The Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill 2026 – A Draconian Assault on Civil Liberties

The Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill 2026 – A Draconian Assault on Civil Liberties

In the name of fighting hate, the government is poised to unleash a law that could criminalize words, thoughts and associations on an unprecedented scale. 

The innocuously titled Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill 2026 is an authoritarian sledgehammer cloaked in the language of tolerance. 

Behind its feel-good promises of safety and harmony, this Bill’s vague definitions, sweeping powers, and harsh penalties threaten to shatter fundamental freedoms – from free speech and free association to due process and equality before the law. 

It stretches well beyond targeting neo-Nazis or violent extremists, casting a wide net that could easily ensnare ordinary citizens – activists, journalists, artists, clergy, even members of minority communities – who never imagined they’d be branded “extremists.” Below, we expose how this Bill’s ambiguous language, constitutional infirmities, unchecked executive powers, and dangerous breadth put every Australian’s civil liberties at risk.

Ambiguous Language – A Recipe for Misinterpretation and Abuse

The Bill is riddled with vague and overbroad terms that give authorities frightening latitude to interpret dissent or unpopular opinions as “hate” or “extremism.” Key definitions are so elastic that almost any controversial group or passionate speech could be stretched to fit. For example:

• “Prohibited Hate Group” – Whatever the Government Says It Is: The Bill doesn’t precisely define what ideology or conduct makes a group “hateful.” Instead, a “prohibited hate group” is simply “an organisation that is specified by the regulations” – in other words, any group the government chooses to blacklist[1]. There are no clear limits: today a neo-Nazi cell, tomorrow a radical climate protest network or an outspoken religious sect could wear the “hate group” label if those in power decide so. This open-ended definition practically begs for political abuse.

• “Hate Crime” Without Limit – Even Acts That Weren’t Crimes: The Bill defines “hate crime” so expansively it even reaches into the past and overseas. It covers any conduct causing harm to person or property motivated by race or ethnicity, including acts that occurred “before [the law] commenced” or outside Australia[2][3]. In essence, yesterday’s conduct can be judged by today’s law. Any “serious” harm, risk to public safety, or even threat, if driven by racial animus, counts as a “hate crime”[3][4]. This sweeping scope means even a heated scuffle at a rally or a vandal’s graffiti, if deemed racially motivated, becomes grist to label an entire group as hate-criminal – a frighteningly low bar.

• Guilt by Words – Criminalizing Mere “Praise”: One of the Bill’s most blatantly broad provisions says an organization “advocates” hate crime if it even praises hateful acts, “in circumstances where there is an unacceptable risk” that such praise might inspire someone to copy them[5]. Think about that: voicing approval of some extreme action – even generally or in historical discussion – can be enough to condemn a group, based on a speculative “unacceptable” risk that authorities themselves get to judge. What’s an “unacceptable” risk? The Bill doesn’t say. This subjective language is so malleable that harmless speech could be spun as “praise” for hate. A controversial blogger who says “I understand why people are angry” about a racial incident could, in a zealous official’s eyes, be “encouraging” hate crime. No actual violence needs to occur – words alone suffice.

• Loose Labels of Membership: Under this Bill, you don’t even have to formally join an organization to be branded a member of a hate group. The definition of “member” includes “informal” members and even people who have merely “taken steps to become a member”[6]. Attend one meeting? Sign up for a newsletter? That’s enough to count you as part of the group. This breathtakingly broad net means casual supporters, online followers, or peripheral associates of an organization could wake up to find they are legally deemed “members” of a banned hate group – and potential felons as a result. Innocent bystanders risk getting swept into prosecutions just for being loosely connected to targeted groups.

• “Support” and “Resources” – Everything and the Kitchen Sink: The Bill makes it a serious crime to provide “support or resources” to a listed group, with penalties up to 15 years in prison[7]. But “support” is not defined in any narrow sense – it could mean financial aid, services, equipment, or even moral support. The provision explicitly criminalizes helping a group “expand or continue to exist”[7] – incredibly, just keeping an organization alive is outlawed. This means donating to a charity that’s later blacklisted, selling a book to a group member, or letting a banned group use your community hall could all be construed as “supporting” extremism. The blurry scope of this term puts well-meaning people at risk of huge prison terms for everyday interactions that authorities retrospectively deem verboten.

In short, the Bill’s language is so broad and imprecise that it hands enforcers a blank cheque to label and punish almost any conduct or speech they dislike. It obliterates the bright lines that should separate genuine violent extremism from mere controversial opinion. This ambiguity is not an accident – it’s an invitation to abuse. It ensures the law can be stretched to fit whatever target is convenient, silencing disfavored voices under the guise of “combatting hate.”

Exceeding Constitutional and Human Rights Limits

This Bill doesn’t just toe the line of Australia’s constitutional and human rights obligations – it bulldozes right over them. It tramples on fundamental freedoms protected by the Australian Constitution’s principles, international treaties like the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), and state human rights charters.

• Free Speech Under Attack: Australia may not have a US-style free speech clause, but the High Court recognizes an implied freedom of political communication. This Bill would gut that freedom. It introduces a sweeping new “racial vilification” offence that makes it a crime to “engage in conduct in a public place” intended to “promote or incite hatred” against a person or group on racial or ethnic grounds[8][9]. Crucially, it doesn’t require that you urged violence or any other lawless action – you can be jailed 5 years purely for words or symbols that foster hatred. The threshold for criminality is disturbingly low: if your expression would cause a “reasonable person” from the target group to feel intimidated or fear for their safety[10], you’re guilty. It doesn’t matter if no one was actually scared or hurt[11] – the law does not care whether any harm actually occurred, only that the government thinks someone ought to feel afraid. And you, the speaker, don’t even need to realize your words could create fear – the element of causing fear is imposed as strict liability[12], meaning prosecutors don’t have to prove you intended it[12]. This is extraordinary: a thought crime standard where offense and fear, not physical injury, trigger imprisonment. Such a broad gag on speech will surely have a chilling effect on open discourse about race, immigration, religion, and more – precisely the topics that often involve heated, controversial debate. Legal scholars are already alarmed that this goes far beyond the narrow exceptions permitted by ICCPR Article 19 (which allows restricting speech only to protect rights of others or public safety). By criminalizing even non-violent expression and symbolic acts (down to gestures, flags, or apparel in public[13]), the Bill pushes well past what a free society can tolerate and risks being struck down as unconstitutional for burdening political communication.

• Religious Freedom Trampled: The Bill takes the unprecedented step of singling out religious officials for special punishment. If a priest, imam, rabbi or other spiritual leader is convicted of one of the law’s speech offences (for example, “urging violence” or the new incitement of hatred offence), they face double the prison term just because of their status. Section 80.2DA creates an “aggravated offence” for when “the person’s conduct is engaged in in the person’s capacity as a religious official or spiritual leader”, with a staggering 12-year prison penalty[14] (versus 5–7 years for a non-clergy offender in many underlying cases). In short, a sermonizer gets more prison time than a layperson for the exact same words[14]. This is an extraordinary assault on religious liberty and equality. Our Constitution (Section 116) forbids the Commonwealth from prohibiting the free exercise of religion – yet here the government is effectively criminalizing religious speech more harshly than secular speech. The law tries to mask this by exempting merely “quoting or referencing a religious text” in good faith from the hate speech offence[15]. But that narrow defense (for which the accused bears the burden of proof[15]) is a fig leaf. The moment a faith leader goes beyond tame quotation – for instance, applying a religious text in a way that vilifies another group – they could be locked up for over a decade. Fire and brimstone from the pulpit will become a legal hazard. This not only undercuts freedom of religion and expression, it also targets minority faith leaders (who are more likely to be monitored and accused of “extremist” preaching) for disproportionate punishment. The chilling message to every priest, pastor, imam and guru is clear: stay in your lane, or face the wrath of the state.

• Freedom of Association – Guilt by Affiliation: The Bill obliterates the basic principle that people have a right to associate with others for political or religious purposes without fear of collective punishment. Under this regime, if the government bans an organization as a “hate group,” simply being a member of it – even if you never committed a violent or hateful act yourself – becomes a serious crime. A person who “intentionally is a member” of a listed group, knowing it’s banned, faces 7 years in prison[16]. This is outrageous in a free society. It means the state can imprison you for your associations and beliefs, not for anything you actually did. Consider the implications: today you belong to a certain activist network or community group; tomorrow the government blacklists it, and now your mere continued membership makes you a criminal. The law does offer a slender mercy: if you immediately renounce your membership upon learning of the ban, that can be a defense – but you must prove you took “all reasonable steps” to sever ties[17]. The burden of proof is reversed – guilty until proven innocent. This flips the presumption of innocence on its head, violating the ICCPR Article 14 guarantee that the prosecution must prove guilt. Furthermore, criminalizing association like this clashes with ICCPR Article 22 (right to freedom of association) and likely various State Human Rights Acts (like Victoria’s Charter, which upholds free association and expression). Australia has historically avoided outlying political groups without outright banning them – we even allowed communists and extreme sects to exist under law. This Bill’s draconian association offences mark a dramatic lurch toward authoritarian repression of dissident groups, far beyond what a healthy democracy should countenance.

• No Fair Trial or Due Process: Perhaps most frightening is how the Bill sanctions punishment without trial and erodes due process at every turn. The designation of a “prohibited hate group” is not done by a court, but by the executive – through regulations proposed by the Minister. And the Bill explicitly suspends “procedural fairness” in these decisions[18]. Section 114A.4(5) coldly states: “The AFP Minister is not required to observe any requirements of procedural fairness” when deciding to ban an organization[18]. Translation: the group gets no hearing, no chance to see or challenge the evidence, no ability to defend itself before the axe falls. A basic tenet of justice – audi alteram partem, the right to be heard – is tossed aside. Such an extraordinary ouster of natural justice would likely violate common law principles and possibly the constitutional right to judicial review (the High Court has said even if Parliament tries to cut out court review, some minimum judicial oversight must remain – this Bill tests that limit). And it’s not just the banning process: the criminal trials that follow are stacked against defendants too. Various offences in the Bill impose strict liability for key elements or put legal burdens on defendants to prove exceptions[12][19], undermining the presumption of innocence. Secret intelligence will undoubtedly be used as evidence to justify bans or prosecutions, raising the specter of closed-door hearings and classified evidence that the accused cannot refute. This all flouts the right to a fair trial protected by state charters and international law (ICCPR Article 14). In sum, the Bill takes a “trust us, we know who the bad guys are” approach – inviting the government to punish first, and never bother with questions later. That is antithetical to the rule of law.

Ironically, the Bill itself cites Australia’s international obligations – it claims to “give effect” to certain articles of the ICCPR and the Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination that call for combating hateful propaganda[20]. But in cherry-picking those mandates, the government blatantly ignores the rest of the human rights equation – the very same treaties also oblige Australia to uphold freedom of expression, religion, association and fair process. A law that fights bigotry by destroying liberty isn’t just morally counterproductive, it’s legally suspect and ripe for challenge in the High Court and international forums.

Unchecked Executive Power – Ministers as Judge, Jury and Executioner

This Bill would hand astonishingly broad, unchecked powers to the executive branch, enabling Ministers and agencies to bypass the judiciary and unilaterally blacklist organizations and individuals. It creates a secretive mechanism ripe for abuse, with minimal oversight or accountability. Key facets of this executive overreach include:

• Secret Blacklisting by Decree: Under the new Part 5.3B of the Criminal Code, the Federal Government (via the AFP Minister) can outlaw any organization as a “prohibited hate group” by simply adding its name to a regulation[1]. With the stroke of a pen, a group goes from legal to forbidden – essentially a civil death sentence for the organization. The criteria sound ostensibly serious: the Minister must believe on “reasonable grounds” that the group has engaged in or advocated hate crimes and that banning it is “reasonably necessary” to prevent harm[21][22]. But in practice these terms are alarmingly soft and discretionary. Reasonable grounds according to whom? Necessary to prevent what harm? (The Bill lists “social, economic, psychological or physical harm” as the kinds of harm to prevent[23] – incredibly, even intangible “social” or “psychological” harm is enough justification to outlaw a group). There is no requirement of imminent violence, no requirement that the group’s conduct reach any judicial threshold of criminal guilt. In fact, the law explicitly says “a person does not need to have been convicted of a hate crime” for a group to be banned[24]. The government can act on suspicion, unproven intelligence, even preemptively based on what it thinks the group might do in the future. This is Minority Report-level policing – punishment before crime. Once banned, a group has effectively no appeal (aside from persuading a new Minister to delist them, an unlikely mercy). No judge ever signs off on the decision.

• No Day in Court – Procedural Fairness Scrapped: Perhaps the most shocking element is the Bill’s candid admission that the Minister’s decision is exempt from basic fairness. Section 114A.4(5) flatly states the Minister “is not required to observe any requirements of procedural fairness” in deciding to designate a hate group[18]. This means the affected organization won’t even know it’s being considered for banning, let alone get a chance to defend itself. The Minister can base the decision on secret intelligence dossiers, hearsay, even political expediency – and the group gets zero opportunity to respond or present contrary evidence. It’s hard to overstate what a departure from democratic norms this is: an elected official can condemn an entire association in a one-sided process behind closed doors. The rule of law ordinarily demands that before the state destroys your rights or reputation, you can contest the case – here that safeguard is annihilated. The Minister becomes investigator, prosecutor, and judge all in one, with the law’s blessing.

• Rubber-Stamp “Oversight” – Hardly a Check at All: The government will argue there are checks and balances – but they are woefully weak. The Bill requires that before banning a group, the Director-General of Security (head of ASIO) provides a written advice recommending consideration of a ban[25][26]. But this is no comfort – it merely means the secret police are in on the act. ASIO’s advice criteria are themselves alarmingly broad – the DG can recommend listing a group if he believes its activities might increase the risk of “politically motivated violence” or “communal violence”[27], or even that the group “has engaged in activities that indicate a risk” it may engage in such violence in the future[26]. In short, ASIO can point to virtually any extremist rhetoric or rowdy protest as a reason to ban, based on speculative future risk. The Attorney-General must then sign off in writing that they agree with banning the group[28] – again, just one Minister approving another Minister’s decision. And the Leader of the Opposition is “briefed”[29] – a courtesy, not consent. None of these steps involve any public scrutiny or independent tribunal. At most, a Parliamentary Joint Committee may choose to review the ban after it’s in effect[30], and even then, the law extends the window during which the ban remains safe from being voided while Parliament dithers[31]. Parliamentary disallowance of such regulations is rare – what politician wants to stick their neck out to save a group officially stamped as “hate-fueled extremists”? The reality is that once the executive blacklists a group, it’s highly unlikely to be reversed. This nominal oversight is a fig leaf; the decision ultimately rests with a small handful of officials, with the public and courts shut out.

• A Tangle of New Crimes and Heavy Punishments: After giving the government power to ban first and ask questions later, the Bill then unleashes a battery of criminal offences that ordinary people can unwittingly trip over. Once a group is banned, a sprawling web of crimes comes into force: directing the group (15 years prison)[32], recruiting others to it (15 years)[33], providing it with training or receiving training (15 years)[34][35], giving it any material support (15 years)[7], or even being a passive member (7 years)[16]. These draconian penalties apply regardless of whether the individual member or supporter ever committed or planned any violent act themselves. The law effectively says: “Trust us, if we banned the group, it’s bad – and anyone associated deserves to be locked up.” This is collective punishment, punishing people for the company they keep. It also means once a ban is in place, the government can instantly threaten hundreds of people with prosecution, giving enormous coercive leverage to crack down on activist networks and communities. And remember, ignorance is no excuse: if the group is banned and you should have known, you could be deemed “reckless” and still face a decade behind bars[36][37]. In practice, the moment a group hits the prohibited list, every person connected to it is put in an extremely perilous position – forced to cut ties overnight and hope the authorities don’t retroactively come after them for anything they did before. This dynamic creates a climate of fear around any organization that might be remotely at risk of banning. It’s a powerful silencing tool: even before the Minister swings the ban-hammer, groups will wither as members flee to avoid future punishment. The executive doesn’t even have to prosecute a single person – the mere existence of these offences will chill and disrupt dissident associations.

In sum, the Bill hands sweeping, quasi-dictatorial powers to the executive. A Minister can unilaterally outlaw groups, aided by spy chiefs, without any judicial approval or due process, and thereby trigger the mass criminalization of members and supporters by definition. It is hard to imagine a greater concentration of arbitrary power in one provision of law. Such mechanisms are ripe for abuse – all it takes is a future government less scrupulous or more paranoid than the current one, and this law becomes a cudgel to crack down on any opposition under the broad banner of “extremism.” Australians should ask themselves: do we trust every future Minister, every security chief, with this kind of unbridled authority? History – and the current erosion of liberal democracies worldwide – teaches us that power seized in the name of public safety is too often wielded to entrench authority and suppress dissent. This Bill sets Australia on that dark path.

“Think It Won’t Affect You? Think Again.” – Who Is At Risk

Proponents of the Bill insist it targets only the worst of the worst – neo-Nazi thugs, violent antisemites, hardcore extremists plotting hate crimes. But the plain text of the law tells a different story. Its sprawling reach means ordinary people far outside the stereotypical extremist mold could be caught in its snare. Here are some of the groups and individuals who may believe “this doesn’t apply to me” – but under this law, it very much does:

• Religious Leaders and Communities: It’s not just hypothetical – the Bill explicitly targets religious figures. If you are a minister of religion or spiritual leader, beware: your pulpit has become a potential crime scene. Preaching with intemperate language or controversial theology could make you a felon. The law creates a special offence just for you, doubling penalties because of your status[14]. Imagine a fiery preacher whose sermon condemns another faith or ethnicity – under this law, that’s not just offensive, it’s a 12-year aggravated hate crime. Even private religious discussions aren’t safe if they become public – the law covers any communication, including sermons or scripture readings, that members of the public can observe[13]. While there is a narrow defense for quoting holy texts[15], the moment you add any commentary that could be seen as endorsing hatred, you’re on the hook. This means pastors, imams, rabbis, priests, and spiritual mentors must now self-censor fiercely. Faith traditions that include supremacist or harsh elements (think certain interpretations of religious law that denigrate outsiders) become legally radioactive. Even mainstream religious teachings could be misinterpreted by authorities as “inciting hatred” if taken out of context. The free exercise of religion – to evangelize, to denounce what one’s faith considers evil – will be chilled. Minority religions, often mistrusted by security services, are especially vulnerable; their leaders could find themselves labeled extremists for passionate sermons that a government official deems “hateful.” No clergy in Australia can assume they are safe from this dragnet.

• Political Activists and Protesters: You don’t have to be a neo-Nazi to fall foul of this law. Any activist movement that uses fierce rhetoric or targets a particular ethnic or national group could be branded a “hate” organization. Are you part of a hardline anti-immigration or nationalist group that rails against a certain ethnicity as dangerous? Under this Bill, you’re an obvious target. But it cuts the other way too: are you an Indigenous rights activist who speaks angrily about “white colonizers” and historic oppressors? That could be construed as inciting hatred against a racial group (European Australians). Are you a pro-Palestinian protest organizer whose chants and banners stray into anti-Jewish territory? You could swiftly be deemed antisemitic hate promoters. Perhaps you’re involved with a radical feminist or LGBT group that harshly criticizes religious or ethnic communities for their views – careful, you too could be labeled as spreading hate. The Bill’s definitions are ideologically agnostic; it doesn’t care whether your hatred comes from the far-right, far-left or anywhere else. If race, ethnicity or national origin is in the mix, you are in the danger zone. Once a group of activists is blacklisted, all members are at risk of prosecution. Even loosely affiliated supporters or social media advocates might be swept up as “informal members”[6]. And because no actual violence or crime by the group needs to be proven, non-violent protest movements could be banned simply for strident language. Think about that – in a country that prides itself on robust political debate, activists could be jailed for years just for belonging to a militant protest group that never physically hurt anyone. This is how dissent dies. Today’s radical slogan can become tomorrow’s criminal evidence.

• Journalists, Writers and Academics: Media and academic professionals might assume they can claim neutrality or public interest and be safe. Not so. This law has no explicit exemption for journalism, research, or art. If you interview a member of a banned hate group for a news story and pay them for their time, you may have just “made funds available to a prohibited hate group” – a crime punishable by up to 15 years in prison[38]. If you publish or broadcast the views of extremists – even to rebut them – a zealous prosecutor could allege you “disseminated” hateful ideas or provided a platform (i.e. support) to the group. The new offence of public incitement to hatred could easily ensnare journalists who report on racists in their own words. For example, publishing excerpts of a white supremacist’s manifesto or a jihadist sermon could be seen as “promoting hatred” unless framed just right. And if an academic study or opinion piece discusses the superiority of one culture in frank terms, that too could be twisted as “disseminating ideas of superiority” under the law[39]. At the very least, news outlets will face immense pressure to self-censor: no editor wants to risk their reporter being charged as an extremist propagandist. Investigative journalism into hate groups – vital for exposing them – will become a legal minefield. Academics analyzing extremist ideologies may water down their language or avoid the topic entirely. The free press and open scholarship – pillars of democracy – will suffer, all because this law is written so broadly that telling the public the truth about extremism could look like abetting it.

• Artists, Musicians and Satirists: Think you have artistic license? Think again. The Bill criminalizes symbolic expression as well as verbal[13]. If you’re an artist who uses provocative imagery – say, a swastika in a painting to condemn fascism – you’d better hope the authorities understand the nuance, because there’s a separate offence banning “display of prohibited symbols” (like Nazi symbols) that this Bill plugs into[40]. If you’re a musician or comedian who uses shock value or satire that could be misconstrued as racist, you’re skating on thin ice. An edgy song lyric or joke, taken out of context, might be deemed as intending to incite hatred. Under this law, context may count for little – the question will be, did you intend to stir up hate, and would a “reasonable person” of the target group likely feel intimidated? A prosecutor and a hand-picked “reasonable person” (who’s not in on the joke) might say yes, and your intent will be fiercely debated in court. The Bill offers no explicit protection for satire, art exhibitions, theatrical performances or films that tackle themes of race and hate. By contrast, it explicitly protects religious teaching quotes[15] – but is silent on cultural expression. This omission is chilling. It means a play that portrays racial conflict in a raw way could potentially be seen as “promoting hatred.” 

A street artist’s mural highlighting racial tensions could be labeled hate-incitement if someone in power dislikes its impact. Do we trust that this won’t happen? Given history’s examples of authorities censoring and persecuting artists in times of moral panic, artists should be very worried. The vibrant edge of our arts scene will dull, as creators steer clear of any material that could be misinterpreted by risk-averse venue owners or law enforcement. Satire and creativity cannot thrive under the shadow of jail time.

• Minority and Marginalized Communities: It is a bitter irony that a law touted as protecting minorities could end up weaponized against them. The broad powers and vague language could easily be directed at minority political or cultural groups that make the majority uncomfortable. We’ve seen anti-terror laws, for instance, disproportionately affect Muslim and Middle-Eastern communities; this anti-hate law could repeat that pattern with different labels. Consider a scenario: a Kurdish Australian group campaigns fiercely against the Turkish government’s actions – could their heated rhetoric be labeled “hate” against people of Turkish ethnicity? The Bill would certainly allow it. How about communities of color that express deep anger at systemic racism – could that be cast as “hatred” of white Australians? It’s not far-fetched. The law does not discriminate between hateful views that are wildly irrational (e.g. neo-Nazi racism) and angry views that stem from real grievances (e.g. oppressed groups lashing out). If the rhetoric crosses a subjective line, both are punishable. Additionally, diaspora politics could trigger this law: Tamil or Sikh activists hostile toward another ethnic group back home, Jewish or Arab diaspora conflicts spilling into harsh language here – these could all prompt ministers to ban organizations to curry diplomatic favor or domestic calm. Even advocacy by Indigenous Australians could be targeted if a government found it too “radical.” The point is, any minority group that is seen as “extreme” in its demands or language could find itself cast as an extremist hate group. The Bill arms the government with a sword it can swing in any direction, and history shows minority and dissenting communities often feel the first blows of such weapons. Don’t be reassured by the Bill’s title – “Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism” sounds like it only targets bigots. In truth, its mechanisms enable broad political repression that can harm the very communities it purports to shield. When the definition of “hate” lies in the eye of the beholder, those out of power are always at greater risk of being labeled hateful.

Conclusion – A Call to Defend Democracy’s Core Values

This Bill represents one of the most extreme expansions of state power in recent memory. It attempts to confront the real and ugly problem of hate-fueled extremism, but in doing so it casts aside the very democratic principles that protect us all. If Parliament enacts this law, it will be a victory for extremists of all stripes, because it validates their claim that freedom and democracy are shams that can be cast aside in fear. We do not defend our society from hate by adopting the tactics of authoritarian regimes – silencing speech, banning associations, empowering secret police and ministers to decide truth and punishment without appeal. Yet that is exactly what this Bill does.

Every Australian who values free expression, open debate, religious liberty, fairness and justice should be alarmed. Advocacy groups must recognize that today’s law-and-order weapon against hate could be tomorrow’s weapon against activists and minorities. Lawyers should see the blatant violations of constitutional, international, and human rights law for what they are – an open invitation to legal challenges that will tie up courts for years, while lives are ruined in the meantime. And the public must not be lulled by the Bill’s feel-good title: this is not a simple crackdown on neo-Nazis; it is a crackdown on all of us**.

Our democratic norms – tolerance, pluralism, the rule of law – are being tested. Will we allow fear and outrage to tempt us into giving the government a blank cheque to curtail our freedoms? The Combatting Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill 2026 asks us to do just that. It must be rejected. We can and must combat racism and antisemitism, but not by poisoning our own civil liberties. The price of fighting monsters should never be becoming a monster ourselves. This Bill, if passed, would mark a dangerous step toward that abyss.

Now is the time to raise our voices – while we still legally can.