Australia, explained.
A prime ministerial address is just one of many possible vehicles (Hilary Wardhaugh/Getty Images)
Australia’s crisis-driven communication is a symptom of the deeper problem: a failure to treat statecraft as conversation.
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Be informed, not just alertBe informed, not just alert
A televised address to the nation is not typically the Australian way. John Howard spoke of “barbeque stoppers” to channel the concerns of ordinary Australians, but he was wary about a break in regular transmission to deliver a message directly. Prime ministers have tended to agree that a special televised presentation is something to be used sparingly, typically only during moments of crisis.
So it was notable not only that Prime Minister Anthony Albanese chose to deliver such an address last week in the context of the US–Israeli war against Iran, but also that he copped flak for a lack of detail.
What was omitted was as revealing as what was said. Albanese’s vague reference to “uncertain times” hinted at an underlying rationale – that the world has changed and Australia needs to be prepared. So the instinct to speak was right. But in skirting around that underlying point, the Prime Minister’s address was a symptom of the problem it was trying to solve. A nation that hears from its leaders about the world only when the proverbial hits the fan will always be playing catch-up.
And right now, there is plenty to catch up on. The present war isn’t global, but it is most definitely globalised – interacting with other conflicts, influencing strategic calculations, and reverberating through the global economy.
A nation that hears from its leaders about the world only when the proverbial hits the fan will always be playing catch-up.
The effect on energy markets is clear – “the greatest global energy security threat in history” according to International Energy Agency chief Fatih Birol – as are the downstream impacts on critical industries such as agriculture and pharmaceuticals. Should the ceasefire not hold, a prolonged or expanded conflict will increase the likelihood and severity of cascading risks.
And it’s not just events. The whole global system within which these crises are playing out is in flux, with international law under strain, norms eroding, alignments shifting, and the order writ large fragmenting. On top of everything sit huge, systemic disruptions including climate change and the advent of AI in the workplace.
Everything, everywhere, all at once.
For many, the cumulative effect can be disorienting. It’s no wonder that people opt to tune out. But this kind of disengagement shouldn’t be mistaken for apathy. Australians, as recent National Security College consultations reveal, have a sophisticated understanding of risk, an awareness of long-term international dynamics, and a genuine appetite for a more forthright conversation – they want more from government, not less.
My Address to the Nation. pic.twitter.com/Iaqts9Rd4X
— Anthony Albanese (@AlboMP) April 1, 2026
The problem with a predominantly crisis-driven approach to communications is that it leaves a vacuum easily filled by confusion, indifference and anger. The way in which AUKUS, a project of generational consequence, was decided in secrecy and clunkily justified in retrospect, serves as a case in point. The lingering scepticism has never fully dissipated.
For Australia to navigate a more turbulent and unpredictable world, that approach must change. Strategic communication needs to be treated not as an occasional necessity, but as a core function of statecraft – a sovereign capability to be developed and maintained. This idea is not new: the Defence Strategic Review explicitly lists “a consistent strategic narrative” as part of “utilising all elements of national power”. But in practice the articulation of this narrative remains fragmented and episodic.
A prime ministerial address is just one of many possible vehicles. Others could include a formalised speech on key foreign policy challenges, as advocated by the late Allan Gyngell, regular public briefings from senior officials at key departments and agencies, akin to Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO) annual threat assessment, or broader public education campaigns. The problem isn’t that these mechanisms don’t exist – it’s that they’re not embedded as part of a coherent and sustained approach.
Regardless of the medium, the overarching strategy must be to reiterate how the domestic is inextricably linked to the global, articulate and substantiate Australia’s international aims in that context, and be transparent about any necessary trade-offs in pursuing them. Key will be framing this as a national conversation rather than a lecture, giving Australians a sense of ownership and involvement.
There are models Australia can draw on. Sweden's Total Defence model and Finland's Comprehensive Security concept both adopt a “whole-of-society” approach, integrating civil and military preparedness within an overarching resilience and preparedness framework. Citizens are not only informed about risks but equipped to respond to them through things like media literacy training, emergency preparedness courses, and crisis simulations. In recent years governments in Stockholm, Helsinki, Berlin and Oslo have all published guides to help citizens prepare for and act during crises.
These kinds of initiatives help instil an appreciation of security as a collective, societal endeavour. In doing so, they cultivate the resilience that can’t be improvised when a crisis hits.
The Howard-era formulation of “be alert but not alarmed” was always more condescending than reassuring. What Australians are asking for now is something more demanding: to be informed and entrusted with hard truths. They are ready for this conversation. It’s unfortunate it took a crisis for the prime minister to take them up – it shouldn’t take another to continue it.
About the author
Tom Barber
Tom Barber is a policy analyst and researcher with a focus on Australian statecraft and global risks.
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