Radicalization Cannot Be Taboo

Former Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s speech at an antisemitism conference in Jerusalem was never going to pass quietly, particularly in a political climate where the Albanese government, and Foreign Minister Penny Wong in particular, has been widely criticized for responding to the October 7 attacks on Israel with the bare minimum, carefully sidestepping the moral clarity many of Australia’s allies believed the moment demanded.

Nor should Morrison’s intervention have passed quietly. By linking the December 14 terrorist attack in Sydney, carried out by a father and son duo with extremist associations, to a broader rise in antisemitism and radical ideology, the former prime minister deliberately entered a debate Australia has spent years avoiding.

Morrison warned that Australia risks becoming “one step behind the UK” in confronting an escalating extremism problem. His argument was blunt: extremist violence does not arise in isolation, and the cultural, ideological, and religious ecosystems in which it forms cannot be ignored. From that premise flowed a set of proposals that ignited controversy almost immediately.

He called for stronger oversight and accountability within Islamic leadership, including a national register of imams and preachers, accredited training and minimum standards, and greater sermon transparency through English translation. These measures were framed not as collective punishment but as safeguards tools designed to intercept radical interpretations of religion before they harden into violence.

What many critics have ignored is that no serious participant in this debate is accusing all Muslims, or even most Muslims, of holding extremist views. The issue is not Islam as a faith, but extremism as a distortion of faith. Those who dismiss it as a minority problem need reminding of what a minority of Germans inflicted on the world in the 1930s and 1940s. In fact, meaningful oversight would do exactly what critics fear: it would help separate extremists from the overwhelming majority of moderate Muslims, shielding those moderates from suspicion, stereotyping, and collective blame. As Morrison said “keep the wolves from the flock”.

Every religious tradition faces this challenge and bears responsibility for policing its own boundaries. If a rabbi called for the slaughter of another religion, congregants would object and rabbinical authorities would intervene. If a priest preached violence or hatred, ecclesiastical discipline would follow. No one would describe such accountability as anti-Jewish or anti-Christian. It would be understood, correctly, as defending societal norms.

This principle already exists in Australia’s public framework. The IHRA definition of antisemitism explicitly states that legitimate criticism of the Israeli government is not antisemitic when applied consistently with criticism of other governments. The same intellectual honesty must apply here. Scrutinizing extremist ideology or religious leadership is not bigotry when it is principled, consistent, and aimed at preventing harm rather than policing identity.

Morrison also argued that Australia left a dangerous vacuum after Hamas’s October 7 massacre, allowing anti-Israel protests to slide from political dissent into overt antisemitism. Speaking from Jerusalem, he described Israel as “a light in a part of the world that needs light,” stressing that security is not abstract but lived.

The backlash was swift. Muslim leaders and the Australian National Imams’ Council condemned the proposals as “reckless, irresponsible, and deeply ill-informed,” arguing they unfairly implicated an entire faith community. Multicultural Affairs Minister Anne Aly called the speech “incredibly irresponsible,” accusing Morrison of reviving historical stereotypes that stigmatize Muslims. The Lebanese Muslim Association described the remarks as offensive, divisive, and inflammatory, rejecting any suggestion of communal responsibility for individual acts.

That denial is no longer confined to rhetoric. Even before President Isaac Herzog’s arrival in Australia, objections to his visit revealed the depth of the country’s moral confusion. Activist networks, university groups, progressive NGOs, and sympathetic political figures branded Israel’s head of state as “provocative,” calling for cancellations, boycotts, and symbolic distancing not because Herzog promotes violence, but because he represents Jewish political sovereignty. This is not principled protest; it is an attempt to impose a veto over Jewish legitimacy. When a democratic leader can be treated as an offense simply by appearing, antisemitism is no longer marginal. It shapes the limits of what institutions feel permitted to act.

There is irony at the heart of this outrage. Many of the same voices frame Western history through colonization, power, and inherited guilt, yet they ignore that extremist ideology has been colonizing Western societies for decades, embedding itself in institutions, exploiting liberal tolerance, and reshaping public debate through fear of offense and accusations of bigotry.

This drift did not occur overnight. It explains why the debate is erupting now rather than decades ago. Australia is confronting not a sudden rupture but the cumulative effect of years of deflection, denial, and taboo.

The same bodies now condemning Morrison’s recommendations have also been reluctant to denounce hate chants, intimidation, and openly antisemitic behavior at Australian rallies over the past two years. Silence in the face of extremism within one’s community, combined with outrage at external scrutiny, undermines claims that accountability itself is the problem. Their response to this speech underlines the problem we face when they want the new hate laws thrown at Morrison but cannot recognize the issue within their community.

At its core lies a question Australia has long avoided: how should a liberal, multicultural democracy respond when religious ideology is exploited to justify hatred, segregation, or violence?

This is not theoretical. Radical Islamist violence has shaped global security for decades, from aircraft hijackings in the 1970s and 1980s, to September 11, to atrocities closer to home like the Lindt Café siege and now the Bondi Hannukah attack. Europe’s experience, from the London Bridge stabbing to the Charlie Hebdo massacre in Paris, warns what happens when societies treat discussion of radicalization as taboo rather than preventative.

Discussing these realities should not be considered irresponsible. What is dangerous is pretending patterns do not exist, or that acknowledging them implicates an entire faith. Ignoring the ideological drivers of extremism has not produced harmony; it has produced violence, fear, and constant crisis management.

Critics argue that registering preachers or scrutinizing religious teachings infringes religious freedom. Supporters counter that decades of inaction have proven far more costly, socially and in human lives. Regulation of religious leadership is sensitive, but sensitivity cannot be allowed to veto discussion.

Multicultural societies globally are grappling with this tension. The United Arab Emirates, for example, monitors imam sermons to prevent the spread of hatred, framing the policy as protecting social cohesion. Singapore has taken similar steps, including expelling an imam for preaching hate against Christians and Jews. These examples show that oversight and religious freedom are not inherently incompatible; sometimes protecting social harmony requires firm, unapologetic enforcement of shared civic standards.

The reflexive invocation of “Islamophobia” risks shutting down legitimate debate. At what point does fear of offense allow hatred to normalize? When does deference to religious sensitivity let practices incompatible with shared civic values escape scrutiny?

No profession is exempt from ethical standards. Doctors, lawyers, accountants, teachers, and public servants are all regulated. Religious leaders should be no exception. The vast majority would have nothing to fear unless religion is being used to justify intolerance or violence.

Ironically, early drafts of the government’s hate-speech laws sought to shield religious leaders from prosecution altogether. That instinct to protect authority from scrutiny sits uneasily alongside claims that oversight is inherently discriminatory. That is the contrast between Australia and countries that take their duty to keep citizens safe more seriously than ideology.

Morrison’s speech in Israel was not merely an expression of solidarity. It forced Australia to confront an uncomfortable debate about radicalization, pluralism, and social cohesion. Ultimately, this is not just about policy or politics, but the future Australia chooses and the legacy it leaves its children. A society that cannot name its problems cannot solve them. One that treats discussion itself as dangerous has already surrendered far more than it realizes.