The co-chair of the Australian Republic Movement recently published When Australia Became a Republic. It states the many dates when Australia made cultural and political leaps forward away from the monarchy: 2000, with the Sydney Olympics; or 1986, with signing of the Australia Act; or 2014, when Tony Abbott reinstated knighthoods and got laughed at internationally. Author Esther Anatolitis makes the case that these weren’t just important dates in Australian history, but these were the dates Australian became a republic. This is such an interesting political gambit from the pro-republic movement: lying. No, Australia is not a republic. Because being a republic is not something you can be halfway: you have a monarch as your head of state, or you don’t.

Anatolitis’s book reads like the accounts of Japanese soldiers fighting in isolated jungles long after World War Two had ended. She is still fighting an old war. Australia voted against becoming a republic in 1999, and ever since then the movement has been slowly petering out until just last month when the final nail was hammered into its coffin. Anthony Albanese declared there would be no vote on a republic. The PM thought he, "made it clear that I wanted to hold one referendum while I was prime minister, and we did that.” As Mike Seccombe of The Saturday Paper pointed out, “Albanese had not made that clear, which is why his comments made news.”

Maybe, “made news” is putting it strongly. This was just making official what had been suspected since the failure of the Voice referendum in 2023. We have the remarkable political situation where the current prime minister and the current opposition leader, Sussan Ley, are republicans. The queen – whose regalness was long believed to be the only thing keeping the monarchy in Australia – has been dead for three years. It seems like all the republicans have to do is stand in front of the goal line and tap the ball in, but the thought of actually becoming a republic feels more alien than ever.

Anatolitis’s book is the final admission that this era of republicanism is over. That even the co-chair of the Australian Republic Movement (ARM) thinks that, Hey, maybe we don’t need a republic anyway.

I just want to go back, back to 1999

In its heyday of the 1990s, ARM was led by a young Malcolm Turnbull. If Australia succeeded in becoming a republic via the 1999 referendum, Turnbull would surely have statues cast in bronze, with plaques describing him as the father of the republic. But Turnbull is not a progressive. And the description of his realisation that Australia needed to become a republic is telling.

Australia Day, 1988, also known as Australia’s Bicentenary, is popularly regarded as a day of shame, but for different reasons. Unlike the American Bicentenary in 1976, which no doubt inspired Australia’s, it did not mark a declaration of independence. Australia Day 1988 marked 200 years since the arrival of the First Fleet, and the start of British colonisation of the continent. As such, it would feature a re-enactment of tall ships arriving at Sydney Harbour, for which the government of the day – understanding the optics – wouldn’t fund. The protest movement included 40,000 marching across Sydney Harbour Bridge. But for Turnbull, it was only “a year of shame” because “[e]very major event was presided over by a member of the British royal family.” The prime minister had been cucked by Prince Charles.

A minimalist republic

His 1993 book The Reluctant Republic is a fascinating – almost retro-futurist – account of a time that never came to pass. The introduction describes Prime Minister Robert Menzies as, “last of the full-scale Australian political royalists”, three years before the election of monarchist John Howard, and twenty years before the election of British-born Tony Abbott.

As the book reveals, the lack of focus on Indigenous Australians was an intentional political decision. “The rights of indigenous people,” he argues, “are logically separate issues from that of the identity of the Head of State.” Indeed, his version of a republic is a starkly minimalist one: “We do not aspire to an American republic or a Latvian republic. We just aspire to have a Head of State chosen by Australians who would fulfil exactly the same role as the Governor-General does today.” I’m not entirely sure why Latvia caught a stray here.

Anatolitis’s republic is updated for the 21st century. It speaks to a kind of ‘progressive patriotism’. This version of a republic includes Indigenous people front and centre. In fact, she lists the 1988 protests as one of the dates when, “Australia became a republic”.

Still, most of her arguments for the republic haven’t fundamentally moved on from Turnbull’s. They still hinge on a disdain for the monarch, rather than a new vision of Australia. The book can’t help itself but spend its time with what Indigenous author Megan Davis might call “tedious snark about royal weddings”.

The book is not arranged chronologically, so her decision to end in 2024 for her home-run-hitting finale is curious. That was when a freshly coronated Charles made his first kingly visit to this country. She recounts a televised debate she had against a monarchist with the tone of a Tumblr post that ends with, “and everyone clapped”.

The monarchist claimed that, “the King has no substantial role in Australian democratic nor cultural life.” Anatolitis and the moderator laughed that the monarchist had “saved us all some time by making [her] argument stronger.”

This is not the slam dunk she thinks it was: the monarchist is correct. They are both making appeals to the status quo, and both agree that the King barely does anything. It’s just that Anatolitis thinks that it means we should depose of him, and the monarchist thinks that means we should just let him stay. Unfortunately for Anatolitis, doing something takes more effort than doing nothing.

Narrative-less republic

Turnbull’s republic would very likely pass if it was voted on today. In fact, all polling and modelling had some version of a republic passing in 1999, if it wasn’t for some very smart politicking from John Howard that divided the republic camp.

But here’s the thing: there will never be another vote on Turnbull’s republic. This minimalist republic, one whose only goal is removing the monarch and replacing them with an Australian president, is never getting off the ground. There are two reasons for it.

The first is just part of practical politics: the status quo is good enough. It would be political malpractice for Albanese to spend any of his political capital on the issue. With the Liberal party in shambles, he is almost guaranteed a third term. Sans crisis, or a progressive movement coming for his left flank, he is likely looking at four terms. That would make him the third longest serving prime minister ever. Why rock the boat?

The second reason is more complex: there is no good story. If the republic movement wants a serious future, in some ways they need to change focus from being so anti-monarch. It needs to be pro something.

When I was reading the introduction to Turnbull’s book, written by art critic Robert Hughes, he includes this weird anecdote said with such speed it seemed assumed I knew what he was talking about.

Huh? Google tells me that Fergie is the tabloid nickname of the ex-wife of Prince Andrew, who had paparazzi photograph her feet being kissed by John Bryan, an American financial manager. It’s kind of amazing that people thought this would topple the monarchy. The regal queen is dead, and has been replaced by a bumbling old man with fat fingers, and Australia is still a monarchy. Prince Andrew is (allegedly) a pedophile, and Australia is still a monarchy. It’s been revealed that the queen likely had some role in dismissing Gough Whitlam, and Australia is still a monarchy. I apologise for engaging in the same tedious snark that I criticised Anatolotis for doing, but I need to prove what has been known for a while: the monarchy is resilient to scandal. One needs more than snark, especially as the King will soon be replaced with his son, Prince William, someone canny enough to drop his dad’s ridiculously posh accent for an only moderately posh accent.

A satisfying narrative has not emerged to replace the anti-monarchic one. So it’s not a surprise that republicans can’t help but dip their hand into the well of gossip rag, anti-monarchy slop. After writing that last paragraph, I can tell you firsthand it is very fun, but it’s hardly enough to lever a movement off.

Treaty Republic

Writers like historian Mark McKenna have a narrative, but its adoption by republicans feels half-hearted. He suggests that a republic, “must finally be grounded on our own soil and on thousands of generations of Indigenous occupation.” Megan Davis put it more succinctly: “The republic is an Aboriginal issue.”

But I worry that writers like Anatolitis only care for Indigenous sovereignty as much as it can serve as ammunition for the republic. While she herself tends to say the right things, the website of her organisation still promotes a “republicanism that shrinks itself", to quote Davis. It does that icky thing where Indigenous people only get a mention as one of “three unique pillars” that define Australian heritage. As if they are just another piece of evidence that can be trotted out to show our distinctiveness from British culture.

There was a time when I cared for symbology much more than I do now. I used to rally quite strongly for changing the Australian flag, but in time I’ve actually come to grow a kind of fondness for it. As a republican, and as someone with two eyeballs, I think it’s a deeply ugly symbol that should be replaced. But I also have come to appreciate its honesty.

It is very honestly a colonial relic, so out of touch with the country it represents that it doesn’t even feature its national colours – green and gold – because it predates their adoption. It features the ensign of the colonial power that Australia has never separated from. It’s the same flag of the same government that committed atrocities beneath it, the same atrocities that have never been truly reckoned with. Changing it might make some dent in our collective self perception, but as it stands, I’ve come to appreciate that it contains the flag of a completely different country inside of it. To fly it as a proud Australian symbol is inherently hypocritical, and that should be seen as a feature, not a bug.

This is true of Australia day, but also of the anthem and – in some senses – the republic. To fight to change any of them is to fight a frustrated border skirmish in the broader culture war. To become a republic without a treaty, or at least a vision of where to go from here would be a pointless papering over of history. It would have the real world impact of Scott Morrison changing “young and free” to “one and free” in the national anthem.

The Voice

I’m not ignorant to the realities of our political moment. In the way Christians mark dates as Before Christ (BC) and Anno Domini (AD) or The Year of Our Lord, it’s felt like I should mark articles I reference by how many years Before Voice (BV) or After Voice (AV) they were published. The failure of the Voice referendum has warped progressive politics so much it’s kind of hard for this essay not just to become another autopsy of it. I have a close friend who was involved with the Voice campaign since she first heard about it in high school. She campaigned for it outside train stations in 2023, and she describes the way the public became so much more cynical as the vote approached. Once it failed, she became a lot more jaded politically. She was convinced Peter Dutton’s dirty politics would get him elected this year.

I’ve quoted a lot from The republic is an Aboriginal issue, by Megan Davis—published 5 years BV. She was advocating against the political timidity that had formed following the failings of the 1999 referendum, when the Voice was still just the Uluru Statement from the Heart. “At Uluru we invited you to walk with us in a movement of the Australian people for a better future.” The Voice would lose in such crushing fashion that advocating for anything beyond rank cynicism feels naive.

The Voice failed for many reasons. But the most satisfying reason I’ve come across is the fact the Voice didn’t have a convincing narrative. Given the Voice had two thirds support in 2022, before dropping to its final result of 40%, it seems the campaign itself had a huge impact.

The Yes and No campaigns were not equally matched combatants in a fair fight. Through storytelling, the No campaign maintained an edge by telling people what they already believed. In their advertisements, they relied heavily on Indigenous politician and No campaigner Jacinta Price, letting her speak to her personal accomplishments, which are in some ways sincerely impressive.

She is a domestic violence survivor who came from very humble beginnings to get elected to the senate. She describes the way her mother was “born under a tree”, and how her first language was Warlpiri, not English.

It would be charming, if there wasn’t the undercurrent that her achievements prove that the failings of others are exclusively their own fault. This is the old neoliberal story of the meritocracy, with its own uniquely Australian flavour in the ‘fair go’. Equality as equal opportunity. If this was the case, then the Voice would be creating a new division in Australia.

But this was the distinct advantage of the No campaign: they were willing to play fast and loose with reality, if it served the story they wanted to tell. Price and other No activists claimed that voting yes would enshrine race forever into the constitution—an understandable concern, if it wasn’t already forever enshrined in the constitution. For many voters, politics feels like a zero sum game. If one group is being lifted up, that necessarily means you are being kept down.

The Yes campaign on the other hand – already doing the difficult task of fighting against the status quo – never really came up with a story quite as potent. Research from right wing lobby Advanced showed that "If you hadn’t encountered Price and her personal story, and you hadn’t encountered our campaign message you were a default Yes voter. If you knew who she was, and knew her story, you were likely to be a No voter.” Advance’s Steve Doyle quoted in Voice referendum: How a nation’s quiet No beat the loud Yes

In the place of a narrative, the Yes campaign became reliant on slogans that felt like empty platitudes: History is Calling! or Be on the right side of history! or You’re the voice try and understand! Make a noise and make it clear! We’re not gonna sit in silence, we’re not gonna sit in fear! Woah oh!

There probably would have been material benefits to the Voice’s advisory body, even if that claim isn’t believed by every Indigenous activist. “The Voice is simply yet another Aboriginal advisory body. And we’ve got a long history, at least a fifty-year history, of Aboriginal advisory bodies.” – Gary Foley in The use and abuse of History in the Voice referendum debate But those platitudes and gestures toward change might have been more convincing than trying to get Australians to confront the racism in this country. Especially when it doesn’t feel like everyone is operating with the same facts. “[O]ne poll found nearly half (47%) of Australians believed that White Australians face as much or more discrimination as Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders.” Maybe it was just an impossible task.

Future

The impossibility of this task is probably why republicans like Anatolitis and Turnbull before her have chosen to focus on the far away monarchy, rather than the issues at home. If Australia holds another referendum on the republic it will likely pass, but it’s hard not to feel like, “the Australia on the other side of a successful referendum for a republic is the same as the Australia on this side. Lipstick on a pig.” Megan Davis, again.

For what it’s worth, I don’t often call myself a republican. The debate has fallen so far out of popular consciousness that most people think I’m aligning myself with the American far-right. But enough time has passed; it might be time we restart the fight.

And I hope when I tell people I believe Australia should be a republic, they don’t assume I have some unique hatred for the British Royal Family. I’m not a fan, but it really doesn’t bother me that Fergie is getting her toes sucked. She can do what she likes. What I really want is what Prime Minister Paul Keating said in 1995, 28 years BV. “The creation of an Australian republic is not an act of rejection. It is one of recognition.”

The republic itself should not be the end goal of the movement. It is just one convenient jumping off point in the narrative of Australia. It would be easier if it was the end goal, but if it’s easy that means nothing is really changing. You shouldn’t settle for a minimalist republic; nor a republic that merely exists culturally; nor a republic that only exists in the eyes of an academic, if you squint a little.

I’m hoping for a new Australia. I hope that the Australian republic can finally be rid of the gaping hole at the centre of our politics. I hope that this Australia can give the Indigenous peoples more than just empty words. I hope that this Australia can deliver some kind of justice for all the past wrongdoings. And I hope that this Australia is able to digest this past and still articulate an optimistic future.