Australia Chooses Connection: Because Culture Wars Won’t Save Us

In 1912, writer Randolph Bourne described friendship as the spark that lights our minds — not just emotional comfort, but intellectual ignition. “I am a battery that needs to be recharged,” he wrote. “I must have the excitement of friendship.” More than a century later, in a world flooded with content but starved for connection, Bourne’s words feel radical. In fact, they feel like a kind of resistance.

Right now, in a time when the political tide is turning dark in so many corners of the world — from Hungary to Florida, from Poland to parts of Western Sydney — Australia’s quiet refusal to follow that path is something worth noticing. We’re not perfect. But there’s something deeply encouraging about the fact that we, as a nation, continue to reject the dog whistles of fearmongering, identity politics, and cultural warfare. And I wonder if it’s because we still have a small, stubborn faith in something that’s too often underestimated: each other.

We choose connection.

We talk to our neighbours, we show up at trivia night, we walk the dogs, we play social sport. We’re cynical, yes — but not so far gone that we won’t laugh at a stranger’s joke in line for coffee. And in moments like these, it strikes me that this deeply human instinct — to reach out, to talk, to joke, to belong — is one of the most powerful forces we have.

It doesn’t always make headlines. It doesn’t show up in polls. But in communities across the country, people are finding their way back to each other in ways that matter more than algorithms ever will.

Friendship is not a luxury — it’s how we think better

Randolph Bourne wasn’t just being poetic when he said he only really thought when he was with friends. Modern neuroscience backs him up. Social connection doesn’t just make us feel good — it literally sharpens our thinking. As social psychologist Matthew Lieberman explains in Social: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Connect, our brains are fundamentally built for relationship. When we’re connected, we’re more creative, more empathetic, and more resilient.

But friendship isn’t just a private pleasure. It’s a public good. Strong social ties are associated with lower levels of anxiety, depression, and loneliness — but also with stronger democracies and more trusting societies. According to the OECD, countries with higher levels of interpersonal trust tend to have stronger social safety nets, more robust civic engagement, and higher levels of overall wellbeing.

This isn’t just sociology — it’s strategy. Friendship makes us smarter, kinder, and harder to divide.

Connection protects us from despair — and from manipulation

In 2024, researcher Virginia Thomas wrote in The Conversation that solitude can be beautiful — but loneliness, particularly social isolation, is dangerous. Not just for our health, but for our moral judgment. And we’ve seen it play out: isolated people are more vulnerable to misinformation, more likely to believe conspiracy theories, and more easily radicalised by bad actors who offer false belonging.

Loneliness isn’t just a personal crisis — it’s a political one.

When people feel alone, they’re more likely to vote for strongmen who promise simple answers and scapegoats. They’re more likely to distrust institutions, disengage from civic life, and retreat into echo chambers. The antidote isn’t just “education” or “critical thinking” — it’s social connection. It’s community. It’s friendship.

Creativity, too, is a social act

In a world that tells us to hustle, optimise, and produce, creativity can feel indulgent. But as Arthur C. Brooks writes, it’s actually a cure — especially for anxiety and emotional exhaustion. “Getting creative is just about the best thing you can do,” he says, citing research that shows how art, music, storytelling, and even doodling can calm the nervous system and lift the fog of stress.

And crucially, creativity flourishes in community.

In his book Anatomy of a Breakthrough, Adam Alter explains the “creative cliff illusion” — the false belief that our ideas run out quickly. In truth, the longer we persist, the more original our thinking becomes. But here’s the catch: persistence is easier when we’re not alone. As Bourne knew, “I do not spark automatically, but must have other minds to rub up against.”

So many of us — especially in the LGBTQIA+ community — grew up being told we were “too much.” Too sensitive, too dramatic, too opinionated. But in the right company, these same traits become superpowers. What if the very things we thought were weaknesses were actually gifts — just waiting for the right friendship to activate them?

To reject cruelty is a creative act

There’s a quiet courage in resisting the pull of cynicism. In choosing to believe that most people are still good. In laughing at memes. In replying to that awkward text. In remembering a birthday. These things seem small, but they’re how we reclaim our agency in a world that often wants us angry, isolated, or exhausted.

American author Adrienne Maree Brown calls this “fractal resistance” — the idea that small acts of care and collaboration ripple outward into broader cultural shifts. When we refuse to dehumanise our neighbours, when we make art, when we host potlucks, when we build queer kickball teams or book clubs or drag story time — we’re not just healing ourselves. We’re interrupting the systems that rely on our disconnection.

This is what Get Out stands for. Not just getting off apps or out of our heads, but into something better. Into friendships that recharge us. Into creativity that sustains us. Into communities that don’t demand perfection, but reward participation. We want to build something that feels like belonging — without the baggage. Something joyful. Something real.

Because while outrage might get more clicks, delight is what keeps us going.

And in Australia right now, there is so much to delight in. The way we show up for each other. The way we refuse to buy into division. The way we vote, even when it’s complicated. The way we gather — in person, on country, over dinner tables and dance floors — and say to one another, you belong here.