhere for people to go.