Glimmers of hope for those resisting Islamophobia and racism in Australia

I have faced these few weeks with a heavy heart. Like many Australian Arab Muslims, I experienced the horror of the Bondi attack not simply as a single moment of fear, but as the latest shock to an already overwhelmed collective nervous system. So many of our responses have been shaped by the ongoing genocide in Gaza and exhaustion about the relentless suspicion we face here in Australia.  

An attack on any innocent life is an attack on our shared humanity. This is something most of us have been naming for more than two years. And we have been crying out for others to join us in recognising this awful fact.  

The violence of the Bondi attack did not arrive in a vacuum. It landed on communities already carrying layered grief and accumulated trauma. Not only have we watched a livestreamed genocide in which our family, friends and those who resemble us have been killed in the most gruesome ways, we have also endured daily encounters with Islamophobia and racism. 

Muslims in Australia have a long history of being treated as conditional members of the nation. The Bondi attack took place just 30 kilometres from Cronulla Beach, where white supremacist youth violently attacked many of our community members twenty years ago.  Indeed, the horror in Bondi happened in the same December week as the Cronulla attacks.  

There is a familiar and corrosive demand placed on Muslim communities to publicly condemn violence, again and again, regardless of who commits it. Many of us understandably jumped to express our sorrow. But we all understood immediately that the expectation of demonstrating our horror was not neutral. In this country, which many refer to as the most successful multicultural society in the world, Muslims grow up instinctively justifying our humanity, values, and Australianness. Over time we internalise Islamophobia; accepting the quiet, devastating belief that our pain is suspect unless we can prove to others that we are genuine.  

This is a form of moral injury – harm caused when people are forced to carry responsibility for actions that violate their own deepest values.

READ: Australian festival boycotted for excluding Palestinian writer

These wounds were further reopened just days after the Bondi attack, when police forcibly removed seven Muslim men from their vehicles and detained them for hours.  While they were locked up, the young men were subjected to Islamophobic taunts, including being called “terrorists.” 

These young men were visiting Sydney on holiday. The police’s use of highly visible, forceful tactics in a public space, followed by their release without charge seemed designed to warn others.  It raises serious questions about proportionality, racial profiling, and accountability. Worse, the mainstream media amplified the police actions, and premier of New South Wales (NSW) commended the police for their actions, saying, “police are not mucking around and I don’t think anyone in NSW wants them to muck around.”  This clearly deepens the harm and potentially reinforces the racialised and religious stereotypes that Muslim communities know all too well.

For many of us, this kind of treatment came as no surprise.  Though it is fundamentally at odds with the standards expected of law enforcement in Australia, it is hauntingly familiar.  If you grew up in the shadow of 911 in Australia, you know how it feels to be viewed as a constant suspect.  

As Australia mourns the victims of the Bondi attack, Arab Muslims feel their grief is monitored, policed or overshadowed. Public empathy feels selective, abundant for some lives and conditional for others. For those watching Israel’s genocide in Gaza unfold daily, this contrast deepens a painful sense of invisibility and disposability.

And yet, despite this weight, the Muslim community continues to respond with care. While mourning alongside the broader public, Muslims too are checking in on the victims, on one another, reaffirming values of compassion, condemning violence without surrendering dignity, and insisting, quietly but firmly, that grief should not be ranked.

For many in the Muslim community, the events at Bondi have rekindled memories of past “counterterrorism” operations, years marked by invasive surveillance, lengthy detentions, hostile and racist media narratives, and long-lasting trauma. We have been reminded that our belonging here is conditional.  This is especially painful because during the past decade, significant effort has been made to rebuild trust between Muslim communities and law enforcement.  Or at least we thought so. Current events – and in particular the responses of politicians, police and authorities – threaten to undo that fragile progress.

In the past weeks I have seen glimmers of hope in ordinary people who are resisting the Islamophobia and racism of the past.  In the last two years, anti-genocide efforts have built powerful grassroots coalitions of people who are driven by a love of humanity and a refusal to accept Israel’s genocide.  The way forward for Australia is to ensure that those voices rise and are protected, not stifled. 

READ: ‘Stand with each other:’ Global hero Ahmed calls for embracing humanity after Australia shooting

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.