In the aftermath of the Bondi attack, which claimed the lives of 15 people, political language moved swiftly. The event was described as a “terror attack.” Calls for a royal commission followed almost immediately. New South Wales Premier Chris Minns said such an inquiry was necessary to understand how the attack was able to occur.
As media commentary escalated, attention turned, as it often does, to the personal relationships of those responsible. The attackers were described as a father–son duo, with commentators drawing parallels to other “high-profile terrorist incidents” involving family members: the Boston Marathon bombing, the Charlie Hebdo attack, the San Bernardino shootings. Analysts explained that radicalisation can accelerate within families, that proximity and trust create a “hothouse of extremism.”
But amid this familiar narrative, terror, family, radicalisation, there has been far less scrutiny of another actor that consistently appears in these stories: the state itself.
If we are serious about preventing violence, we must ask harder questions than whether families failed. We must ask whether the systems designed to “keep us safe” are in fact producing harm, sometimes deliberately, sometimes negligently, and often without consequence.
That question has become even more urgent in the wake of the federal government’s response to Bondi.
Criminalising Grooming, Except When the State Does It
Following the Bondi attack, the federal Attorney-General announced plans to introduce a new aggravated offence targeting adults who seek to influence and radicalise children. Under the proposed laws, any adult who advocates violence to children against protected groups or their property will face tougher penalties.
The language is unequivocal. Since 2001, 120 people have been convicted of terrorism offences in Australia, 10 of them children. Today, 17 of the 33 people currently before the courts on terrorism matters are minors. This, we are told, represents an unprecedented radicalisation of young people, one that “must stop.” Extremists, the Attorney-General says, will not be allowed to groom or brainwash our children into hate or terrorism.
On its face, this is a critical intervention. Laws that recognise the particular vulnerability of children, and the profound harm caused when adults steer them toward violence, should be uncontroversial. The principle that children require protection from ideological grooming is sound.
But laws do not operate in a vacuum. They operate within systems. And when placed alongside recent court findings about counter-terrorism policing in Australia, this announcement exposes a profound and deeply uncomfortable contradiction.
Because if advocating violence to a child is to become an aggravated criminal offence, then we must ask, clearly and without evasion, whether these laws will apply to the state itself.
To answer that question, we need to revisit a case that received momentary attention and was then quietly set aside. A case that should trouble anyone now calling for expanded counter-terrorism powers, intelligence reform, or royal commissions. A case that reveals what state intervention can look like when it is unaccountable, punitive, and reckless.
The Child the State Tried to Turn Into a Terrorist
In 2023, the Children’s Court of Victoria delivered a blistering judgment against the Australian Federal Police (AFP), permanently staying proceedings against a child known by the pseudonym Thomas Carrick.
Thomas was 13 years old when he came to the attention of authorities. He is autistic, has an IQ of 71, and was described by the court as socially isolated, without friends, and prone to fixation. His fixation happened to be terrorism.
Importantly, it was not the AFP who first raised the alarm. Thomas’s parents did. Disturbed by what they found on his computer and frightened by his questions, they went to police asking for help. His father told authorities he was “prepared to sacrifice my son for the safety of the Australian community.”
What followed, initially, was exactly what we are told should happen. A therapeutic and rehabilitative response was put in place. A psychologist assessed Thomas and concluded his fixation with ISIS was not ideological and that he had little understanding of Islam. He was connected with an imam as part of a countering violent extremism program. The focus was support, education, and care.
Then the AFP stepped in.
Under a covert online operation, undercover officers began communicating with Thomas, who repeatedly asked if they were spies. One officer responded with racist language about police and intelligence agencies. When Thomas disclosed his age: “I am 13 years old”, the operation did not stop.
Instead, officers built rapport. They asked about his life. He sent them his homework. He expressed concern for the officer’s mother.
And then, according to the Children’s Court judgment, they began encouraging him.
The undercover personas told the child that plans to kill an AFP officer were “a good plan.” They told him he would make a good sniper or suicide bomber. They reinforced his fixation, praised violent ideas, and actively escalated his thinking.
This was not intelligence gathering. This was grooming.
The court noted Thomas’s profound naivety. He asked whether America couldn’t just buy oil from Woolworths. He asked if ISIS had a “kids section.” This was not a child capable of carrying out terrorism. It was a child struggling to understand the world.
The operation culminated when Thomas turned 14 and was charged after police found a knife in his bedroom with ISIS written on it.
“Profoundly Short of the Minimum Standards”
Magistrate Lesley Fleming did not mince words.
She found that the AFP’s conduct fell “profoundly short of the minimum standards expected of law enforcement officers.” She held that the AFP had actively undermined the therapeutic process his parents had sought in good faith. That by attempting to radicalise a child for the purpose of prosecution, the state had caused serious harm.
The court rejected the idea that the AFP waited to charge Thomas until he turned 14 for any reason other than to avoid the doctrine of doli incapax, the legal recognition that children under a certain age may not be capable of forming criminal intent.
Most damningly, the magistrate stated that refusing to stay the proceedings would “condone and encourage further instances of such conduct.”
And yet, nothing happened.
When asked whether any AFP officers faced consequences, the agency refused to say. At a parliamentary hearing, Greens Senator David Shoebridge described the conduct as an “obscene abuse of power,” pointing out that it was the AFP who introduced the ideas of sniping and suicide bombing to a disabled child.
The AFP response was familiar: reviews were ongoing. Safety of the community remained paramount. No accountability was disclosed.
So, What Role Should the State Play?
In the wake of Bondi, politicians and commentators are again demanding more intelligence, more powers, more intervention. Royal commissions are framed as neutral exercises in learning. But history tells us otherwise.
The Thomas Carrick case shows us what state “prevention” can look like when it is driven by targets, ideology, and fear rather than care. It shows how intelligence agencies can manufacture threats, not disrupt them. How families seeking help can become collateral damage. How children can be treated as instruments rather than people.
If the state is willing to attempt to radicalise a 13-year-old with autism in order to justify its own counter-terrorism apparatus, we should be deeply sceptical of its claims to protect us from violence.
We must ask: are these systems actually preventing harm, or are they rehearsing it? Are they responding to risk, or producing it? And who pays the price when intelligence agencies get it wrong?
Before we rush to expand the powers of institutions that operate largely in secrecy and are rarely held accountable, we should sit with the uncomfortable truth this case reveals: that the state itself can be a source of radicalisation, trauma, and violence.
If we are serious about preventing future tragedies, the question is not simply how attacks occur, but whether the methods we rely on to stop them are making things worse.
As someone with a few labels in this space I’d point to the Sydney Hilton bombing as evidence of the suggestion you are making ..no prey – no pay.