Commentary by Darren Jewell
ANZAC Day is one of the few days on the Australian calendar when the noise of ordinary politics should fall quiet.
Not because every Australian thinks the same way. We do not.
Not because history is simple. It is not.
And certainly not because people should stop having opinions about public ceremonies, Welcome to Country, national identity, government, defence, protest, race, religion or the state of the country.
Australians are free to argue about all of those things. In fact, we should. A healthy democracy depends on people being able to disagree openly, strongly, and honestly.
But there is a time and place.
Booing during an ANZAC Day commemoration is not it.
Reports from this year’s ANZAC Day services described disruptions during Indigenous acknowledgements and Welcome to Country addresses in several capital cities, including Sydney, Melbourne and Perth. Those same reports noted that many in the crowd responded with applause and support for the speakers after the interruptions.
That response matters. It shows that most people still understand the solemn purpose of ANZAC Day.
ANZAC Day is not a partisan rally. It is not a council meeting. It is not a Facebook comment thread. It is not a protest stage. It is a day of service, sacrifice, grief and memory.
There are Australians who support Welcome to Country at public events. There are Australians who question how often it is used, where it is used, or whether it has become too formalised. Those are legitimate matters for public debate.
But even if someone strongly objects to a part of a ceremony, booing during a dawn service does not strengthen their argument. It weakens it.
It shifts attention away from remembrance and onto the behaviour of the person causing the disruption. It takes a moment set aside for veterans, serving personnel, families and the fallen, and turns it into a display of personal grievance.
That is not courage.
It is poor judgement.
The deeper concern is that this kind of behaviour reflects a broader decline in social respect. We are becoming far too comfortable importing the tone of online argument into real life. The heckle, the pile-on, the sneer, the public shaming, the performative outrage – all of it has become normalised.
But community life cannot survive if every public moment becomes another battlefield.
There must still be occasions when we hold our tongue, lower our voice, and remember that the people around us may be carrying memories and grief we cannot see.
At a dawn service, there may be a widow standing nearby. A veteran quietly struggling through the ceremony. A child learning for the first time what the Last Post means. A family remembering someone who did not come home. A serving member thinking of mates lost overseas, or mates lost after returning home.
Those people did not attend to hear a political demonstration.
They came to remember.
That does not mean ANZAC Day should be stripped of complexity. The history of war is complex. The history of Australia is complex. The story of service includes First Nations people, migrants, women, nurses, animals, families, factory workers, farmers, reservists, regular forces, and communities that carried the cost long after the guns fell silent.
Remembering properly means making room for the whole story.
But making room for the whole story also requires discipline from those who disagree. Respect is not proven when everyone agrees. Respect is proven when people disagree and still behave with dignity.
In Liverpool, Fairfield and across south-west Sydney, we know what difference looks like. Our communities are made up of many cultures, faiths, backgrounds and political views. We argue. Sometimes sharply. We debate governments, planning decisions, elections, policing, infrastructure, religion, heritage, identity and the future of our suburbs.
That debate belongs in public life.
But ANZAC Day asks something different of us.
It asks us to pause.
Not forever. Not in silence about every issue. But for long enough to honour those who served, those who died, those who returned changed, and those whose families bore the cost.
If someone wants to object to a ceremonial practice, there are proper ways to do it. Contact the organisers. Raise it with the RSL. Speak to elected representatives. Write a letter. Post your view online. Make the case clearly and respectfully.
But do not boo at a commemoration.
We can be a country that debates fiercely and still remembers respectfully. We can be a community that allows disagreement without losing basic decency. We can have arguments about national identity without trampling on a solemn moment set aside for service and sacrifice.
ANZAC Day does not belong to the loudest person in the crowd.
It belongs to the memory of those who gave more than most of us will ever be asked to give.
And that deserves better than booing.
Source: news.com.au; Australian Associated Press.
