Welcome to Grappy's Soap Box - a platform for insightful commentary on politics, media, free speech, climate change, and more, focusing on Australia, the USA, and global perspectives.
In an era when many celebrities seem to follow the crowd, it is refreshing to see someone willing to stand apart.
This week, Boy George released a powerful new song, "We Will Dance Again", commemorating the young people murdered by Hamas during the October 7, 2023 attack on Israel's Nova music festival. The title itself has become a symbol of resilience, hope and defiance in the face of unimaginable brutality.
What makes this release remarkable is not simply the music itself, but the moral conviction behind it.
Since October 7, much of the entertainment industry has been notably reluctant to acknowledge the atrocities committed by Hamas. Many public figures have preferred silence, while others have adopted narratives that place almost exclusive blame on Israel.
Boy George has chosen a different path.
His song remembers the innocent young people who were slaughtered simply because they had gathered to celebrate music. It also expresses solidarity with Jewish communities who have experienced an alarming rise in antisemitism around the world since those attacks.
There is no denying that speaking publicly on this issue requires courage. It is no secret that taking a position sympathetic to Israel can attract fierce criticism, particularly within sections of the entertainment industry and on social media.
That makes his willingness to speak all the more noteworthy.
Hamas is a terrorist organisation whose deliberate massacre of civilians on October 7 triggered this war. Israel, like every sovereign nation, was obliged to respond militarily to secure the return of the hostages Hamas had taken. War is always tragic, and civilian casualties are unavoidable. But the claims of genocide are clearly unsustainable. Boy George's song clearly reflects this view, portraying the conflict as a war initiated by Hamas rather than an attempt to destroy a people.
The tragedy is that so much of the world's attention has drifted away from the victims whose murders began this conflict. The young men and women dancing for peace at the Nova festival deserve to be remembered, not forgotten.
Music has always had the power to preserve memory.
In this case, Boy George has used that power to remind the world how this war began and to honour those who never came home.
If more public figures were prepared to stand against antisemitism with the same determination they show on other forms of hatred, the world would almost certainly be a better place.
Every generation seems convinced it has discovered a revolutionary new economic system that will succeed where all previous attempts failed.
It never does.
A thought-provoking column by Greg Sheridan in The Australian highlights what he sees as the growing influence of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) within the Democratic Party, arguing that the movement is no longer a fringe curiosity but an increasingly powerful force shaping Democratic primaries and pushing the party further to the left. Readers who have access to The Australian will find Sheridan's full article well worth reading.
Whether one agrees with all of Sheridan's conclusions or not, it raises an important question:
Why are ideas with such a long record of economic failure once again becoming politically fashionable?
Socialism's Familiar Promises
Throughout history socialism has arrived wrapped in attractive promises:
Affordable housing.
Free education.
Government-controlled essential services.
Equality.
Protection from "greedy corporations."
These promises sound compassionate. The problem is not the objectives.
The problem is that economics has a habit of ignoring political slogans.
Markets cannot be legislated into producing goods at below-market prices indefinitely.
New York's Latest Experiment
One proposal attracting attention is New York mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani's plan for government-owned grocery stores intended to provide food at controlled prices.
Supporters present the idea as something bold and innovative.
In reality, governments have been trying versions of price controls for centuries.
The results have been remarkably consistent.
Step One: Sell Below Market Prices
If government stores sell products cheaper than private supermarkets, one of two things happens.
Either:
the stores sell goods at a loss; or
suppliers refuse to sell unless government pays market prices.
In either case, taxpayers ultimately fund the difference.
Step Two: Private Competition Shrinks
Private retailers cannot compete indefinitely against government businesses subsidised by taxpayers.
Some close.
Others stop investing.
New entrants stay away.
Ironically, competition declines precisely because government has tried to "increase competition."
Step Three: Subsidies Explode
As losses mount, governments face a choice:
continually increase taxpayer subsidies; or
reduce the discounts.
Either outcome disappoints voters.
Subsidies become politically difficult during budget pressures, especially when schools, policing and transport are competing for the same public money.
Step Four: Empty Shelves
Eventually products that cannot be sold profitably disappear.
This has happened repeatedly wherever governments have attempted extensive price controls.
Retailers simply stop stocking products that lose money.
Consumers end up paying less—for goods that are no longer available.
Cheap prices mean very little if the shelves are empty.
The Lesson History Keeps Teaching
History is full of examples.
Price controls may provide temporary political headlines, but they rarely solve the underlying problem.
Instead they tend to produce shortages, distort supply, discourage investment and require ever-increasing taxpayer support.
Markets are not perfect.
But they do communicate information about scarcity, demand and production costs that governments often struggle to replace through bureaucracy.
Why Does Every Generation Believe It Will Be Different?
Perhaps the most puzzling aspect is not that these ideas continue to be proposed.
It is that they continue to attract enthusiastic support despite so much historical evidence.
Every failed experiment is explained away as having been poorly implemented.
Every new proposal is described as "different."
Every generation assumes it has finally discovered the version that will work.
Yet economics is remarkably stubborn.
Governments can temporarily override prices.
They cannot repeal the laws of supply and demand.
A Warning Worth Considering
Sheridan argues that the growing influence of the Democratic Socialists of America represents a significant ideological shift within American politics, one that deserves far more attention than it currently receives. He points to the DSA's success in Democratic primaries and its increasingly mainstream influence as evidence that ideas once regarded as politically marginal are gaining traction.
Whether these policies ultimately remain campaign rhetoric or become governing reality remains to be seen.
But before embracing another round of government price controls and state-run enterprises, it would be wise to ask a simple question:
If the same ideas have repeatedly produced shortages, subsidies and declining choice around the world, why should this time be any different?
History suggests the burden of proof lies not with the sceptics, but with those claiming that economic laws have suddenly stopped applying.
There was a time when "customer service" meant exactly what the words implied. You had a problem, you phoned the company, a human being answered, listened to your issue, and tried to solve it. It wasn't perfect, but at least everyone involved understood the purpose of the exercise.
Today, customer service has evolved.
Unfortunately, it has evolved in the same direction as the dodo.
Recently I had to contact the service centre of a large telecommunications company because my internet service wasn't behaving itself. I approached the task with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments. Experience has taught me that dealing with large organisations can be a test of patience, endurance and occasionally blood pressure.
The phone rang.
A cheerful robotic voice welcomed me warmly.
"Your call is important to us."
Excellent, I thought. That's encouraging.
Then came the conditions.
Before speaking to anyone, I was reminded that I must treat the company's staff with courtesy and respect, and that abusive behaviour would result in my call being terminated.
Fair enough. Nobody should abuse customer service staff.
But it struck me that the relationship seemed a little one-sided.
They could keep me waiting for an hour, but heaven help me if I sighed too loudly.
Next came the reassuring announcement that my call would be recorded for training purposes.
Given some of my previous experiences, I couldn't help wondering exactly who was being trained.
Then the helpful robot explained that, to connect me to the right person more quickly, it would ask why I was calling.
I explained.
It repeated my explanation.
I confirmed that, yes, that was indeed why I was calling.
Progress!
Next it requested my customer number.
Then my account details.
Then my telephone password.
Then it asked me to finish by pressing the hash key.
Surely now I was about to reach the promised land...
No.
"Your call is important to us..."
...followed immediately by...
"Have you considered visiting our website where many common questions can be answered online?"
An interesting suggestion.
If my internet service had been working properly, I probably wouldn't have been calling about my internet service.
Back to the queue.
Every minute or so I received another comforting reminder that my call was extremely important.
This message gradually lost its emotional impact after hearing it for the fifteenth time.
Apparently my call was very important indeed...
...just not important enough for anyone to answer it.
Eventually I became convinced that modern customer service departments have redefined the word service.
Their primary objective no longer seems to be helping customers.
Instead, it appears to be preventing customers from ever reaching anyone capable of helping them.
The irony is that these systems are invariably introduced in the name of efficiency.
Efficient for whom?
Certainly not for the customer who has already spent forty minutes talking to a robot, listening to recorded messages, and hearing smooth jazz loop endlessly while contemplating life's poor decisions.
In my case, the problem eventually became serious enough that I wrote directly to the company's Managing Director.
Something remarkable happened.
A real human being telephoned me.
He introduced himself.
He gave me his direct telephone number.
He told me he would personally manage the case until it was resolved.
And do you know what?
He did.
The issue wasn't fixed in five minutes. It required several conversations and a number of technical investigations.
But every time I called, I spoke to the same person.
He knew the history.
He knew what had already been tried.
I didn't have to explain everything from the beginning.
It was almost like stepping into a time machine and discovering customer service as it used to exist.
The experience confirmed something many of us have suspected for years.
Technology is wonderful.
Automation is useful.
Artificial intelligence has enormous potential.
But none of them should replace the simple act of one human taking responsibility for helping another.
Somewhere along the way, companies convinced themselves that customers wanted fewer humans and more menus.
I don't believe they ever asked the customers.
Real service isn't measured by how effectively you can keep people away from your staff.
It's measured by how effectively your staff solve people's problems.
Perhaps the greatest innovation awaiting corporate Australia isn't another chatbot, another automated menu, or another AI assistant.
Perhaps it's the revolutionary idea of answering the phone.
Now that would be a genuine customer service breakthrough.
There was a time when the word "traitor" carried enormous weight. It described someone who had knowingly turned their back on their country and sided with its enemies. Throughout history, traitors were among the most despised of criminals because they did more than simply break the law—they betrayed the very society that had given them citizenship, protection and freedom.
Yet today, we are expected to treat such people as unfortunate victims deserving compassion and rehabilitation.
Australia is once again debating whether Australians who travelled overseas to join ISIS should be allowed to return home. Some of the so-called "ISIS brides" have already been repatriated amid considerable controversy. Now we are hearing of ISIS fighters imprisoned in Iraq seeking to return to Australia, reportedly with assistance from advocates and a willingness by governments to consider their cases.
Let's stop sanitising what these people actually did.
These were not misguided tourists who made a poor choice while backpacking overseas. They voluntarily abandoned Australia to join one of the most barbaric terrorist organisations in modern history. ISIS enslaved women, executed prisoners, beheaded journalists, murdered civilians and sought to establish a murderous Islamist caliphate through terror and genocide. Those who joined its ranks did so knowingly and willingly.
When an Australian travels overseas to fight alongside ISIS, they are making a profound declaration: they have rejected Australia and everything it stands for. They have chosen the enemy.
In any meaningful sense, they have already renounced their membership of the Australian community.
Citizenship is not merely a piece of paper. It is a social contract. It carries rights, but it also carries obligations. One of the most fundamental obligations is loyalty to your country. If you willingly join an organisation at war with the values and interests of your nation, you have broken that contract.
The question therefore should not be, "How do we bring them home safely?" The question should be, "Why should they have any right to come home at all?"
We are repeatedly told that Australia has legal or international obligations that require us to consider their return. If that is true, then perhaps the problem lies not with public opinion but with the law itself.
Laws are not sacred texts handed down from a mountain. They are created by elected governments and can be changed when they no longer reflect the values or security interests of the nation.
If Australian law is inadequate to permanently exclude citizens who voluntarily join foreign terrorist organisations, then Parliament should amend it.
If citizenship laws are too weak, strengthen them.
If constitutional issues arise, address them.
If international agreements impose unreasonable obligations, reconsider them.
The first responsibility of any government is to protect its own citizens—not to provide a taxpayer-funded pathway home for people who consciously chose to fight for our enemies.
There is also a practical consideration that governments seem reluctant to discuss honestly. Even if such individuals are prosecuted and imprisoned upon their return, many will eventually be released into the Australian community. Some will remain committed extremists. Others may influence vulnerable young Australians. Security agencies may be required to monitor them for years at enormous cost and with no guarantee of success.
Why should Australians bear that burden?
Some argue that these individuals were manipulated or radicalised. That may occasionally be true, particularly in the case of children taken overseas by their parents. Children are victims and deserve protection and rehabilitation. But adults who voluntarily travelled to ISIS-controlled territory and pledged allegiance to a terrorist organisation are something entirely different.
Personal responsibility still matters.
Perhaps the most offensive aspect of this debate is the assumption that citizenship is unconditional—that no matter how grave the betrayal, Australia must always welcome its citizens home with open arms.
That is not compassion. It is moral confusion.
Every nation has the right to decide who belongs within its borders. If citizenship means anything at all, then actively joining an enemy force must surely be one of the clearest acts by which an individual forfeits the privilege of membership in that nation.
The overwhelming majority of Australians are loyal citizens. They obey the law, contribute to society and would never dream of joining a terrorist organisation dedicated to destroying the very freedoms they enjoy. Those Australians are entitled to expect that their government will put their safety and interests first.
Traitors made their choice when they boarded the plane to join ISIS.
Australia should not be required to rescue them from the consequences of that choice.
And if our laws say otherwise, then our laws need to change.
Because some choices should have consequences that are permanent.
For almost three years we have been told that Israel is committing "genocide" in Gaza.
The word has become ubiquitous in mainstream media reporting, on university campuses, at anti-Israel demonstrations and in countless United Nations statements. It is a word chosen deliberately because genocide is not simply a war crime. It is the deliberate attempt to destroy a people because of who they are.
Think Auschwitz. Rwanda. Cambodia.
But what happens when the evidence refuses to cooperate?
In a remarkable development, Hamas's own casualty figures have exposed how misleading much of the media narrative surrounding the Gaza war has been. According to an analysis by HonestReporting, the latest figures released by Hamas directly contradict claims that women and children make up the majority of those killed in the conflict – a statistic endlessly repeated by major media organisations around the world. (HonestReporting)
The uncomfortable truth is that if Israel had genuinely intended to commit genocide against Palestinians, it has been spectacularly incompetent at doing so.
After nearly three years of war:
Gaza's population has continued to grow.
Israel has facilitated the delivery of millions of tonnes of humanitarian aid despite Hamas routinely stealing and diverting it.
Israel has issued evacuation warnings unprecedented in modern warfare, including text messages, leaflets, phone calls and designated humanitarian corridors.
Civilian casualty ratios appear significantly lower than those seen in many recent urban conflicts.
Hamas deliberately embeds its military infrastructure among civilians, including hospitals, schools and residential buildings. (HonestReporting)
Contrast this with conflicts that received relatively little international outrage:
Syria's civil war killed hundreds of thousands of civilians.
Iraq's urban battles against ISIS produced enormous civilian casualties.
Somalia, Sudan and Yemen have experienced humanitarian catastrophes of staggering proportions.
No worldwide protest movement accused the coalition forces fighting ISIS of genocide.
No university campuses were occupied demanding sanctions against Syria's Assad regime while he used chemical weapons against his own people.
The selective use of the word genocide tells us more about politics than it does about international law.
War is horrific. Civilians die in war, particularly when terrorists deliberately hide behind them. Every innocent life lost in Gaza is a tragedy. That should never be minimised.
But genocide requires intent.
The intent of Hamas on October 7 could hardly have been clearer. Its leaders openly call for the destruction of Israel and the murder of Jews worldwide. The Hamas Charter leaves little doubt about its objectives.
Israel's stated objective, on the other hand, has been the destruction of Hamas as a military and governing organisation following the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. One can debate Israeli tactics and individual military decisions. Democracies should do precisely that. But disagreement over military operations is not evidence of genocide.
The media bears considerable responsibility for the casual misuse of language throughout this conflict. Repeating casualty figures without scrutiny and presenting Hamas-controlled statistics as objective fact has fuelled an extraordinary global campaign accusing the world's only Jewish state of perpetrating genocide.
Now Hamas's own numbers are undermining that narrative.
Perhaps it is time for journalists to ask themselves an uncomfortable question.
If the facts do not support the genocide claim, why were they so willing to believe it in the first place?
Words matter. Especially words as serious as genocide. They should be reserved for actual genocides, not weaponised as political slogans.
The truth matters too. Even when it contradicts a fashionable narrative.
Source: HonestReporting – "What Hamas' Own Casualty Figures Reveal Is Not the War the Media Described." (HonestReporting)
Former prime minister Tony Abbott has entered Australia’s increasingly urgent debate over immigration, multiculturalism and national identity.
His message is confronting but timely: Australia’s traditional immigration model succeeded because newcomers were expected to become part of the Australian community, accept its laws and values, learn English and develop a loyalty to their new country.
Abbott argues that this expectation has gradually been abandoned. In its place, governments have pursued mass migration while promoting cultural difference as an end in itself, often appearing reluctant to insist that Australian values must come first.
The consequences are now becoming difficult to ignore. The Bondi terrorist attack, which police allege was motivated by Islamic State ideology, and the dramatic rise in antisemitism are powerful signs that social cohesion cannot simply be taken for granted.
Abbott’s main arguments
Immigration once worked through integration. Migrants were welcomed, but they were also expected to join the Australian mainstream and accept the country’s laws, institutions and democratic values.
Mass migration has weakened that process. When very large numbers arrive over a short period, integration becomes harder and separate cultural communities can become more entrenched.
Diversity alone is not a national strength. Diversity contributes to Australia only when it exists within a shared culture, common language and commitment to the nation.
Australian values must be non-negotiable. Freedom of speech, equality before the law, religious tolerance and rejection of political or religious violence cannot be compromised in the name of multicultural sensitivity.
Social cohesion is already under strain. Terrorism, antisemitism and hostility towards Australia’s institutions are warnings that some newcomers—and some established communities—have not accepted the responsibilities that should accompany Australian citizenship.
Abbott is not arguing against immigration or against Australians retaining pride in their ancestry. He is arguing that a successful immigrant nation must remain confident enough to defend its own culture and require those who settle here to become Australians in more than name.
His critics will inevitably label these arguments divisive. But refusing to discuss the problem will not make it disappear. Australia cannot continue importing people at historically high rates while pretending that integration will happen automatically.
Abbott’s address deserves to be heard in full. Even those who disagree with him should listen before dismissing his warning, because the future of Australia’s social cohesion may depend upon our willingness to have this debate honestly.
If you were watching events unfold after Hamas' barbaric massacre of 1,200 Israelis on October 7, 2023, you could be forgiven for believing that millions of ordinary citizens around the Western world simultaneously experienced a spontaneous moral awakening.
Within days, city streets from London to Sydney, New York to Paris were awash with Palestinian flags, professionally printed banners, coordinated chants and well-organised marches. Universities erected encampments. Activists seemed to appear everywhere at once. The media described these demonstrations as "grassroots" expressions of public outrage at Israel's military response in Gaza.
There was just one problem with that narrative.
Grassroots movements don't normally emerge simultaneously across dozens of countries, with sophisticated logistics, legal support, media operations, fundraising infrastructure and professional organisers already in place.
A recent 129-page report by NGO Monitor examining 40 major post-October 7 protest campaigns in the United Kingdom lifts the curtain on what was really happening. Far from being spontaneous public demonstrations, the report describes a highly coordinated network of NGOs, activist organisations, foreign funding channels and advocacy groups that have been working together to mobilise anti-Israel campaigns. It found that around 80% of the UK's major anti-Israel protest activity involved NGO infrastructure and professional organisers.
This should surprise nobody.
Mass protest movements don't organise themselves. Someone books the venues. Someone prints the placards. Someone obtains permits, coordinates speakers, arranges transport, runs social media campaigns and pays the bills.
The NGO Monitor report identifies an extensive ecosystem of organisations that were able to rapidly mobilise after October 7 because they already existed. The massacre itself was simply the catalyst that activated an established activist infrastructure that had been campaigning against Israel for years.
The timing is perhaps the most revealing aspect of all.
Many demonstrations took place almost immediately after October 7, before Israel had even begun its major military operations in Gaza. The protests were not, therefore, solely a reaction to civilian casualties resulting from the war. In many cases, they began while Israel was still counting its dead and identifying the victims of the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust.
That should have prompted journalists to ask an obvious question: what exactly were these people protesting?
The answer increasingly appears to be that the protests were never primarily about humanitarian concerns. If they were, one might reasonably have expected equal outrage at Hamas' atrocities, condemnation of hostage-taking, or calls for Hamas' surrender. Instead, the overwhelming focus became the delegitimisation of Israel itself.
Criticism of Israeli government policy is perfectly legitimate. In a democracy, no government should be beyond criticism. Israel is no exception.
But when demonstrations routinely feature slogans calling for the elimination of the world's only Jewish state, when Jewish students are intimidated on university campuses, when synagogues require unprecedented security, and when protesters are unable or unwilling to condemn Hamas' barbarism, it becomes increasingly difficult to argue that this is merely a debate about foreign policy.
The line between anti-Israel activism and antisemitism has become disturbingly blurred.
What the NGO Monitor report demonstrates is that much of the post-October 7 protest movement was neither organic nor spontaneous. It was organised, funded and coordinated through networks that have spent years building the infrastructure necessary to shape public opinion and political discourse. This does not mean that every protester was aware of that infrastructure or shared its more extreme objectives. Many undoubtedly joined because they were genuinely concerned about civilian suffering in Gaza.
But they became, knowingly or otherwise, participants in a much larger political campaign.
The Western media bears responsibility here. By presenting these demonstrations as spontaneous expressions of public sentiment, it created the impression that public opinion had overwhelmingly turned against Israel virtually overnight. That perception itself became a powerful political weapon, influencing governments, institutions and corporations.
Public opinion matters in democracies. Manufactured public opinion matters even more.
The lesson is simple. Whenever we are told that thousands of people have suddenly and spontaneously appeared in our streets demanding political change, we should ask a few simple questions.
Who organised it?
Who funded it?
Who benefits from it?
The answers are often considerably more interesting than the slogans being shouted through the megaphones.
Over the past fifty years we have witnessed the steady rise of transnational organisations. Many were established with worthy and limited purposes—to encourage cooperation between nations, promote human rights, coordinate responses to disease outbreaks or prosecute the most heinous international crimes.
Few people objected.
After all, who could oppose human rights, international cooperation or justice for genocide and war crimes?
Yet somewhere along the way these organisations began to evolve. They are no longer merely forums where sovereign nations cooperate. Increasingly, they behave as if they are supranational governments—unelected bodies that believe they possess the moral and legal authority to sit in judgement of sovereign states.
The United Nations and its ever-expanding alphabet soup of agencies have become notorious for this. The Human Rights Council regularly condemns democratic nations while often giving authoritarian regimes a free pass. The World Health Organisation, originally created to coordinate international health efforts, sought unprecedented powers during the COVID era that would have significantly expanded its influence over domestic health policy.
But perhaps the most troubling example is the International Criminal Court.
The ICC was established under the Rome Statute in 2002 to prosecute individuals responsible for genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity when national courts are unwilling or unable to do so. Its jurisdiction was intended to be limited and carefully defined.
Many democratic nations chose not to join. The United States, Israel, China, India and others decided that surrendering aspects of their judicial sovereignty to an international body was not in their national interests.
That should have been the end of the matter.
If a country chooses not to join an international organisation, surely that organisation has no authority over it. That is how treaties and sovereignty have traditionally worked.
Yet the ICC has increasingly behaved as though its jurisdiction extends wherever it believes moral authority exists. Its actions regarding Israel have become the most obvious example of this trend. Israel is not a member of the ICC and possesses an internationally respected and independent judicial system capable of investigating alleged misconduct by its own citizens and military personnel.
Supporters of the ICC argue that it may exercise jurisdiction where alleged crimes occur within territories that have accepted ICC jurisdiction. Critics argue that this interpretation effectively allows the Court to extend its reach to nationals of countries that never consented to its authority, thereby undermining the very principles upon which the Rome Statute was established.
Whichever side one takes on the legal arguments, the practical effect is unmistakable. Unelected international officials now claim the power to investigate, issue arrest warrants and make legal findings against leaders and citizens of sovereign nations that never agreed to be bound by them.
And it doesn't stop with member states.
Today, any nation can find itself condemned by international bureaucracies and so-called international legal mechanisms. These organisations issue reports, findings and recommendations which are then amplified by activist groups, sympathetic governments and much of the international media as though they are binding legal judgements.
The result is a gradual but profound shift in the balance of power.
Sovereign nations are increasingly expected to justify their domestic laws, military actions, health policies and social policies before international committees that are accountable to no electorate whatsoever.
Who elected the officials of the Human Rights Council?
Who elected the bureaucrats of the WHO?
Who elected the judges of the ICC?
The citizens of Australia certainly did not. Nor did the citizens of Israel, the United States or many other democratic nations whose governments now find themselves subject to international scrutiny and condemnation.
There is another problem that receives far too little attention. International organisations are almost impossible to remove once they acquire power. National governments can be voted out of office. Politicians can be dismissed by the electorate.
International bureaucracies enjoy no such democratic accountability.
They expand their mandates incrementally, redefine their missions and acquire ever greater influence without a single vote being cast by the people affected by their decisions.
This is why sovereignty matters.
Sovereignty is not some outdated nineteenth-century concept. It is the mechanism by which citizens govern themselves through democratic institutions. When power is transferred from elected governments to transnational organisations, democratic accountability is diminished.
International cooperation is both desirable and necessary. Nations should cooperate on trade, disease control, environmental issues and criminal justice. But cooperation is not the same thing as subordination.
International organisations should serve sovereign nations—not govern them.
Perhaps no recent statement captures the growing concern better than that of US Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who recently condemned the ICC and pledged that the United States would use every available means to oppose what he described as the Court's encroachment on national sovereignty. Rubio argued that no unelected international tribunal should possess the authority to prosecute citizens of countries that have never consented to its jurisdiction and vowed to work towards disabling the Court's ability to operate in its current form. Recent reports indicate that the Trump administration has begun a concerted diplomatic campaign against the ICC and has imposed sanctions on ICC officials involved in investigations targeting the United States and its allies. (Reuters)
Whether one agrees with Rubio or not, he has raised an important question that every democracy should be asking:
Who governs the governors?
If the answer is "no one", then we should all be concerned.
Only weeks ago, the memorandum of understanding between the United States and Iran was hailed by some as the first step towards de-escalation. Others, including this blog, warned that it rested on wishful thinking rather than any genuine change in the Iranian regime's behaviour.
Sadly, events have proved those concerns well founded.
Rather than embracing peace, Iran has continued to challenge international shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, renewed attacks against its neighbours through its proxies, issued fresh threats against both President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, demanded reparations from the United States, and even asserted that it should control the Strait of Hormuz and charge transit fees for vessels passing through one of the world's most important waterways.
This is not the conduct of a government seeking reconciliation.
It is the conduct of a regime that believes it can act with increasing boldness without paying a meaningful price.
Empty Threats Encourage Aggression
President Trump has repeatedly warned Iran that further aggression would bring severe consequences.
Yet those consequences have largely failed to materialise.
Instead, the American response has become increasingly piecemeal—limited retaliatory strikes here, stern warnings there, followed by another Iranian provocation.
This pattern is dangerous.
History demonstrates that authoritarian regimes often interpret restraint not as goodwill, but as weakness. Every threat that is not followed by decisive action risks reducing the credibility of the next one.
Whether fairly or unfairly, Tehran now appears to believe that domestic political pressures will prevent the United States from taking the stronger measures it once threatened.
If that is indeed Iran's calculation, recent events suggest it has become increasingly confident.
Before the MOU, the Strategy Was Working
Ironically, the strategy that appeared to have the greatest effect on Iran was the one employed before negotiations resumed.
Maximum economic pressure dramatically reduced Iran's oil exports, constrained its finances, and limited its ability to fund regional proxies and military adventures.
The subsequent shift towards negotiation has not produced moderation. Instead, Iran has continued to test the limits of Western resolve while seeking concessions at every opportunity.
Negotiations only succeed when both sides believe the alternative is worse.
At present, there is little evidence that Tehran fears the alternative.
A Different Strategy
If the objective is lasting stability rather than temporary headlines, the United States should return to a policy of sustained pressure.
That could include:
Reimposing the full sanctions regime.
Re-establishing the strongest possible restrictions on Iranian oil exports.
Suspending negotiations until Iran demonstrates genuine compliance rather than making further demands.
Continuing to destroy military assets that attack commercial shipping in the Strait of Hormuz.
Using frozen Iranian assets, where legally authorised, to compensate regional states that have suffered losses from Iranian-sponsored attacks.
If maintaining a comprehensive maritime blockade proves difficult, another option would be to substantially degrade Iran's principal oil export infrastructure, particularly facilities on Kharg Island. Temporarily removing Iran's ability to export oil would dramatically reduce the regime's revenue and its capacity to finance military operations.
Such actions would undoubtedly carry economic and political costs. Energy markets would react, and there would be domestic political consequences in the United States.
However, maintaining the present approach also carries costs.
An ineffective deterrent invites further escalation.
Credibility Matters
International diplomacy depends on credibility.
Threats only deter if they are believed.
Repeated warnings followed by limited responses risk creating the opposite effect—they encourage adversaries to continue probing for weakness.
If President Trump believes stronger action is justified, he should take it.
If he does not, then the repeated public threats should stop.
The current approach risks achieving the worst of both worlds: escalating Iranian aggression while steadily eroding American credibility.
Time Is Running Short
The administration still has an opportunity to reverse course.
Applying sustained economic and military pressure consistently—not intermittently—would force Tehran to confront the reality that continued confrontation carries unbearable costs. Economic pressure has influenced Iranian decision-making before, and it may do so again.
Whether such a strategy would succeed cannot be known with certainty. But what seems increasingly clear is that the current strategy is failing.
There comes a point when every negotiation must be judged not by the promises made when it was signed, but by the behaviour that follows.
By that measure, the so-called peace deal has failed.
It is time to stop managing the crisis and start resolving it.
For most of human history, migration has been one of civilisation's great success stories.
People moved in search of safety, freedom and opportunity. They brought with them new skills, traditions and ideas. Over time they became part of their adopted countries while retaining pride in their heritage. Italians became Australian. Indians became British. Hungarians became American. Their grandchildren often thought of themselves simply as Australians, Britons or Americans with an interesting family history.
Immigration enriched nations because integration worked.
So why has the debate become so bitter?
The answer, I believe, lies not in immigration itself, but in the scale, speed and philosophy that have accompanied it over the past two decades.
The Difference Between Immigration and Multiculturalism
These terms are often treated as though they mean the same thing. They don't.
Immigration is simply the movement of people.
Multiculturalism is a political philosophy about how those different cultures should coexist.
Historically, Western countries expected newcomers to integrate into the national culture. They learned the language, accepted the laws and institutions, and gradually adopted the values that defined their new home. They could celebrate Chinese New Year, Diwali or Easter while still sharing a common civic identity.
Today's multicultural model often sends a different message.
Rather than encouraging integration into a shared national culture, it increasingly emphasises preserving distinct cultural identities, with governments recognising, funding and sometimes negotiating separately with different communities.
Instead of one national conversation, society risks becoming many parallel conversations.
Numbers Matter
Migration has never been purely about percentages.
A family moving into a suburb naturally adapts to the existing community.
A thousand families moving together are able to recreate much of the society they left behind.
That is not a criticism; it is simply human nature.
Small migrant communities tend to integrate more readily because interaction with the wider community is unavoidable.
Very large communities can become largely self-contained. Schools, businesses, media, places of worship and social lives increasingly revolve around the community itself. Integration becomes slower, and sometimes optional.
At the same time, long-established residents often find rapid demographic change unsettling. Whether those concerns are justified or not, they are real. When change happens faster than people can comfortably absorb it, social trust can weaken.
Politics Makes the Problem Worse
Large communities also represent significant voting blocs.
Political parties inevitably begin tailoring policies and messages to particular communities rather than appealing to the nation as a whole.
Identity politics flourishes.
Instead of asking, "What is good for Australia?", politicians increasingly ask, "What will this community think?"
The result is predictable.
Citizens begin seeing themselves not simply as Australians, Britons or Americans, but as members of competing cultural constituencies.
That is a dangerous direction for any democracy.
Europe and Britain Offer Warnings
Across much of Europe, immigration has become one of the defining political issues of our time.
Parties advocating stricter immigration controls have gained support in countries including France, Germany, the Netherlands, Italy and Sweden as voters express concerns about integration, housing pressures, crime, and national identity.
Britain provides another example of growing cultural division.
Large pro-Palestinian demonstrations have regularly filled London's streets since the Hamas attacks of October 2023, while counter-protests have emerged from groups concerned about national identity and social cohesion. These competing demonstrations have become symbols of a broader debate over what it means to be British in an increasingly diverse society.
Whether one agrees with either side is beside the point.
The fact that these divisions have become so visible should concern us all.
Australia's Debate
Australia is now confronting the same questions.
Pauline Hanson reignited national debate by arguing that Australia should aspire to be "multiracial but monocultural"—a phrase that immediately generated confusion because people attached very different meanings to the word "monoculture."
Many critics interpreted the term as implying cultural uniformity or rejection of diversity.
Supporters argued that what Hanson was really describing was a society united by common values, laws and civic identity while remaining ethnically diverse.
The terminology obscured the underlying issue.
Konstantin Kisin Explains It Better
One of the clearest explanations comes not from politicians but from British commentator Konstantin Kisin.
He distinguishes between a country made up of many ethnic backgrounds and a country united by one set of civic values.
People may eat different foods, celebrate different festivals and come from every corner of the globe.
But they should still share a commitment to democracy, equality before the law, freedom of speech, religious liberty, and loyalty to the nation that welcomed them.
That is not ethnic conformity.
It is civic unity.
It is also very close to what many Australians understood multiculturalism to mean when the policy was first introduced.
Diversity Needs a Centre
The debate is often presented as a choice between diversity and intolerance.
That is a false choice.
Successful societies can be wonderfully diverse.
But diversity needs a centre of gravity.
Every successful nation requires a common language, shared institutions, mutual obligations and a widely accepted understanding of the rules by which everyone lives.
Without that shared foundation, diversity gradually becomes fragmentation.
People begin living beside one another rather than together.
Rebuilding Social Cohesion
If we want a cohesive society, then the answer is not to abandon immigration. Australia has been enriched by generations of migrants, and there is every reason to believe that it will continue to be.
What needs to change is the framework within which immigration occurs.
Governments should place renewed emphasis on integration rather than separation. Every child should leave school with a strong understanding of Australia's history, democratic institutions and civic values. English should remain the common language of public life, and every new migrant should be encouraged and supported to become proficient in it, because a shared language is the foundation of mutual understanding.
Government should also resist the temptation to divide Australians into competing communities. Public funding should be based on need and benefit to the whole community, not on ethnicity, religion or cultural background. The law should apply equally to every citizen, and public policy should reinforce the principle that Australians are treated as individuals rather than members of competing identity groups.
Equally important is restoring a sense of national pride. New citizens should be encouraged to embrace not only the opportunities Australia offers, but also the responsibilities of citizenship. Celebrating one's heritage and embracing an Australian identity are not contradictory—they are complementary. The overwhelming success of earlier waves of migration demonstrates that people can honour their family traditions while proudly calling themselves Australian.
Finally, governments must recognise that the pace of migration matters as much as the numbers themselves. Communities need time to absorb new arrivals, schools and infrastructure need time to adapt, and newcomers need the opportunity to integrate into the broader society. Immigration levels should be set not only by economic demand but also by the nation's capacity to successfully integrate those who arrive.
Australia's strength has never been its ethnic uniformity. It has been its ability to bring together people from every corner of the globe under a shared commitment to democracy, freedom, equality before the law and mutual respect.
That is the real Australian model worth preserving.
It is not a monoculture in the sense of everyone looking the same, worshipping the same way or abandoning their heritage. It is a common civic culture—a nation of many backgrounds united by one set of values. If we can rediscover that principle, Australia can continue to enjoy the benefits of immigration without sacrificing the social cohesion that has made it one of the world's most successful societies.
For months, much of the Western media has portrayed Gazans as a people united behind Hamas in their struggle against Israel.
But reality is far more complicated.
In recent weeks, brave Palestinians have taken to the streets of Gaza to protest against Hamas—the very organisation that has ruled the territory with an iron fist since 2007. These demonstrations are extraordinary. In a dictatorship where dissent can lead to imprisonment, torture or death, simply chanting against Hamas is an act of remarkable courage. (HonestReporting)
So why haven't these protests dominated the headlines?
If thousands of Gazans were demonstrating against Israel, it would almost certainly be front-page news. Yet protests against Hamas have received only limited coverage in much of the mainstream media. HonestReporting argues that this silence deprives audiences of a crucial part of the story: many ordinary Gazans are not only victims of war, but also victims of Hamas' rule. (HonestReporting)
Journalism should report facts, even when they complicate a familiar narrative. Ignoring evidence that many Gazans reject Hamas does a disservice to readers—and, more importantly, to the courageous Palestinians risking everything to make their voices heard.
Just days after the United States announced its Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) with Iran, another diplomatic initiative has emerged—this time a framework agreement between Israel and Lebanon. At first glance, both developments appear to signal progress towards peace. The real question is whether either agreement will actually change anything on the ground.
A recent article by Khaled Abu Toameh at the Gatestone Institute argues that the Lebanon framework is only likely to succeed if one fundamental condition is met: Hezbollah must be disarmed. Without that, any agreement risks becoming little more than another piece of paper.
That is easier said than done.
Hezbollah has already rejected the agreement outright, describing it as illegitimate and insisting that it will continue to operate as an armed “resistance” movement. Its leaders have made it clear they have no intention of surrendering their weapons, despite years of UN resolutions demanding exactly that. (New York Post)
The new framework reportedly envisages the Lebanese Armed Forces gradually taking control of southern Lebanon while Hezbollah is dismantled and disarmed, allowing Israel eventually to withdraw from occupied security zones. Israel has welcomed the agreement as an opportunity to weaken Iran’s influence and restore Lebanese sovereignty. (New York Post)
The problem is that Lebanon has been here before.
For decades the Lebanese government has officially claimed sovereignty over the whole country, yet Hezbollah has continued to operate as a heavily armed state within a state. Numerous ceasefires, UN resolutions and diplomatic agreements have all promised that Hezbollah would be disarmed. None has achieved that objective.
If the Lebanese government cannot—or will not—enforce its own authority, then the framework risks joining a long list of well-intentioned agreements that ultimately changed very little.
Then there is the central role of Iran. Hezbollah is not simply a Lebanese political party; it is Iran’s most important regional proxy. As long as Tehran continues to finance, arm and direct Hezbollah, genuine Lebanese sovereignty remains difficult to achieve.
That raises an obvious question about the earlier U.S.–Iran Memorandum of Understanding. If Iran has not abandoned its regional ambitions, and Hezbollah refuses to disarm, then what practical value does the MOU really have?
Diplomatic agreements are easy to sign.
Enforcing them against determined armed organisations backed by foreign powers is something entirely different.
History suggests that peace is achieved not by signatures on documents but by changing realities on the ground. Until Hezbollah no longer possesses an independent military capability, Israel is unlikely to believe its northern border is secure, and many Lebanese citizens will continue to live under the shadow of a force that answers ultimately to Tehran rather than Beirut.
The framework agreement is therefore a welcome aspiration. Whether it becomes a genuine peace agreement or simply another chapter in the long history of failed Middle East diplomacy will depend almost entirely on whether Hezbollah is actually disarmed.
That is the test.
For a more detailed analysis, I recommend reading Khaled Abu Toameh’s original article at the Gatestone Institute.
