The latest legal storm enveloping Australia’s defence ranks could be labelled as nothing short of a continent-wide wake-up call. This week, a landmark class action lawsuit – reported by News.com.au and all other aussie media – was filed in the Federal Court on behalf of women who served in the Australian Defence Force (ADF), spanning the Army, Navy, Air Force and training establishments, from November 2003 through May 2025. The claims allege widespread, systemic sexual violence, harassment, discrimination and retaliation — and the message is blunt: enough is enough.
For many female personnel the very job of serving their country, doing what the Anzacs once did, has morphed into a battleground of another kind – not against external foes, but within the force itself. One of the lead plaintiffs recounts waking up bruised and naked after an on-base party off-duty, with little to no support. Another claims that during training she was the only woman among eight to twelve men, regularly told she wasn’t up for the job, shown pornographic imagery without consent, and that she and others were subjected to obscene, threatening and humiliating behaviour.
It’s a deeply uncomfortable story — one that forcefully undercuts the notion of ADF life as disciplined mateship and rigour. Interestingly, the machinery of law and reform in Australia has been aware of these threads for a long time. For example, the Defence Abuse Response Taskforce, set up to investigate claims of abuse inside the ADF before 2011, found thousands of complaints and flagged system-wide problems. The culture of “harden up”, the male-dominated barrack mindset, and the informal “boys’ club” atmosphere in some units have long been cited by insiders and researchers. The recent litigation is the tipping point.
In the broader cultural context, Australia has for decades prided itself on egalitarian values, “fair go” ethics, the notion of mateship and pulling together in adversity. But in many of these internal military cases, the standard-bearers appear to have fallen short of those ideals — not only failing to protect women in uniform, but in some instances, punishing them for standing up. A lawyer in the case went so far as to say that “the threat of war often isn’t the biggest safety fear for female ADF personnel: it’s the threat of sexual violence in their workplace.”
Legally speaking, the class-action is significant. The opt-out basis means that thousands — possibly tens of thousands — of women who served during that period will automatically be included unless they specifically opt out. The scope of alleged offending is broad: groping, forced kissing, lewd comments, cyber-harassment, threats, denial of transfer requests, ostracism, even job retribution for raising complaints. Some of the data is chilling: in one survey, 52 % of female permanent serving members reported “unacceptable behaviour” in the previous 12 months.
The ADF has responded with official statements: “There is no place for sexual violence or misconduct in Defence,” they say, and they acknowledge “work to be done.” But critics say decades of reviews, policy updates and pledges have not yielded the cultural change needed. The class‐action lawyers point to “empty platitudes, ineffective policies, failures to implement recommendations, and a lack of genuine introspection and remorse.” It’s a classic case of promises on paper but practice falling far short.
In layman’s Aussie sense, you might say the brass have been running “speeches and slogans” while letting the walk lag way behind. For the women in uniform, it isn’t about gold-braid and parades — it’s about being safe, respected and treated like a professional, not like a target. The stakes are massive: reputations, careers and lives have been damaged.
What happens next is crucial. This legal action is more than a payout attempt — it’s about forcing accountability and meaningful cultural reform inside what has been one of Australia’s most hallowed institutions. If the ADF wants to remain credible as an inclusive force, it needs to prove it can protect its own women as effectively as it trains to protect the nation. Otherwise the anger and pain being laid bare now won’t fade — it will echo.
Please, sit down and pass Auntie the megaphone — because I am livid. Women have been called many things throughout history: nurturers, peace-makers, the soft side of society — and sure, many of us are proudly pacifist, because we know too well how violence destroys lives. But listen here, you men in epaulettes — the ones with brows raised sky-high at the idea of women in uniform — some of our sisters choose to serve. They choose to defend your country, your borders, your precious freedoms. And the absolute bare minimum you owe them is a workplace that doesn’t treat them like prey.
You love to parade around at Anzac events with shiny medals and polished boots, all “mateship” and “honour.” Yet inside those barracks, some of you can’t manage the most basic honour: respecting the soldiers beside you. You can aim a rifle at an enemy from kilometres away, but you can’t keep your grubby hands or filthy jokes to yourself in the hallways? What kind of protector is that?
Women soldiers are not there to provide you with entertainment during long deployments. They’re not there to be wallpaper at the mess hall or targets for harassment under the guise of “banter” — a word that has become the world’s most overworked excuse for cruelty. They are there because they believe in duty and service; because despite the odds, they believe they belong.
Imagine having the courage to enlist — to push through training designed to make you tougher than a kangaroo steak — only to learn that the biggest threat isn’t an enemy force but the colleague marching next to you. That trauma doesn’t just stain uniforms. It stains lives. And it stains the credibility of the institution that claims to protect the nation.
You want to call yourselves leaders? Alpha males? Guardians of the realm? Then start by guarding the dignity of your own people. True strength isn’t swagger, or barking orders, or adjusting your medals for the cameras. True strength is accountability. It is integrity when nobody’s watching. It is knowing that women in uniform are your equals — not your entertainment, not your property, not your victims.
Spicy Auntie will always prefer peace over war. But if our sisters choose to serve — then the military damn well better serve them back: with respect, with safety, and with consequences for anyone who violates either.
Anything less is cowardice. And Auntie has no respect for cowards.