After Bondi Beach, Australia’s Gun Laws Confront New Realities and the Lessons of Port Arthur

Sydney’s Bondi Beach, usually a symbol of sun and surf, became a site of terror this week when two gunmen attacked a Hanukkah festival, killing 16 people and injuring dozens more. Soon after, the New South Wales Police confirmed that the weapons used were legally obtained firearms, properly licensed and owned under existing laws.

The attack, which appeared to explicitly target people in the Jewish community, has forced Australia to confront a prickly question left unresolved by the government’s response decades ago to a mass shooting in the Tasmanian city of Port Arthur: Can strict gun laws alone prevent such mass violence?


Modern laws born of tragedy


Australia’s current gun laws were created in the wake of the 1996 Port Arthur massacre, when a lone gunman killed 35 people. After this tragedy, federal and state leaders formalized the National Firearms Agreement, which banned most semi-automatic weapons. By contrast, handguns (pistols) were not outright banned. Licensed owners may possess handguns, registered to the owner only for approved reasons (chiefly target shooting) and subject to strict regulation. It introduced uniform licensing standards nationwide and implemented longer waiting periods. It also financed a national buyback program to take guns off the street that destroyed more than 650,000 firearms.


Over time, however, implementation of the law began to vary across jurisdictions. States and territories retained authority over licensing and possession of firearms, and this led to inconsistencies in enforcement. A 2025 report by the Australia Institute, an independent public policy think tank based in Canberra, highlights how license revocation rates in New South Wales have been nearly double those in Queensland. At the same time, the National Firearms Register, first agreed to by the National Cabinet in 2023, was rolled out in stages from mid-2024 and will not be fully operational until mid-2028. The register is intended to allow police national access to up-to-date firearm ownership and license status. At the time of the Bondi Beach attack, it was not yet fully implemented.


By 2025, Australia had more than four million registered firearms, a figure that critics say reflects rising firearm numbers despite strict laws. The same report published last year by the Australia Institute found that there were 25 percent more guns in Australia in 2025 than there were at the time of the Port Arthur tragedy. The same report found that 1 in 3 firearms in New South Wales were located not in rural or regional areas, but in major cities. Cecilia Milton, 74, who has worked in New South Wales in a non-profit organization that rehabilitates criminals, agreed while having a chat with The Sentinel. “Back in the day, we never saw firearms as much as I saw them in the last two decades. Homicide convicts often told us how easy it was for them to get hold of a firearm. Then came 3D printing.”

Immediate policy response


Within hours of the Bondi massacre, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese convened an emergency meeting of the National Cabinet. The leaders agreed to commit to “strong, decisive and focused action on gun law reform,” including renegotiating the National Firearms Agreement to ensure it would remain robust in a changed security environment.

The government flagged several key reforms now being developed by police ministers and attorneys-general:

  • Lowering caps on the number of firearms per individual, responding directly to the fact that police said the older alleged shooter held six legally registered guns.
  • Revisiting license renewals. Australian firearms licences are not indefinite and must be renewed periodically. In practice, the police send reminders as the expiry date nears, and failure to renew causes the licence to lapse.
  • Implementing citizenship requirements for firearm licenses, meaning non-citizens could face stricter conditions.
  • Promising a crackdown on 3D-printed firearms, high-capacity magazines, and certain types of ammunition and equipment.

States have also proposed specific legislative changes. In New South Wales, Premier Chris Minns called parliament back in session to tighten classifications of certain shotguns, restrict magazine capacities and empower police to revoke licenses without tribunal appeal.

In response to the hate


Voices from the Jewish community, whose members were directly targeted by the attack, have been central to the public conversation. At victims’ funerals and national vigils, leaders have condemned both the violence and what they describe as a slow governmental response to rising antisemitism in the country.

Things will always be different now for the Jewish community, said the co-chief executive officer of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, Alex Ryvchin on National Television. “This stops life, this destroys worlds. Things will always be different for us,” he said. “Things can’t go back to normal. It’s fundamentally changed this country.”

In the aftermath of Sunday’s Bondi Beach attack, Andrew Klein, a celebrated Australian professional speaker and master of ceremonies wrote a post on Facebook, which has since been shared many times over. “We are many things today — but we are not shocked or surprised. Sadly, we all felt this was kind of inevitable,” Klein wrote. “Sunday was tragically the logical end point to what we have experienced in this country over the past 2 and bit years. We all felt this was on the cards; the writing was on the wall.”

“I published a widely circulated article on LinkedIn precisely one year ago today called ‘Make Australia Safe Again’ just after the torching of the Adass Israel Synagogue in Melbourne,” Klein added, “arguing that if our Government continued to remain inert, paralysed and impotent in tackling anti-semitism, then we all knew what would come next.”

The same sentiments have been shared by members of the Australian Muslim community. One Bondi Beach shooting witness recounted to a Sentinel reporter the terror of the shooting. Mehreen and her husband Junaid (whose names have been changed to conceal their identities) were just leaving Bondi Beach when they saw the tragedy unfold, and they described how they fled the scene but sheltered nearby at a motel to help in case anyone from the Jewish Community needed it. “The rise of extremism in Australia has amplified antisemitism, increased Islamophobia, and led to more instances of hate speech and hate crimes against members of both communities,” said Mehreen, an early education worker from Sydney.

They asked not to be identified for fear of being targeted themselves, something they never expected when they migrated to this country in 2014.


The Alannah & Madeline Foundation, an advocacy group for strong gun laws created by the families of victims of the Port Arthur Massacre, echoed the call for new limits on the number of firearms individuals can own, better tracking systems and more robust license renewal processes. “The community, rightly, expects our gun laws to place tight restrictions on gun ownership and use – and for there to be fewer, not more, guns in our community, especially in light of Sunday’s tragedy,” Sarah Davies, the organization’s CEO, said in a statement to the press.


Uncomfortable resistance to gun laws


Rishav Kale, a political studies teacher from Federal College, Victoria, breaks it down. “Australia’s constitutional framework complicates reform,” Kale said. Firearms regulation sits with the states, and federal influence is exercised mainly through consensus. Police can act on statutory thresholds, but intelligence agencies cannot revoke licenses, creating enforcement gaps. Even if information is shared between state and federal agencies, “there is no legal trigger compelling decisive action,” Kale said.

At Monday’s hastily convened National Cabinet meeting, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and state and territory leaders unanimously agreed on the need for intense, focused action to strengthen gun laws, including renegotiating the National Firearms Agreement to keep regulations robust in response to evolving security concerns.

Yet the question remains: Will they succeed? There already has been publicly observable variation in state responses and some signals of caution or resistance from specific states. Any fractures that exist along state lines will undermine the effectiveness of new laws. Because firearm regulation lies with the states under the Australian Constitution, unanimous state support is required for a robust National Firearms Agreement.

Unlike Port Arthur, the Bondi massacre unfolded in a more complex political landscape, where terrorism, antisemitism, and border security dominate voter concerns. Intelligence briefs from agencies like the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation have highlighted the rising tide of extremism and ideological shifts that encompass not just antisemitic violence but also broader extremist trends targeting multiple minority groups. 

However, this also raises the question of whether even the strictest gun laws can fully prevent ideologically driven violence The lesson of Port Arthur is, perhaps: No — highlighting the need for comprehensive measures (intelligence, counter-radicalization, and community resilience efforts) alongside any legislative reforms. 

UPDATE: After this story appeared, Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese announced funding for a new gun buyback campaign to be managed by the country’s states and territories to target surplus, newly banned, and illegal firearms. It could become the country’s largest gun buyback campaign since Port Arthur. 

A Grave Scribe Tale: Fatal Fame

WRITER’S  NOTE: I am writing the introduction of this story as a homage to Tales from the Crypt with my Grave Scribe persona. Please enjoy!

A coffin creak is heard in the background.

“Ah… so you found me again, dear reader. ‘The Grave Scribe,’ keeper of secrets and chronicler of souls too restless to stay buried. Tonight, I open my tome to a tale from the humid heart of Malaysia. A tale of vanity, ambition, and blood.

A pop singer turned witch doctor.
A politician turned victim.
A ritual turned execution.

Oh yes… a modern-day witch trial!

Now, let her speak. Let Mona Fandey rise from her grave and tell you, in her own words, how the hunger for fame can devour far more than just your career.”

“I will not die.” Those were my last words. 

I knew from childhood, I was born to shine like Taylor Swift and the K-Pop idols who adorn your YouTube feed. They did not have YouTube in my time. All I ever wanted was to be adored. When I sang, people listened. When I smiled, the world tilted a little closer. Even though my husband gave up his savings to give me air time, the moguls of Malaysian media decided I was not good enough. 

Fame, it seemed, was a cruel lover. 

Unlike Affandi, my loyal husband. He was also my greatest believer. He told me I wasn’t meant to fade. “You have the gift,” he said, “If the world won’t give you power, take it.

After much discussion, we both decided to take up magic. We would make people’s dreams come true since many believed in unseen forces. Some might call it black magic, but it was hope and power for me, Affandi, and our assistant, Juraimi. His ingratitude would lead to our inevitable fall, and I still don’t know if I should curse him or thank him. I still remember smiling for the cameras while being escorted out of the courthouse and thinking I should strangle him, but maybe it was also another chance for fame, so I just took the chance and smiled. I knew I was born for fame; I did what came naturally. But, I digress. 

My clients came from every corner and dark hollow of society: businessmen, socialites, politicians—all desperate for something they couldn’t earn.

That’s when Datuk Mazlan Idris came to me.

A man of ambition, burning so brightly he couldn’t see the shadows closing in. He wanted power. Minister of State, he said. He wanted more. And he could have it, what I could never attain. The people’s praise and respect. I decided that men like him should never outshine me. 

That’s why I told Affandi to give him the axe. “Power to the people,” I say! “Death to tyrants!”

He came with money — lots of it. 2.5 million ringgit was my quote. He did not pay me the full amount upfront – the nerve of him. But a deal is a deal, and he gave enough for my plastic surgery and new car later on. 

I offered him two talismans: a cane and a songkok, once belonging — so I told him — to Sukarno, the first President of Indonesia. “With these,” I said, “you will be invincible.”

He believed me. They always do.

That night, the air was heavy with the cloying fragrance of incense, burnt at the site of our patron’s home. My husband, Affandi, and our helper, Juraimi, prepared the room and the means of disposing of our victim later on. I told Mazlan to lie face down, close his eyes, and trust in the magic of the ritual so money would come to him out of thin air in droves he couldn’t dream of — the fool! 

He smiled at the prospect.
Oh, how easily men trust when ambition blinds them.

I placed petals over his body and whispered blessings. He thought fortune was about to rain from the heavens. Instead, Juraimi’s axe fell thrice.

Three swings.
Three echoes.
Then silence.

We dismembered him, piece by piece, like a broken promise. I told myself it was art. A ritual of power. A step toward the immortality fame had denied me.

But you know what’s strange? The moment the blood touched my hands, I felt alive again. Not as a pop star. Not as a has-been. But as someone seen. I was finally unforgettable. I could have tasted his blood, but not with my husband watching of course. 

When the police caught us, I smiled for the cameras. They clicked and flashed, and I gave them what they wanted — a star reborn in scandal. My name was everywhere. Mona Fandey. The witch. The murderer. The legend.

And when the judge read my sentence — death by hanging — I didn’t tremble. I only smiled wider.

“Aku takkan mati,” I told them.
I will not die.

And, perhaps, I haven’t.

When they pulled the lever, I didn’t scream. I thought of lights, of applause,  of my name echoing in eternity. I got what I wanted; all it took was a sacrifice. All of the greats did so for their art, and I am their peer. 

And now… I’m here.

Whispering through time, through screens, through stories.

You think this is just a tale of horror, dear reader?
No. It’s a mirror.

You scroll, you post, you crave followers and fame.
You’d trade pieces of yourself just to be seen.

Be careful what you chase.
Because vanity never dies.

And neither did I.

The Grave Scribe closes the tome with a slow grin.

“Sleep well, my wicked friend. And if you hear a dark song in the shadows, don’t look back. It might just be Mona, craving another chance to perform.”

A skull, red candles, a spell book, and potions/vials sit on an old table – a scene fit for a witch and other figures of the night!
(Photo courtesy of Sabrina Roman via Unsplash)

Slave Boy

Came to my home with a hat and boots.
Slept in my house; I gave up my room.
Asked for my name; He called me marooned.
Wondered why I’m Black. He stared at my food.
Laughed with my Dad, then showed him his tools.
Gave Mama a mirror, Her smile did glow.
Harmless like a fly, his skin sure shone.
Seemed to be nice, Unknown to us he’s a crook.
His friends are in the bushes and they’re ready to shoot.
Killed my father in his sleep and spat on him too.
Pointed the barrel to my mama. He made me a slave boy.