Andrew L. Urban
You don’t need me to tell you that we are still licking our wounds (almost daily) over disgraceful, anti-democratic Covid era responses from ham-fisted political leadership – I would have welcomed a citizens’ uprising. That might have been the time for one …
We are enduring similarly authoritative behaviour “to keep us safe” from the empty threats of the ruling climate change orthodoxy. Some of us are bewildered as to why such a highly regarded historically individualistic nation of brave people can be so docile. Are Australians too spoilt as they enjoy the bounty of this land – notwithstanding it now being raped by wind turbines and solar panels? (At least the farmers are kicking up a fuss.)
With its mateship and fair go sensibility, Australia’s history is missing the kinds of conflicts that forge a strong national singularity of character. In our recent history, multiculturism has gradually diluted the sense of nationhood.
Gallipoli (1915) did forge a significant sense of unifying nationhood for Australia by creating the Anzac legend, a shared narrative of sacrifice and distinct national character. It marked Australia’s emergence as a nation distinct from Britain, uniting diverse communities around the Anzac Spirit and Anzac Day commemorations. However, its unifying impact was limited by exclusions (Indigenous, women, non-Anglo groups), class and religious tensions, and ongoing debates about its relevance. While Gallipoli remains a cornerstone of Australian identity, its nation-building legacy is contested, weakened and evolves with societal changes.
Besides, that battle was far off-shore and didn’t pose a threat to the homeland.
Think of the Battle of Britain, the American Revolution, the American Civil War, the French Revolution, the protest and massacre in Tiananmen Square …
Excuse a personal example to illustrate. As a youngster, it was the stories and images of historical Hungarian heroes fighting Turkish invaders centuries earlier and the oppression of Hungarians by more powerful neighbouring Austria in the 19th century that helped to form my sense of a Hungarian community with a shared resolute past. The anti-Soviet Hungarian revolution of 1956 reinforced that feeling, aligned with the purpose of overthrowing a communist government, a puppet of Moscow.
On March 15, 1848, Sándor Petőfi recited his poem “Talpra Magyar” (On Your Feet, Hungarian, also known as “Nemzeti dal” or “National Song”) on the steps of the Hungarian National Museum in Budapest. He read it aloud to a growing crowd as part of a revolutionary demonstration by the “Youths of March,” sparking the Hungarian Revolution of 1848 against Habsburg rule. The poem, a call for freedom, was chanted by the crowd as they marched through the city, seizing printing presses and declaring an end to censorship.
Throughout history, civil wars, invasions and revolutions have forged the sense that bonds countrymen into nationhood. External threats with something to lose highlight differences between the “self” and the “other,” prompting unity. Resistance movements often produce national heroes, symbols, and narratives that endure in collective memory. It is in collective memory that national feelings are nurtured.
Talking one day with Tony Abbott about the unresolved issues of (several) national apologies for past behaviour to our indigenous community – and no expression of forgiveness – he replied: “Not enough shared history…” to which I would add, no shared relevant enemy ….
Civil wars, invasions and revolutions (citizens’ uprisings?) are crucibles for nationhood, forging shared identities through conflict, resistance, and transformation. They create narratives of sacrifice, triumph, or resilience that bind people to a collective national idea. The upside for Australia is that it hasn’t suffered the agonies of these conflicts. The downside is … its national character has not been forged in the fire of such conflicts, which drive the urge to celebrate the nation.
Such a uniting sense of values that may serve to provide some fire of intestinal fortitude could well be found in fighting and denouncing antisemitism. Alas, that has been hosed down by the collective antipathy – antisemitism – of a Labor Prime Minister, a Labor Foreign Minister indeed, the entire Labor leadership, reversing decades of bipartisan support for Israel and all Jewish people.
We sense the complicity in accepting the violent antisemitic riots on the steps of the Opera House, the firebombing of the Adass synagogue and the aggressive anti-Israel behaviour on the international stage (the UN and the ICC). A blind eye and deaf ear to the Imam, for example, who is eagerly repeating the Koran story of how “The Day of Judgement will not come about until Muslims fight the Jews, when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Muslims, O Abdullah, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him.” Never mind the primitive ideation of killer stones and trees, the Labor response is but a shrug to divisive antisemitic views – and then change the subject to Islamophobia.
Antisemitic hate is a unifying force often tied to polarization, identity politics, and social fragmentation. The argument goes that shared animosity toward a common enemy, ideology, or system, can bind groups that might otherwise have little in common. For example, activists with a colonial white settler view of Australia waving an indigenous flag will march in protest arm in arm with Hamas supporters in keffiyehs, the most radical & barbaric antisemites in the world. Hatred can fuse disparate groups in Western society by providing a common target, but it’s a brittle and volatile bond. It’s more catalyst than foundation.
Clearly rejecting antisemitism as a mark of Australia’s national identity would, I believe, help establish a shared morality, one that also defies claims of racism. Indeed, Jews have bejewelled Australia’s history from the very beginning.
Jewish convicts, like Esther Abrahams, arrived with the First Fleet in 1788. Abrahams, who became the de facto wife of Lieutenant-Governor George Johnston, played a pivotal role in early colonial society.
Samuel and Saul Lyons were major auctioneers in the 19th century, facilitating trade and commerce. The Cohen family’s David Jones store, founded in 1838, became a retail icon. In the 20th century, figures like Sidney Myer also transformed retail with the Myer department store chain and supported philanthropy, including funding Melbourne’s cultural institutions.
Sir Isaac Isaacs, born to Jewish parents in Melbourne, became Australia’s first Australian-born Governor-General (1931–1936) and a High Court Chief Justice, shaping constitutional law. Sir Zelman Cowen, another Jewish Australian, served as Governor-General (1977–1982) and was a respected legal scholar. Vaiben Louis Solomon briefly served as Premier of South Australia in 1899, one of the earliest Jewish political leaders.
Sir John Monash, best known as a WWI general, supported cultural initiatives. In the 20th century, Judy Cassab, a Holocaust survivor, became a celebrated artist, winning the Archibald Prize twice (1960, 1967) – before that Prize was corrupted by woke. Writers like Morris Lurie and Judah Waten contributed to Australian literature, often exploring Jewish identity and migration.
Jewish Australians like Leonard Keysor, a Victoria Cross recipient, served heroically. Their contributions bolstered Australia’s military reputation.
Sir Gustav Nossal, was a leading immunologist, Professor Isi Leibler pioneered cardiology techniques, while Professor Samuel Berkovic’s work on epilepsy genetics earned global recognition.
Jewish families like the Smorgons and Besens funded cultural and educational institutions, including museums and universities. The Montefiore family established aged care facilities, some of which still operate.
Entrepreneur Frank Lowy, co-founder of Westfield, transformed retail and became a leading philanthropist, supporting medical research and the arts.
These few examples show up the current edition of Labor’s antisemitism at odds with our history and our historical empathy (individual antisemites notwithstanding).
Both antisemitism and racism stereotype groups as monolithic, ascribing fixed, often negative traits. And both are the antithesis of Australian.
Antisemitism often blends religious, cultural, and ethnic prejudice, historically rooted in Christian anti-Judaism before morphing into racialized forms. Racism typically hinges on physical markers (skin colour), though it also absorbs cultural biases, including, for example, the racist activism against Australia’s history calling it a ‘settler colonialist’ nation. Alienation in action.
In essence, both are systems of hatred that construct an “other” to exclude, exploit, or exterminate, adapting to cultural contexts but sharing the same poisonous logic. It will take genuine leadership (currently invisible) to encourage Aussies to refuse that poison.
Antisemitism would shrivel to a shameful but harmless historical oddity, if it were routinely, boldly, publicly ostracised, uniting Australians with a sense of common values.