The resignation of Dennis Richardson from the Bondi Beach Royal Commission should, in my opinion, ring alarm bells across the country.

When the most experienced national security figure in the room expressed a sentiment that he felt surplus to requirements, Australians are entitled to ask a simple question:

Are the wheels already coming off this Royal Commission?

Richardson is not just another bureaucrat quietly stepping aside. He is a former head of ASIO, a former secretary of the Departments of Defence and Foreign Affairs, Australia’s former ambassador to the United States, and widely regarded as one of the country’s most experienced national security figures. If anyone understands intelligence failures and counter-terrorism systems, it is Mr Richardson.

His departure was not wrapped in diplomatic ambiguity. Richardson stated plainly:

‘There wasn’t enough discussion right at the beginning about the precise way things would work. And ultimately, I came to it that I was surplus to requirements.’

That in itself should raise eyebrows. Richardson should never have been the fifth wheel. With his decades of experience, he should have been the front wheel helping steer the direction of the inquiry.

Royal Commissions are expected to represent the gold standard of independent investigation in Australia. They exist to uncover uncomfortable truths, cut through political noise, and restore public confidence when institutions fail.

Richardson’s resignation risks doing the opposite.

As Liberal Senator James Paterson bluntly put it, the development casts ‘a massive shadow’ over the credibility of the Royal Commission and ultimately its findings and recommendations. That concern is not simply partisan politics. It reflects a broader fear that the inquiry may not be functioning as robustly as Australians were promised.

Many feel that delaying findings about any intelligence failures connected to the Bondi terrorist attack until the end of the year is unacceptable given the current security environment.

At a time when national security agencies warn of heightened threats and communities remain on edge, Australians deserve answers sooner rather than later. Waiting months to confront possible intelligence shortcomings risks undermining the very purpose of the inquiry – to identify what went wrong and ensure it cannot happen again.

The uncomfortable reality is that Australia must ensure no such attack occurs between now and the release of the final report.

The backdrop to all of this is the surge of antisemitism that has unsettled communities across the country.

There has been a general sense of disbelief at the scenes playing out on our university campuses and schools where people chant death to Israel. This rhetoric has drifted beyond political expression into something darker.

History has shown repeatedly where unchecked hatred can lead. Yet institutions, universities, and political leaders have often seemed reluctant to confront it directly.

The lesson of history is stark. The Holocaust did not begin with concentration camps. It began with rhetoric, boycotts, graffiti, confiscation of property, and the gradual isolation of Jews from society. Hatred was normalised step by step until the unimaginable became possible.

Many within Australia’s Jewish community see echoes of those early warning signs today. The circumstances are not identical, but the pattern feels familiar: the rhetoric, the chants, the intimidation and the willingness of too many to dismiss it as simply political activism.

Sermons given by divisive figures have been widely interpreted as hostile toward Jews. In some examples, Jews were referred to as ‘treacherous’ who should not be befriended. It’s the sort of language that critics warn echoes dangerous historical stereotypes.

In sermons circulated online, controversial religious passages allude to end times where Muslims fight Jews, suggesting to listeners that they might find them and kill them. This sort of selective religious teaching has raised concern and deepens the fear felt by the Australian Jewish community.

Words matter. Language shapes attitudes, and attitudes shape behaviour. When rhetoric portrays an entire people as morally suspect or frames violence against them in ideological or religious terms, it risks creating a climate in which intimidation and hatred can flourish.

Many Jewish Australians believe that climate has worsened in the last two years.

There have been reports of harassment in public, online doxxing campaigns, boycotts of Jewish businesses and vandalism of community institutions. Synagogues and Jewish properties have been defaced with swastikas and graffiti including phrases such as ‘Jew die’. Some have even been targeted with arson attacks.

These are not abstract concerns debated on social media. They are real incidents affecting real people in Australian suburbs and communities.

Critics argue that the absence of strong consequences has emboldened those responsible. When intimidation is tolerated or dismissed as activism, it sends a signal that such behaviour carries little cost.

In addition, there has been a normalisation of the chant, ‘Globalise the intifada!’

The slogan is widely interpreted by many Jewish groups as a call for violent uprising against Israelis and Jews.

Its frequent use has drawn fierce criticism, yet there appears to be no legal consequences under Australia’s hate speech laws.

It is my opinion that calling for a violent uprising is not free speech.

The historical meaning of the term ‘intifada’ is not abstract. Previous uprisings included waves of terrorist attacks targeting civilians: suicide bombers boarding buses, entering cafés, shopping centres and nightclubs before detonating explosives.

One of the deadliest attacks occurred on March 27, 2002, in what became known as the Passover massacre. A Hamas terrorist walked into the dining hall of the Park Hotel in Netanya, north of Tel-Aviv, during a Passover dinner and detonated a bomb, killing 30 people and injuring around 140 others. Many of those killed were elderly, including Holocaust survivors.

Nothing about that history is something to celebrate or romanticise.

Yet rhetoric invoking such violence has increasingly entered public discourse. Critics argue that the perceived silence from the government sends a troubling message. When chants invoking violent uprisings go unchecked, it reinforces the perception that antisemitic intimidation is being treated differently from other forms of hate speech. Hopefully the Royal Commission will find the government’s silence contributed to the current climate.

There is, of course, a profound difference between political expression and the intimidation or vilification of an entire community.

Speech that calls for violence, glorifies terror or dehumanises a people ceases to be part of democratic debate. It becomes a threat to it.

This is precisely why the Royal Commission matters.

Its purpose is not simply to produce a report. It is meant to restore trust, to show that Australia’s institutions can confront extremism, antisemitism and social division honestly and without political filtering.

There are doubts about whether that process is unfolding as intended.

Royal Commissions rely heavily on credibility. Once that credibility is questioned, even their strongest findings can struggle to command public confidence.

Australia has faced moments of social tension before. History shows that ignoring warning signs only allows problems to deepen.

The question now is whether this Royal Commission will confront those warnings honestly, or whether Richardson’s resignation is the first sign that something has already gone wrong.

Because if the most qualified voices are walking away, Australians deserve to know why.