Anzac Day

We owe our ancestors a country that believes in itself.

On Anzac Day, Australians gather in cities, country towns, and remote communities to mark a sacred moment in our national life—a reminder of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps’ heroism in World War I.

The ceremonies are simple: a bugle, a prayer, a minute’s silence. Yet they speak volumes. They remind us not only of the courage and sacrifice of those who served, but of something quieter and deeper—the enduring strength of patriotism.

Patriotism is not always fashionable these days. In some quarters, it is treated with suspicion, dismissed as naïve or, worse, a gateway to nationalism. Expressing pride in Australia can feel like an act of defiance. “Australia Day” is rebranded as “Invasion Day.” Schoolchildren are taught to see the nation’s founding as an act of original sin. In this telling, our history is a catalogue of injustices and our national identity a source of shame.

And yet, the instinct to love one’s country remains strong. It’s there on Anzac Day in the faces of young and old, in the tears of veterans, in the quiet gratitude of those who understand what it means to live in a nation that, for all its faults, remains peaceful, prosperous, and free.

Patriotism, properly understood, is not a boast. It is not a denial of past wrongs or a refusal to acknowledge suffering. It is not about claiming that our country is the best, the biggest, or the most important. Rather, it is a steady and reasoned love—a recognition of shared history, values, and aspirations. It is the emotional glue that binds a nation together.

Australia has never claimed to be a flawless society. We have made mistakes. But we have also shown a remarkable capacity to learn, adapt, and strive for something better. Patriotism does not require us to whitewash the past. It asks only that we judge our nation with the same generosity we offer to our friends and family: to acknowledge their shortcomings without withdrawing our affection.

Indeed, the very possibility of reform depends on a fundamental love of country. Why would anyone work to improve something they do not value? Critics who claim to speak out of moral concern are, however unwittingly, relying on the very patriotism they often deride. The impulse to make Australia fairer, more inclusive, or more just is only meaningful if we believe this country is worth the effort.

Anzac Day illustrates this beautifully. We honour those who served not because war is glorious—it isn’t—but because service is. We are not celebrating conquest; we are acknowledging commitment. Young men and women risked everything not for personal gain, but because they believed in the country they served. Patriotism was not something they proclaimed. It was something they lived.

It still is. Every time a teacher stays late to help a struggling student, a volunteer firefighter races toward danger, or a migrant family puts down roots and calls Australia home, patriotism is quietly at work. It may not shout, but it endures.

Australia is a society that has welcomed millions from around the world, offered opportunity and protection, and developed institutions—parliament, courts, free media—that much of the world still lacks. We are not defined solely by our past, but by what we have become: a liberal democracy that upholds the rule of law, fosters tolerance, and enables human flourishing.

Those who insist that Australia is illegitimate or irredeemable are not merely rewriting history—they are undermining the very solidarity that makes progress possible. Patriotism is what allows a nation to move forward without falling apart.

Of course, there will always be disagreements about how best to honour our history, how to balance memory with justice, pride with humility. That’s the work of a democracy. But we must be careful not to let justified concern curdle into cynicism. A society that loses faith in itself cannot long endure.

This Anzac Day, we might resist the temptation to apologise just for existing, and instead reflect on what unites us. We might look not only at what Australia was, but at what it has become—and what it could yet be. We are a lucky country, yes, but our “luck” was hard-won. The freedoms we enjoy were not granted by fate. They were earned by courage, sacrifice, and the patriotism of ordinary people who believed this nation mattered.

We owe them more than remembrance. We owe them a country that believes in itself.