Andrew Dillon reflects on the policy lessons and questions from his doctoral history of citizenship education in Australia
I recently completed the first longitudinal study of why and how Australian governments have engaged in civics and citizenship education in state schools, from 1880 to the approval of the national curriculum in 2015 and beyond. Given the current divisive discourse about social cohesion and the rights and responsibilities of citizens in Australia, including the Opposition’s policy of making benefits available only to those who are citizens at law, the return of the ‘ISIS brides’, and the rise of ‘sovereign citizens’, this study has some findings relevant to policy makers.
Since the late nineteenth century, citizenship education has been part of the remit of state schools. In the years between federation and the First World War, each State introduced some form of citizenship education into its primary curriculum. Since then, state school curricula been intended in part to educate students to understand their rights and responsibilities as citizens. The appropriateness of this has rarely been questioned. Citizenship education has reflected the continuities in the relationship between the state and the citizen, while adapting to the changing social, geo-political and demographic environments that have forced new understandings of citizenship. In these ways, citizenship education has been something of a mirror reflecting Australia and the developments in its hegemonic values, assumptions and philosophies.
Since federation, Australia has been a liberal democracy, and this has been consistently presented to children through education that promoted a social liberal understanding of citizenship. Originally influenced by the Oxford idealism of the late nineteenth century, citizenship education promoted a relationship between a government, whose role is understood to be creation of an environment in which people are able to self-actualise, and citizens, who take an informed and active part in their democratic community. This arrangement is said to produce positive freedom, that is the freedom to flourish, rather than mere negative freedom from government interference. This form of citizenship is based not in legal status—such citizenship did not exist until 26 January 1949—but in relationships and engagement with society and government.
Citizenship education is inherently concerned with who can and cannot be citizens. Australia has changed since federation from a proudly white nation excluding people of colour to the oft-claimed ‘most successful multicultural society in the world’. These change were reflected in citizenship education, with a shift from a defensive view in which citizenship was confined to white Christians, preferably British, to one that includes diverse members of Australia’s multicultural, multifaith society. Because the prohibition on them voting was lifted, women were always conceived of as citizens. But it was not always clear that their citizenship was considered equal. Rather, it was implicit that while women were welcome to participate by, for example, voting for their preferred man, the political nation could get by without them. Nowhere in the curricula or textbooks I analysed was the patriarchy and its implications for women’s citizenship discussed. This could be fruitful area for further research.
My research explores the near total absence of representation of Indigenous people as citizens. In 1880, in the first Australian civics textbook, The Laws We Live Under by Catherine Helen Spence, it was acknowledged that the South Australian government took Aboriginal land without compensation and sold it to fund immigration. But after that the ‘great silence’ ensued. There are, however, a few examples in curricula and textbooks of lauded individuals such as Jacky Jacky who aided colonists, and some information about the ‘curious’ ways in which Indigenous people lived, as though they were an ancient and defunct society, like the Romans. These references effectively othered Indigenous people and excluded them from the imagined community. While Indigenous culture and its place in Australia have been recognised in citizenship education since the 1990s, the state has not taught about the cultural citizenship education of Indigenous children imparted by Elders. Perhaps this absence contributed in part to the lack of understanding of the special place of Indigenous peoples and cultures that led to the failure of the Voice referendum in 2023. Again, this could be a fruitful area of study by qualified researchers.
My research revealed a fundamental divergence of views about what citizenship education should entail. On one hand were those who prioritise civics—education about the formal structures of government—and on the other, those who see more value in a more holistic approach that aims to equip children to live successfully in their communities. Citizenship education has largely done both, but in practice has tended to emphasise community living. The periodic moral panic that erupts whenever a survey suggests widespread ignorance about institutions suggests that commentators tend to hold the former view. For example, following the survey results appended to the Civics Expert Group report in 1994, subeditors produced headlines such as — ‘Schools Flunk History Teaching, Report Says’; ‘A Nation of Know-Nothings’; ‘Political Ignorance is Definitely Not Bliss’; and ‘“Ignorant” citizens spark call for course’. There is scope for more nuanced analyses like that of Professor Philippa Gollin who suggests that although in the most recent ACARA report Australian students produced the lowest recorded civics scores, they do care about politics. Given the relative cohesiveness of Australian society suggests most understand how to live effectively in the community, notwithstanding the current discourse, there may be value in reevaluating how the outcomes of citizenship education are analysed. Are we asking or giving weight to the right questions?
Linked to the question of evaluation, there has been at least since the 1930s a strong trend in in the views of educators, that citizenship cannot be taught from a book to pass an examination. If, as is often argued, citizenship is a practice, then it can best be taught and learnt experientially. From very early on, the state has relied on the hidden curriculum, the ethos and practices of the school, as a practical form of citizenship education. Some schools have taken this further and, through democratically elected parliaments, allowed students to exercise some real, albeit limited decision making power. The evidence suggests that these forums have both engaged and educated children in the ways of democracy. Many schools have also required or facilitated community engagement by their students. This may be through ceremonies of remembrance or celebration, or through charitable work, and aims to integrate children into their communities.
In 2026 in the western world, including Australia, democracy, the rule of law and the separation of powers are under increasing pressure, and populist anti-immigration rhetoric is on the rise. The education of citizens may assist in resisting authoritarianism and promote social cohesion.
My study was a history, not a polemic on pedagogy, and I would not seek to tell educators what should be taught or how. Nevertheless, having thought deeply about citizenship education, I think there are some questions that could be addressed by educators and policy makers. I do not have answers to these questions, but I can make some comments based on my research.
Is citizen education properly within the remit of schools?
The first chapter of my thesis addressed the reasons for the States introducing citizenship education to their curricula in the early twentieth. These factors included the expansion of the franchise, the challenge of building a new federal nation, the influence of the New Education movement, the increasing influence of social liberalism, significant reforms of the public education system, and a perceived vacuum in moral education created by the secularisation of public education. In this environment a dominant educational belief emerged that the state was responsible for educating its future electors both in the mechanics of citizenship and its correlative rights and duties.
The fundamental belief that schools are best placed to educate budding citizens has remained, effectively unchallenged, until now. Over the last 130 years the enthusiasm for the subject has waxed and waned. One constant, however, is the practical question posed by hard pressed educators: how can citizenship education be fitted into an already crowded curriculum? A professor who has written on citizenship education for three decades told me that the 20 hours per year allocated to this subject in the Australian Curriculum is manifestly inadequate. He said 40 hours would be the bare minimum.
So, is something better than nothing, or is it all a waste of time? If the measure of success is specific knowledge of government institutions, then perhaps it is the latter. The results of the three-yearly National Assessment Program — Civics and Citizenship reports published by ACARA from 2004 to 2016 show that around half of year 6 students achieve proficiency in civics, with a slight improvement over time, while year 10 students have never reached 50 percent, with a decline over time. The figures in the 2019 report were very similar to 2016. The 2025 report showed a continuing decline between 2004 and 2025 in the ability of students to demonstrate that they possess the knowledge expected of informed citizens.
On the other hand, compliance with the requirement to vote remains high and, despite outrages such as the Bondi massacre, Australia has not descended into anarchy. More than half of Australian adults do some form of volunteer work. The election of the Teals and independents such as Dai Le, and the decline in primary vote of the major parties, perhaps suggests that electors are voting thoughtfully and tactically. So, despite the ACARA reports, the jury must be out on whether there is a crisis in knowledge about democracy.
My study looked only at schools citizenship education. But undoubtedly people learn to be citizens by engagement with their families, friends, communities, clubs, churches and the media. Perhaps there is scope for a multi-factorial analysis of how citizenship knowledge is in fact acquired.
Should non-government schools be subject to the same citizenship education as government schools?
Australia has highly centralised education systems and is in the process of implementing the Australian Curriculum. Non-government schools, attended by about 30 percent of children, are required to teach the official curriculum. It seems reasonable that, because their students need to live as members of the broad community, they receive the same core citizenship education as children in government schools. However, there is a question as to whether non-government schools should be forced to comply strictly with state imposed curricula.
Opposition Leader Angus Taylor has recently asserted that people living in Australia must have Australian values, whatever they may be. It may be that he is reviving the short lived and poorly received Values Education program established by Brendan Nelson and John Howard in the early 2000s. Under that policy all schools were required to display a poster listing nine Australian Values superimposed on an image of ‘Simpson and his Dockey’.
Nelson reportedly claimed the story of Simpson ‘represented everything Australia should aspire to be’. This was an unequivocal assertion that all Australians, irrespective of their antecedents, should sign up to the Anzac legend wholeheartedly. The policy applied to Islamic schools, during a time of heightened Islamophobia following 9/11, the London bombings and the Cronulla riots. Islamic educational leaders were justifiably unhappy about this imposition. The myth of Simpson and his donkey arose from the Australia’s part in the invasion of the Islamic Ottoman Empire, and further, the focus on the donkey resonated with its place in Christian mythology, evoking Christ’s entry into Jerusalem shortly before his crucifixion. The Muslim schools argued they already taught values that largely included those promoted by Nelson, but as universal human values rather than exclusively Australian. In my view, this is a clear example where certain schools should have been exempted from the policy in whole or part. Given the diversity of the non-government sector, this should be an ongoing discussion, particularly if we are going down the ‘values’ road again.
Should citizenship be conceived of as a legal status (‘Big C’) or a relationship with society and the political nation (‘small c’)?
In her article in the Saturday Paper on 23 May 2026 Kim Rubenstien wrote that ‘Opposition Leader Angus Taylor’s budget reply promise to remove social security rights from permanent residents diminishes social cohesion with a crude decoupling of small “c” from large “C” citizenship’. Large “C” citizenship is strictly a legal status, while small “c” citizenship is that of people who live the praxis of citizenship. A ‘non-citizen’ at law who, for example, works, pays tax, engages in community activities and contributes to the common good, is a small “c” citizen. Citizenship education in Australia—from Spence’s assertion in 1880 that a citizen is ‘one subject to the laws of the land, and having an interest in all things which concern all other subjects or fellow-citizens’ to the Australian Curriculum’s definition of citizenship as ‘the condition of belonging to social, religious, political or community groups, locally nationally and globally’—has been directed to small “c” citizenship. The creation of the legal status of citizen in 1949 had no appreciable impact on education.
If the aims citizenship education are to assist individuals to live successfully in their society as citizens, and to foster social cohesion, it follows that the focus should be citizenship broadly understood, not mere legal status.
Could institutional knowledge—formal civics—best be taught in a short ‘boot-camp’ in the later years of school?
I suggest that the unstated rationale behind post-war citizenship education focussing on the social rather than political side of citizenship was that knowledge about institutions and practices of democratic governance could be easily superimposed on a community-minded citizen of good character, but community-mindedness and sound attitudes had to be instilled early on.
If that rationale was sensible, perhaps citizenship education could be structured so that the elements of citizenship that found community living and social cohesiveness are emphasised throughout class-based activities and the hidden curriculum, and the technical ‘civics’ elements could be concentrated in a ‘boot camp’ attended by those students approaching voting age. This structure would not, of course, preclude the earlier introduction of elements of democracy through, for example, the election by children of class representatives or experiences in civil discussion of contentious topics. It may, however, better equip school leavers with the knowledge required to cast an informed vote.
Should schools be required to have participatory and democratic forums in which students can influence real outcomes?
The observation made in the 1971 Education in South Australia: Report of the Committee of Enquiry into Education in South Australia, 1969-1970 (the Karmel Report) that ‘long experience in the impressionable years of schooling of overriding authority and forms and procedures that are unalterable is a poor training for the kind of citizens a democracy requires’, remains relevant. It further suggested that ‘experience in school in participating in the activities of self-controlled groups will make it easier to fulfil many of the roles of the post-school years’.
My study shows that, when students were given real decision making power, they acted responsibly, creatively and progressively. They also engaged enthusiastically. My impression is that children learn more about engagement in democratic politics through these forums than from formal lessons. The Australian Curriculum encourages children to participate in democratic forums such as representative councils, but the question remains whether they should be required in schools and in what form.
How can students practically engage with their community?
The dreadful shootings in Bondi last December, the widespread concern about the dire plight of the Palestinian people and the ever-louder cries of alarm about immigration have raised concerns about social cohesiveness. American writer Richard Pratte has argued that citizenship involves ‘“belongingness”, in a community of shared concern, caring and tolerance’ and that education for citizenship should include practical demonstrations of interconnectedness ‘expressed primarily in an obligation of membership, of willing service to others’. There is a long history of Australian school children engaging in their community through participation in the campaigns of charitable NGOs such as the Red Cross, and fund raising to assist those in need. My own view is that these activities are valuable in developing active citizens. If the broader society is to be cohesive, then the sense of belongingness surely must extend beyond peoples own ‘bubbles’. I think the question of how students can be exposed to the diversity of Australia’s multicultural and multifaith society in a safe and respectful way, and so connect and belong beyond their own communities, could be considered it this context.
Michael Billig has coined the term ‘Banal nationalism’ to explain the effect of incidental exposure to symbols such as flags in reminding people of their membership of a nation. Experimental psychologists have confirmed the power of even subliminal exposure to the national flag in evoking desirable national values. School children have long been exposed to such symbols as well as participating in ceremonies on occasions such as Anzac Day, Empire Day, Pioneers Day and Battle of the Coral Sea Day, and Abor Day. The celebration of these days was not, and is not, ideologically neutral. Each day served a particular role in orienting the child in their communities, as an Australian, a citizen of a State, a partner of the United States, or a citizen of Empire and Commonwealth, a subject of the Queen or a steward of the environment.
The meaning of symbols and celebrations is contestable and subject to change. For example, The red ensign, the flag of the Merchant Navy, has since COVID morphed into a symbol of resistance and sovereign citizenship. Australia over the last three decades has engaged in history and culture wars in which the primacy of Australia’s Judeo-Christian British heritage has been asserted and challenged; the use of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander flags and acknowledgements of country has been contested; the National flag, with its Union Flag corner piece, itself has become divisive; and any bilateralism about multiculturalism has wavered. In this febrile environment, there is scope for a re-evaluation of the semiotics of the symbols and ceremonies deployed in citizenship education.
Citizenship education is inherently a contestable field and undoubtedly there will be various valid answers to the questions posed. My study does not purport to answer them, but it could be a useful starting point for a discussion about how young Australians should be educated in citizenship.
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