Imported ideologies, selective grief, and dangerous silence are testing Australia’s democracy— and betraying its diaspora.
The recent terror attack in Pahalgam, Kashmir—where Indian Tourist were ambushed and killed—barely made a ripple in Australia’s public discourse. No institutional statements. No vigils. No shared mourning. Yet this silence is revealing. The cost of hate is terrorism. And what happens in India, Nepal, Taiwan, France, Thailand, Israel, and elsewhere matters—especially to the diasporas who call Australia home.
In 2017, Indian and Chinese troops locked eyes across the Doklam plateau in Bhutan, triggering a 73-day military standoff. At the centre of that crisis was the Siliguri Corridor—a vulnerable 22-kilometre-wide stretch connecting India’s northeast to the rest of the country. That confrontation sent a clear message to the world: India’s vulnerabilities are real, and its strategic patience has limits.
Yet today, India’s gravest threat is not only territorial—it is ideological. Not from its traditional adversaries, but from transnational narratives bleeding into diaspora communities across the West, including here in Australia. Imported hostilities are shaping local discourse, eroding cohesion, and leaving Indian Australians to endure hostility for events they did not cause—but are expected to apologise for or disown.
India stands as a pluralistic, constitutional democracy—a civilisational state, a space-faring nation, a QUAD partner, and a cultural superpower. Its ascent has attracted global admiration— but also quiet envy. That envy now expresses itself not through open debate, but through coded exclusions, ideological bullying, and selective silence.
China, too, continues to assert its expansionist ambitions—not only through physical infrastructure and military coercion, but also through cartographic aggression. A habitual feature of Chinese foreign policy has been the periodic release of new lists of renamed locations in Arunachal Pradesh, a northeastern Indian state Beijing falsely claims as “South Tibet.” India has consistently and unequivocally rejected these moves, labelling the renamed locations as nothing more than “invented nomenclature.” But the message is clear: China’s goal is not peaceful coexistence, but hegemonic normalisation. Its strategy of salami-slicing sovereignty—through maps, names, and militarised road-building—is part of a long game of asserting dominance over its neighbours.
The Pahalgam massacre—conducted by the Pakistan-based terrorist group Lashkar-e-Taiba— should have prompted unequivocal condemnation. Instead, the reaction was muted—even in Australia. Lashkar-e-Taiba, which has long appeared in Australian National University publication, openly advocates for a pan-subcontinental Islamic caliphate and was responsible for the 2008 Mumbai attacks that killed over 170 people, including one Australian and injured several others.
In response to the Pahalgam attack, India launched Operation Sindoor, a targeted,
rules-based, and non-escalatory counterterrorism strike. Nine terrorist camps in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir were surgically neutralised. No civilians or Pakistani military personnel were harmed. India’s response was proportionate and legally grounded—a textbook display of state restraint. And yet, that too was met with indifference.
Even here in Australia, the consequences of this moral asymmetry are surfacing. At the University of Queensland, a student union president—elected by just 4% of students—reportedly blocked a motion of condolence by Indian students for the victims of Pahalgam. The rationale? The victims did not fit the “preferred narrative.” This was not a fringe event. It was a warning.
Across campuses and workplaces, selective solidarity and ideological intimidation are poisoning public space. Students are being silenced not for what they say, but for who they are. Jewish, Hindu, Indian, and other diaspora Australians increasingly report being marginalised, gaslit, or targeted—while universities and employers look away, paralysed by the fear of offending the “wrong” ideology.
Let us be clear: under Racial Discrimination Act 1975 (Cth) s 18C, it is unlawful to insult, humiliate, or intimidate someone because of their race or ethnicity. Yet this is precisely what is happening—under the guise of activism and selective human rights. Even informal spaces are not immune. In one example, members of the Australian Hindu and Indian (AHI) diaspora—widely regarded for their civic-mindedness and peaceful coexistence— sought to engage Pakistani Australian colleagues in a moment of shared humanity, amid the grief of recent attacks. “Look, we are wearing the same shoes,” said one Indian Australian. The reply—“But our pants are different”—landed with quiet hostility. What was intended as a gesture of reconciliation became a sobering reminder: imported hostilities now walk among us—casually, even professionally. Pants were also subject to the terror attack in Pahalgam.
What are we waiting for? For Hamas to run out of money? Or for China’s debt diplomacy to build a new Hamas in Pakistan?
When we allow foreign ideological battles to play out unchecked in Australian institutions – particularly those shaping the next generation—we create room for something far more sinister: the normalisation of radicalisation, the glorification of overseas violence, and the quiet seeding of hatred at home. The snakes nurtured in someone else’s backyard do not respect borders.
India, today, is not just a rising power. It is a resilient one. A democracy that has survived everything from invasions to insurgencies—and still refuses to fracture under the weight of terror. Australia cannot claim to be its strategic partner while permitting its diaspora to be vilified for their identity, beliefs, or composure.
As the Bhagavad Gita reminds us:
धर्मेण हीनाः पश्यन्ति विनाशम्
Dharmeṇa hīnāḥ paśyanti vināśam
Those devoid of righteousness meet with destruction.
Otto von Bismarck once quipped: “God has a special providence for fools, drunks, and the United States of America.” But even providence has its limits.
In a post-truth, Trumperian world, moral clarity has been replaced with performative outrage. Superpowers no longer export freedom—they export factions. Identity is weaponised. Victimhood is commodified. Foreign policy no longer builds alliances—it exploits fault lines—across borders, campuses, and cultures.
What was once the British Empire’s doctrine of divide and rule has returned—this time with an American tech twist. Except now, it is not just empires that are being divided—but diaspora minds, university classrooms, and family tables.
This is not about censorship or diplomatic etiquette. It is about preserving Australia’s democratic soul before it fractures under imported narratives and curated indignation.
The snakes are already in our backyard—and no nation, not even one as lucky as ours, can afford to remain naïve. And if we cannot name the snakes—we have already been bitten.
