Bondi Beach and Australia’s failed multiculturalism
I knew two of the people murdered at Bondi Beach. That beach has always felt like Australia distilled: sun-bleached, open, and unserious in the best way. It is where the country goes to exhale. You don’t brace yourself at Bondi Beach. You assume the day will end the way it began. My late father once thought that too. A Holocaust survivor, he arrived in Australia after the war with just a suitcase in his hand and a number on his arm. Australia took him in without interrogation of his past loyalties or beliefs, expecting only that whatever horrors he had fled would not be imported here. He honoured that bargain,