Australia says it wants cohesion.
What it keeps reaching for, instead, is suspicion.
The trigger this time was familiar. A violent attack. Shock. Anger. Fear. And then, almost on cue, a familiar prescription from a familiar political voice. Former prime minister Scott Morrison called for better regulation of Muslim teaching, English-language sermons, and a national accreditation regime for imams. The justification, again, was extremism.
On the surface, the proposal sounds administrative. Boring, even. Regulation. Standards. Accountability. Words governments love because they sound neutral.
But neutrality vanishes the moment context enters the room.
The Australian National Imams Council didn’t deny the need to counter extremism. It denied something far more dangerous: the idea that an entire faith community should answer for the actions of individuals who, according to police, acted alone and without any religious organisation’s involvement.
That distinction matters. Not rhetorically. Structurally.
Because once a democracy accepts collective responsibility as a governing principle, it quietly abandons the rule it claims to defend: individual guilt, individual accountability, individual justice.
From Security to Suspicion
If the Bondi attack had been carried out by a white supremacist — as Christchurch was — would anyone have demanded licensing of political commentators? English-only ideological standards for churches? Accreditation of online forums where hatred festers daily?
They didn’t then. They won’t now.
Brenton Tarrant was radicalised on Australian soil. That fact is uncontested. Yet no one demanded “reform” of Australian political culture, media ecosystems, or online radicalisation pipelines after Christchurch. No group was asked to take responsibility for him. He was treated, correctly, as an individual criminal shaped by an ecosystem, not a faith.
That same logic evaporates when the attacker is Muslim.
Suddenly, the language shifts. Reform. Accountability. Community responsibility. The words sound reasonable until you ask the obvious question: why only one community carries this burden?
This is where security discourse slides into something else. Not policy. Not prevention. But moral profiling.
The Facebook Test
The clearest evidence isn’t in official statements. It’s in the comment sections.
Screenshots circulating beneath the news tell a more honest story than any press release. Muslim politicians are accused of divided loyalty. Media outlets are charged with “protecting Muslims.” Regulation is framed not as safety but as discipline.
One comment says it plainly without meaning to: If Muslims are complaining, Morrison must be right.
That isn’t logic. It’s resentment masquerading as common sense.
Another claims Muslims gain “confidence” when defended, as though equal citizenship itself is dangerous. The implication is unmistakable: belonging must be conditional. Gratitude must be visible. Silence is preferred.
This is how cohesion quietly dies. Not with violence, but with loyalty tests.
The Turkey Distraction
Turkey is frequently dragged into these conversations as a supposed model. State-paid imams. Centralised sermons. Government oversight.
What’s rarely mentioned is the price. Turkey’s model comes with heavy state control of religion, speech, and dissent. Journalists are jailed. Opposition figures silenced. Faith becomes an instrument of power rather than conscience.
You don’t get to import authoritarian tools without importing authoritarian consequences. Liberal democracies cannot selectively admire control while claiming freedom.
If Australia wants Turkey’s religious system, it must also accept Turkey’s political reality. No one proposing this seems eager to make that trade openly.
Regulation Isn’t the Problem. Selectivity Is.
Here’s the part often missed. Regulation itself isn’t inherently discriminatory. Many professions are regulated. Some religious roles already intersect with state systems.
The problem is why regulation is demanded, when, and from whom.
If every religious institution were subject to the same scrutiny, applied consistently and detached from acts of violence, the debate would look different. It would be slower. More technical. Less emotional.
Instead, regulation is proposed immediately after Muslim-linked violence, framed as a corrective measure for Islam itself. That framing transforms governance into accusation.
It tells Muslim citizens they are never just citizens. They are potential suspects, permanently adjacent to guilt.
What This Debate Is Really About
Australia is not struggling to understand extremism. It understands it well enough when it chooses to.
What it is struggling with is demographic permanence. The quiet realisation that Muslim Australians are not guests, not temporary, not apologetic minorities, but a lasting part of the national fabric.
That reality produces anxiety. Anxiety looks for outlets. Policy becomes a proxy for fear.
Calls for “cohesion” ring hollow when cohesion is demanded only from some. A society does not become safer by teaching one group it is always one incident away from collective blame.
Security built on inequality isn’t security. It’s surveillance with better branding.
The Line Democracies Cannot Cross
The Imams Council was right to push back, not because Islam is above scrutiny, but because democracies collapse when scrutiny becomes selective.
Once a state accepts that some citizens must constantly prove their innocence, it has already lost the moral argument against extremism. It has adopted extremism’s core logic: identity over individuality.
Australia still has a choice.
It can confront violence with consistency, courage, and equal standards. Or it can continue rehearsing collective guilt, mistaking it for leadership.
History is clear about where the second path leads.
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