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In a way, it’s a mercy most of the Greatest Generation have passed away: can you imagine how demoralised they would be by Australia today? What, they would justifiably ask, did we bother fighting for?
Signs of national decay are everywhere. As the ties that bound us fray, a once-optimistic country is fracturing in despair.
If the Anzacs could see what their grandchildren have done with the country they bled for, they’d probably storm the beaches all over again: Manly and Port Melbourne beaches, that is. Not to mention Bondi, where they’d find themselves fighting antisemitic fanatics all over again. Only, not Germans or Italians, but the invaders successive governments have welcomed with open arms or indoctrinated in the far-left-run indoctrination gulag laughingly called the ‘education system’. The modern-day fascists might have replaced their coal-scuttle helmets and swastikas with keffiyehs, but the hate is as vicious and ugly as ever.
The social contract that built post-war Australia has been shredded. Not by some foreign invader, but by the very elites who inherited the greatest prosperity in human history and proceeded to torch it for ideology, virtue-signals and cheap votes. What was once a nation where a young bloke could buy a house on a single wage, raise a family and expect his kids to do better has become a lottery for the connected and a kick in the teeth for everyone else.
Broad signs of disengagement, of people feeling little or no stake in their country, reflect a demoralised nation.
You see it in the streets, the polls and the hollowed-out trust in institutions. National symbols under assault. Dawn Fraser copping it for defending the Australian way of life. Statues torn down, anthems re-written and flags treated as either optional accessories for the grievance industry if approved, or simply burned if not. ‘Palestinian’ flags polluting the inner cities while Australian and Jewish flags burn. The quiet pride that once unified a sunburnt country has been replaced by mandatory guilt sessions and imported tribalism.
Grim prospects began with housing. For both Gen Z and the immediately preceding Millennial generation, being able to afford a house became increasingly difficult, if not impossible. Social stability and personal wellbeing had been founded on young couples being able to take for granted that they would be able to own their own homes. That unwritten social contract had been torn up, with Gen Z being condemned by poor social planning at the hands of Baby Boomers and their successors to a rootless existence, an understandably insecure and anxious one, prone to deflating self-esteem and low hope.
The same generation that benefitted from cheap land, sensible migration and energy abundance, gifted to them by the blood and sweat of their parents, decided to throw it all away. Mass immigration without infrastructure, green tape strangling housing supply and planning laws written by inner-city types who’ve never swung a hammer. The result is skyrocketing prices, rents through the roof, and young Australians told to suck it up and rent forever in someone else’s investment property. Then they wonder why the kids are anxious, childless and voting like it’s the end times.
Worry about the future then became compounded by employment threat as the artificial intelligence tide flooded in. Indeed, the tech revolution in the broad is tearing away at our entire social fabric. It is little wonder, then, that Gen Z protests at the ballot box.
Add to that the deliberate energy poverty. Coal plants closed for windmills that don’t work when the wind doesn’t blow. Blackouts in Victoria and price spikes everywhere, while China laughs and builds more coal. The productive heartland, farmers, miners, tradies, treated as embarrassments by quinoa-belt sophisticates who can’t change a tyre or screw in a lightbulb, but can screw a generation of children with groomer indoctrination.
This isn’t just about economics or generation who can’t spell or do basic maths, but can spot imaginary ‘racism’ or ‘transphobia’ from a hundred paces. It’s complete cultural self-sabotage. The post-war social contract rested on shared values: hard work, a fair go and a Christianised culture. Integration, not fragmentation. Mass low-skilled migration plus multiculturalism turned the melting pot into a pressure cooker. Parallel societies, welfare incentives for non-integration and elites who sneer at ‘racism’ while living in gated enclaves. No wonder trust evaporated.
The Greatest Generation fought fascism abroad only for their offspring to import softer versions at home: speech codes, identity politics, a nanny state that demands you affirm every new fad or be cancelled. Covid showed how thin the skin of ‘liberal democracy’ had become. Boot boys in blue, mask Karens and opportunistic premiers revealed the authoritarian streak lurking beneath the ‘compassionate’ rhetoric.
Australia’s post-war paradise didn’t vanish by accident. It was sold out: by globalists chasing GDP numbers over social cohesion, by greens destroying reliable energy and by progressives who despise the very culture that gave them the freedom to whinge. The result is a fractured nation where the young see no future and the old barely recognise their country.
Reversing this means rejecting the guilt cult, rebuilding housing supply, slashing red tape, securing borders and rediscovering the virtues that made Australia the lucky country. Pride in our achievements, not apology for existing; integration, not balkanisation; energy abundance, not net-zero fantasies.
Otherwise, the social contract stays torn and the Anzacs’ sacrifice becomes a bitter joke.
The kids aren’t alright. Neither is the nation they inherited. Time to get off the high horse of ideology and face reality, before the whole thing fractures beyond repair.
