Anti-authority ideologies are a societal threat — is Australia up to the task of counteracting them?

After being on the run for seven months, a self-proclaimed “sovereign citizen” was shot by police this march in an hours-long stand-off. The 56-year-old Desmond Filby (aka “Dezi Freeman”) was accused of having killed two police officers on his property in the small Victorian town of Porepunkah on 26 August 2025.

Freeman had a history with pseudo-law, was a known conspiracy theorist and — as a sovereign citizen — was part of an anti-authority movement that rejects state legitimacy. Although devastating incidents like this may often be seen as isolated cases of violent escalation, we are confronted with the consequences of anti-authority beliefs long before they escalate.

In ASIO’s 2025 Annual Threat Assessment, Director-General Mike Burgess warned of “an increase in issue-motivated extremism”, fuelled by “personal grievance, conspiracy theories and anti-authority ideologies”.

Across Australia, anti-authority beliefs — the conviction that the government pursues a hidden harmful agenda, that elected officials are enemies and that legal obligations are best ignored or actively resisted — are no longer confined to fringe groups or isolated protests. They are propagated and shared in Telegram groups, and whispered just as insistently over the fence in suburban neighbourhoods. Anti-authority ideas are increasingly embedded in everyday life. Indeed, they’ve entered the mainstream. 

What researchers internationally have been observing in countries ranging from Australia and Canada to Germany is a common pattern: conspiratorial thinking and anti-authority worldviews emerge in response to crises, economic pressures and rapid social change. What makes these ideas so widespread is how easily they travel between movements and causes. 

These movements appear across Western democracies, though under different labels and with distinct local expressions — such as “sovereign citizens”, “freemen on the land” or “anti-lockdown” freedom movements. In Australia, the pandemic-era protests revealed how quickly a diverse anti-authority movement could mobilise in times of crisis, bringing together otherwise disparate actors and creating opportunities for political exploitation and extremist recruitment.

International research has increasingly focused on identifying what these movements have in common beneath their surface diversity. Comparative projects such as “Preparing Practitioners for the Rising Threat of Anti-Authority Extremism”, funded by Public Safety Canada, examine developments in countries like Canada and Germany, and their findings reveal a common core:

Public attention spikes when these ideologies turn violent. In recent years, Australians have been shaken by threats and attacks against police and public officials — acts frequently framed by perpetrators as “self-defence” against a supposedly oppressive state. The killing of the two police officers last August echoes similar incidents abroad. Cases of fatal shootings of officials, planned kidnappings of politicians or even coups d’état in other countries represent a playbook of what could happen.

Yet, focusing only on violence risks is missing the wider extent of the harm. The most common consequences of anti-authority beliefs unfold at the personal level. Those who no longer trust the state and its citizens may withdraw from social relationships and inevitably experience social isolation. Refusing to pay taxes or comply with regulations can deepen financial instability and lead to escalating legal problems. Sustained engagement in conspiratorial environments often reinforces fear, powerlessness and detachment from reality.

Families and partners struggle with constant conflict, emotional strain and estrangement. Children are particularly vulnerable when parental distrusts limits access to medical care or schooling.

In a democracy, scepticism toward power and the right to hold different worldviews are essential. Although most people drawn to anti-authority ideas are not believed to ever commit acts of violence, such convictions begin to harm people. Given that the spread of anti-authority beliefs undermines social cohesion, weakens the foundations of civic life and democratic deliberation, and makes us more vulnerable to polarising ideologies, it becomes obvious that these ideologies are not just a security concern but pose major societal challenges. 

The ethical task is not to silence dissent and legitimate scepticism, but to pay attention where harm emerges and to be cautious if individual freedoms come at the expense of the wellbeing of others or the resilience of democratic communities.

The challenge that Australia and other democracies face is how society can rebuild trust in democratic processes and address individual grievances, in order ultimately to reduce the appeal of anti-authority ideologies. Because this problem transcends national borders, it is also necessary to keep looking outwards for responses. Counselling services for families, exit programs for individuals seeking distance from extremist groups, and comparative international research that tracks evolving dynamics and helps identifying measures to prevent violence and social harm — what works elsewhere?

Australia can benefit from the lessons learned by other countries if it remains open to learning and adapting approaches to local contexts to prevent tragic incidents such as that involving Dezi Freeman.

The Freeman case is a stark reminder that we can’t afford to ignore anti-authority beliefs. These ideologies are diffuse, diverse and increasingly blurred into everyday life. Responding requires more than security measures. As citizens, educators, researchers and policymakers, we must pay attention to these dynamics and reasons for involvement, and maintain connections with those at risk, not look away. 

At a practical level, this responsibility begins close to home. It means noticing when a neighbour becomes increasingly isolated or distrustful of institutions and responding with curiosity. It means engaging calmly when conspiratorial claims surface in the workplace, at a parent-teacher meeting, or in community groups: keeping channels of dialogue open rather than escalating conflict. It means offering support when someone is clearly struggling with financial stress, or a sense of powerlessness, instead of leaving them to seek belonging in harmful online spaces.

Crucially, it also means being present for those affected indirectly — partners, friends and children who may feel overwhelmed, confused or cut off as a result of a loved one’s beliefs. Now is the time to be there for each other. 

None of this requires agreement, nor does it mean tolerating hate, discrimination or violence. Strengthening democratic resilience cannot be outsourced to security institutions alone. It starts with us to reinforce solidarity and a shared sense of responsibility for each other.

This article was originally published at ABC Religion & Ethics.

Mario Peucker is an Associate Professor and Principal Research Fellow at the Institute for Sustainable Industries and Liveable Cities at Victoria University. His most recent book is Democracy Strikes Back: Understanding and Countering the Rise of the Far-right.

Leonie Heims s a researcher at the modus|zad. Her latest research report is “Sovereignism and Anti-Authority Extremism in Germany and Canada: A Comparative Analysis for a Deeper Understanding of the Fluid Movement” (2025).