The federal government's urgent move to legislate against hate speech in the wake of last month's Bondi massacre is a fraught endeavour, highlighting the fundamental tension between the fluid nature of language and the law's demand for rigid certainty.
The Clash Between Living Language and Rigid Law
Language is a dynamic, living entity. It evolves, contracts, and expands, capable of conveying beauty, nuance, irony, or menace with a single word. The law, in stark contrast, insists on clear definitions and despises ambiguity. Attempting to legislate language is often an exercise in futility, akin to asking a fidgeting toddler to obey the strict commands of a weary old man.
This core incompatibility lies at the heart of the proposed Combating Antisemitism, Hate and Extremism Bill, which Prime Minister Anthony Albanese is rushing to Parliament for debate and a vote next week. While few dispute the need to confront hatred and incitement to violence, the political pressure to be seen acting swiftly after a national trauma can override the necessity for careful, wise lawmaking.
Religious Exemptions and Political Urgency
The proposed legislation's complexity was hinted at by the Prime Minister himself this week. He noted it would contain an exemption for quoting religious texts, challenging critics to "read the Old Testament and see what's there... See if you can outlaw that."
This exemption immediately opens a minefield. Sacred texts like the Qur'an and the Bible, particularly the Old Testament, contain passages advocating violence. Selectively quoting these texts has historically justified extreme acts. Creating a special carve-out for religious language while penalising other forms of speech invites confusion and claims of unfairness.
The timing of the bill is equally contentious. Why is the government proceeding before the findings of the Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion are delivered? This is an inquiry Albanese resisted for weeks. Australia already possesses a patchwork of state and federal laws dealing with incitement and threats. Adding another layer now, when a major inquiry will inevitably make further recommendations, seems premature.
A History of Hasty Laws and Lasting Consequences
History provides stark warnings about laws born from catastrophe. The notable exception is Australia's measured gun reforms after Port Arthur. More often, such laws are performative and have far-reaching, unintended consequences.
The US Patriot Act, rushed through after September 11, granted vast surveillance powers intended for terrorists but were soon used against journalists and activists. Britain's post-terrorism laws expanded stop-and-search powers, later found to disproportionately target minority groups while doing little to curb radicalisation.
Words are not inanimate objects like guns; their meaning is shaped by tone, context, and audience. Legislation crafted in haste risks becoming the very thing the law abhors: a complex weapon laden with ambiguity. When parliament decides which words are permissible based on who says them and in what context, language ceases to be a living, communal tool. It becomes a battleground—precisely where extremists thrive.
This is not an argument for complacency or a defence of hate speech. It is a call for the restraint often missing in crises. The government's urgency smacks of political theatre—a response to Albanese's diminished public standing after the attack and a perceived need to project decisive action after hesitant initial communications.
The nation needs effective tools to combat extremism, but laws designed under pressure and passed in haste may create more problems than they solve, undermining the social cohesion they aim to protect.
