After the bridge: where do we go from here?

Normally, by midweek, I’m sitting down to write—an op-ed, a column, a reflection to be published here in Australia or shared across the globe. It’s something I do routinely, not out of obligation, but because there is always something urgent to say—something that needs to be said.

But this week, I’ve sat in front of a blank page, and the words simply haven’t come.

Because the truth is, I don’t quite know how I feel.

And I suspect I’m not alone.

In the days since the protest on the Sydney Harbour Bridge, the anger, grief, confusion, and exhaustion that many in our community already carried have deepened into something harder to name. This wasn’t just another rally. It wasn’t just another demonstration. It was a deliberate act—a brazen hijacking of an iconic Australian symbol to broadcast a message of hate, antisemitism, and hate for Israel.

We’ve been told we’re imagining it. That it was peaceful. That it was legitimate protest. But that’s not what many of us experienced. We saw signs that glorified terror. We heard chants that denied our people’s suffering — and worse, went further, invoking calls for “intifada,” for “resistance by any means necessary,” and for the eradication of Israel “from the river to the sea.” These are not slogans of peace; they are rallying cries for violence, extremism, and the destruction of Jewish life and sovereignty.

And we watched, again, as officials stood by, unwilling to call it out for what it was. And to make it worse—both the NSW Premier and the police urged the court to block the march. Premier Chris Minns warned it would bring “chaos” to Sydney, while NSW Police raised serious concerns about “significant public safety risks.” Yet a single judge—Justice Belinda Rigg—overruled that advice, finding that disruption alone could not justify preventing the assembly, and accepting the organiser’s claim of “urgency” in responding to Gaza. That legal permission, granted despite unanimous institutional opposition, felt like a failure of leadership and moral judgment—and a profound disappointment for those already bearing the cost of hate.

It’s hard to know what to write in a moment like this because the usual words—“resilience,” “strength,” “community”—feel almost too tidy for the depth of what we’re grappling with. There is a heaviness now. A sense that we are being tested in ways that are new and deeply unsettling.

And maybe what we’re feeling is the unknown. The uncertainty. What comes next?

Because here we are, in one of the most tolerant and democratic societies on earth, and it feels like we’re being pushed to the margins. Again.

And what frightens me most is what we now appear willing to accept.

I remember the Lindt Café siege vividly—as so many Australians do. The horror. The disbelief. The chilling realisation that terror had reached our shores. We watched as Man Haron Monis, armed and draped in extremist ideology, held hostages at gunpoint in the heart of the city while an ISIS-style flag was pressed against the café window. We vowed never again. We said we had learned—that we could recognise terror not only by its actions, but by its flags, its chants, and the hateful ideology it carries.

But this past Sunday, we saw that flag again. Not just one. Several. Alongside others dripping in antisemitism and bile. And this time, they weren’t smuggled into a hostage situation—they were waved openly, proudly, in what was billed as a “march for humanity” across the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

And no one stopped them.

No one said, “Not here. Not in our country. Not on this bridge.”

That’s where we are now. The lines have been blurred. The red lines erased. We’ve lost the moral clarity that once unified us against hate, regardless of where it came from.

And so, yes—I’m angry. And disappointed. And tired of seeing our institutions default to silence. I’m tired of the excuses. Tired of the double standards.

Where are the voices of political leadership saying unequivocally that this is not acceptable? Where are the university administrators prepared to defend Jewish students as they would any other targeted group? Where are the media commentators who claim to care about hate speech and extremism?

We are watching, in real time, a vacuum of moral leadership—and that vacuum is being filled by something very dark.

But if I know anything at all right now, it is this: we must not retreat into silence just because others are comfortable doing so.

We are not the fringe. We are not invisible. And we are not going anywhere.

Our people have seen darker days. Through history, we have endured persecution, exile, and violence—and we have survived it all. We will face this moment too—with clarity, with strength, and with the courage to speak truth, even when others won’t.

That means calling out hate, no matter where it comes from. It means demanding more from those in power. And it means standing with pride in who we are: Australians, Jews, Zionists, and citizens of this country who deserve to feel safe and heard like anyone else.

So maybe I do know what to write, after all.

Because we know where we are.
Now it’s time to decide where we’re going—and what we’re willing to do to get there.

Michael Gencher is the Executive Director, StandWithUs Australia

 

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