Australia’s response to antisemitism and other forms of prejudice is increasingly framed through the language of national security. That instinct is understandable. Hate speech, intimidation and ideologically motivated violence sit on a continuum of risk that intelligence agencies and police services understand well. But there’s a deeper question we aren’t asking often enough: are we at risk of turning social cohesion itself into a national-security issue?
For decades, intelligence and law-enforcement agencies have used family and community support schemes as sources of insight. Trust-based relationships, community leaders and informal networks have helped authorities understand emerging risks and disrupt violence. That history matters. But extending this logic too far by treating community-building primarily as an intelligence function risks hollowing out the very thing we’re trying to protect.
In recent years, and particularly following polarising global events, antisemitism, Islamophobia and other forms of prejudice have become more visible, more normalised and more entrenched. Governments have responded with legislation, enforcement measures and expanded powers. These tools are sometimes necessary. They’re also fundamentally limited.
There’s only so much that governments can do through law, policy and policing. Hatred isn’t just a security problem; it’s a social one. And social problems are shaped, positively or negatively, within families, schools, workplaces and communities.
Too often, efforts to strengthen social cohesion are dismissed as touchy-feely— important for wellbeing perhaps, but peripheral to national security. But community resilience isn’t a substitute for hard security; it’s a prerequisite for it. Societies with strong social fabric are better at absorbing shocks, resisting radicalisation and preventing grievance from escalating into violence.
The question, then, is how we pursue community building without turning it into another arm of the security state.
One risk of securitisation is trust erosion. Communities that feel instrumentalised and valued only as sources of intelligence or compliance are less likely to engage openly with government entities. This is particularly acute for minority communities that already experience discrimination or over-policing. If every community initiative is perceived as a covert security measure, the space for genuine dialogue shrinks.
There are other options.
First, governments can play a catalytic rather than coercive role, supporting initiatives that strengthen the social fabric without directing or controlling them. Cross-cultural programs, interfaith dialogue, local sporting and cultural activities, and shared civic experiences build familiarity and empathy. They work best when they’re community-led, locally grounded and sustained over time, not when they’re bolted onto counter-extremism frameworks.
Second, economic security matters more than we often acknowledge. Communities under persistent economic stress have less capacity to invest in social bonds. When families are focused on survival, housing insecurity, cost-of-living pressures and precarious work, social withdrawal is rational. Policies that ease these pressures aren’t just social or economic policy; they’re national-security policy. Economic stability creates the conditions for participation, volunteering and civic engagement.
Third, civics and history education must be taken seriously. Democratic literacy, media literacy and historical understanding are critical defences against misinformation, conspiracy theories and identity-based hatred. Schools remain one of the few institutions that cut across social and economic divides. Investment here is long-term, but few interventions are more durable.
Fourth, cultural institutions matter. Museums, galleries, memorials and the arts aren’t luxuries; they’re repositories of shared identity and contested history, providing spaces where difficult conversations can occur without collapsing into zero-sum conflict. Supporting them is another way that economic security, education and social wellbeing reinforce national-security outcomes.
A further complication, and one that often distorts policy debate, is the expectation that social-cohesion and counter-extremism initiatives must demonstrate certainty of success. Evidence-based policy is essential. Taxpayers rightly expect cost-effective and accountable investment. But when success is defined as a 100 percent guarantee of prevention, many worthwhile interventions fail before they begin.
There’s no single program, nor small grouping of initiatives, that can deliver complete social cohesion or eliminate prejudice and radicalisation. Expecting such certainty misunderstands the nature of social systems. Communities are complex and adaptive, shaped by forces well beyond government control.
That doesn’t make investment futile. Success should be measured not only by the absence of harm, but by the presence of resilience: stronger relationships, higher trust and greater capacity to manage disagreement without escalation. These outcomes are incremental and uneven, but they’re real.
Abandoning initiatives because they cannot guarantee perfect outcomes risks privileging short-term certainty over long-term stability. It leaves space for those willing to exploit grievance, isolation and fear. In national-security terms, that isn’t prudence but risk transfer.
None of this diminishes the role of intelligence agencies or police. There’ll always be individuals who pose real threats, and dealing with them requires specialised powers. But it’s not the role of security agencies to manage non-violent but deeply unpleasant beliefs. Allowing such ideas to fester unchecked, particularly in online spaces, creates long-term risk. The response, however, cannot rest solely with the state.
Families and communities remain where values are transmitted, challenged and reshaped. They’re where people learn to live with irreconcilable differences in a democratic society.