31st August 2025, Australia trembled.
Fifteen thousand voices filled the streets, chanting in unison: “Take our country back.”
Flags waved like shields.
The air was thick with anger, fear, and something even heavier - a vision of a past clinging desperately to itself.
For some, it was just another protest.
For some, it was politics and policies.
For others, an expression of pride.
But for me - and for so many like me - it was neither.
Because when you are an international student, those words don’t just hang in the air.
They land on your skin like frost.
They settle in your chest like a stone.
And they whisper a question that shakes you to your core:
“Do you really belong here?”
The Quiet Grief of Living Between Worlds
Leaving home is an act of both courage and loss. You don’t just pack a suitcase when you board that plane.
You pack:
● The language your grandmother spoke when she told you stories at night.
● The smells of your mother’s cooking, etched into memory.
● The laughter of friends you may never see again.
● A map of who you’ve been - folded carefully, tucked into the corners of your heart.
You arrive in a new country holding these fragile pieces, hoping they will take root in unfamiliar soil.
Some days, they do.
A classmate invites you to their family’s holiday dinner.
A stranger smiles at you in the grocery store and says, “Welcome.”
A professor sees your potential and says, “You can do more than you think.”
And then there are other days.
Days like 31st of August, when thousands march past shouting for a world without you in it.
Days when it feels like the home you’ve been building is suddenly made of glass.
Days when you question not just your safety, but your worth.
This is what it means to live between two worlds: One you’ve left behind and one you’re trying desperately to grow into.
Some days, you belong to both.
Some days, to neither.
And some days, you feel suspended in midair - unseen, unheard, uncertain where you’ll land.
Fear Wearing a Flag
The march wasn’t really about policy or economics, no matter what the signs said.
It was about fear - fear dressed up in the colours of a flag, fear shouting through a megaphone.
Fear says, “If you thrive, I must suffer.”
Fear says, “If you come in, I must be pushed out.”
Fear says, “The future is dangerous, so let’s run back to the past.”
But history tells a different story.
Every chapter of Australia’s growth has been written by people who were once outsiders:
● Post-war migrants who rebuilt cities.
● Families who worked the land and mines.
● Skilled workers who filled hospitals and schools.
● International students who became innovators, entrepreneurs, healers, and leaders.
The painful irony? The very diversity some want to erase is the diversity that built the country they claim to defend.
The Truth in Numbers
Here’s what fear doesn’t want you to know:
● International education is one of Australia’s top four exports, worth $51 billion annually.
● In 2024, there were 824,951 international students across the country, each contributing not only tuition, but cultural wealth and innovation.
● In 2022 alone, international students contributed $25.5 billion to Australia’s economy, money that funds infrastructure, jobs, and opportunities for locals.
We are not here to take.
We are here to build.
We are not drains on the system.
We are the lifeblood flowing through it.
And while 15,000 voices marched backward on Sunday, 26 million Australians did not.
The real Australia is not a mob shouting in the streets. It is the quiet majority - teachers, neighbours, classmates, colleagues - who show up every day to create something better.
The Silence That Saves Us
I have learned this: hate shouts loudly, but love works quietly.
It works in the neighbour who brings soup when you’re sick and alone. The classmate who stays late to help you study before an exam. The colleague who says, “I’m glad you’re here.”
These gestures may seem small, but they are lifelines. They are proof that even in the shadow of hate, connection can still bloom.
And that’s why fear will never win.
Because while hatred gathers in noisy rallies, kindness spreads in kitchens, classrooms, and whispered words of solidarity. It is quieter, but infinitely more powerful.
Where to Turn When the Weight Feels Heavy
If the march left you shaken, please know this: you are not alone.
There are communities ready to catch you, to listen, to remind you that you belong:
● Study bodies often offer free, confidential support, wellbeing resources, legal advice, and events to help you connect with others.
● University counselling services are there for you - reaching out for help is an act of courage, not weakness.
● International student associations and clubs provide spaces where you can find understanding and solidarity.
● Local multicultural organisations bring people together to celebrate differences and build bridges across communities.
Seeking help is not a sign you’re failing. It’s a sign you are choosing to stay, to heal, to keep building.
To My Fellow International Students
You are not here by accident.
You are not a burden.
You are essential.
Your presence expands Australia’s possibilities.
Your voice deepens its conversations.
Your dreams shape its future.
Fifteen thousand people marched backward on Sunday.
But millions more are walking forward beside you - perhaps quietly, but with courage.
You are not a threat to Australia’s future.
You are its promise.
The Future We Must Build
We cannot stop every march backward.
But we can choose to keep moving forward.
Every story we tell, every bridge we build, every act of defiance against fear plants a seed of hope. And given time, those seeds grow into movements that no chant, no rally, no wall of hate can tear down.
So let us keep planting.
Let us keep showing up.
Let us keep choosing each other.
Because the world doesn’t need more walls.
It needs more bridges.
And we are the ones who will build them - together.
