He goes by many aliases: Kris Kringle, Saint Nicholas, Hagios Nikolas, Joulupukki, Nicholas of Myra, Sinterklaas. He’s the jolly bearded man bearing gifts; the herald of good will and joy; an icon for the young; an ally to the old – Santa Claus is a figure of almost universal 
affection. But there is a dark side to Santa. Peel back that jolly façade and you will find underneath a monster: a grand bearded bastard with a plan; a consummate self promoter, entrepreneur and exploiter of small children. Our dear Santa makes Ronald McDonald look like an amateur. And it is this dark side that I will reveal to you today.
First, let us look at Santa’s yuletide economic model. It does not seem viable, at first glance. After all, he is simply giving away presents to all the kids in the world, right? How on earth can he sustain this level of philanthropy? Well, let’s dig a little into this conundrum.
Santa did it tough for a long time. In the 1800s he didn’t even have a consistent uniform – he often wore green, and sometimes gray; he was a lot skinnier then. Hell, he even rode a ‘Yule Goat’ and demanded presents rather than giving them, in order to ward off ‘evil spirits’. Not much holiday spirit to be found in a skinny grey man running a protection racket from the back of a goat. As one would expect, Santa wasn’t widely known or particularly liked at that time. With the exception of some irrelevant Northern European countries like Luxembourg and Belgium (there is still robust debate in scholarly circles over whether Luxembourg is actually a country, or merely a large Patisserie in Northern France), the reach of Father Christmas’ corporate influence was very limited indeed.
But all that changed in 1930s when Santa broke through economically in the most important market of all – the USA. It was then that was he went into partnership with Coca-Cola. The people at Coke helped give him an image makeover – red and white suit, jolly and fat; add to this the reindeers and sleigh, giving presents rather than taking them, and a dash of ho-ho-ho, and now you have a brand worth selling.
The success of this rebranding exercise is self evident: go to a shopping mall today and look around – the Santa label is ubiquitous, his 
Corporation one of the biggest on earth. Everything, everywhere, during the most profitable time of the retail year has the Santa logo. One can safely assume that Santa is getting a cut of every product bearing his name or image. And as the years rolled on he has become one of the most aggressive self-promoters of all time, more recognized than Kim Kardashian, Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson combined. And Santa didn’t even have to make a home porno to get the public’s attention (or did he? More on this later). Giving away presents was a genius move by Santa: it allows him – like any sensible major corporation – to claim back against tax as a ‘charitable cause’, while at the same lining his pockets with sponsorship deals and movie tie-ins.
You’d think that would be enough. But no, Santa looks after both the big dollars and the small. In league with the axis of evil: David Jones 
and Myers, Santa has started charging kids for photos. That’s right, these days Santa is starting to hustle 30, 40 or even 50 bucks just to sit on the crusty old goat-rider’s knee. I don’t want to deny anyone the right to earn a buck but for me, Santa’s just putting the blade to hard-working parents. Exhausted, struggling though the shopping mall with a screaming child on one hand and Christmas shopping list in the other – we find Father Christmas sitting on his Throne of Lies, offering extortionist prices for the simplest of childhood delights: sitting on Santa’s lap. With a child worked into a frenzy by a dozen candy bars, the bright lights and loud muzak of the shopping centre, and Santa’s relentless marketing of Christmas, what parent can say possibly say no?
Here’s the thing: William Shatner is the only man alive allowed to ask for payment for autographs. Santa Claus? Fuck you. You are crushing dreams, taking names, and putting them on the naughty list.
But it gets even worse, if one pauses to consider the record for human rights at the North Pole. I’ve never seen it listed on the UN’s human development index, I don’t know what the average wage is there or the Gross Domestic Product, I’m pretty sure they don’t even have a health care system. North Korea has more transparency about its operations than the North Pole.
But if you dig a little into the issue you’ll discover this: the Northern European word for Santa’s elves is Zwarte Pieten, or ‘Black Peters’. It is the ‘black’ Peters doing all the work on Santa’s factory floor and it is here we find Santa’s dirty secret revealed: the exploitation of migrant labour – working his beleaguered elves day and night to enable his so-called philanthropy. The reason he gets away with all of this is simple: the North Pole is a despotic regime that, as far as I am aware, has not signed up to a single UN convention on labour rights. Santa is, quite simply, running the largest sweat-shop on the planet.
But it is not only appearance fees, cheap labour, and corporate sponsorship that have made Santa one of the wealthiest men in the world today. These are just the building blocks. The key is the strategic way he deploys his brand. Santa is doing all his work in the most profitable places. I’ve never seen Santa in a small village in Africa handing out frankincense, myrrh, and Wiggles CDs. I’m not saying Santa doesn’t like black kids; I’m just saying he doesn’t like poor kids, and there is a tonne of them on that continent. But if you want hard, factual evidence for this, you need look no further than the profound Christmas ‘Band Aid’ song ‘do they know it’s Christmas’ (Bono’s part):
Well tonight thank God it’s them instead of you
And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmas time
The greatest gift they’ll get this year is life
Where nothing ever grows
No rain or rivers flow
Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?
Here’s to you
Raise your glass for everyone
Here’s to them
Underneath that burning sun
Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?
It’s good to know Bono and company can raise a glass, get wasted and thank god they aren’t poor Africans. Sort of a weird sentiment for a song in support of Africa, but anyway, I digress. The profound point raised by the profound Bono is germane: Africans don’t know it is Christmas and they don’t get presents (or snow, apparently). And why is that you ask? Cause fucking Santa couldn’t be bothered dispensing good will to that part of the globe. The bearded mercenary has done his calculations and figured his appearance fees and branding tie-ins are largely worthless in Africa. Sure, he’ll do a Madonna-like appearance at a fake school he pretended to give to Africans, but that is all just a marketing ploy for people back in the rich countries. Old Father Christmas is a callous son-of-a-bitch, don’t worry about that.
I tell you something else I’ve noticed about Santa – he doesn’t follow any sport (appearances yes – but actually sitting down to watch a game?). I’ve never seen him once at a soccer game, or a game of league, or at the Super Bowl. Hell, I’ve never even seen Santa at an ice hockey game. And here is a scientific fact you can take to the science bank: anyone who has no sporting passions is someone of who you should be deeply suspicious.
Like a spoiled inner-city skinny-jeans wearing hipster too chic to scream for a national sporting team (but god won’t they 
scream if their Chai Latte isn’t flavourful enough); like a rah-rah Young Conservative watching croquet or polo (neither of which is a sport); like a politician awkwardly wearing a guernsey and feigning knowledge of sport in general (remember Paul Keating saying he was a Collingwood fan and that he hoped to see them “kick a try”). Like all of these things, there is something unnatural and wrong about Santa (it should also be noted here that sport is not very big in Luxembourg). In fact, the only thing Santa has not lent his image to is a sporting team, everything else gets the Santa badge: lollies, t-shirts, toys, decorations, video games, dirty lingerie, goodness, even dirty literature (don’t believe me – ‘Santa’s Backdoor Baby’ (Kindle edition) is available here at Amazon).
Well, I just don’t trust a man who doesn’t like his sport. Nor do I like a man who tortures parents by turning Christmas into a compulsive shopping frenzy, just so he can increase the value of his brand. I don’t like a guy who gives gifts that are proportional relative to the wealth of 
a family – poor kids get bugger all while the rich kids get shitloads. I have a problem with someone who sells dreams to children on the one hand, marketing joy and childhood dreams, and yet on the other sells Santa pornography.
I have a problem with someone who preaches good will to all, but only at a price.
I have a problem with you Santa, you fat fraud. What do I want this Christmas? I want you to stay at home, you salty old bastard, and leave the rest of us in peace.
This article first appeared in ABC’s The Drum in time for Christmas 2011. They had a far more open-minded editor back then.