Aussie rules: Democracy sausages, budgie smugglers, and electoral integrity

 

This article was originally published on The Interpreter, a publication by The Lowy Institute, an independent, nonpartisan international policy think tank located in Sydney, Australia.

Election Day at Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia - 3 May, 2025

 

I emerged from the voting booths at Bondi Surf Lifesaving Club last Saturday clad in red budgie smugglers – a pale imitation of former prime minister Tony Abbott in his political (and physical) prime. Before I could reach the barbecue to tuck into a “democracy sausage”, the only thing which has the universal support of the electorate on polling day, a Reuters journalist approached me for an interview. She was hoping to write a story for her international audience on why Australians are so often seen voting in their bathers, and how the democracy sausage had become both a national dish and a symbol of Australian democracy.

Within hours, the content and footage from my interview had been syndicated internationally and re-published across multiple articles and media outlets, racking up millions of views on the social media accounts of NBC News in the US, Channel News Asia and The Straits Times in Singapore and Asia, and Reuters in the UK and India.

The international interest in how Australians do democracy was both fascinating and humbling to behold. Singaporeans commented that the democracy sausage tradition made “the environment light-hearted and fun”, and that they should make a “Demokrasi Lemak” tradition. Americans asked where one keeps Voter ID in budgie smugglers (we don’t need it to vote!) and remarked on how relaxed and widely trusted the voting process seemed.

The fascination with how Australia does democracy says something more profound about the state of representative democracy around the world. At a time when news headlines are dominated by examples of democratic backsliding across the United States, Europe, and Asia, Australia’s quirky traditions stand out as hopeful symbols of electoral integrity and a unique political and civic culture.

State and Federal election days are celebrations of what it means to be Australian, and everything good about our society and democracy. The festive atmosphere of the barbecue at polling stations shows that we are an inclusive and socially cohesive society. First generation citizens line up alongside First Nations Australians, as voting lines become a peaceful mix of party colours. Nothing says trust in the political system like being comfortable voting alongside your fellow citizens in your bathers. It makes you proud of the society we’ve built together.

Aside from the cultural features, Australian democratic innovations have created our peaceful, effective, and trusted electoral system. In this sense, the Australian-made institutional architecture shapes the substance of our democracy. Ours is an important example for a world lacking both trust and pride in democracy. It’s akin to the scenes of voters abroad proudly holding an ink-stained finger to the camera to mark a vote, yet celebrated for having held stable in Australia for more than a century.

Compulsory voting and enrolment drive high levels of turnout and moderate our politics and policies. Preferential voting in the House and the Single Transferable Vote system in the Senate lead to more representative outcomes. Saturday elections ensure that more working people can have a say in the electoral process. The Australian Electoral Commission’s independent, effective, and efficient management of the system means that results are widely trusted, with unsuccessful candidates accepting outcomes in good faith, leading to the peaceful transfer of power. As the Lowy Institute Poll has shown over the past 20 years, Australians increasingly regard “democracy is preferable to any other kind of government”.

Although Australia hasn’t always lived up to its ideals, egalitarianism is deeply embedded in our national character and political inclination to expand the franchise. Following the sustained advocacy of suffragists such as Vida Goldstein, one of Australia’s first acts of nationhood after Federation was the 1902 Commonwealth Franchise Act, which gave (white) women both the right to vote and to stand for parliament. Australia was the first nation in history to enact both rights, leading the world in advancing representative democracy and universal suffrage, even as First Nations Australians were excluded from those rights for decades to come.

Compare our democratic mechanisms and processes with those of United States and its presidential elections. Namely the tradition of Tuesday voting, the history of political gerrymandering and voter disenfranchisement, the recent need for armed guards and increased security at voting booths, the patchwork of different voting systems and electoral laws in every jurisdiction leading to inconsistencies and delays in outcomes, and the widespread mistrust in the electoral system amid weaponised allegations of electoral improprieties. Worst of all, President Donald Trump’s normalisation of election denialism, culminating in the 6 January 2021 attack on the Capitol.

Australians should be proud of the integrity of our electoral system and the values which underpin it, and more willing to influence other nations through our example, just as Goldstein and the suffragists did. Perhaps our national tendency to modesty (or tall poppy syndrome) prevents us from doing so. As a result, we miss out on significant soft-power influence in the region and beyond. The Australian example is a model for the world, at a time when democratic norms are eroding across the United States, Europe, and Asia. The humble democracy sausage and budgie smugglers might be the perfect starting point for a discussion about wider democratic reform. As Jack Karlson said, “this is democracy manifest”. Even if he was a crook.

Oscar Jenkins and Ukraine

 

“Drink to me, guys, I’m going to deal with these bloody Russians” - Viktor Yatsunyk, 2022. Picture taken at 7 Rifles, A-Coy, Oxfordshire

 

This article was originally published in The Australian. A PDF version can be found here for those without paywall access.

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A few days before Christmas, a journalist friend messaged me to ask whether I knew Oscar Jenkins, having seen we were mutual connections on LinkedIn.

I confirmed I did and that we were classmates at primary and secondary school in 2003-10, although I hadn’t seen him in years.

I was gently informed Oscar had been captured by Russian soldiers while fighting for Ukrainian forces, and a video of him being interrogated was spreading online.

I confirmed his identity in the video and spent the afternoon in a state of disbelief. It was surreal and traumatic to see my old friend in the hostage video, his familiar face looking back at me from my ­mobile phone screen. Exposure to this sort of content is an increasingly common aspect of modern conflict due to the rise of digital technologies and social media, giving disturbing new meaning to Susan Sontag’s essay Regarding the Pain of ­Others.

Despite our culture’s growing desensitisation to and normalisation of such content, it was nauseating to see someone I had grown up with in that situation. It personalised the horrors of the Russo-Ukrainian conflict in a profound way. I felt sick seeing the fear in his expression and hearing his voice quiver, his confusion at being yelled at in a foreign language and violently struck by his captors, and his horror at the vulnerability of his position as a prisoner of war with his hands painfully bound by duct tape, his fate uncertain.

Perhaps even more unsettling were the online reactions and comments to the video and news stories as I searched for information. Telegram, Reddit, and X are largely unmoderated sewers of racism, negativity, anonymity and harmful content, especially as it ­relates to modern conflict and warfare. Yet the hateful and sadistic views expressed even extended to mainstream social media platforms such as Facebook and YouTube.

Users, some Australian, gloated at Oscar’s situation and celebrated Russia’s military actions and illegal invasion of Ukraine. It made me deeply uncomfortable to think there were people among us who so readily delighted in the suffering of others, especially the suffering of those who had sacrificed their ­liberty to join a just war in support of Ukraine.

As I watched the video and read the toxic online commentary, I remembered Oscar as the gentle 11-year-old I sat next to in class after moving to Melbourne.

I thought of the talented Latin and science student with a dry sense of humour. The loyal, kind and big-hearted friend to so many.

He was a great athlete, and I vividly recall our dramatic contest in the annual cross-country race around Melbourne’s Botanic Gardens where he pipped me for third place in the last few hundred ­metres.

We hadn’t seen much of each other since finishing high school in 2010. As is the way with our modern social networks and digital selves, I’d kept up with his adventures on Facebook over the years: teaching in China; cycling north through Australia and then across Asia; and his animal rights advocacy. We last messaged earlier this year about plant-based diets, with him encouraging me to go vegetarian again.

Just as the story broke in the media early last Monday morning, I was attending Christmas carols with some friends in a warm church near Oxford’s city centre. I shed a tear as we began to sing The First Noel and other familiar songs. It pained me to think where he might be at that very moment: terrified, cold, hungry, and alone in the wintry darkness of a foreign land, in the hands of brutal forces, in a conflict in which Australia is not directly engaged.

After the service, we prayed for Oscar and lit candles as symbols of hope.

The war in Ukraine has loomed large during my time in Britain. I have been fortunate to study alongside three brilliant young Ukrainians, who will assume responsibility for rebuilding their country when the war is over. They have each lost friends and extended family in the war, and the daily updates from home weighed heavily on them throughout the course.

I am also serving part-time as a rifleman in the British Army on exchange from the Australian Army Reserve. A Ukrainian-British member of my unit, Viktor Yatsunyk, was killed in September 2022 after he stepped on a landmine while rescuing injured soldiers near Izyum. He had left his family and life in the UK to join the war effort, never to return. In the soldier’s mess, there is a framed £20 note Viktor left behind to buy a round for his colleagues, superimposed over a Ukrainian flag. The text below the note reads in Ukrainian: “Drink to me, guys, I’m going to deal with these bloody Russians.”

In the days since news of Oscar’s capture broke, many have openly wondered why an Australian would seek to join an intense foreign conflict in what the historian Timothy Snyder called the eastern European “bloodlands”.

Scores of young Australians have done so since the outbreak of the conflict, with seven dying in combat to date. Wars can feel faraway and even abstract in Australia, secure as we are in our peaceful corner of the planet and in our society largely free of the ancient hatreds of Europe and the Middle East.

When interrogated by Russian soldiers as to why he was in the Donbas region, Oscar candidly answered that he was there “to help Ukraine”. That’s the measure of the man. For now, all we can do is hope and pray that Oscar will be treated humanely and in accordance with international law, and that our diligent and effective diplomatic staff will be able to arrange his safe return to Australia.

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Nick Fabbri is a policy analyst, writer, podcaster and reservist soldier based in Britain.