I’m writing this on 26 January 2026 on Whadjuk Noongar Boodja.
I’m grateful to be working today because my organisation allows staff to substitute the January 26 public holiday for another date. For me, it’s a day for reflection, a small act of protest and a conversation starter. As I left for work this morning, my neighbour, with whom I’d previously only exchanged passing hellos, was out watering her garden and wished me a happy day. I had the opportunity to explain to her why I was choosing to work and why January 26th is not a date to celebrate.
My 11-year-old son recently asked me, apropos of nothing, if I was proud to be Australian. I was quite thrown by his question, and he seemed equally thrown by my answer: No?
I want to be proud of my country, but what do I have to be proud of? Look at how we treat Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. Or asylum seekers, immigrants, trans kids, women who have been sexually assaulted. Look at how we’re responding to the climate crisis, the housing crisis, the crisis of men’s violence against women.
My wife and I recently celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. I clearly remember the day when the results came in from the non-binding marriage equality postal survey. Australians were asked: Should the law be changed to allow same-sex couples to marry? And Australians answered with a resounding yes in every state and territory. I felt intense relief. Joy. Gratitude to the millions of Australians who voluntarily took the time to post their vote on an issue that didn’t directly affect them, because it was the right thing to do.
I don’t mean to sugar coat that time. There was a long, cruel and unnecessary debate about whether loving and committed same-sex relationships – relationships like mine – should be afforded the same rights, protections and status as heterosexual relationships. But ultimately, Australians said yes and the parliament finally did its job and legislated marriage equality. And on that day, I did feel proud to be Australian.
But when First Nations people generously invited all Australians to walk together in building a better future by establishing a First Nations Voice to Parliament enshrined in the Constitution, the majority of Australians said no. That’s not a country I can feel proud of.
I hear Bridget Cama when she says: “While the annual “change the date” debate is an important conversation, it nonetheless risks overshadowing the broader and far more urgent systemic injustices experienced by First Nations peoples and the need for structural reform to address them.”
I hear Professor Megan Davis when she says: “As a constitutional lawyer who has worked on structural change for decades, it can be frustrating to see debates over Australia Day treated as a serious and substantive reform issue when it is, in fact, low-hanging fruit. And when you can see how far behind we are in terms of recognition and rights globally, it can be a distraction.”
Changing the date of Australia Day is a symbolic gesture that cannot be used as a substitute for the meaningful structural reforms that First Nations women like Bridget Cama and Professor Megan Davis have long advocated for. But if or when Australia does decide to change the date, I hope it symbolises that we’re ready to say yes to First Nations justice – to Voice, Treaty and Truth.
I hope it symbolises that Australians have the generosity, compassion and courage we need to recognise historical wrongs and walk together towards a more just and equitable future.
Always was. Always will be.
Alicia Gibbs – Manager, Preventing Violence Together