Many will be confused by the fact that they voted in an election not long ago, probably without knowing which one. Plenty of people have no idea that there are parliaments in each state capital as well as Canberra.

They may not vote informally, as that tends to be a deliberate choice. More likely they will enter a donkey vote (ie sequential numbers down the page) or vote for the candidate with the nicest teeth or hair.

In most other countries, such people would typically not bother to vote. On election day they would simply go to work, watch or play sport, go shopping, or do whatever else they normally do on a Saturday. If Australia was like those countries, this might be around 30 percent of voters.

Australia is one of only a handful of countries in which voting is obligatory. There is a cluster in South America including Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, Peru and Uruguay, a few in Europe (Belgium, Liechtenstein, Luxemburg and Slovakia), plus Nauru, Singapore and North Korea. All the countries with which we like to compare ourselves, including the UK, USA, New Zealand and Canada, have voluntary voting.

Those who live and breathe politics cannot contemplate how anyone could be disengaged from voting. They tend to view it as an education challenge: if it is all properly explained, everyone will take it seriously. They see a lack of eagerness to vote as simply an information deficit.

No doubt it would be nice if absolutely everyone was genuinely committed to electing the best possible candidates based on a comprehensive understanding of their policies. But reality is not like that.

Elections are often decided by margins of less than five percent, which makes the votes of low information, disengaged people highly influential. It makes sense to ask: what is being achieved by forcing them to vote?

Compulsory voting supporters worry that optional voting will result in a loss of support for their side of politics. Labor supporters tend to worry more than conservatives, despite the fact that left-leaning parties have never had any trouble winning elections in countries where voting is voluntary. New Zealand and Canada are just two examples.

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Proponents of compulsory voting also argue that compulsion improves the quality of the democracy. One of their favourites adages is that while you may not be interested in politics, politics is interested in you. You are affected by the results of elections, so you must participate.

The problem is that there is simply no evidence that countries with compulsory voting achieve better democratic outcomes than countries with voluntary voting. No matter the measure – political stability, civil rights, social cohesion, economic performance – the evidence is just not there.

What the evidence shows is that countries with a history of turbulent governments, such as Italy, would be no better off if they had compulsory voting. That includes now, when its government is stable. Some say that governing Italy is absolutely impossible – and totally unnecessary.

Equally, would Australia be better off it had voluntary voting, like Italy? That also includes now, when we’ve had eight Prime Ministers in the last 20 years. We could similarly ask, if all those governing us died in a plane crash, would the whole country come to a grinding halt as they seem to believe?

The only arguments that make rational sense are based on principles.

From a libertarian perspective, voting should of course be voluntary. Libertarians oppose coercion, so invoking the power of the law for merely staying home is unacceptable. Compulsion is also the opposite of free choice, a key libertarian principle. The freedom to choose not to vote at all is equally as relevant as who to vote for.

Compulsory voting actually makes the democratic process less responsive to the views of the electorate, as political parties can ignore their primary constituency and instead concentrate solely on swinging or whimsical voters. Under voluntary voting a candidate needs to appeal both to their supporters (who otherwise might decline to vote) and swinging voters (who might vote for other parties).

Under compulsory voting, representatives of safe seats face no democratic pressure. Voluntary voting would mean that no seat was truly safe as supporters may refuse to vote. Representatives need to be constantly aware of the views in their electorate and take no victory for granted.

Genuine democracy is based on universal suffrage, yet the right to do something implies that you have a choice not to do that thing. It would be absurd to say that Australians have the “right” to pay tax; paying tax is a legal obligation, not a right. Making voting compulsory changes it into a legal obligation rather than a right.

The right to vote should be a civil freedom, like free speech or free association. Free speech does not imply a requirement to speak and free association does not imply a requirement to join clubs. Likewise, the freedom to vote should not mean a requirement to vote.

Turbulence is not new, though, and we must never think that modernity is immune to the injustices and evils of the past. But when I echo Machiavelli – no, not in his ruthless, scheming demeanour, rather in the sense of putting on my finest robes at the end of the day to sit and commune with the ancients – I do wonder at how they would judge us and the choices we make. Naturally it comes down to context of the times.

I have been reading Macbeth, and am particularly interested in the message of what sort of character is subject to the lure of tyranny, and it raises that perennial question for our own times.

What makes the circumstances ripe for tyranny?

Is it inevitable that assuming the position of leadership will turn one from being righteous to malevolent? Shakespeare’s Macbeth reads as a blueprint to address such questions.

Duncan, the king of Scotland, has been slain by his once loyal general, Macbeth, urged on by his wife’s insatiable desire for power. One of Scotland’s most loyal patriots, Macduff, serves as a mirror to the king’s son, Malcolm, who has to test his own soul as well as that of Macduff’s loyalty to Scotland.

It sets the scene for a brilliant strategy in determining who can lead and remain untainted from the political hypnosis held in the poisoned cup of leadership.

Shakespeare has Malcolm question his fitness to assume the crown on the basis of his own human vices.

He points to Macbeth as a man he once thought honest, begging the question, why would he then be?

‘A good and virtuous nature may recoil,

In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon;

That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose:

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell:

Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,

Yet grace must still look so.’

History shows that few people can refuse the allure of political temptation to engage in ways that deceive the public – those they are tasked with representing. There is always a story of corruption to hit the mainstream media, not to mention those closely aligned with parties who either partake in or know of the inside skullduggery of factional wars. It is really a case in life, too; how many of us are always strong enough to resist the easier path to our dreams rather than sacrifice much to wait?

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And when Malcolm presents his innermost longings to Macduff, assuming that he would judge him accordingly as a man unfit to wear the crown of king, even that did not sway the loyal nobleman. For in his eyes, there was no soul viler than Macbeth, hence no person could match his excessive desire for power:

‘Not in the legions of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn’d

In evils, to top Macbeth.’

Although Macduff acknowledges that untamed intemperance results in the fall of many kings, he urged the young man to not abandon his inheritance.

That Malcolm assesses his own weakness, and questions whether he is fit to govern, reveals that he is worthy of doing so. But it was through the impassioned elegy for the decay of Macduff’s beloved Scotland, that Malcolm had an epiphany.

Interpretation of this passage argues that this was a test for Macduff rather than for Malcolm: because he admits that he has done no wrong, claiming he is chaste and good of heart. But it could indeed be an epiphany – the final act of self-examination. Haven’t we all been there at one time? Where we are about to embark on a mighty project in our lives, but we harbour doubt that we can succeed, so we pause; reflect; and then decide to take the leap – or not.

In contrast to Malcolm’s testing of Macduff’s patriotism, and his own interrogation of his inner motives, Macbeth wavered. He was pressured by his wife’s devious intent to become Queen and relish all the largesse the position offered.

I find the saddest indictment upon our political class and, indeed, upon the citizenry, is that we don’t pay attention to what the past has gifted us with the lessons from history. Thousands of years of examples and warnings of what to do and what to avoid.

Oh, but could we here in 2026 be so blessed as to have such mentors for each and every person who enters the political arena. Sadly, for western nations, these past few decades have seen quite the opposite. Our parliaments are littered with self-righteous and bedevilled individuals who seek merely their own comforts at the expense of the populace.

Political skullduggery is often better seen through the prism of art and drama. It is not just confined to the parliamentary chambers or halls of congress, where most times we are provided mere sloppy entertainment rather than anything of substance to gauge how these people are representing us.

Shakespeare relayed an important message: that kingship is earned through moral self-knowledge; by the ability to interrogate one’s own soul; and to exercise strength to accept an almost poisoned chalice, but one where a will to cleanse is stronger than the urge to corrupt.

Macduff becomes the catalyst who makes Malcolm realise he is ready.

What will become the catalyst for those politicians of today who are willing to interrogate their own souls in pursuit of a poisoned political chalice?

At the same time, senior Liberal figures continue to publicly reject the idea, saying they would “never ever” form a coalition with One Nation. The Nationals have also shown little enthusiasm. This leaves many voters wondering what is really possible.

Coalitions are actually very common in parliamentary democracies around the world. In countries that use proportional representation, such as many in Europe and Israel, single-party governments are rare. Most governments are made up of at least two parties working together.

New Zealand, for example, is currently governed by a coalition involving National, ACT and New Zealand First. NZ First insisted on policy shifts on issues such as immigration as a condition of joining the coalition.

The government of Israel is comprised of a coalition of five parties. One of them, Shas, insisted on military service exemptions for yeshiva students (ie those in full-time religious study).

In the Netherlands, three parties currently form a minority government. A previous coalition member, PVV (led by Geert Wilders), demanded strict asylum/migration controls, border closures, and deportations as a condition of entering.

In Sweden, the coalition government is comprised of three parties. However, its survival relies on the support of a fourth party, with that support subject to strict immigration reforms, a tougher path to citizenship, deporting non-citizen criminals, a crackdown on gangs, closer inspection of religious schools, capping welfare benefits, limiting non-citizen access to welfare, a reduction in fuel taxes, and expansion of nuclear generation.

Our experience with coalitions in Australia is different, based on the long-running Liberal–National coalition. That has led many to assume coalition agreements must be negotiated before an election and should offer a shared policy platform.

In fact, that is not how most coalitions are formed internationally. More often, parties contest elections independently and negotiate afterwards, once the final numbers are known. Each party focuses on winning as many seats as possible. Only after the election do discussions begin about whether they can work together to form government.

Coalitions also come in different forms. Some involve sharing ministerial positions, as happens with the Liberals and Nationals. Others are more limited arrangements. A minor party may simply agree to support the government on key votes, or guarantee “confidence and supply” — meaning it will support the government in no-confidence motions and budget votes – as is the case in Sweden.

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It makes no political sense for the Liberals, Nationals and One Nation to announce a coalition before the next election, due in 2028. Any such announcement would inevitably become a major political target for Labor and its supporters, distracting attention from the policies that each party seeks to promote.

It would also exclude other minor parties that might win seats and help achieve a non-Labor majority.

Greater political advantage will be seen with each party campaigning separately. That allows them to appeal to different groups of voters and promote policies that are not necessarily the same. On issues such as gas exports or the Paris Agreement, for example, each party can argue its own approach is better without needing to settle any disagreements beforehand.

What matters most is keeping communication open and avoiding unnecessary acrimony. There are two key reasons for this.

The first is practical politics. If post-election negotiations become necessary, they are much easier when parties have not attacked each other in destructive ways and there are no personality conflicts.

The second reason involves preferences. In House of Representatives elections, voters must number every box for their vote to count. If a voter’s preferred candidate is eliminated, their vote is transferred according to those preferences.

This means parties need to think carefully about what they do with their How-To-Vote cards. If the Liberals, Nationals and One Nation want to maximise the total number of non-Labor seats, they need to ensure their voters’ preferences flow to one another before Labor or the Greens.

Preference flows often decide the outcomes. In many electorates, conservative parties may be behind on first preferences but can still defeat Labor if preferences are tightly exchanged. Equally, if those preferences do not flow efficiently, Labor can win seats despite lacking first-preference support.

Strategic thinking on preferences has long been difficult for the Liberal Party. The party has typically focused exclusively on winning seats itself and is reluctant to assist smaller conservative parties (aside from the Nationals), even when cooperation could improve the broader result for the political right.

This has had major consequences in the Senate, as I have discussed previously, where the Liberals will not be able to achieve a workable majority for the foreseeable future.

Current polling suggests there could be many seats at the next election where Labor leads on primary votes while the Liberals or Nationals and One Nation compete for second place. If the Liberals or Nationals are third, they need to be comfortable with their preferences electing One Nation candidates. Reassurance to their voters that this is intended will be needed.

One Nation will similarly need to ensure their voters are comfortable electing Liberals and Nationals, in preference to Labor. The ‘plague on both their houses’ mentality runs deep among the party’s supporters, but it is not politically constructive.

Only then, if enough seats are won on the anti-Labor side of politics, can discussions about some form of coalition or governing agreement take place. Until that happens, it is not a discussion worth having.

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No other nation on earth has been handed a better set of natural advantages and then worked so hard to squander them.

We sit on mountains of iron ore, oceans of gas, vast reserves of coal, lithium, uranium, rare earths, copper and bauxite. We have some of the best agricultural land on the planet, enormous coastlines, political stability, abundant sunshine and proximity to the fastest growing region in the world. By every natural measure, Australia should be an industrial superpower.

Instead, we increasingly behave like a quarry with a housing market attached.

Countries with virtually no natural resources, like Japan, became manufacturing giants through discipline, industrial planning and national ambition. Japan imports the raw materials it needs because it has no choice. Australia exports its raw materials because it increasingly seems incapable of doing anything else.

That is not clever economics. That is national laziness dressed up as economic sophistication.

Australia digs it up, ships it out and then buys it back at ten times the price after another country has refined it, manufactured it and added value to it. We export iron ore and import finished steel. We export lithium and import batteries. We export gas while Australian manufacturers pay crippling energy prices. We shut down refineries and then act shocked when fuel security becomes a national issue.

It is insanity.

At some point Australians need to ask a serious question. What exactly is our long-term economic plan? Is the vision for this country simply endless immigration, rising house prices and bulk commodity exports while the productive economy slowly collapses underneath us?

Because that is where we are heading.

The political class talks endlessly about “innovation” while allowing the industrial base that actually creates innovation to erode. They speak about “the future economy” as though economies magically float into existence through PowerPoint presentations and government announcements. Real economies are built by people who make things, process things, transport things, repair things and design things.

Manufacturing is not nostalgia. Manufacturing is civilisation in physical form.

A country that cannot make things eventually becomes dependent on countries that can.

COVID exposed this brutally. Suddenly Australians discovered that global supply chains are not acts of God. They are fragile systems controlled by nations that prioritise themselves first when pressure arrives. Pharmaceuticals became scarce. Industrial components disappeared. Shipping costs exploded. Lead times blew out. The fantasy that Australia could survive indefinitely as a post-industrial service economy collided with reality.

And still many of our leaders learned nothing.

The SEMMA (South East Melbourne Manufacturers Alliance) Manufacturing Blueprint warns that Australia risks becoming “a highly taxed nation that produces little” with declining sovereign capability. That statement should terrify policymakers. Instead, it is typically dismissed as old-fashioned thinking by people who have never run a factory, never met a payroll, and never worried about keeping production lines moving.

The arrogance is breathtaking.

Modern Australia increasingly celebrates consumption more than production. We glorify property speculation while treating manufacturing as an inconvenience from the past. We reward financial engineering more than industrial engineering. We created a culture where young people are told success means sitting behind a laptop in climate-controlled comfort rather than building the physical economy that keeps the nation alive.

Meanwhile countries like Japan, Germany and South Korea quietly continue to manufacture advanced products, export value-added goods and protect their industrial capability because they understand something Australia has forgotten: wealth is not created by moving money around. Wealth is created by producing things the world needs.

Japan had no iron ore.
Japan had no coal.
Japan had no gas.
Japan had no vast continent filled with mineral wealth.

What Japan had was seriousness.

Australia has the resources but increasingly lacks the will.

We have become a nation rich in assets but poor in ambition. We think selling the farm is the same thing as building a future. We comfort ourselves with high living standards while ignoring the fact those living standards are increasingly dependent on exporting finite resources to countries smart enough to convert them into industrial dominance.

Even now the opportunities remain staggering. The South East manufacturing region of Melbourne alone contributes $54 billion in regional output and supports more than 232,000 manufacturing jobs. Manufacturing is not dead; it survives despite decades of political neglect, crushing energy prices, excessive regulation and policy instability.

Imagine what Australia could become if governments actually backed productive industry instead of suffocating it.

Imagine affordable energy.
Imagine serious local content laws.
Imagine industrial policy designed around capability rather than political slogans.
Imagine vocational education treated with the same respect as university pathways.
Imagine a tax system that rewarded production instead of speculation.

Australia should be one of the richest and most capable industrial nations on earth. The raw ingredients are all here. What is missing is leadership with the courage to think beyond election cycles and quarterly headlines.

The smartest country in the world would take Australia’s natural advantages and build the most advanced industrial economy in the Southern Hemisphere.

The dumbest country in the world would export raw materials, import dependency and slowly dismantle the industries that create real prosperity.

Modern Australia is dangerously close to doing both at the same time.

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Registrations have surged from around 20,000 in 2018 to over 45,000 by 2025, with States such as Queensland seeing increases exceeding 110% in primary and 167% in secondary levels. New South Wales and Victoria report similar dramatic rises.

This trend represents far more than a niche choice—it embodies a libertarian resurgence in parental authority and individual educational freedom against the creeping monopoly of state-controlled schooling.

In a country where compulsory government education has long been the default, families are reclaiming their natural right to direct their children’s upbringing.

Homeschooling is legal nationwide, though bureaucratic hurdles vary by state and often demand learning plans, periodic reviews, and alignment with the Australian Curriculum. These requirements themselves highlight the tension: parents exercising independence must still seek permission from the same state apparatus they are seeking to escape.

The core academic advantage lies in radical personalisation. Traditional classrooms enforce a one-size-fits-all model dictated by government bureaucrats and union interests.

Homeschooling rejects this central planning.

Parents tailor instruction to a child’s unique pace, talents, and curiosities, enabling mastery-based progression rather than age-based conformity.

Australian data consistently shows homeschooled students outperforming state averages on NAPLAN testing, with advantages persisting even upon return to conventional settings.

Free from repetitive drills and institutional pacing, children delve deeper into interests, integrating real-world learning—budgeting at markets, biology in the garden, or history through family travels. This approach aligns with libertarian principles of spontaneous order and individual discovery.

Without rigid bells or standardised testing quotas, learning becomes efficient and joyful. Families draw on diverse voluntary providers: curricula from Euka Future Learning or My Homeschool, private tutors, online platforms, and community co-operatives. These emerging educational markets demonstrate how competition and choice outperform monopolistic public systems.

Reduced homework and flexible schedules prevent burnout, fostering genuine intellectual curiosity rather than compliance.

Mental health and family well-being gain immensely.

Government schools expose children to peer pressure, bullying, and the ideological conformity often pushed by state-approved materials.

Homeschooling shields young minds from these while allowing more sleep, exercise, and unstructured play—essential for developing resilient, independent thinkers.

Parents report stronger bonds, deeper communication, and the ability to address neurodiverse needs (autism, ADHD, giftedness) without battling under-resourced bureaucracies. In libertarian terms, this restores the family as the primary institution of society, superior to distant state mechanisms in nurturing emotional security and character.

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Socialisation myths crumble under scrutiny. Homeschooled Australian children easily engage across age groups through sports clubs, arts co-ops, community events, and mixed-age learning groups. This produces superior outcomes: greater empathy, leadership, and real-world confidence compared to institutional segregation by age.

Voluntary association, not compulsory proximity, builds authentic social skills. Many homeschooled teens transition seamlessly into university or entrepreneurship, demonstrating self-motivation and maturity prized in free societies.

Economically and philosophically, homeschooling advances liberty. It reduces reliance on taxpayer-funded systems, potentially easing fiscal burdens on the state. Families save relative to private schooling while investing directly in resources aligned with their values.

For rural, remote, or shift-working Australians, it offers unmatched flexibility untethered from bureaucratic calendars. During disruptions like pandemics, homeschoolers adapted rapidly through family ingenuity and market innovations, unlike rigid public institutions.

Critics, often defenders of the status quo, raise concerns about oversight and socialisation. Yet evidence from growing numbers and strong outcomes refutes this.

Success hinges on parental dedication and voluntary networks such as the Home Education Association, which provides advocacy, resources, and mutual support—civil society at its finest, operating without coercive mandates.

Libertarians rightly view compulsory schooling as a relic of 19th-century nation-building that centralises power over minds. State education risks ideological capture, stifles diversity of thought, and treats children as collective assets rather than individuals with rights mediated through parents. Homeschooling counters this by affirming parental sovereignty—the fundamental liberty to raise one’s children according to personal ethics, culture, or faith without state permission slips for basic upbringing. It encourages personal responsibility: parents who choose this path invest time and effort, reaping rewards in capable, principled offspring.

Challenges, however, do exist. Homeschooling demands significant commitment, financial trade-offs for single-income families, and navigation of regulatory mazes in some jurisdictions. Not every parent can or should homeschool. Yet for those who do, the advantages compound: superior academics through customisation, enhanced well-being free from institutional stress, rich voluntary social experiences, and education aligned with family values rather than government agendas.

As registrations climb, Australia’s homeschooling families illustrate a powerful truth: decentralised, parent-driven education produces better results while expanding human freedom. In an age of expanding state influence over childhood, home education stands as a bulwark for individual liberty, family autonomy, and voluntary cooperation. It empowers parents to reject mediocrity by monopoly and instead cultivate independent minds equipped to thrive in a free society.

For the libertarian-minded, homeschooling is more than an educational option—it is a declaration of independence from the collective and a recommitment to self-reliance and parental duty.

As more Australians embrace it, the advantages will only grow clearer: freer families raising freer, more capable individuals.

Australia’s personal income tax system has progressive rates, which in theory means high income earners at the top end of the scale pay a higher rate of tax. However, the thresholds are not automatically indexed to inflation, which means an increasing number of Australians now find themselves in the higher brackets.

In 2008-09, Australia’s top income tax rate was adjusted to 45 per cent for every dollar you earn over $180,000. If that $180,000 threshold had been indexed to inflation, the top income tax rate of 45 per cent would now kick in at around $275,000. The reality is that in 2025-26, it kicks in at just $190,000. It’s a similar story for the lower income tax thresholds.

Treasury has described bracket creep, or “fiscal drag”, as what happens when higher tax rates apply to more income earners over time, because thresholds remain fixed while incomes rise. The Parliamentary Budget Office (PBO) has made the crucial point that bracket creep is not limited to workers who shift into a higher bracket for the first time. In fact, anyone who pays income tax and receives a pay rise can be affected, because more of their income is taxed at higher rates even if they stay within the same headline bracket. Treasury bureaucrats know it’s an issue, and to their credit the PBO has described bracket creep as a source of revenue growth “without any explicit policy change”.

That is the whole scam in one sentence – no vote, no announcement – just more tax with no accountability.

If the government wants to raise taxes, it should legislate a tax increase and defend it in public. Instead, successive federal governments have relied on a more convenient method: let inflation do the dirty work, then occasionally ‘return’ some of the proceeds in the form of tax cuts, preferably just before an election with great fanfare to ensure maximum media coverage.

It is the political equivalent of stealing your wallet, handing back the loose change, and expecting a thank-you note (or vote, as it were).

The current debate has sharpened because the Coalition is now promising to index income tax thresholds to inflation. In Angus Taylor’s 2026 budget reply speech, he proposed that a future coalition government would index the bottom two income tax thresholds from 2028-29 and the top thresholds from 2031-32.

Credit where it is due, the principle is right, although it can’t come soon enough. Tax brackets should be indexed, and government should not be rewarded for inflation. A worker whose pay rises by 4 per cent while prices rise by 4 per cent has not become 4 per cent richer. Yet under a non-indexed tax system, our government treats that worker as a more lucrative extraction opportunity. If the government causes, tolerates, or fails to contain inflation, it should not then profit from the damage.

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Labor Treasurer Jim Chalmers has attacked the Coalition’s policy as irresponsible, warning that it would reduce revenue and threaten services. That is not really an argument against indexation, it is an admission that his government is addicted to increasing tax revenue. If your fiscal strategy depends on quietly taking more from hard-working Australians every year without asking them, the problem is not the indexation proposal, the problem is out of control government spending.

The temporary, discretionary income tax relief proposed in Labor’s budget is not a structural fix. It leaves the Treasurer in control of the tap and workers dependent on the mood of the bureaucracy, the electoral cycle, and whatever confected “cost of living” package fits the evening news.

The long-term numbers show why politicians like bracket creep. Recent reporting of Parliamentary Budget Office projections shows personal income tax revenue rising from 12.4 per cent of GDP to 14.5 per cent by 2036 without reform, with the average tax rate rising from 24 per cent to 28 per cent. That is a huge shift in the tax burden, achieved by inertia rather than honest tax reform . The machine simply keeps taking more.

This matters for liberty because taxation is not merely an accounting exercise. It is the transfer of power from individuals to the state. Every extra dollar taken by government is a dollar not spent, saved, invested, donated, or enjoyed by the person who earned it.

Libertarians oppose bracket creep because it offends both economic efficiency and democratic honesty. It punishes work, weakens reward for effort, and expands government by stealth.

Bracket creep hits people whose income is visible and easy to tax: wage and salary earners. Younger Australians, in particular, rely more heavily on labour income and have fewer opportunities to shelter income through assets, trusts, superannuation concessions, or capital gains arrangements. Labor’s budget has embraced inflation-adjusted treatment for capital gains by moving toward taxing real gains rather than inflationary gains, but when wages are inflated by the same economic forces, workers are apparently fair game.

The indexation of income tax rates is not a new idea; many countries already do it. In fact, Australia had tax threshold indexation during the Fraser years, before governments abandoned it in favour of discretionary adjustments. The reason is obvious: discretion benefits politicians; indexation benefits taxpayers.

Indexing tax brackets to inflation would not solve every problem in Australia’s overgrown tax system. It must be paired with spending restraint and broader tax reform. Otherwise, it risks becoming another campaign bauble rather than a genuine shift in the relationship between citizen and state. It would not automatically reduce spending, flatten the bureaucracy, or stop politicians inventing new ways to separate us from our hard-earned money. But it would help to make one important rule clear: inflation should not be a revenue strategy.

If politicians or bureaucrats want higher taxes, let them say so openly. Let them introduce the legislation, debate it, and face the voters. Until then, bracket creep remains what it has always been: a stealth increase in tax, quietly feeding the beast while workers are told to be grateful for crumbs.

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This is true of all democratic systems: judges are expected to interpret the law rather than create it. They are deliberately unelected and independent so that they can decide disputes impartially.

Their legitimacy comes from applying statutes passed by elected parliaments within principles established by constitutions. When judges move beyond interpretation and begin effectively making policy, they risk undermining democracy and weakening public confidence in the courts.

Law-making belongs to parliament where elected representatives can be voted out if the public disagrees with them.

Supporters of judicial activism argue that judges must adapt the law to changing social values. However, judicial creativity undermines certainty. Both citizens and governments need to know that laws will be interpreted according to established principles rather than the personal philosophies of individual judges.

In 2026, the New South Wales Court of Appeal struck down anti-protest laws introduced after the Bondi Beach terror attack, the court holding that the legislation “impermissibly burdened” the implied constitutional freedom of political communication.

While the ruling was praised by civil liberties groups, the reality is that judges were intruding into inherently political matters involving public safety and protest regulation.

During protests surrounding the 2026 visit of Israeli President Isaac Herzog to Sydney, NSW courts initially upheld expanded police powers restricting demonstrations, accepting the government’s argument that the measures were necessary for public safety. Later, however, broader anti-protest measures were declared unconstitutional. The judges were profoundly influencing political and social disputes.

The problem is, not a single word in the Australian Constitution provides for freedom of political communication. It is entirely, from beginning to end, an invention by the judges of the High Court.

Another example, by the High Court, is its decision in Love v Commonwealth (2020), where it ruled that Aboriginals who are not citizens cannot be considered “aliens” under the Constitution.

The Constitution contains no explicit exception of this kind; the court effectively created a new constitutional category.

There are other cases: for example, the High Court has decided that prisoners serving sentences of three years or less cannot be prevented from voting, while those serving longer sentences can be, despite the Constitution saying no such thing. In another case the High Court decided it, not Parliament, had the power to supervise when electoral rolls must close.

Inevitably the lower courts see the example of the High Court and follow suit, deciding cases according to their individual biases. In the Tickle v Giggle case, for example, it was open to the court to interpret the definition of “gender identity” in the Sex Discrimination Act in a way that did not undermine the rights of women. It chose not to do so.

In the ACCC case against Coles, the court declared that 12 weeks must elapse between reasonable price increases and promotional cuts, if consumers were not to be misled. That ought to be a business decision, not the opinion of a judge. Merely setting out some key principles around honesty, transparency and accountability would have been far more appropriate.

Even in my defamation case, the court simply chose to disregard provisions of the Parliamentary Privileges Act which makes it unlawful for a court to interpret what was said in parliament, to conclude (with zero corroborating evidence) that something had not been said in parliament and therefore I could be found liable.

It seems to me that some judges believe they know better than politicians and simply base their decisions on what they think should be the outcome, rather than what the law provides. I suspect this reflects the same level of contempt for politicians found in the community; politics is messy and full of compromises, leading many people to conclude they could do a better job.

The problem is that this leads us to a similar situation to Israel. Israel’s High Court of Justice possesses unusually broad authority because the country lacks a single written constitution. The court has claimed the power, despite no legislative backing, to review government actions, strike down legislation, and intervene extensively in administrative decisions.

The Israeli court has become very powerful and unaccountable, effectively shaping national policy on issues ranging from security to settlements and religious matters. It even claims the power to appoint its own judges.

The controversy reached a peak in 2023 and 2024 during attempts by the Israeli government to implement reform, prompting mass demonstrations. Those opposed to the current government feared that reducing the court’s powers would weaken checks and balances, while government supporters argued that unelected judges had accumulated excessive influence over elected governments. It was a dangerously partisan period.

The Israeli example demonstrates the dangers when courts move beyond interpretation into governance itself. With judges as central political actors, public trust in both democracy and the judiciary is eroded.

Democratic legitimacy depends on elected representatives making policy decisions, with clear boundaries between judging and governing. A strong democracy requires not only independent courts, but also judges who recognise their proper role.

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But behind the slogans sits a very different reality. The people actually trying to build things in this country are being strangled by bureaucracy.

Nowhere is that more obvious than with immigration.

I’m a Melbourne manufacturer. I employ Australians, train apprentices and invest local capital into local industry. Like thousands of other manufacturers, I am constantly told there is a critical skills shortage across fabrication, welding, engineering and the trades.

Industry bodies report it. Government reports acknowledge it. Employers live it every single day.

Yet when manufacturers attempt to solve the problem ourselves by sponsoring experienced, qualified tradespeople who are ready to contribute immediately, we are met with endless delays, silence and administrative paralysis.

At the same time, Australians watch governments move heaven and earth to repatriate former ISIS brides and admit individuals connected to extremist movements, complete with legal assistance, logistical support and urgency.

That comparison makes many people uncomfortable. Good. It should.

Because it exposes something fundamentally broken about modern government priorities.

This is not about denying citizenship obligations or ignoring legal realities. It is about asking a far more uncomfortable question. Why does the Australian state appear more capable of rapidly mobilising resources for politically sensitive cases than for productive people who demonstrably strengthen the nation?

I currently have the opportunity to sponsor two highly qualified fabricators from South Africa.

These are not unskilled migrants looking for handouts. They are experienced tradesmen with genuine real-world capability. One even holds a TAFE teaching accreditation and could help train the next generation of Australian apprentices.

These are precisely the kinds of migrants governments claim they want. Men who would walk straight into productive employment, pay taxes immediately, increase manufacturing output, transfer skills to younger Australians, strengthen sovereign industrial capability and help local businesses expand.

In any rational country, applications like this would be treated as an economic priority. Instead, after more than 12 months, we still cannot get clear answers from the Immigration Department.

This is the modern Australian state in a nutshell: endless speeches about economic growth paired with systems that actively obstruct the people creating it.

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Manufacturers are expected to absorb skyrocketing energy costs, survive punitive taxes, navigate endless compliance obligations, compete against low-cost international markets, train apprentices, invest capital at risk and maintain local jobs. Then, after doing all of that, we are forced to beg bureaucracies for permission to fill critical labour shortages with skilled people who are ready to contribute from day one.

The contradiction is staggering.

Politicians speak endlessly about “nation building”, yet productive enterprise is increasingly treated as an inconvenience rather than the foundation of national prosperity.

This goes well beyond immigration. It reflects a deeper cultural shift inside government itself. Modern bureaucratic systems increasingly reward process over outcomes, ideology over practicality and administration over production.

The people writing policy are often far removed from the realities of running businesses, employing staff, meeting payroll or competing globally. They speak the language of innovation while building systems that suffocate initiative.

Meanwhile, manufacturers are left carrying the burden of national resilience almost entirely alone.

Australia once understood that strong nations build things. We built factories, trades, infrastructure and sovereign capability. Today, we increasingly build paperwork.

The result is predictable, shrinking industrial capacity, declining productivity, weakened supply chains and growing dependence on foreign manufacturing.

Every government inquiry asks why Australia struggles with productivity growth. The answer is sitting right in front of them.

A country cannot endlessly punish productive enterprise while expecting economic strength. It cannot claim to support manufacturing while making it harder to employ skilled workers. And it cannot continue pretending that endless bureaucracy is somehow equivalent to good governance.

If a business owner is willing to risk their own capital, reputation and future to sponsor skilled workers who strengthen Australia’s economy, government should be clearing the path, not burying the process under delay and indecision.

The truth is simple. Australia does not suffer from a shortage of opportunities. It suffers from a shortage of practical decision making.

Until that changes, all the talk about sovereign capability, productivity and rebuilding manufacturing will remain exactly what many business owners already suspect it is.

A slogan.

I was standing at a table waiting for wide-eyed, highly strung kids to come up to me and ask about what it’s like to BS for a living… I mean, what it’s like to work in marketing and media. There I was, on display like some kind of active mannequin dispensing nuggets of Google-able information.

Within three seconds the meaty cheesy grazing table resembled a Tragedy of the Commons™. Before too long, my tired old hounds were barking. To soothe them, I retreated to a nearby balcony. A few students were sitting down and contemplating their fifteenth drink for the night, thanks to a very open bar.

Exchanging a few pleasantries, I had to ask: “What’s the political mood at uni like these days?”

It wasn’t a representative sample: most were private-school educated, tutored-from-birth, walking returns on familial investment. I felt compelled to press them, nonetheless.

One broccoli haired kid ventured an answer, “We hate the 1%,” he said. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

He said it without a trace of irony – he’s attending an organisation set up specifically to groom an elite class.

Er, what does that even mean?

Being in Victoria, I dropped a few names to gauge their reactions. I expected fawning after anything watermelon coloured. Jacinta Allan caused revulsion; Daniel Andrews inspired fury. Jeff Kennett inspired some kind of generational nostalgia; they never felt the deregulated glory days, but they sure did know about them. As Commerce students, they weren’t particularly impressed with Grim Jim’s budget.

“I don’t know how it’s going to improve housing affordability,” said one kid who’d gathered a semester’s worth of economic wisdom under his belt and the over-confidence to match. “I mean, what’s even the point of investing in shares now?”

With a capital gains tax minimum of 30% across the board, I don’t blame them.

If you’re a boomer and wondering how they do it, investing in shares is easy. Kids can either piss about in Call of Duty Mobile or trade ETFs during class. They share an equal degree of difficulty.

If they have such disdain for the 1%, I figured they must be supporters of Occupy and/or some flavour of socialist nonsense. “No, that definitely doesn’t work, but there shouldn’t be any billionaires,” said broccoli bonce.

I posed this hypothetical: would you rather voluntarily pay an entity for goods and services, or have someone take your money by force and give it to someone else? All chose the former. We’re off to a good start.

So, what if some person sold fifty cent wonder widgets to two billion people at one dollar a piece? At what point do we take his or her money away to prevent them becoming a billionaire? What if they refuse to give up their largesse? Is it fair to seize wealth from someone when two billion people got some kind of value in return? That the entire operation provided jobs for countless material harvesters, widget makers, marketing people, retail staff, posties? That’s if the venture succeeded; it may have failed.

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As commerce students, they seemed to grasp the point.

“There’s so much propaganda and misinformation out there,” said a bad moustache wearing an expensive suit and school tie I didn’t recognise. “Like that David Pocock guy, saying we should tax gas exports.”

Revenue on gas exports, I corrected him.

“Yeah, revenue on gas exports. What does he know about tax? Isn’t he a rugby player or something?”

Yes, the rugby player LARPing as a politician, I said.

“What’s LARPing?” he replied.

It means live-action roleplaying. Pretending. Fed lines by a Greens-aligned think tank.

“Ohh,” he said. “That’s what LARPing means.”

Ugh, kids today.

Another kid brought up debt and how we’re never going to pay it off. I said that we live under the spectre of Modern Monetary Theory – we can just print more.

“Doesn’t that mean inflation?” a wobbly undergrad asked.

Yes, young padawan. Yes, it does. The idea is that the government creates money to pick up “slack” in an under-productive economy, to mobilise those resources. Inflation only happens after all the resources are tied up. That means some bureaucrat has to cook up what “slack” means – and as we found out during our COVID-19 lockdowns, almost no one is an “essential worker.”

Hell, if the government can print money, why should we pay taxes? A few bobble-heads nodded in approval.

“So, what’s the solution?” some kid out of sight asked.

There’s no such thing as a solution.

They inaudibly gasped.

“Everything is a trade-off,” I said. “Let’s say you have an exam tomorrow. You could hit the books, or you could play Arc Raiders for three hours. Which will help you more? There’s no immediate cost to doing either. As for ‘future you?’ Well, that’s a different story.

“You could have started a trade and saved half a house deposit by now, but you chose to go to university and study something that AI might take over in half a decade. The trade-off is 7am starts and mind-numbing repetition over opening up a laptop at 11am with coffee in hand and pyjamas still on searching for jobs against fifty thousand identical applicants,” pointing towards their peers.

“Or you use that same laptop to start a business selling hammers to those tradies.”

Those who remained sipped in silence before departing.

Just as I was shuffling out of the venue, one mushroom-headed beanpole tapped me on the arm and said, “Thanks for giving us your wisdom tonight,” he said, as I tried stifling a giggle. “Because no one ever tells it to us straight.”

They never do, do they?

“We spent $6,000 per household over seventeen years and all we got was this lousy connection and the inspiration for 5 seasons of Utopia”

On 7 April 2009, Kevin Rudd announced the largest infrastructure project in Australian history. The occasion for the announcement was the collapse of the previous approach: a competitive tender process had just been terminated on the basis that no proposal offered value for money.

The government decided within hours that it knew best and proposed its own government-owned monopoly solution with no cost-benefit analysis or business case made . The project promised a fibre optic network to 93% of Australian premises at a cost of $43 billion to be finished in eight years.

“Just as railway tracks laid the foundation for the 19th century,” Rudd told the press, “broadband is the core infrastructure of the new century.”

Great line, but it hasn’t aged well.

By 2013, when the Coalition took office, the FTTP rollout was already behind schedule and over budget. Malcolm Turnbull, as Communications Minister, announced the Multi-Technology Mix: a cheaper, faster alternative using existing copper and HFC networks. The new promised cost was $29.5 billion with a new completion date of 2016.

Neither of these targets was met, with the timeline slipping to 2019, then 2020 when the Morrison government declared the network complete after building significant parts of it with ageing copper that was degrading at 4-6% per annum. The declared final cost was $57 billion.

But it wasn’t over. Next the Albanese government announced a plan to rip out all the copper connections after all - a process that is still ongoing. Some estimates place the total cost once (really, truly) complete at $70 billion.

If we had stuck with Rudd’s original plan of a full FTTP rollout it would have been built for $50 billion. It would be a comedy of errors if it was funny.

The cost so far has been $57 billion - which is over $5,000 per Australian household. If the $70 billion estimate is correct, that pushes it to over $6,000 per Australia household.

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What did we get for it?

Here are internet speeds by country in 2026, with Australia coloured a lovely shade of mid-green only slightly darker than parts of Africa, Russia and South America. Our connection speed is 164 Mbps on average - that’s 2.5 times slower than Singapore where inhabitants enjoy 407 Mbps. In the rankings we’re sitting at number 43 below Vietnam, Romania and Peru. The average Australian pays $85 a month for this, while South Koreans are watching 8K video on connections faster than most Australian businesses can access.

Meanwhile Elon Musk and SpaceX have built a global satellite broadband network that runs with an average latency of 31 milliseconds. The NBN’s satellite service runs at 663 milliseconds. In 2025 Musk suggested Albanese’s most recent injection of equity into the project would be better spent elsewhere.

Elon Musk@elonmusk

Doesn’t seem to make sense

Sawyer Merritt @SawyerMerritt

NEWS: $3.8 billion will be spent to upgrade 622,000 homes in Australia with national broadband network Internet, costing ~$6,100 per house. The retail cost of a @Starlink router is $549, with a monthly service fee similar to an NBN plan, but Starlink internet is up to 4x faster.

4:50 AM · Mar 14, 2025 · 19.1M Views

11.8K Replies · 15K Reposts · 88.1K Likes

So yes, it is hard to argue that this boondoggle from 2009 has not been a catastrophic failure from beginning to end. It’s a classic “We spent $6,000 per household over seventeen years and all we got was this lousy connection and the inspiration for 5 seasons of Utopia” moment.

What would the market have delivered by 2026 if the government hadn’t cleared the field and handed NBN Co a monopoly? Nobody can say, but South Korea made different choices about market structure and competition and has 1Gbps fibre for the price of a modest dinner out.

The take-away is this: when a government entity builds infrastructure, there is no price signal telling it to stop spending. There are no shareholders demanding answers, and no meaningful consequences for cost overruns other than some uncomfortable moments in a Senate estimates hearing. In the case of the NBN, competition was made structurally impossible via the NBN level playing field provisions enacted in 2011, further removing access to vital information on the project’s viability.

Every government project suffers from Hayek’s knowledge problem: the NBN architects knew what they wanted to build, but what they didn’t know was whether it was worth building, at what cost, using what technology and on what timeline.

Is marijuana a gateway drug? Gateway theory has long been used as an excuse to restrict individual rights, including recent claims that non-malicious edgy humour leads to genocide or the long-argued claim that use of marijuana leads to harder drugs such as heroin and meth.

In reality, most people who smoke weed never go on to use harder substances. The claim that marijuana is a gateway drug lacks scientific evidence - correlation does not equal causation. Whether someone goes on to harder drugs has more to do with individual circumstances.

Does marijuana cause psychosis or violent criminal behaviour? Very few people who use marijuana cause problems for other people. Where people use marijuana and have mental issues, it is often incredibly difficult to determine whether the marijuana is contributing to the mental problems or whether the person is using marijuana to cope with their mental problems.

This is especially true in jurisdictions where marijuana is illegal and lacks quality control, and can be mixed or even completely replaced by other substances with no accountability.

Even if we assume marijuana causes problems in a select minority of individuals, that does not justify criminalisation. Adults should be free to make decisions about their own bodies even if there is risk involved. Furthermore, I do not believe the risk of harm is enough to justify government intervention.

To intervene in a personal choice, the government ought to prove that an act inevitably creates an imminent threat to others, such as with drink driving. The claimed potential risk of psychosis, let alone violent psychosis making someone a danger to others, falls far below a level that justifies state intervention to restrict adult marijuana use. The marijuana debate very much mirrors the gun debate in that it seeks to enforce collective punishment against the majority for the actions of a tiny minority.

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Does marijuana cause people to commit crimes? People should always be personally responsible for their own behaviour, yet society and the justice system often allows people to avoid personal responsibility by claiming ‘drugs made me do it’. The potential for marijuana and other drugs to completely override free will is not consistent with reality and their effects are not the fiction depicted in the media.

If someone uses marijuana knowing it causes them to engage in poor behaviour, that person is still responsible for the outcome because they knew the risks and did it anyway. A situation where someone uses marijuana for the first time, has a bad reaction and commits a violent act against another is incredibly rare. Voluntary drug use should never be a defence in the court of law.

I would further argue that the criminalisation of marijuana and the war on drugs in general negatively affects public safety and fuels violence due to demand from the black market. Limiting supply does not change demand, and the illegal marijuana trade funds terrorist groups and organised crime. The cost of putting people through the justice system and in jail economically burdens the taxpayer and takes time and resources away from crimes which have actual victims.

Are users of marijuana doomed to be non-functional losers? There are many people who smoke marijuana and are perfectly functional and even successful in life. In many cases, you would never know unless they told you. For example, the successful podcaster and comedian Joe Rogan has been open about his use. There is also evidence indicating that historical figures such as Shakespeare and George Washington may have used marijuana. That stoner stereotype is not a representation of all marijuana users.

Why should any of this concern you if you don’t use marijuana? Even if you don’t use marijuana and swear to never touch it, you are not protected from the ramifications of marijuana criminalisation and the war on drugs. For example, it is the reason a police officer can claim they smell weed and search you and your belongings, and is an excuse for the government to seize your property without a criminal conviction in many jurisdictions.

Since its inception, the war on drugs has been used as an excuse to erode civil liberties and restrict personal freedom and privacy. It is a reliable excuse for police and the government to claim the need for intrusive and invasive powers. As drugs continue to win the war on drugs, government authorities become increasing desperate and further erode your rights in the process.

The fact that the government can punish you for something that you do to your own body, even in the privacy of your own home, is incredibly invasive. There is nothing more dangerous than an unrestrained government that can violate your rights with impunity under the guise of your own good.

However, based on the date of the hymn and Blake’s religious background, many question whether he was instead referring to the elite, state-supported universities of Oxford and Cambridge.

Blake was scathing of universities. He loathed them. He saw them churning out, factory-like, a new godless, conformist world.

“I will not cease from mental fight”, he writes in a subsequent verse.

He considered these elite establishments incapable of mental fight.

In a Congressional hearing in December 2023, a number of US University Presidents were asked whether “calling for the genocide of Jews breached their university’s codes of conduct on harassment and bullying?”

Staggeringly, each of the University Presidents – including Harvard University President Claudine Gay – refused to answer in the affirmative, saying only, “When speech crosses into conduct, we take action.”

“It would depend on the context,” she added.

In other words, only when Jews are actually murdered would the university step in!

Similar responses were given by the other University Presidents, which would no doubt be mirrored by responses from some of Australia’s elite universities were they to be asked the same question.

Such responses reveal not just moral failure, but a deeper illiberalism: universities that claim to champion free speech and open inquiry while selectively enforcing rules in ways that undermine individual rights and equal protection under the law.

‘Satanic’. ‘Incapable of mental fight’. Exactly what Blake was referring to.

This is what one might call a ‘shibboleth’.

In his excellent book Blink! Malcolm Gladwell describes how it is possible to weigh up situations in the ‘blink’ of an eye.

In other words, how to make good decisions in an instant by doing what he calls ‘thin slicing’.

Thin slicing is a concept similar to taking a big salami, and no matter how thinly you slice it, everything you want to know about the whole salami is in that one slice.

Often you don’t have time to study or research an organisation or a person; you have to analyse what is going on by finding that ‘thin slice’. That shibboleth.

Shibboleth is a Hebrew word meaning ‘stream.’ It is referred to in the Old Testament book of Judges, where Jephthah and the men of Gilead fought the Ephraimites and captured the Jordan River crossing. As people crossed the river, to distinguish who was friend from foe, they had everyone say the word ‘shibboleth’. If they couldn’t pronounce it properly, they knew they were the enemy. From this, the word shibboleth was absorbed into the English language to describe a key identifier or a dead give-away.

What we saw in the University Presidents’ exchange was that dead give-away.

Jewish Liberal MP Julian Leeser has said: “I go back to the universities because this is the cauldron where it all starts.”

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The reluctance of universities to confront what is happening to Jewish students is tragic.

Following the October 7, 2023 massacre in Israel, well over 100 incidents of anti-Semitism were documented in Melbourne and Sydney universities alone. In response, a Special Envoy to Combat Antisemitism was appointed to head a formal University Report Card project.

Announced in late 2025 and led by Emeritus Professor Greg Craven, the Report Card assesses universities on criteria such as adopting an antisemitism definition, staff training, complaints processes, and handling of protests/encampments/flags/imagery.

Part of the explanation for all this lies with Gramsci’s long march through the institutions to impose Marxist thinking – beginning with the universities, heavily subsidised and shielded by taxpayer dollars and government accreditation monopolies.

Once out of university, these graduates disperse into other key institutions – the law, politics, media, business – taking their Marxist ideology with them.

It was once the case that occupations such as nursing, teaching and journalism were learned ‘on the job’ – on the hospital ward, in the classroom, doing the rounds of the courts – supplemented by part-time study. Journalism, in particular, was considered more of a trade than a profession.

Not anymore.

Adapting to the rigours of the hospital ward, classroom, or police beat as a nurse, teacher or reporter was much easier for a young person post-high school compared to post-university indoctrination and mounting student debt.

Sometimes, when a regime has been in place for a very long time, it is not possible to ‘break through’ that system protected by taxpayer funding, accreditation cartels, and regulatory barriers. You have to break with it.

Over time, institutions – such as the public service or the industrial relations system or higher education – become adept at building up defences and seeing off zealous reformers. The only option is to break with.

Employers should be free to hire students with the appropriate aptitude straight from high school and facilitate their higher education in the form of voluntary, part-time study at industry-specific places of higher learning – or better still, through competitive apprenticeships and cadetships that reward merit and real-world performance rather than government-approved credentials.

In fact, voluntary sponsored employment traineeships and cadetships should be rolled out across all sectors, the aim being to by-pass the toxic, taxpayer-subsidised environment that our universities have become.

Let me finish with a story.

A group of hikers was out walking when they chance upon a river. Their attention is suddenly drawn to a number of young people in difficulties being carried downstream by the river’s strong current.

The hikers immediately jump into the river and start rescuing the youngsters.

As they pull them out, they notice that more and more young people are being swept towards them.

As more youngsters appear, one of the hikers climbs out of the river.

“Where are you going?”, asks one of the other hikers.

“I’m going upstream to find out who is throwing all these kids in the river!”, he replied.

The universities are the river. We have to prevent our young ones from being thrown in.

At the time, the reform was framed as a simple matter of fairness and individual liberty: the government should not restrict who adults can love or marry. It was, at its core, a libertarian correction to an outdated legal constraint. However, in the years since, the consequences of that decision have extended beyond the narrow question voters were asked, raising legitimate concerns about cultural, social, and institutional shifts that many Australians neither anticipated nor explicitly endorsed.

One of the most significant developments has been the evolving meaning of marriage itself. Even before 2017, marriage as an institution had been undergoing gradual change due to economic pressures, shifting gender roles, and declining religious adherence. Yet the legalisation of same-sex marriage appears to have accelerated a broader redefinition. Marriage is increasingly seen not as a foundational social institution tied to family formation and long-term commitment, but as an optional or symbolic gesture.

Among younger generations, particularly heterosexual couples, there is a growing tendency to treat marriage as unnecessary or even outdated. The tongue-in-cheek notion that “marriage is now only for gays” reflects a deeper cultural ambivalence. While the reform aimed to expand access to marriage, it may have inadvertently contributed to its diminishing significance.

Beyond the institution of marriage itself, there has been a marked shift in how sexuality is expressed in public life. Historically, most Australians—regardless of sexual orientation—treated sexuality as a private matter. The legal and social risks once faced by homosexual individuals understandably led to discretion. Today, however, there is a far more visible and, at times, overt celebration of sexual identity by homosexuals. Events such as Sydney’s Mardi Gras, gay pride festivals, the proliferation and influence of advocacy groups, and the widespread display of symbolic imagery have become prominent features of public culture. While supporters view this as a desirable affirmation of identity and equality, others question its purpose and scale. A key concern is whether such expressions, particularly when supported by public funding, align with what Australians believed they were endorsing in the 2017 vote. The issue is not the existence of diverse identities, but the expectation that they be publicly celebrated and institutionally endorsed.

Perhaps the most contentious developments have emerged in relation to gender identity. The increasing prominence of transgender issues in public discourse has introduced complex and often polarising questions about biology, identity, and rights. Central to the debate is the claim that individuals can be “born in the wrong body,” a concept that has gained significant traction in certain leftwing circles. While many Australians are willing to accept and respect individuals who identify differently from their biological sex, tensions arise when these identities intersect with spaces and rights traditionally reserved for others.

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For instance, the inclusion of biological males who identify as female in women’s spaces—such as bathrooms, changing rooms, and prisons—has generated widespread concern. The issue is not merely theoretical: there have been instances where such policies have had consequences ranging from acute discomfort up to sexual assault. Similarly, in competitive sport, the participation of transgender women has raised serious questions about fairness. Biological differences in strength, endurance, and physiology mean that female athletes can be placed at a distinct disadvantage. For many, this challenges the integrity of women’s sport and represents a clear conflict between inclusion and fairness.

Even more troubling for some is the growing debate about children and gender identity. The question of whether minors can consent to medical interventions—such as puberty blockers, hormone treatments, or surgery—has become highly controversial. Critics argue that these are life-altering decisions that young people are not equipped to make, particularly given the evolving nature of identity during adolescence. Concerns have also been raised about the roles of parents, educators, and medical professionals in guiding or influencing these decisions. Some medical practitioners are even prohibited from expressing dissenting views, indicating it has become a matter of ideology rather than science.

Legal battles have begun to reflect these tensions. Cases involving women-only spaces and organisations, even disputes within the lesbian community itself, highlight the difficulty of reconciling competing definitions of identity and rights. Situations in which biological males identifying as women seek inclusion in female-exclusive groups have led to accusations of discrimination on all sides. These conflicts underscore a broader challenge: how to balance respect for individual identity with the protection of established rights and boundaries.

It is true that same-sex marriage did not directly cause these developments; many were already emerging and likely would have gained prominence regardless of the 2017 reform. However, it is equally difficult to ignore the perception that the legalisation of same-sex marriage acted as a catalyst or symbolic endorsement for a wider set of social changes. What was presented as a narrowly defined expansion of marriage rights has, in practice, been interpreted by some as a mandate for broader cultural transformation.

Ultimately, the core principle that drove support for same-sex marriage—limiting government interference in private relationships—remains widely accepted. Yet the subsequent developments raise a critical question: where should the line be drawn between individual freedom and the rights of others? Many Australians were willing to support equality in marriage because it did not appear to impose on their own lives or values. The current debates suggest that this balance is becoming harder to maintain.

The challenge is not to revisit the decision of 2017, but to confront its broader implications. Social progress does not occur in isolation, and reforms often carry consequences beyond their original intent. Recognising and addressing these consequences is essential to ensuring that the principles of freedom and mutual respect are preserved for all.

There are many threats to free speech and press freedom around the world, especially in Australia which unfortunately does not have a constitutionally explicit equivalent of America’s First Amendment.

When free speech and freedom of the press are not treated as bedrock principles, they are often treated as bargaining chips. Free expression becomes something to be scaled back, qualified, licensed, suppressed, monitored and regulated by the political class whenever it feels threatened or inconvenienced.

Australian journalists are not marched off in the night. However, in a more subtle and insidious form of tyranny, we have constructed a dense bureaucracy of suppression. Big Government doesn’t always need to explicitly ban speech to exert control; it can make expression and publication risky, expensive and exhausting.

From a libertarian perspective, press freedom matters because those who wield power must be held to account. Governments of all stripes hoard information for the same reason a monopoly hoards market share: because knowledge is power, and power hates competition. A free press is one of the few institutions capable of breaking that monopoly. It’s the citizen’s external audit – the fourth estate. It’s the mechanism by which secrets become scandals, corruption is unearthed, and powerful people are forced to answer uncomfortable questions.

Press freedom is not a boutique concern for journalists in Canberra wine bars. It’s not about flattering the media class or pretending every reporter is a saint. Rather, it is the public’s right to know what is being done in its name and with its money.

If we taxpayers fund the machine, we have every right to know how the machine operates. If ministers exercise power, the public has every right to know when that power is abused. If bureaucrats fail, lie, cover up or persecute, they should expect exposure, not protection.

The major parties in Australia have spent years moving us in the opposite direction. Labor talks about transparency until it becomes politically inconvenient. The Coalition talks about freedom until the security state asks for expanded powers. One side wraps speech regulation in the language of safety and inclusion. The other wraps it in the language of order and national security. Whether it’s the blue team or the red team, the authoritarian instincts are the same.

Australia’s whistleblower protections have been exposed as painfully weak in practice. The David McBride case sent an unambiguous message to anyone thinking of revealing alleged wrongdoing: the public interest is no shield if the state decides to make an example of you. Richard Boyle’s ordeal sent a similar message. In theory, we are told there are channels, safeguards and protections. In practice, the people who reveal misconduct are chewed up and spat out while the machine closes ranks. That’s not how a country that prioritises free speech and press freedom ought to behave. That is how a system behaves when it values secrecy more than the truth.

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Australia’s ‘freedom of information’ laws increasingly resemble freedom to be ignored. A Senate inquiry described the Commonwealth FOI regime as “broken” – an accurate diagnosis of a culture in which delay is weaponised, access is resisted, and disclosure is treated as a favour rather than a democratic obligation. When lawful access to information becomes slow, hostile and unreliable, governments should not be shocked when journalists rely on leaks. The state creates the conditions for leaks by making honest transparency impossible.

Defamation law is another mess. Despite past reform, defamation can still be used as a blunt instrument against publishers and individuals who do not have bottomless pockets. A plaintiff doesn’t even need to win their case; often the process itself is enough to be ruinous.

New threats to press freedom constantly emerge, as in 2024 with the now abandoned misinformation bill. The bureaucratic mind always believes it can censor responsibly. It didn’t take long for parts of that legislation to resurface in the wake of the Bondi Beach terror attack. Many love to imagine there will always be sensible people in charge, carefully suppressing only the ‘bad’ or ‘hateful’ speech. But once the state gets a taste for acting as editor-in-chief, it does not voluntarily step back.

Similarly, national security has become a catch-all justification for opacity. Australia has drifted well beyond legitimate secrecy into a culture where secrecy is often the default and openness the exception. When courts close proceedings, when suppression orders are routine and secrecy offences proliferate, and when journalists and sources wonder whether surveillance powers can expose them, the effect is chilling. You don’t need to prosecute every whistleblower or reporter to suppress free speech; a few examples will do, and everyone gets the message.

The uniparty loves a free press in theory, but they hate it in practice.

A libertarian defence of press freedom begins with a harder truth: free societies are noisy, messy and often offensive. A genuinely free press will publish things that are wrong, premature, biased, unpleasant or embarrassing. That is the price of freedom. The alternative is not a cleaner and more rational public square, but a political class with the power to decide what the public gets to know. Ultimately, those powers will always be used against dissidents, outsiders, whistleblowers, independents and anyone else who threatens those in charge.

Australians must decide whether we want this to remain a free country where liberty is real, or merely a virtue to be occasionally signalled. If press freedom can be smothered by defamation laws, secrecy regulations, broken FOI systems, punitive prosecutions and regulator-driven speech control, free expression becomes performative. We’ll still be allowed to vote every few years, we’ll still say we live in a liberal democracy, but we’ll know less and less about what our rulers are actually doing. If that already sounds familiar, then it’s time to wake up.

In a free country, journalists don’t exist to protect the state from scrutiny; their obligation is to protect the public from the state. Australia’s political class has certainly forgotten that, and some journalists have too. We could learn a thing or two from the United States about the importance of protecting free speech and freedom of the press.

Look no further than the unequivocal and principled response from both the Trump administration and the White House press corps after the events of last weekend. Press freedom matters, not because journalists are special, but because governments aren’t unassailable, and unchecked power festers.

At the very same time, Australia quietly shut down technical schools and weakened the apprenticeship pipeline that had served generations of practical, capable Australians.

The consequences are now staring us in the face.

We have a crippling skills shortage across construction, manufacturing and engineering. We have a generation burdened with student debt. And we have young Australians who feel locked out of home ownership.

Yet sitting in plain sight is a pathway that solves all three problems at once.

It’s called apprenticeships.

The numbers tell a different story. The financial comparison between university and apprenticeships is rarely discussed honestly.

A typical Australian university graduate now leaves with HECS-HELP debt often ranging between $30,000 and $60,000, depending on the degree. The Australian Taxation Office reports the average HELP debt sits above $24,000, and many graduates carry significantly more.

Those students have spent three to four years largely outside the full-time workforce, often earning very little while accumulating debt. Most graduates enter their first serious job around the age of 22 or 23.

Now compare that with the apprenticeship pathway. An apprentice typically begins at 17 or 18, earns wages from the very first day, and finishes their qualification around the age of 20 or 21.

Instead of graduating with debt, they finish with:

• four years of work experience

• income earned during training

• practical skills that industry urgently needs.

By the time many graduates are starting their careers, a qualified tradesperson may already have years of income behind them and accumulated savings toward a home deposit.

In an economy where the biggest barrier to home ownership is saving the deposit, those early years make an enormous difference.

Repayment of student debt may be income-contingent, but it still matters financially. Banks consider HECS repayment obligations when assessing mortgage applications because those repayments reduce disposable income.

That means two people earning the same salary can have different borrowing capacity depending on whether one of them carries education debt.

Put simply:

• The graduate begins with debt and delayed earnings.

• The apprentice begins with income and no education debt.

In Australia’s housing market, those early years can determine whether someone buys a home in their twenties or spends another decade trying to catch up.

Trades also create something else that policymakers often overlook - entrepreneurs.

By their early twenties, qualified tradespeople already possess:

• practical skill

• real-world experience

• industry contacts.

That combination makes it possible to start a small business far earlier than in many other professions.

Australia’s economy is full of companies that began this way — a tradesperson starting with a toolbag, eventually employing dozens of people. It is one of the most powerful engines of economic mobility and small-business creation in the country.

I know this pathway firsthand. I was booted out of school in Year 10.

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People often assume that leaving school early means someone wasn’t very bright. In reality, many of us simply didn’t fit the classroom model.

We were practical thinkers. We liked solving real problems, building things and seeing results.

In earlier generations, people like us would have gone to technical high schools where practical learning was valued. But by the time I came through the system, many of those schools had already been dismantled. So I started an apprenticeship instead.

By around 20 or 21, I was already a qualified tradesman with real experience in industry.

That early start allowed me to eventually build businesses in manufacturing that employed Australians.

And I am far from unique. Thousands of Australian tradespeople have followed the same path.

Australia’s current skills shortage didn’t happen by accident.

It was created by short-sighted policy decisions made in the 1990s, when governments began shutting down technical schools and pushing university participation as the national benchmark for success.

Students who were mechanically minded, hands-on or simply better suited to applied learning suddenly had fewer pathways available.

The message became clear: if you weren’t going to university, you were somehow second-rate.

This thinking didn’t just undermine trades — it also damaged an entire generation.

There is now a cohort of Australians aged roughly 35 to 50 who entered the education system just as vocational pathways were being dismantled. Technical schools had disappeared; apprenticeships had declined sharply. Yet the academic system being promoted didn’t suit everyone. Large numbers simply disengaged.

These were not people lacking intelligence or capability. Many were exactly the kind of practical thinkers who would have thrived in a strong technical education system.

Instead, they were left without a clear pathway into skilled work. A significant number ended up underemployed, on welfare or drifting between low-skill jobs.

The social cost of that policy failure has been enormous — and largely ignored.

Rebuilding Australia’s apprenticeship pipeline would not just address the skills shortage. It would help solve several problems at once.

First, it brings young people into the workforce earlier. Instead of spending years accumulating debt, apprentices begin contributing to the economy immediately.

Second, it reduces financial pressure on families. Many young adults today remain financially dependent on their parents well into their twenties while studying. Apprenticeships change that dynamic. Young people earn their own income and gain independence much earlier.

Third, it accelerates the pathway to home ownership. Earning earlier, avoiding HECS debt and building savings sooner all improve the chances of buying a first home.

Fourth, it rebuilds the transfer of practical knowledge between generations.

One of the great strengths of the apprenticeship model is that young workers learn directly from experienced tradespeople.

Working alongside older tradies doesn’t just teach technical skills. It passes on life experience, work ethic and practical problem-solving that simply cannot be taught in a classroom.

It strengthens industries and communities at the same time.

There is an old saying in manufacturing: measure twice, cut once.

Before we continue pushing every young Australian toward university debt, it may be time to measure the outcomes honestly.

A strong apprenticeship system would:

• rebuild Australia’s industrial capability

• create thousands of skilled jobs

• help young Australians buy homes sooner

• and restore dignity to hands-on careers.

The truth is simple. For many young Australians, the smartest path forward may not begin on a university campus.

It may begin on a workshop floor, learning a trade, earning a wage and building a future from the ground up.

Flipping through digital pages, you’ll see quickly that most albums are given about a 7, while actually good ones are given tongue-baths in 8s or 9s. You sit back and wonder - is modern music really that, well, above average?

No - and it stands to reason that it isn’t. In the 80s and 90s you needed record company backing to release and distribute your music onto a physical medium. Gatekeepers gatekept because their money was on the line. If artists didn’t get signed, they didn’t exist. Today, any melanin-deprived beat shuffler can excrete his ambient trip hop tracks on to Spotify or Soundcloud within minutes, for free.

We have more new music than ever before and according to Sturgeon’s law, 90% of it is shit.

So why the discrepancy? Because 100% of the music press are funded 100% by an amalgam of record companies, touring promoters, and/or the bands themselves. They also furnish the press with access to sources. (Hence the “access media.”) You can’t give a band a shit review because they’re paying for results - and the appearance of independent cultural legitimacy.

If hype stickers - those little blurbs on the front of CDs and vinyl with five stars, or high ratings out of 10 and pull quotes of “Outstanding!” from the press - still carried weight, all of them would say the same thing.

In the music biz, the fourth estate has been absorbed into the ancien regime in totality. The only aspect separating record companies from the press is which bank account the funds are deposited. There is no next big thing by accident. It’s all kayfabe - the pro wrestling term for maintaining the illusion every facet of pro wrestling is real.

The other kayfabe - on a societal scale - is pretending that the media is holding the government to account. In 2024, commercial free to air television made approximately $3.28 billion in revenue of which $59.3 million came from Federal government departments (2025), about a quarter of their combined $204.1 million spending on media buys.

OzTam estimates that broadcast TV and Broadcast Video on Demand (BVOD) reaches 71% of the population, on average. Men and women over the age of 65 take the largest share of broadcast TV viewership (20% and 24.3% respectively.) So, the government is pulling out all the stops to convince the most cashed up slice of the population that everything is hunky dory – because for the bulk of them, it is.

The Australia Institute found during the 2020-21 financial year the Australian Government spent more on advertising than Coles, Woolworths, and McDonalds together.

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During the height of the COVID lockdowns, the Victorian State Government spent $62 million on telling people to stay home or be shot by rubber bullets because grandma needed saving. Their Orwellian doublespeak “staying apart keeps us together” campaign hit taxpayer pockets to the tune of $11.5 million. They could’ve spent that money on something worthwhile, like machete amnesty bins.

The mainstream media is on life support and one of the decrepit legs propping it up is government. Every libertarian in Australia is united on this (at least) - we want to defund the ABC and transition it to a commercial or subscription model. If it’s so beloved, let it stand on its own. We all know that the A, B, and C should read “Australians Broadcasting Communism” even though they investigated themselves and found that they weren’t. You don’t say?

For this week’s boneheaded boffin brain fart, the government is spending $20 million on its “fuel saving campaign” telling us to (checks notes) keep our tyre pressure as per manufacturer recommendations.

Seriously?

The bulk of the mainstream media will report on this like it’s the most normal thing in the world, because they are direct government advertising beneficiaries. If we are waiting for the fourth estate to save us from COVID lockdowns, spiralling debt, NDIS graft, fuel shortages, or any of the other examples of government malfeasance and/or incompetence, don’t – because they’re robbing us to sell their gaslighting and BS back to us in between the fiftieth season of MasterChef (how much crying over croquembouches can Australia tolerate, really?) You can’t give a government a shit review, because they’re paying for results.

Though Noam “definitely a communist” Chomsky is cited over and over saying the media’s function is to “manufacture consent” for the government because of evil capitalist ownership. There’s nothing wrong with that – we want as many budding entrepreneurs starting up as many media outlets as our eyes and ears can handle. Crony capitalism, corporations captured by government and forcing out competition, is always a disaster. If you turn the screws on advertising, you take away the stenographers.

Media sentiment is all about following the (taxpayers) money. Medianet, one of Australia’s largest news aggregators and public relations wire services, wrote in an email blast the other week:

“Australia’s under 16 social media ban was a world-first in social media regulation. Three months later we’ve seen the media narrative shift from scepticism over the enforceability of the ban to widespread acceptance of it.”

They said convincing data moved the needle. When the government’s cheques cleared, there’s no wonder that they accepted mass censorship.

If governments want to spruik their “great achievements” by gaslighting the country, let the ruling parties fund it and see how far it gets – because people are smarting up, and fast.

That assumption has been fractured. One of the clearest pressure points is the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow stretch of water responsible for roughly one fifth of global oil flows. In stable times, it is simply another trade route. In periods of tension, it becomes something else entirely: trade leverage.

Recent reports indicate that vessels seeking passage through the strait may face restrictions, delays and/or additional conditions. More notably, there are indications that alternative methods of payment, ones that sit outside traditional financial systems, are being considered to facilitate that passage.

That is a detail that should make you sit upright in your chair. When one of the world’s most critical energy corridors begins exploring alternate ways to operate outside conventional financial rails, the issue is no longer purely geopolitical. It becomes monetary. Global trade does not just run on oil; it runs on settlement systems. And when settlement becomes uncertain, everything connected to it begins to shift.

Since the outbreak of the Russia–Ukraine conflict, sanctions, asset freezes, confiscation and payment restrictions have become standard tools of international statecraft. Each use sends a message not just to the target nation, but to every country observing from the sidelines. The message is clear: access to the global financial system hinges upon certain behavioural conditions.

That is an emerging issue for many governments which find themselves straying from the list of approved behaviours. When international trade participants begin to question whether they can reliably settle trade in reserve currencies, when payments can be delayed, blocked or even confiscated, and access to banking infrastructure withdrawn, the system itself starts to lose its perception of neutrality.

As trust declines, people’s behaviour naturally changes too. Participants do not just protest; they also adapt. If traditional settlement becomes uncertain, trade does not stop, it reroutes. Countries begin to explore bilateral agreements. Local currency settlements increase. Swap lines expand. And increasingly, digital assets begin to enter the conversation. Not because they are perfect, but because they are available.

This is where Bitcoin has begun to re-emerge; not as a speculative asset, but as a potential settlement layer.

It’s important to understand that Bitcoin does not require anyone’s permission, which is a huge part of its attractiveness. It does not rely on cooperating banks or central clearing systems. It allows two parties, anywhere in the world, to transfer value without needing approval from an intermediary.

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That does not make it dominant, but it does make it different. As it stands, Bitcoin is not untraceable and it is not yet capable of handling the full scale of global trade settlement. But it offers something that is becoming increasingly scarce: a neutral infrastructure layer that is not owned or controlled by any single nation. That distinction is critical. In a world of vastly competing interests, neutral systems become valuable.

That role was traditionally filled by commodities like gold; assets that existed outside the control of any one government. What is now emerging is the digital parallel. Not a replacement for existing systems, but a complement to them. Instead of relying on political alignment, they rely on consensus rules. Instead of relying on intermediaries, they rely on verification. Instead of relying on goodwill, they rely on transparent networks.

That shift matters. It lowers the barrier to trade in a world where political alignment is becoming far less certain. For Australia, this is not a theoretical discussion. We are a trading nation. We export energy, resources, and food to global markets. Our prosperity depends on reliable, efficient settlement systems. If those systems begin to fragment, if global trade moves toward a hybrid model of traditional and neutral rails, then we must be prepared to operate in both of these emerging environments.

That means we need to understand the technology. We must recognise the risks and ensure that Australian businesses are not locked out. Practical policy does not chase hype, but it does not ignore structural change either. When money changes, society naturally follows.

If global trade begins incorporating neutral settlement layers, several outcomes become more likely. First, power decentralises across the globe. Nations that once exercised influence through financial gatekeeping may see that leverage substantially reduced. At the same time, smaller players, including businesses, will gain more flexibility in how they transact.

Second, volatility increases before stability returns. Transitions between systems are rarely smooth. As new rails develop alongside existing ones, there will be inefficiencies and uncertainty. That is the cost of change.

Third, awareness grows. What begins at the level of global trade eventually filters down to individuals. People begin to ask fundamental questions: What is money? Who controls it? And what happens when that control shifts?

Finally, accountability improves. When systems become more transparent and transactions can be verified rather than assumed, the margin for mismanagement narrows significantly. That is not just a technological shift, it is a societal one.

The developments around the Strait of Hormuz may or may not represent a permanent turning point. The use of alternative payment methods during periods of conflict is not new. But the direction is becoming clearer. When trust erodes, systems do not collapse overnight, they morph and adapt. Quietly at first and then all at once.

To answer my initial question, I would say yes. For example, Nazi salutes are sometimes used in a mocking manner as form of protest against authority figures such as teachers, police officers, prison guards and politicians.

Nazi salutes can also be used in the course of satire. For example, a comedy show at the Adelaide Fringe had one of the comedians doing a segment on offensive gestures in which she did a Nazi salute as an example of one of the responses she received when asking members of the audience to do their favourite rude gesture.

In 2016, YouTuber Count Dankula made a video of his girlfriend’s pug which he taught to do a Nazi salute as a joke, yet was targeted by Scottish authorities because of it. Given this, I would argue that legislation banning the Nazi salute has the effect of chilling expression that has nothing to do with promoting the Nazi ideology.

As for bans on slogans, I find the legislation in Queensland deeply concerning. The legislation, recently passed, allows the Queensland attorney-general to proscribe certain slogans with no court oversight, and allows a person to be arrested if someone claims they are even slightly uncomfortable when the proscribed slogan is used.

As of now, two slogans have been designated as proscribed phrases:

1. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free/ From the river to the sea

2. Globalise the intifada

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Legislation that bans slogans is subject to the same issues as legislation that bans symbols. For example, could I be arrested if I go to Queensland and tell people about my Year 10 school camp where we kayaked down a river to the sea?

It is clear this legislation is so far having the opposite effect of what is intended. The arrests have attracted national attention and public outcry will continue as the Queensland government continues its crackdown.

Legislation that bans symbols, slogans and gestures is in practice counterproductive and is particularly ineffective against ideologies such as Nazism and socialism, which base their ideological narrative on victimhood and an ongoing struggle against their perceived political enemies.

It does not eliminate the factors that drive hateful ideologies, nor does it make them abandon such beliefs. In fact, it makes martyrs out of those who would otherwise be unknown nobodies as arrests attract attention from both the media and members of the public leading to increased attention for the individual and their political ideology.

As every political activist already knows, getting targeted for the peaceful expression of ideas makes you look good and the government look bad. Unlike with other crimes, getting arrested for political crimes is a source of pride rather than shame for the individual.

It can also inspire backlash against the groups it seeks to protect and can drive further hatred by associating the protected group with ‘crackdowns on democratic freedoms’. Especially when the enforcement of the legislation disproportionately targets or seeks to protect a specific group.

It even makes it easier for actual neo-Nazis and other extremists to hide in plain sight. Without the display of their symbols, they can more easily blend in and infiltrate protests and organisations such as happened at the March for Australia.

I believe allowing groups such as neo-Nazis and other extremists to out themselves is the preferred option as society can be more informed and aware of their presence and numbers, and deal with it in an informed way.

The threat posed to artistic and comedic expression is significant, especially when posting memes using prohibited symbols in a satirical manner. This is especially relevant to the significant societal stigma and misunderstanding surrounding dark and offensive humour and the lack of requirement for malicious intent in regards for the use of prohibited symbols.

Those who use prohibited symbols (particularly the swastika) to make political comparisons on protest signs, flyers or street art as a form of political commentary also find themselves in legal jeopardy. Such commentary has long been used by various parts of the political spectrum to criticise political figures who are, or are perceived to be, authoritarian or supportive of authoritarian policies. I will include some examples below.

There are real-life examples of people being impacted by the legislation in this way: Alan Yazbek (the man in the third to last photo) was one of the first people to be arrested (and later pleaded guilty) under the NSW prohibited symbols legislation, and the last two images are from Dissent Bar and Cafe in Canberra which was recently raided by ACT Police over the displayed posters.

These examples show how legislation can be used to target those who were not the initial intended target of the legislation. Even though there is meant to be an exemption for criticisms of fascism, there is no protection for the use of prohibited symbols for political comparisons when the target of the comparison is authoritarian but not fascist.

Another cohort facing significant problems is spiritual groups such as neo-Pagans. Although there is a defence for the religious use of prohibited symbols, this exemption does not extend to spiritual groups that are not part of a legally recognised religion. Given the overlap of Nazi symbols and Pagan symbols due to the Nazi appropriation of Pagan symbolism, members of these groups risk being subject to legal proceedings. There is also the matter of whether a casual practitioner of Buddhism could find themselves criminalised if the government decides they are not devout enough.

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Another major concern is the criminalisation of those who display the symbols in the course of social commentary and blogs. Although there are meant to be exceptions for reporting events in the community in a ‘fair and accurate’ report, articles which use prohibited symbols in social commentary risk legal problems with the only potential defence being whether an article could be deemed educational or academic enough by government authorities.

And are there in practice different rules for major publications and minor publications for the display of prohibited symbols? Could minor publications that use prohibited symbols to report and comment on current events face charges if the government disagrees with what was written due to the ‘fair and accurate’ requirement?

I personally have displayed some of the prohibited symbols in the course of social commentary throughout this series. For example, I believe displaying the symbol in the first image to be necessary to show what most people would not realise is a prohibited Nazi symbol to support my argument. I also believe the images of protest signs that happen to contain Nazi symbols are a necessary addition to show examples of what is now a criminalised form of political commentary. And yet, could I be breaking the law in using these symbols in my articles?

The legislation also creates legal risks for ordinary people when it comes to the ignorance of others. For example, if I were to publicly post this image of myself outside a Buddhist shrine that I found in Kyoto on my trip to Japan last year that happens to contain a swastika, would I be arrested if someone doesn’t understand the context of the swastika and reports it?

Process is punishment even when charges are dropped. Most people in Western countries don’t know the context of the swastika and it is stupid to punish people for ignorance of others.

In my next part of this series, I will focus on bans on gestures and slogans such as in recent legislation in Queensland, along with how I believe such legislation is counterproductive when used against actual Neo Nazis and associated groups.

“We must not lose sight of the essential condition that this is to be a federation of states and not a single government of Australia.

“The separate states are to continue as autonomous bodies, surrendering only so much of their power as is necessary for the establishment of a general government to do for them collectively what they cannot do individually for themselves.”

The powers the states ceded to the Commonwealth were specific: trade and commerce, corporations, currency, banking, pensions, taxation, foreign affairs, communications, copyright, marriage and family law, quarantine, and defence.

There was no mention of hospitals, schools, disability services, home insulation programs, carbon emissions policy, or the host of other fields that the federal government now dominates.

Yet 125 years later, the original compact has eroded.

The Commonwealth captures most revenue—personal and company income tax, plus the GST—while states shoulder the bulk of visible services: schools, hospitals, roads, policing.

This is known as vertical fiscal imbalance and it is stark: Canberra raises the money; the states spend it.

When spenders never answer to voters for raising funds, accountability collapses.

The GST carve-up illustrates the problem vividly. Introduced by John Howard in 2000, the tax was presented as a state revenue source, with every dollar to be returned to the states and territories via the Commonwealth Grants Commission.

The Commission aims to ensure each jurisdiction can provide an ‘average’ level of services.

In reality, it has evolved into a mechanism that penalises strong performance and rewards fiscal laxity.

The 2026-27 figures, released last week, expose the inequity.

The national GST pool is $103 billion. NSW, with 31 per cent of the population, receives only 25.5 per cent of the pool—its lowest share ever. Despite 1.5 million more residents than Victoria, NSW gets $1.7 billion less.

Premier Chris Minns branded the system ‘past its use-by date.’

Western Australia, economically robust due to resources and sound management, saw its share climb from 8.3 per cent to 9.1 per cent. Queensland secures the biggest dollar gain—$1.7 billion more.

Victoria’s share dipped slightly yet still rises by $1.5 billion year-on-year.

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My home State of South Australia and perennial wooden-spooner, Tasmania, routinely receive far more than they generate domestically, insulated from the consequences of their spending decisions.

This is horizontal fiscal equalisation in action: equalising fiscal capacity so every state can deliver comparable services at comparable tax levels.

Admirable in principle, it proves destructive in practice. It signals to high-spending states that others will cover the shortfall. It tells prudent states their discipline will be redistributed away. State treasurers face little incentive to curb expenditure when the GST formula acts as a safety net.

The 1901 settlement never intended such dependence. States retained taxing powers—land tax, stamp duties, payroll tax—to fund their own responsibilities independently.

Over decades, however, the Commonwealth leveraged its revenue dominance and Section 96 grants power to intrude into state domains. Tied grants, special-purpose payments, and the current GST distribution have reduced states to administrative arms of federal policy.

The fallout is clear. States blame Canberra for shortfalls while expanding unaffordable programs. Federal leaders pledge services they do not deliver.

Voters struggle to assign responsibility. Waste proliferates: pink batts, school halls, and climate initiatives never contemplated in the founding agreement.

There are core, straightforward principles that ought to apply: those who spend the money should raise the money.

True accountability requires it. If a state wishes to fund lavish projects or swollen bureaucracies, its government should justify the cost directly to its electors. Hiding behind complex equalisation formulas fosters inefficiency and breeds interstate resentment.

Restoring federalism does not demand its destruction—only its renewal.

Options include returning meaningful taxing authority to the states, perhaps a state-collected portion of income tax with the Commonwealth withdrawing from that field.

Alternatively, replace the current GST model with per-capita or origin-based distribution that rewards prudent management.

Or the Commonwealth could exit areas outside its original remit, transferring both functions and revenue back to the states.

Opponents warn of a ‘postcode lottery.’ Yet Australians already experience wide variations in service quality, living costs, and outcomes across states.

What is missing is transparent accountability. A system where states raise what they spend would encourage competition in efficiency, innovation, and value.

High-performing jurisdictions would prosper; under-performers would face pressure to improve or explain their record to voters.

The GST began as a state tax collected federally for simplicity. It has morphed into a federal lever for control. Until we enforce the rule that spenders must also be raisers, Australia remains a federation in form only – centralised in substance, divided in effect.

The founders knew dispersing power safeguards liberty. We have spent a century concentrating it.

It is time to heed Griffith’s insight and revive the principle that once made the federation function: those who spend the money should raise the money.