In recent days, a politician named immigration as a key issue for debate, citing “Australian values” as a key determinant of who to let in and who to keep out. I have never yet heard a politician explain what “Australian values” are.
They bang on ’bout values in this town — like they’re etched in river stone,
But anyone who’s walked these streets knows nothing stays that still.
It’s hauled out when the polls look rough, a slogan on a phone,
A way to sort the “locals” from the ones outside the bill.
They claim it’s what the nation is — the heartbeat of the place,
Yet watch it shift from booth to booth along the party line.
A shorthand for the flag and footy, wrapped in earnest face,
A story told with certainty that struggles to align.
For some, it’s cafés, rooftop bars, the tram’s late‑night refrain;
Others say it’s locks and border talk, a tale kept tight and narrow.
It’s fought across the talkback waves, the feed, the party train;
A restless thing, half civic pride, half politician’s arrow.
So here we stand on concrete ground, where truth runs where it will:
A nation wide as dreaming tracks, too big for tidy tales.
And “values,” mate? They’re just a word the powerful wield still,
A fence they shift from year to year across the urban trails.
(c) Dennis Ryle February 2026
Wondering Pilgrim 