Nachman Oz delivers a rare, unvarnished meditation on the tension between geopolitical destiny and national agency, stripping away the polite fictions that often surround Australian foreign policy and immigration. While most commentary fixates on the immediate friction between Washington and Beijing, Oz pivots to a deeper, more unsettling question: whether a nation can choose its own demographic soul in an era of enforced globalism. He argues that the current leadership class has abdicated this choice, leaving the country to drift into a future it never explicitly voted for.
The Illusion of Inevitability
The piece's most provocative claim challenges the notion that Australia's demographic shift is an unstoppable force of nature. Oz writes, "Immigration is a choice. The current unprecedentedly high immigration policy setting is a new thing, rather than the eternal word of God." This reframing is crucial; it moves the debate from abstract demographics to concrete political accountability. He suggests that the idea of Australia "becoming more Asian" is not a natural evolution but a policy outcome that leaders have accepted without rigorous scrutiny.
Oz draws heavily on the insights of strategist Hugh White, describing him as a "national treasure" who is "scathing of our current crop of leaders, portraying them as totally uninterested in grappling with Australian strategic questions." White's observation that these leaders are "unread and uncurious" resonates deeply in an age where policy is often driven by news cycles rather than historical depth. Oz notes that White is "cautious about invoking the Great Man theory of history — then accepts that the decisions that matter really do end up being made in a room with a few key individuals." This paradox highlights a critical gap: while the administration may claim to be bound by global forces, the reality is that a small group of bureaucrats and politicians are making high-stakes decisions that shape the nation's identity.
"We are an island continent. The defining feature of our geography is that we (should!) have more say over our immigration and demographic destiny than basically anyone else in the world."
Critics might argue that in a globalized economy, restricting immigration is economically suicidal or diplomatically isolating. However, Oz counters this by pointing out the agency inherent in geography. He writes, "Australia need not become more Chinese or Indian or Norwegian or Anglo or Syrian or Jewish for the same reasons Japan need not become more Chinese or Indian or Norwegian or Anglo or Syrian or Jewish." This comparison to Japan—a nation that has fiercely guarded its cultural cohesion despite economic integration—serves as a powerful counter-narrative to the idea that assimilation is the only path to stability. The argument suggests that the current trajectory is not a necessity but a failure of political will.
The Bureaucratic Drag
Shifting from foreign policy to the mechanics of governance, Oz uses Richard Nixon's memoir to illustrate the sheer difficulty of imposing will on a self-interested bureaucracy. He quotes Nixon's frustration: "No bureaucrat ever voluntarily gives up office space, no matter how ugly." This anecdote about the failure to remove temporary buildings on the Mall, despite direct orders from the Commander-in-Chief, serves as a stark metaphor for the modern executive branch's inertia.
Oz writes, "Even an order to the military from the commander-in-chief would not be carried out if military bureaucrats could find a way to avoid doing so." This observation underscores a fundamental truth about institutional dynamics: the executive branch is often held hostage by the very agencies it is supposed to command. The friction is not just about policy disagreement but about the entrenched self-preservation of the state apparatus. Oz notes that "Politicians may have abrogated responsibility for immigration levels to bureaucrats," suggesting that the lack of a clear national vision is not an accident but a feature of a system where decision-making has been outsourced to unelected officials.
The Corruption of Power and the Cost of Silence
The commentary then turns to the moral and historical dimensions of power, drawing on Robert Middlekauff's The Glorious Cause and Janet Malcolm's The Journalist and the Murderer. Oz highlights the radical distrust of power that fueled the American Revolution, quoting the sentiment that "it is natural for Power to be striving to enlarge itself, and to be encroaching upon those that have none." This historical lens provides a sobering context for modern political discourse, where conspiracy theories often mask a genuine, if misdirected, fear of institutional overreach.
Oz writes, "The climax of all this corruption, this pervasive moral decline, according to these political Jeremiahs, would be the destruction of liberty, and its replacement by a ministerial tyranny." While the historical parallel is striking, the application to modern politics requires nuance. Oz uses this to frame the current political climate as one where "conventional wisdom came to hold that plots and conspiracy always ruled political action." This is not to validate conspiracy theories but to acknowledge the deep-seated public anxiety about the integrity of institutions.
In a particularly sharp turn, Oz reflects on Janet Malcolm's assertion that "Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible." He extends this critique beyond journalism to "Lawyers, publishers, psychiatrists, jurors — all subject to some pettiness or broken incentives or other derangement that lies at the heart of man." This universalizing of moral failure suggests that the rot is not in a single institution but in the human condition itself, making the task of governance even more perilous.
"We might consider something an institution or sacred or lofty (like 'justice'), but it's just grubby men and their grubby ways all the way down."
The piece also touches on the human cost of geopolitical miscalculation, referencing Yossi Cohen's memoir on the Mossad. Oz notes the "dig at the IDF and the Shin Bet for letting October 7 happen," a moment that underscores the catastrophic consequences of intelligence failures. He writes, "Calling climate change the world's most existential threat was a curve ball," highlighting the complex interplay between security priorities and global challenges. While the focus here is on intelligence and strategy, the underlying message is clear: the stakes of these decisions are not abstract; they involve real lives and the potential for immense suffering.
Bottom Line
Nachman Oz's commentary is a masterful synthesis of history, strategy, and political philosophy, challenging readers to confront the uncomfortable reality that national identity is a choice, not a destiny. Its greatest strength lies in its refusal to accept the inevitability of current trends, instead demanding that leaders take ownership of the demographic and strategic future of their nation. The argument's vulnerability, however, is its reliance on a level of political will that may be absent in the current climate, where the bureaucratic inertia Oz describes seems almost insurmountable. Readers should watch for whether any new generation of leaders can actually break this cycle and reclaim the agency that geography affords.