Reflecting on Australia’s Racial Discrimination Act and the path ahead

This landmark legislation, introduced by the Whitlam government in 1975, was not only celebrated for its historical weight but also served as a powerful reminder of Australia’s ongoing journey toward a truly equitable and anti-racist society.

Hosted by the Whitlam Institute and Western Sydney University, the gathering united prominent human rights and social justice voices. Among the key speakers were Race Discrimination Commissioner Giridharan Sivaraman and acclaimed Indigenous leader, author, and human rights advocate Thomas Mayo. The afternoon drew a diverse crowd of all ages, religions, and ethnic backgrounds, reflecting on Australian identity, nationhood, and aspirations for the future.

Legislating for human dignity

Professor John Juriansz, Director of the Whitlam Institute, aptly described the Racial Discrimination Act as “an attempt to legislate for human dignity and to broadcast our society’s disapproval of the indignity of discrimination.” As Australia’s first substantial piece of human rights legislation, the Act laid crucial groundwork for Native Title recognition. It enshrined the principle of equality before the law for all Australians, regardless of their racial background.

Commissioner Sivaraman reflected on the Act’s profound significance in his keynote address, calling it “a pivotal milestone in our journey to a better society.” He emphasised that the RDA’s foundational values—equality, dignity, and respect—remain the aspirations of future generations. “To be denied equality, dignity, and respect is central to the experience of those who suffer racism,” Sivaraman stated.

He then drew a crucial distinction: while he, as a non-First Nations person, has personal experience with racism, it differs profoundly from the racism First Nations people have endured for the last 238 years.

Sivaraman elaborated that the racism faced by First Nations people is not just a denial of equality, dignity, and respect but also a denial of self-determination and sovereignty. He stated unequivocally: “there can be no racial justice in this country, without First Nations racial justice.” Last year, Sivaraman launched the National Anti-Racism Framework, a roadmap designed to eliminate racism in Australia.

Matilda Harry, Research Fellow at Western Sydney University and a proud Wiradjuri woman, lauded the Act for “setting a new standard for human rights in Australia.” She articulated that the event was “not just a celebration of past achievements, but it’s a call to action for the future.” She urged those present, “by coming together, sharing our stories and challenging ourselves to think deeply, let us collectively renew our commitment to a future where every individual can thrive free from the burden of racial discrimination.”

The Act’s tumultuous path

Despite the RDA marking a pivotal moment in the nation’s journey toward equality, especially after decades shaped by the discriminatory White Australia Policy, its path to enactment was far from smooth. It took nearly a decade for Australia to translate its 1966 signing of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICERD) into domestic law. During this period, federal leaders grappled with constitutional concerns, potential costs, and the perceived public appetite for such legislation.

It was under Prime Minister Gough Whitlam’s leadership that the push for anti-discrimination laws gained significant momentum. His government made four attempts to pass a Racial Discrimination Bill between 1973 and 1975. These initial efforts, often coupled with broader human rights legislation, faced opposition and lapsed, highlighting the ongoing debate about the scope and necessity of such a law and concerns about its impact on freedom of speech.

Finally, on 11 June, 1975, the Racial Discrimination Act was successfully passed, making it unlawful to discriminate against a person based on their race, colour, descent, or national or ethnic origin in various public contexts, including employment, accommodation, and access to services. The Act also established a mechanism for addressing complaints through what is now the Australian Human Rights Commission. A significant amendment in 1995 introduced Section 18C, which makes it unlawful to “offend, insult, humiliate or intimidate” a person in public because of their race. This section has since been the subject of ongoing public and political debate, with arguments often centring on the balance between protecting individuals from racial vilification and upholding freedom of speech. Despite these debates, the RDA remains a cornerstone of Australia’s legal framework for promoting racial equality and serves as a powerful symbol of the nation’s commitment to anti-racism.

While celebrating the RDA, Sivaraman also stressed the need for further progress: “while we are here to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the RDA and its value, we must recognise the shortcomings of our current legal frameworks. We must recognise the structural racism that persists within our legal and justice system, and we must recognise how much further we have to go.”

The enduring scars of racism

This significant milestone event prompted a moment of personal reflection on my own experiences with racism. I was born in Box Hill, Melbourne and moved to Sydney when I was five. My parents are Chinese Cambodian refugees, Khmer Rouge survivors who arrived in this country in the early 1980s.

It is because of legislation like the Racial Discrimination Act and the abolition of the White Australia Policy, Australia offered migrants like my family a sanctuary from the atrocities of war and the fear of genocide – a place where they could work diligently, establish a home, raise a family, and pursue their piece of the Australian dream.

Yet, as Stan Grant poignantly wrote in his book Talking to My Country, “Racism isn’t killing the Australian dream. The Australian dream was founded on racism.”

Sivaraman noted that racism is an “uncomfortable truth that we have to face as a nation” and that speaking about it is very difficult. “When you call it out, you tend to get attacked far more than the perpetrator of the racism. But it is everywhere. It is in education, health, justice, media, workplaces. It is within our systems and institutions.” He added, “It is the reality of people and communities affected by racism. And there is nothing casual about the racism that people experience.”

Growing up in the 90s, I vividly recall the profound confusion of being told to “go back to where you came from.” My young mind grappled, wondering, “Do these kids just not like people from Melbourne?”

As I got older, the slurs became clear and more direct. I’ve been called “Ching Chong Chinaman” more times than I can count. I endured gibberish meant to mimic Chinese and saw white kids pull their eyes back when they saw me. These encounters have stuck with me; scars I have learnt to live with. I don’t recount these memories with resentment. Australia is and will always be my home. I am a proud Aussie, but I also believe we can do better.

My experience isn’t unique; it’s a reality for many migrants and children of migrants. It’s hurtful to feel rejected from the place you call home, but it’s even more painful when the very existence of racism is denied.

Sivaraman observed that people often perceive racism as purely interpersonal: “They think, well, if I’m not saying something racist to someone else, and I don’t see someone saying something racist to someone else, it doesn’t exist.”

The ongoing fight for First Nations racial justice

In a powerful and deeply personal address at the event, Thomas Mayo spoke out against the discriminatory Northern Territory Intervention, which controversially suspended the Racial Discrimination Act and targeted Aboriginal Australians with legislation implying they were prone to child abuse. This policy, bolstered by a Bill Leak cartoon stereotyping Indigenous men as neglectful, fuelled suspicion and disempowerment. Mayo asserted that social dysfunction in Indigenous communities stems from failed policies and historical injustices, not inherent racial traits.

He shared a heartbreaking account of his own son’s encounter with racism, despite achieving a significant milestone.

“My son went on after I wrote those letters [his book Dear Son] to win a scholarship at a prestigious private boarding school in Sydney, and we were proud of him. He had tears in his eyes when he was told he had an interview after applying,” Mayo recounted. However, this promising opportunity was cut short. “He did not last there because of racism. Even with his fair skin, he was attacked for being Indigenous.”

Mayo couldn’t help but question if his public profile played a role in his son’s suffering. He reflected on the possibility that “perhaps those boys that attacked him felt they had license to do so because of my public profile, a black man doing well, used for the angry black man trope in a cartoon about me, depicting me dancing a jig for money that was published in the Australian Financial Review during the referendum.”

While the Racial Discrimination Act has provided some assistance, Mayo believes its impact on racism is not “obvious and conspicuous” enough today. He called for greater political transparency and accountability, advocating for honest political advertising and intensified “closing the gap” efforts. He also unequivocally condemned the normalisation of Indigenous deaths in custody and incarceration.

“As the Uluru statement says, proportionately, we are the most incarcerated people on the planet. We are not an innately criminal people,” Mayo stated.

“Our children are alien from their families at unprecedented rates. This cannot be because we have no love for them, and our youth languish in detention in obscene numbers. They should be our hope for the future. This part of the Uluru statement says it all. We’re human like you. We should enjoy the same hopes of prosperity and success.”

Mayo urged the federal government to combat racism proactively, echoing the efforts of Gough Whitlam and Kep Enderby QC 50 years ago. He also pushed for more public resources to foster understanding and empathy and for a truth-telling and treaty commission, as outlined in the Uluru Statement from the Heart. As he passionately put it, “our response to racism cannot be merely reactive; it must be proactive.”

Sivaraman further illustrated the deep and insidious nature of systemic racism, particularly through the lens of Indigenous deaths in custody. “There are few issues that can paint as vivid a picture of the incredibly deep and insidious nature of racism embedded within our systems as Aboriginal deaths in custody,” he said. “It shows how it can manifest in the most fatal form of all, the loss of precious life. And in doing so, the law fails, and the system fails its most basic obligation to protect us equally under the law.”

He expanded on the multifaceted nature of racism beyond interpersonal slurs: “It can involve slurs, name calling, racist jokes and other interpersonal racism … But it’s much more systemic than that. It’s that experience of applying for 10 jobs and not getting an interview and then changing your name so that it’s more Anglo and then getting an interview on your next go.”

“It’s that experience of not feeling culturally safe in the workplace, of not having your overseas qualifications or experience recognised, of not being seen as the right cultural fit for leadership. It’s an experience of not being believed when you seek medical help, or in some First Nations communities, dying of diseases that have been eradicated in the rest of our population decades ago. It’s about not being represented in the media, or if you are, it’s either tokenistic or negative.”

Sivaraman addressed an audience question about the dangers of indifference to a racially equitable Australia, prompting a nuanced discussion on empathy versus self-reflection.

He acknowledged the value of empathy, often understood as “I understand how you feel. I can put myself in your shoes.” However, he quickly tempered this, stating, “Look, I’m sorry, if you’re white, you’re never going to know what it’s like to be in my shoes.”

He suggested that a more impactful approach involves recognising one’s own position of privilege. “You have to come at it from recognising that your shoes have privilege that a lot of other people don’t have,” he noted. For Sivaraman, self-reflection is more critical than empathy in driving meaningful change. “Empathy isn’t going to be the circuit breaker,” he asserted, clarifying, “I’m not [discrediting] empathy. It’s an important thing, but I’m just saying that’s not the way in which you change power. You change power by people who are in power reflecting on the position that they have.”

The 50th anniversary of the Racial Discrimination Act serves as a powerful moment of reflection, recognising the significant strides Australia has made and the considerable journey ahead in achieving true racial justice and an equitable society for all.