In a move that has shaken the Australian legal system to its very core, or at least mildly annoyed a few magistrates, authorities have charged a woman returning from Syria with the heinous crime of 'Islamic State membership.' The charge, which sounds like something a bored bureaucrat invented after a particularly dull afternoon of filing paperwork, carries the sort of weight usually reserved for parking fines in the ninth circle of hell.
The accused, a woman whose name has been redacted for legal reasons, though I suspect also because it's probably something perfectly innocuous like 'Sharon' or 'Brenda,' was allegedly found with an IS flag in her luggage. Not a bomb. Not a manifesto. A flag. The audacity. The sheer, unbridled cheek. As if the Australian Border Force didn't have enough to do with confiscating Vegemite from bewildered tourists.
Now, let us pause to consider the sheer absurdity of this situation. The woman has been charged with 'membership in a terrorist organisation.' But what does this mean in practice? Did she sign a membership form? Did she pay annual dues? Is there a newsletter? I imagine the first issue would be a corker: 'Ten Tips for Decapitating Your Enemies While Maintaining a Perfectly Pleated Jilbab.'
This is not to trivialise the horrors of Islamic State. Those who have seen their atrocities know they are beyond satire. But the law, as applied here, seems to have been drafted by the same people who think 'thoughts and prayers' constitute a counter-terrorism strategy. The woman has been detained. Her bail denied. Because apparently, the mere suspicion of having shared a meme with a jihadist is enough to warrant a stay in Australia's finest lockup, where the only thing more terrifying than the inmates is the prison food.
The real question is: what do we do with people who have been radicalised? Do we charge them with abstract membership, or do we offer them a path back to sanity? Australia, a nation built on second chances (usually involving a BBQ and a cold beer), seems to have forgotten its own ethos. The woman is not accused of plotting an attack. She is accused of holding a flag. A flag, for crying out loud. I've seen more dangerous items in a primary school art class.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Canberra, a politician is probably drafting a press release congratulating themselves on being 'tough on terror.' They'll use words like 'strong' and 'decisive' and 'never again.' They won't mention the fact that this case shows the legal system is about as nuanced as a sledgehammer at a brain surgery convention.
In the end, we are left with a system that treats the symptom, not the cause. The woman will likely face a trial that will be less about justice and more about political theatre. The judge will look stern, the prosecutor will be self-important, and the defendant will stare blankly at the Australian flag, wondering if she can swap it for the one that got her into this mess.
So raise a glass of lukewarm chardonnay to the latest victim of the War on Terror's most embarrassing side-effect: the criminalisation of stupidity. Because if you're going to travel halfway across the world to pledge allegiance to a caliphate, at least have the good sense to leave the souvenir flag at home.
