In the aftermath of the 7 October 2023, attacks in Israel and the ongoing genocide in Gaza, Australia, like much of the world, found itself dealing with an unprecedented surge in both anti-Semitic and Islamophobic incidents. Yet as public and political debate unfolded, a revealing asymmetry emerged in how Australian politicians and media frame and address these forms of ‘old’ hatred.
Documented incidents of anti-Semitism rose sharply after October 2023, as did attacks and harassment targeting Muslims—with bomb threats, arson, and physical assaults doubling, as reported by various sources. But while both communities faced threats, the language and urgency of Australia’s official response could hardly be more different.
Anti-Semitism: A collective threat, a policy priority
When political leaders speak about anti-Semitism, the language is lucid, collective, and urgent. The Jewish community is regularly invoked as integral to Australia’s national fabric, and harm against Jews is framed as an attack on core values and social cohesion.
The trauma of the Holocaust is ever-present in these discussions, and the government moves swiftly: appointing special envoys, such as Jillian Segal, the special envoy to combat anti-Semitism; adopting the IHRA definition; and rolling out new security measures.
Policymakers often justify these actions as necessary efforts to prevent rising hate crimes, protect Jewish Australians from violence and intimidation, and signal a zero-tolerance stance against discrimination.
These measures are presented as vital steps to uphold safety and social unity, particularly in light of historical injustices and recent threats. The result is a discursive landscape in which antisemitism is not only condemned but treated as a national emergency.
Policy changes often follow swiftly, with little public debate about the implications for free speech—especially when criticism of Israeli policy is included in the definition of anti-Semitism.
This environment can make it harder for individuals or groups to voice legitimate concerns about Israeli government actions, as such criticism may be interpreted as antisemitic under some interpretations of the definition.
The upshot is increased self-censorship and a narrowing of the public sphere, where discussions about foreign policy or human rights risk being shut down.
Consequently, while the intent is to protect vulnerable communities, these policies may also restrict open debate on complex and important issues.
Islamophobia: Individualised, contested, and sidelined
By contrast, Islamophobia is s discussed in markedly different terms. Here, the focus shifts from collective trauma to individual incidents, from systemic injustice to questions of “community concern” or even debates about whether Islamophobia can be clearly defined at all.
Official responses tend to be “under consideration” or hedged with caveats about freedom of expression—concerns that, tellingly, are rarely raised when discussing anti-Semitism.
When Muslim representatives do appear in the discourse, such as Australia’s special envoy on Islamophobia, Aftab Malik, it is often in the role of advocate, compelled to justify the seriousness of Islamophobia and the need for protection.
Direct voices from affected Muslim communities are rare; their experiences mediated through government statements or advocacy organisations rather than being heard firsthand.
The power of language: Framing of who gets to speak
Why does this discursive double standard matter? Because language shapes not just perception, but also policy and public empathy.
When anti-Semitism is consistently framed as a collective, existential threat—anchored in historical trauma and requiring urgent action—it becomes a policy and media priority.
When Islamophobia is individualised, abstracted, or treated as controversial, attention dissipates, and systemic change is postponed.
This is not accidental. As numerous scholars on discourse, such as Reisigl and Wodak, among many others, argue, language strategies, such as how we name groups, the qualities we assign to them, and how the arguments are justified, actively shape political realities.
In Australia, the embodiment of these patterns is illustrated in phrases such as “Jewish community” and “Jewish Australians” as needing protection, while Muslims are described more generically as “communities” or “advocates.”
In essence, Jewish Australians are positioned as vulnerable and central to national unity; Muslims, by contrast, are largely backgrounded, their struggles filtered through the voices of others.
Only by scrutinising words can one see how words cluster and reveal subtler biases. Government and media texts often pair “combat” or “protect” with anti-Semitism, signalling proactive intervention, while Muslims are described as “facing” or “enduring” Islamophobia, casting them as passive victims.
These linguistic patterns reinforce perceptions of who is seen as deserving protection and who is left to fend for themselves.
Selective solidarity and its consequences
So far, what emerges is a politics of selective solidarity: a system in which some communities’ pain prompts swift, visible action, while others are met with ambiguity or silence.
This is not just about fairness or ‘fair dinkum’; it shapes policy, public attitudes, and minority communities’ ability to mobilise for change.
If Australia wants to truly live up to its multicultural ideals, and combat both Islamophobia and anti-Semitism fairly, then we need to do better.
That means adopting clear, balanced definitions of both anti-Semitism and Islamophobia in law and public policy, ensuring that protections and interventions are applied equitably.
It means listening directly to those affected, not just their advocates or official spokespersons. And it means holding our media and politicians accountable for how their words shape the boundaries of public empathy and action.
We cannot afford to let language—so often the hidden machinery of power—determine who is worthy of protection and who is left exposed. Only by confronting these discursive hierarchies can we build a society in which solidarity is neither selective nor conditional, but genuinely shared.
Comments