Australia’s Draconian New Hate Speech Bill: A Repressive Assault on What was Left of Free Expression, By Paul Walker

In the wake of tragic events like the Bondi Beach attack in late 2025, the Australian government has responded with its usual opportunism. On January 12, 2026, Attorney-General Michelle Rowland announced the Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill 2026, describing it as delivering "the toughest hate laws Australia has ever seen." Prime Minister Anthony Albanese recalled Parliament early to fast-track the legislation, bundling it with gun buyback measures and visa powers. The stated goal is on its face to combat rising antisemitism, hate speech, and extremism that threaten social cohesion.

Yet a closer examination of the exposure draft reveals a far more troubling picture. Far from targeted protection, the bill represents a sweeping overreach that redefines criminality around subjective feelings rather than demonstrable harm, creates unequal protections for speech, inverts core legal principles like the presumption of innocence, and grants the state alarming new powers to police ideas. This is not merely an expansion of existing laws — it is a reckless rewrite of free expression norms that risks chilling legitimate discourse, enabling selective enforcement, and normalising authoritarian control over thought. Australia will then surpass the UK as being the West's most repressive country.

The Reckless Core: Criminalising Hypothetical Harm

At the heart of the bill lies a new federal offense for publicly promoting or inciting racial hatred. It targets conduct based on race, colour, or national/ethnic origin, carrying penalties of up to five years imprisonment. What makes this provision extraordinarily reckless is its deliberate detachment from real-world consequences.

The explanatory memorandum makes clear that it is "immaterial" whether the conduct actually results in hatred, intimidation, or fear. Instead, guilt hinges on whether a hypothetical "reasonable" member of the targeted group would feel intimidated, harassed, or fearful of violence — even if no such person exists or experiences harm. This turns prosecution into a speculative psychological exercise: courts must guess at imagined emotional impacts.

"Public place" is redefined expansively to encompass all electronic communications — social media posts, tweets, blogs, livestreams, emails, and even content originating from private property if publicly accessible. A heated online rant, a satirical meme, or a political critique could land someone in court, not because it incited real violence, but because someone might hypothetically feel threatened by it.

This standard invites abuse. Without requiring evidence of actual harm or intent to cause it, the law lowers the bar for censorship to the point of meaninglessness. Everyday expression — journalistic commentary, academic debate, comedy, or protest signage — becomes risky. The process of investigation and prosecution itself becomes punitive, encouraging self-censorship among citizens wary of crossing invisible lines.

Critics, including civil liberties groups like the NSW Council for Civil Liberties and Liberty Victoria, have labelled this rushed approach "poorly-considered and draconian," warning that complex issues like extremism cannot be solved by criminalising speech without proper safeguards.

Contradictions: A Hierarchy of Protected Speech

The bill's exemptions expose deep contradictions. Religious leaders and texts receive special protection: conduct consisting solely of "directly quoting from, or otherwise referencing, a religious text for the purpose of religious teaching or discussion" is exempt from the vilification offense. The explanatory materials note this is "peculiarly within the knowledge of the defendant," effectively shifting the burden when challenged.

This creates a blatant speech hierarchy. Imams, priests, or rabbis quoting scripture — even if inflammatory — enjoy a shield unavailable to secular voices. A columnist critiquing foreign governments, a comedian satirising cultural practices, or an activist protesting policy could face prosecution, while religious figures quoting similar or worse passages walk free.

Other inconsistencies abound. The bill limits vilification protections to race/ethnicity, excluding religion, sexuality, or gender in key sections — potentially leaving Islamophobia or homophobia less robustly addressed. Conservative Liberals like Andrew Hastie and Michaelia Cash have flagged concerns that the religious carve-out could shield Islamic extremists, while groups like the Australian Federation of Islamic Councils have called for delays over risks of "overreach or selective enforcement."

Such uneven application undermines the bill's claim to combat all hate equally. It fosters resentment and invites accusations of favouritism, eroding public trust in the justice system.

Repressiveness: Inverted Burdens and Unchecked Powers

Perhaps most alarming are the mechanisms for enforcement. For "prohibited hate symbols," the burden of proof reverses: defendants must first demonstrate a "reasonable possibility" of legitimate purpose (e.g., education or art), before prosecutors need disprove it. This inverts the foundational presumption of innocence.

The minister can designate "prohibited hate groups" with minimal process — no mandatory hearings, no natural justice requirements. Listings draw on ASIO advice (also exempt from fairness rules), apply retroactively (punishing past associations legal at the time), and extend extraterritorially. Supporting or associating with a listed group carries up to 15 years imprisonment.

These powers treat expression as equivalent to violence, allowing the state to outlaw organisations and ideas without robust oversight. Combined with visa cancellations for "hate promoters" and content removal demands, the bill normalises pre-emptive thought-policing.

As one analysis put it, the legislation is "surprisingly reckless and shamelessly authoritarian," positioning the government as the arbiter of acceptable ideas while using fear — real or imagined — as the trigger for punishment.

A Dangerous Precedent in a Time of Crisis

No one disputes the need to address antisemitism and extremism, especially after heartbreaking incidents. But responding to tragedy with broad, vague, and unbalanced laws rarely enhances safety — it often backfires by alienating communities and stifling debate.

The bill's rush through Parliament, limited consultation, and bundling with unrelated measures (like gun reform) compound the risks. Voices from civil liberties organizations, religious groups, and even some Jewish advocates, urge pause for genuine scrutiny, warning that "you cannot arrest your way into social cohesion."

Australia once prided itself on robust democratic freedoms. Criminalising speech based on hypothetical offense, granting religious exemptions while denying them to others, and inverting legal burdens represent a profound departure from those values. If passed in current form, this bill could set a chilling precedent: where fear becomes sufficient grounds for censorship, and the state decides which ideas are too dangerous to express.

The fight is not against protecting vulnerable groups — it's against a framework that sacrifices liberty in the name of security. Australians must demand better: precise laws targeting genuine incitement to violence, not thought crimes. Anything less risks turning a response to hate into something far more repressive.

There is time to stop this. Everyone needs to get active, contacting Liberals, independents, and sadly, most importantly the Greens and Left independents. Here you need to be smart and put the case against his bill in Left wing terms. It will lead to complaints against the Left, those taking positions on Middle East politics; you know what I mean. You saw the marches of Leftists. Win over the Greens and this can be stopped.