In a development that has sent shivers down the spine of every suburban mother and intelligence analyst, Australia has charged a woman repatriated from Syria with membership of the Islamic State. The accused, a certain Ms. Jenny al-Baghdadi (not her real name, but it should be), was whisked back to the land of Foster's and drop bears after spending an indeterminate period in the caliphate's crèche for disillusioned Westerners. The charges: one count of being a bit too enthusiastic about beheadings and a second count of failing to appreciate the superior quality of Australian chardonnay.
Ah, the eternal conundrum of the returnee. Are they a genuine threat, a lost soul in need of rehabilitation, or just someone who made a terrible holiday choice? The UK's counter-terrorism squad, no doubt sipping Earl Grey from a chipped mug, is watching the case with the focus of a hawk on a treadmill. They have their own stable of prodigal sons and daughters to worry about, and they're keen to see if Australia's legal system can slap the terrorists out of someone without resorting to the usual cocktail of control orders and secret courts.
One must admire the sheer audacity of Ms. al-Baghdadi. She journeyed to the heart of darkness, the self-styled caliphate that promised utopia and delivered a sewer, and now she's returned to face the music. But what tune is she dancing to? The prosecution will argue she joined a proscribed terrorist organisation, that she knew the score and chose to play for the other team. Her defence will no doubt paint a picture of a woman misled, a romantic fool who followed a handsome jihadi with a dream of a different kind of life. The truth, as ever, lies somewhere in the grey zone between the two, a place where nuance goes to die.
We in the UK have a peculiar fascination with these cases. We watch from across the ocean, tutting and shaking our heads, while secretly wondering if our own legal system would do any better. The last time we tried, we had the Shamima Begum saga, a three-act tragedy that left everyone feeling dirty. The government stripped her of citizenship, a move that felt more like a punt downfield than a considered strategy. Now, Australia is taking a different approach: charge them, try them, and if they're guilty, lock them up. It's so refreshingly simple, so 1950s. I half expect the judge to don a powdered wig and a monocle.
But let's not get carried away. The real threat from these returnees is not that they'll convert the local bowls club into a terror cell, but that they'll become symbols. Symbols of a failure of imagination, a failure of nerve. Every time we splutter and dither, another extremist gets a recruitment poster. The only answer is a robust, transparent, and fair legal process. And perhaps a mandatory course in Australian stand-up comedy. If you can make a wombat laugh, you're no longer a threat to anyone.
So as the case proceeds in the land of Oz, we in the UK will watch, learn, and probably do nothing. But that's fine. We have the Nationals to worry about. And the weather. And the price of gin. Priorities, old boy.
