The death toll from the Bondi massacre rose to 16, including one of the perpetrators. NSW Police Commissioner Mal Lanyon declared the shooting a terrorist attack on Sunday night, with the NSW Police Counter Terrorism Command taking charge of the investigation.
It was an antisemitic terrorist attack, and I believe the whole country should speak clearly and unequivocally about what occurred: a violent, disgusting, and shameful act driven by hatred that does not represent the Australian spirit.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu linked the Bondi attack to Australia’s stance on Palestine, arguing that recognising a Palestinian state “pours fuel on the antisemitic fire” and emboldens those who threaten Australian Jews. He singled out Prime Minister Anthony Albanese personally, claiming the Australian government had done “nothing” — or not enough — to address antisemitism, and characterising its approach as weak or amounting to appeasement.
When I read that, I thought: fancy that. Fancy a man who is the subject of an International Criminal Court arrest warrant for alleged war crimes and crimes against humanity lecturing our government on morality. I felt so passionately about it that I wrote a letter to the editor of The Advertiser. I was careful to be sensitive and respectful, as of course I would always have been, and they published it on Tuesday.
You can read the letter below.
The heinous mass shooting at Bondi Beach during a Hanukkah celebration on Sunday night — in which at least sixteen people were killed — is an unspeakable act of terror. My heart goes out to the victims, their families, and the Jewish community in Australia and beyond. Violence rooted in hatred has no place in our society and must be condemned unequivocally.
I reject Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s claim that the Australian government has fuelled antisemitism by recognising Palestinian statehood. There is a clear irony in this suggestion, given that many argue the actions of his own government in Gaza have contributed to a global rise in antisemitism.
Australia’s leaders, including Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, have strongly condemned the attack and have stated clearly that hate and violence will not be tolerated. This is exactly the response required in the face of terrorism.
It is both possible and necessary to address antisemitism, Islamophobia, and all forms of hatred without conflating foreign policy decisions with the actions of extremists. We must unite in rejecting violence and supporting policies that protect the safety and dignity of all Australians. Hatred and terrorism cannot be justified by politics, and attempts to draw such connections only deepen pain and division.
Kind regards,
Me
Re-reading that letter, if I could change anything I would have mentioned Benjamin Netanyahu’s arrest warrant, and I also would have expanded on what an appropriate response to terrorism actually looks like. I believe that more than words are required — that action matters — and I think the government understands that.
On Tuesday, I also read online in The Advertiser that my muse, Chief Justice Chris Kourakis, is retiring in February next year. He seems far too young to retire at just 67, but I am sure he will go on to do something as thoughtful and accomplished as he is. I admit I felt a little annoyed that I had already had a letter published that day, because had that not been the case, I would have written one celebrating his tenure.
I considered sending a letter and asking that it be published with “name and address withheld,” but that felt awkward. Using my real name also concerned me, as it might suggest a personal relationship and risk reputational discomfort for him — something I wanted to avoid entirely. So I chose not to send it.
That said, I did write the letter I would have liked to submit. It incorporates the five things I like about him, which I also included in my personal letter to him, alongside the book of oaths I sent. You can read my hypothetical letter below.
To the Editor,
I was saddened to read Sean Fewster’s article, “Beaking Out: Top Judge Retiring,” announcing the upcoming retirement of our Chief Justice, the Honourable Chris Kourakis.
As a rank-and-file member of the public who, like everyone else, has been a consumer of the justice he has administered for over thirteen years, I wish to acknowledge not only his service but the values he consistently embodied. In 2008, prior to his appointment to the bench, he renounced the title of QC and became an SC — a principled decision that spoke to substance over status. In 2015, he sat for a day as a magistrate, and in that same year allowed artists to paint him from life, gestures that reflected openness, humility, and an understanding that justice does not exist in isolation from the community it serves.
I also admired his willingness to make himself available to victims who raised concerns about judicial conduct in 2021, and his thoughtful public correction of J.K. Rowling in 2023 regarding the pronunciation of names and the use of gender pronouns. These moments demonstrated a Chief Justice unafraid of engagement, accountability, or progress.
His Honour has served South Australia not only as its Chief Justice, but also as a reminder that progress and change are possible through vision, dedication, and hard work.
Wishing you every happiness in your retirement, Your Honour. I know I speak for many South Australians when I say that the honour was truly all ours.
Kind regards,
Me
I’m glad I didn’t send it, though. Chief Justice Kourakis himself may well have read it, and there’s every chance he wouldn’t have liked it.
On Monday, Mum and I attended an appointment with a geriatrician for cognitive testing, along with a general consultation relating to age-related health matters. I’m not going to say much more about Mum on this blog going forward. I’ve realised that while writing about it may be meditative for me, it is also disrespectful to discuss her personal business, even in the anonymous context of this space.
The appointment also led to a significant fight with my brother. He was brutal towards me in a WhatsApp message, and the exchange made me realise that I need professional support. I tried to speak with my friend Rebecca, but she wasn’t able to make herself available, and I don’t really have anyone else I trust in that way.
There was my brother, but after our recent encounter, speaking to him was not an option. He can be aggressive and uses violent language, and he takes an “I told you so” approach that feels particularly cruel. My father and my older half-brother were much the same — volatile, egotistical, spiteful, and unkind — and the fight brought back how familiar and damaging that dynamic is.
I’ve decided to see my doctor to get a referral so I can see someone regularly, ideally on a weekly basis. I need support. I don’t want to make everything about me, but I also know that if I don’t look after myself — especially with my flaw — I won’t be much good to anyone else. I don’t believe there is any shame in seeking professional help when you need it.
I do sometimes feel very alone, but it doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m determined to make sure it isn’t.
And I’m not technically alone. I have my best friend Maiki in Tanzania. Without him at the moment, I think I would have completely fallen apart. Yesterday, though, Maiki and I learned a very sad lesson together. He is just finishing his PhD. He is highly qualified, intelligent, and thoughtful, and I genuinely believe any organisation would be lucky to have him. He has worked extraordinarily hard for his education and, in many ways, has risked everything for it too.
He recently undertook some volunteer work for a multinational African organisation, and once that role finished, they began vetting him for potential employment. This involved a series of security interviews, and just this last week he travelled to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania’s commercial capital, to take part in the interview process. There were four candidates in total, and two were selected to move forward to the next round.
There is a film called Blood Diamond, set in Sierra Leone, in which Leonardo DiCaprio’s character refers to “TIA.” TIA stands for “This Is Africa” — a phrase used to describe corruption, slow processes, crime, and the kinds of systemic problems people often encounter. The phrase is commonly used across Africa. The last time I was in Tanzania, I heard it constantly. Whenever something went wrong, people would simply say, “TIA.”
I’ve experienced TIA myself, including being asked for bribes. But yesterday, my best friend Maiki experienced it in a way that was cruel and deeply degrading.
As I’ve said before, Maiki is highly qualified — more so than the majority of Tanzanians — and he was clearly a front-runner for the role. Yesterday, on the final day of interviews, however, one of the panel members approached him and asked for money in exchange for progressing his application. What was being said, explicitly and implicitly, was simple: pay us and you move forward; don’t pay us and you don’t.
Maiki called me and asked for my advice. He was deeply uncomfortable with the request and reluctant to comply. He doesn’t have much money, so I suggested he ask whether one million Tanzanian shillings per panel member would be sufficient — around $750 Australian each. I sent him the money. He paid it. He was moved through to the next round.
This goes against everything I believe in. It is unjust, unfair, and criminal. And yet I’m left asking myself: what other option did he really have? He wants the job desperately because it aligns so closely with his passions and his years of study. He also needs security. He has no real safety net beyond me — and I don’t have endless resources either.
TIA. That was TIA in its purest form.
I keep thinking about all the other people in Africa — and around the world — where this kind of corruption operates quietly and relentlessly, and who don’t have someone like me to send them money just to access a job they deserve. Qualified, capable people with no financial backing never even get a chance.
Maiki told me he was relieved to make it through to the next round, but he also said he isn’t happy about it. I’m not happy about it either. He should never have had to pay. He is more than qualified — in many ways, he was born for this role.
Some people abuse power because they can. And while this happened in Africa, it isn’t unique to Africa. Corruption, cruelty, and opportunism exist everywhere. What makes it so devastating is who it shuts out: good people, doing their best, with no safety net at all.
Reflecting on the past week, it hasn’t been a positive one all round. The Bondi Beach massacre was an unspeakable act of hatred and terrorism. Like everyone else, I found it unimaginably horrific, and I reject antisemitism in all its forms.
At the same time, if I’m being honest, my thoughts also turn to Palestine, where tens of thousands of people have been killed, including many thousands of children. For years now, civilians there have been living with levels of violence that are almost impossible to comprehend. Even with a ceasefire in place, civilians continue to die.
I know these events are not directly comparable, and I don’t seek to diminish the horror of what happened at Bondi. But I do find it troubling that, in the aftermath, blame has been directed at our own government. Prime Minister Netanyahu has accused Australia of fuelling antisemitism, and in the rawness of collective grief, some people have been quick to adopt that narrative.
The Australian government does not support or encourage antisemitism. And it leaves me wondering whether hatred can really be legislated away at all — or whether the harder work lies in how we respond to violence, grief, and fear without letting them be weaponised.
As I said in my imaginary letter to the editor, I was saddened to read that my muse, the Chief Justice, is retiring. I will miss reading about the distinctive way he administered the justice system in South Australia. At the same time, I’ve realised that he hasn’t been a long-standing muse for me. That only became clear once I gathered my thoughts about him and sent them to him.
Looking at the timeline of his own excellence has made me strive for excellence of my own. I know I’ll carry that forward, sometimes reflecting on the fact that he helped me realise something important: not all judges are bad.
What happened with my brother was not a fight. It was me standing up and saying that I will not be blamed for things that are not my fault, and that I will no longer accept being spoken to in the way he speaks to me.
For a moment, I felt more alone than I ever have before. But somehow, that single interaction made me realise just how cruel and merciless the world can be — and that I am not going to let it destroy me. I am going to fight to make sure I don’t face things alone. Even if that means paying for professional support, I will put myself in a position where I have the help I need, so that I can remain steady, capable, and of use to anyone who needs me.
TIA. It sucks. It’s not fair.
I think Maiki will get the job, and if he does, I know he won’t feel good about how it happened. That’s the way of the world sometimes — filled with hatred, violence, solitude, and corruption. There are moments when I want to stand on the edge of a cliff and yell “fuck you” at the top of my lungs.
But things could be worse. And I’ll be damned if I let one bad week break me. I’ve got Mum. I’ve got Maiki. And I’ve got a shitload of art to make.
