On Australia Day, we can acknowledge the past without being trapped by it

January 26, 2026 — 5:00am

In the wake of the recent tragedy on one of our nation’s most iconic beaches, Australians have again been confronted by violence that has unsettled the nation and exposed how fragile our sense of social cohesion can be and the devastating cost of unresolved fracture.

On Australia Day, that unease sits alongside a deeper reckoning with a national day that began with a catastrophic act for First Nations peoples. The invasion of this continent and the harm that followed did not end in the past; it continues to shape people and institutions today, with consequences that remain present and unresolved.

These two moments are not the same and should never be compared. But they do sit alongside each other in our national consciousness, and together they reveal something important. They show us what happens when a nation avoids difficult conversations for too long.

January 26 has always been a day of deep complexity. For Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, it is a day of grief and remembrance. It marks the beginning of invasion and the ongoing impacts of dispossession.

What is changing now is that discomfort is no longer carried only by First Nations peoples.

Increasingly, many non-Indigenous Australians feel conflicted about this day as well. Long-standing allies, people who have stood alongside First Nations communities, are struggling to reconcile pride in this country with sorrow for how it was claimed.

January 26 is not a day everyone can celebrate. It causes real hurt and division in our community. When a national day consistently wounds a significant part of the population, that is not something to dismiss as inconvenience or political noise. It is a question of belonging.

Yet each year, we hear the same response. It is too hard. Too divisive. Better not to talk about it. This instinct to avoid is not new. We see it whenever conversations threaten comfort or identity. In the aftermath of recent violence at Bondi, we have seen how quickly fear can harden positions.

These issues, while not the same, both expose a national failure. Our reluctance to confront social fracture early and together.

In my work over many years, I have learned that progress does not come from shame, blame or guilt. Shame shuts people down. Blame entrenches defensiveness. Guilt paralyses action. None of these help us move forward.

First Nations peoples have offered something far more powerful and far more generous. An invitation.

Despite everything that has happened on this land, Aboriginal people have continued to invite others into relationships. Come and sit with us. Come and listen. Come and learn. Come and walk together. This invitation has always been grounded in the belief that everyone belongs to this Country, but belonging comes with responsibility.

One of our oldest teachings is dadirri, often described as deep listening. Dadirri is not about winning arguments or proving who is right. It is about stillness, patience and respect. It asks us to slow down, to listen with our whole bodies and to sit with discomfort without rushing to dismiss or fix it.

Australia could learn a great deal from dadirri right now.

We are becoming a louder and more polarised country. Positions harden quickly. People retreat into camps. Listening is mistaken for weakness and curiosity feels risky. Australia Day has become part of that pattern, reduced to slogans and culture wars rather than treated as a relationship that needs care.

People often ask, “If not January 26, then when?” That question matters, but it is not the place to start. We do not need consensus on a new date before we can acknowledge harm. We do not need agreement before we can listen.

The deeper question is what values we want a national day to reflect. Belonging. Truth. Care. Shared responsibility.

A national day should not require some people to silence their pain so others can feel comfortable. It should make room for the full story of this country and for everyone who belongs to it.

After recent events, Australians are asking what holds us together when fear threatens to pull us apart. January 26 asks the same question in a different way. Will we choose avoidance, or will we choose listening?

This country is capable of holding grief and pride at the same time. We can honour survival without celebrating suffering. We can acknowledge the past without being trapped by it. And we can learn from the oldest continuing cultures in the world how to listen more deeply.

That is where real healing begins.

Aunty Munya Andrews is an author and a speaker.