After Bondi, avoidance is no longer an option

It has never been credible for this government to claim it is responding adequately to antisemitism — not before October 7, not since, and not now.

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s refusal to establish a Royal Commission into antisemitism, justified by the claim that such an inquiry could “fuel hate speech,” is not an act of prudence. After what Australia has now witnessed, it is an act of political cowardice. It reflects a government more concerned with limiting scrutiny than confronting failure, and more focused on managing risk than delivering accountability.

That failure is no longer theoretical.

A targeted antisemitic attack at Bondi has made brutally clear what Jewish Australians have been warning about for years: antisemitism in this country is not abstract, rhetorical, or confined to offensive speech. It is real. It is escalating. And it has consequences.

Once Jews are attacked for gathering publicly as Jews, this ceases to be a discussion about tone, process, or political sensitivity. It becomes a test of leadership.

The government has failed that test.

Rather than respond with clarity and resolve, the Prime Minister has rejected the strongest accountability mechanism available. Tony Burke’s defence of that decision rests on a familiar list of objections: that a Royal Commission would cause “delay;” that it would “re-platform the worst voices;” that it would require public evidence; and that national security matters do not lend themselves to public inquiry. Above all, we are told that the priority must be “social cohesion.”

This framing does not withstand scrutiny.

Antisemitism does not emerge because it is examined too closely. It flourishes when it is minimised, euphemised, and administratively managed rather than confronted. To suggest that scrutiny itself now poses the greater risk is to invert reality. Hate does not grow in daylight. It grows in the shadows — precisely where this government appears most comfortable leaving it.

A Royal Commission does not incite antisemitism. It exposes how institutions failed to deal with it. It does not empower extremists; it examines the systems, decisions, and omissions that allowed them to operate unchecked. And it does not undermine cohesion; it restores confidence by demonstrating that government decisions are subject to real scrutiny.

What is particularly troubling is how responsibility is quietly displaced.

By framing the issue almost entirely through a national-security and operational lens — emphasising urgency, intelligence sensitivities, and process — the government narrows the problem to one of enforcement. The implication, whether intended or not, is that failures sit with agencies on the ground rather than with the political leadership responsible for policy settings, coordination, and priorities.

That matters.

Law enforcement and security agencies operate within the frameworks governments create. They do not decide whether universities are held accountable for hostile environments. They do not determine whether antisemitism is treated as a distinct and growing threat. They do not set national strategy. Those decisions rest with elected leaders.

When antisemitism escalates for years without a coordinated response, that is not an operational failure. It is a political one.

By rejecting a Royal Commission — the only mechanism capable of examining decisions across departments and over time — the government avoids scrutiny of its own role in creating the conditions we now face. A review can assess tactics. A Royal Commission tests leadership.

Tony Burke’s concern about “re-platforming” extremists is revealing. The suggestion is that public examination itself risks harm — that silence or containment is safer than exposure. But silence is exactly how antisemitism became normalised on university campuses, in cultural spaces, and in public debate. Silence is how Jewish students were intimidated while institutions equivocated. Silence is how warnings were dismissed as exaggeration — until they were no longer dismissible.

“Social cohesion,” endlessly invoked and rarely defined, has become a rhetorical shield. It allows ministers to speak about harmony without naming antisemitism, unity without acknowledging who is being targeted, and safety without confronting uncomfortable truths. Cohesion that refuses to name the problem is not cohesion at all. It is avoidance.

What is missing from the government’s language is as telling as what is included. Jewish Australians are rarely centred. Jewish students are rarely acknowledged. Jewish families, now weighing visibility against safety, are treated as a secondary consideration in a broader discussion about “community tensions.”

This crisis did not begin at Bondi. Antisemitism in Australia has been building for years. The Jewish community raised concerns early and repeatedly. We asked for scrutiny of publicly funded institutions. We warned about radicalisation, intimidation, and the normalisation of antisemitic rhetoric masquerading as activism. We were told existing mechanisms were sufficient. We were told to be patient. We were told that words mattered.

Now, after violence, we are told that accountability goes too far.

Rejecting a Royal Commission is not a neutral act. It is a choice — to limit inquiry, to constrain exposure, and to avoid answering the hardest questions: who failed to act, who ignored warnings, and why leadership lagged so badly behind reality.

This should never have been about votes. It should never have been about optics. And it should never have required tragedy to force moral clarity.

After Bondi, the Australian Government no longer has the luxury of ambiguity. Leadership now demands truth, scrutiny, and courage — not euphemisms, not deflection, and not fear of what accountability might reveal.

History will remember this moment. And it will remember who chose accountability — and who chose avoidance.

Michael Gencher
Executive Director, StandWithUs Australia