Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : In a cascade of landmark decisions that have recalibrated Australia’s global identity, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has severed diplomatic ties with Iran and launched a bold critique of Israel’s Gaza campaign, embedding a rare blend of moral clarity and strategic audacity into Canberra’s foreign policy. What began as a domestic security response quickly evolved into a profound global statement. The chain of events was triggered by a chilling revelation: Australia’s intelligence agency, ASIO, linked Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) to two antisemitic arson attacks on Australian soil—one at a kosher restaurant in Sydney in October 2024 and another at a Melbourne synagogue in December. Addressing a tense press conference, Albanese declared these acts “aggression orchestrated by a foreign nation on Australian soil.” His government responded decisively, expelling Iran’s ambassador and three senior diplomats, suspending embassy operations in Tehran, and designating the IRGC as a terrorist organization—the first such expulsion since World War II.
Critics were quick to suggest that Canberra’s drastic move was an act of appeasement designed to placate Washington and its closest Middle Eastern ally, Israel. But just two weeks earlier, Albanese had shaken long-standing alliances by delivering a blistering condemnation of Israel, calling it “the aggressor” and accusing it of killing innocent children, violating international law, and trampling fundamental human rights. The statement reverberated across world capitals, triggering a furious response from both Washington and Jerusalem.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu lashed out, declaring that “history will remember Albanese for what he is: a weak politician who betrayed Israel and abandoned Australia’s Jews.” Yet Australia stood firm. Home Affairs Minister Tony Burke delivered a sharp rebuttal: “Strength is not measured by how many people you can blow up or how many children you can leave hungry.” In that moment, Canberra signaled that moral convictions, rather than alliances of convenience, would define its foreign policy direction.
This stance became clearer when Albanese took the unprecedented step of formally recognizing Palestine at the United Nations on August 11. While his announcement demanded demilitarization and recognition of Israel’s right to exist, he framed the decision as “humanity’s best hope to break the cycle of violence in the Middle East and bring an end to the suffering and starvation in Gaza.” He called for unrestricted humanitarian access to Gaza, aligning Australia with the mounting chorus of global voices demanding action to save lives. Unlike many leaders who indulge in populist soundbites, Albanese matched his rhetoric with concrete measures, charting a path that blended pragmatism with principle.
Iran, initially welcoming Australia’s condemnation of Israel, was stunned when Canberra turned its punitive measures toward Tehran. Iranian officials denounced the expulsions as politically motivated, promised reciprocal action, and accused Albanese of aligning with Western powers. Yet Australia found unexpected domestic unity, as both Jewish and Iranian-Australian communities expressed support for the government’s actions, arguing that attacks targeting religious communities could not go unanswered. By placing sovereignty, accountability, and human rights at the center of its response, Australia carved a unique and independent path between competing global narratives.
The geopolitical drama intensified with a development that dwarfed all others in humanitarian gravity: on August 22, 2025, the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC)—the United Nations’ leading food crises authority—formally declared a famine in Gaza City, the first such declaration in the Middle East’s modern history. Over 500,000 people, roughly one-quarter of Gaza’s population, face catastrophic hunger, with projections warning that the famine will spread to Deir al-Balah and Khan Younis within weeks if aid does not reach civilians immediately. António Guterres, the UN Secretary-General, called the famine “a human-made disaster” and “a failure of humanity.” Aid agencies described Gaza as “on the brink of mass starvation,” with children dying daily from malnutrition and hospitals collapsing under the weight of preventable disease.
For Israel, this declaration has intensified global scrutiny and deepened accusations of war crimes, particularly claims that starvation is being weaponized in Gaza. Israel has categorically rejected the UN’s findings, calling them “lies” and accusing the IPC of political bias. For the United States, the famine raises uncomfortable questions about its role in sustaining Israel’s military campaign while simultaneously portraying itself as a defender of human rights. Across Europe, over 200 diplomats have signed letters urging immediate ceasefires and humanitarian corridors, amplifying pressure on Washington to reconsider its unconditional support. For Gazans, however, the political debates offer no relief. With food, medicine, and clean water scarce, despair has become the only constant, and the suffering is worsening by the hour.
Amid this spiraling humanitarian crisis, a controversial narrative has resurfaced in political discourse: allegations that Donald Trump, two years ago, converted to Judaism—claims widely circulated by critics who argue that his unwavering support for Israel’s Gaza campaign stems from personal alignment rather than policy calculation. While no credible evidence or mainstream reporting substantiates this claim, its viral spread underscores the growing perception that Washington’s complicity in Gaza’s suffering is ideological as much as strategic. The narrative, factually unverified though it remains, highlights an emerging reality of modern geopolitics: in an era of mass disinformation, perception can shape global reaction as powerfully as verified truth.
Australia’s choices, by contrast, illustrate how a medium power can leverage moral authority without abandoning strategic balance. By openly condemning Israel’s actions, recognizing Palestinian statehood, and expelling Iran’s diplomats for acts of aggression, Albanese charted a course distinct from traditional Western bloc politics. He showed that alliances need not demand silence in the face of injustice. This duality—standing firm against Iranian-sponsored violence while also challenging Israel’s siege of Gaza—signals that Canberra seeks to define its identity through principles, not dependence.
The broader implications, however, extend beyond Australia’s example. Albanese’s leadership exposes a void where other powers have hesitated. Muslim-majority countries, sitting on vast economic leverage through oil, trade, and investments, have yet to mount coordinated efforts to pressure Israel to end its military campaign and allow unfettered aid into Gaza. European nations, fragmented by domestic politics and strategic dependencies, remain largely confined to symbolic statements rather than actionable policies. BRICS nations, meanwhile, have voiced rhetorical support for Palestinian rights but lack collective political will to impose tangible consequences.
Here lies the deepest challenge for the global order: unless other great powers—the likes of China, Russia, the European Union, and emerging economic blocs—act decisively, collectively, and concretely to stop the ongoing massacre in Gaza and the West Bank, they must abandon any illusion of commanding respect on the world stage. The International Court of Justice has issued rulings; UN resolutions have condemned the bloodshed; yet hesitation continues to prevail. Without coordinated diplomatic, economic, and—if required—non-kinetic or kinetic pressure, the U.S. will remain what it is today: the sole superpower dictating the terms of morality and geopolitics.
Anthony Albanese’s actions are far from symbolic gestures; they represent a rare assertion of conscience in an era of complicity. He demonstrated that ethical governance can coexist with strategic imperatives and that democracies need not trade their values for alliances. At a time when famine stalks Gaza’s civilians, starvation grips hundreds of thousands, and the international system dithers, Australia has shown that leadership can mean more than words. It can mean acting when others remain paralyzed.
This moment belongs not just to Australia but to the world. If other nations find the courage to match conviction with decisive action—whether through sanctions, trade pressures, or coordinated humanitarian interventions—the tide of Gaza’s suffering can still be reversed. But if they remain silent and fractured, allowing famine to devour children and displacement to erase communities, history will record their hesitation as complicity. In the vacuum left by inaction, the United States will continue to dominate not because of moral superiority but because it alone dares to act. Albanese has reminded the world that peace without justice is hollow, security without compassion is unsustainable, and leadership without conscience is meaningless.