On 2 March, Vietnam’s National Assembly elected Vo Van Thuong as the country’s new president. He had been nominated by the Central Committee of the Vietnamese Communist Party the day before.

Thuong, a southerner, is at 52 the youngest member of the politburo, in which he had ranked fifth. He is close to the general-secretary of the party and most senior member of the politburo, Nguyen Phu Trong.

Thuong’s election had been preceded by two months of speculation—some of it finding its way into the foreign media—about turmoil in the leadership.

On 5 January, two of Vietnam’s four deputy prime ministers, Pham Binh Minh and Vu Duc Dam, resigned from the government and the central committee. The reason given was two scandals linked to management of the Covid-19 crisis.

Minh, who had oversight of foreign affairs, accepted blame for the corrupt actions of foreign ministry officials, including the ambassador to Japan, in taking bribes for places on repatriation flights to Vietnam. Dam, who had oversight of health matters, was held responsible for a scandal related to the sale and distribution of Covid test kits.

As all this was happening, scores of officials and business leaders were being questioned and detained on corruption allegations.

The leadership issue took on a deeper resonance when, immediately after Minh and Dam went, rumours began to circulate that the president (and number two in the politburo and a former prime minister), Nguyen Xuan Phuc, would resign. He did so on 17 January.

While a media release cited Phuc’s ‘personal desire’ to resign, rumours had been floating in Hanoi that members of his family had been associated with those caught up in the corruption sweep.

The rumour mill sped up even further with the story that the prime minister, Pham Binh Chinh (number three in the politburo), would also be going—possibly at the end of January after the Tet New Year holiday.

According to one account, Chinh had had enough and had wanted to resign. However, in early February, he apparently decided to stay—in part because of concerns within the system that confidence in the government would be too seriously affected if he left.

Another account had it that Chinh’s family was being investigated for corruption, but that Trong was persuaded not to pursue Chinh’s resignation because of fears about the potential effect on confidence.

There are two different, but not necessarily wholly inconsistent, views about the current sweep of changes.

The first is that Trong, who had long hoisted his petard to an anti-corruption campaign, believed it essential to pursue those involved in Covid abuses and to also include in the net those with vicarious responsibility. Given the anger in Vietnamese streets about the Covid abuses, this view makes some sense.

However, so does the second view, namely that Trong—now in his third term as general-secretary, aged 78 and in poor health—pushed his colleagues out for political reasons.

Trong is the leader of a loose group in the party whose careers have been built in the defence and internal security side of government, or within the party itself rather than government. The group is ideological. Because of party-to-party associations, it is those with strong party credentials who tend to have high-level dealings with other communist parties—importantly, in China and Laos.

The other main group in the party has tended to be loosely associated with Phuc, and included Minh and Dan. Its reputation has been built around public administration. Some of the group’s members are close to the business sector and have tended to be linked with Vietnam’s dealings with the West.

Given that those who have now been forced out were associated with the second group, it’s not surprising that the view has grown that Trong wanted them out of the way, thus enabling people who thought like him—and particularly a like-minded general-secretary—to rise to party leadership positions. It was of significance that Vuong Dinh Hue, the well-regarded number four in the politburo—and much more experienced than Thuong—wasn’t chosen as president.

Thuong is a party apparatchik. After graduation, he had several party positions in the south. He became a full member of the central committee in 2011 and was elected to the politburo in 2016. His work has focused on education within the party, and he has assumed significant responsibility for combating corruption and ‘negative phenomena’. He has had little to do with business.

The role of president in Vietnam doesn’t carry with it major policy responsibilities. However, it will expose Thuong to major issues, including international ones. It will make him a strong contender to be Trong’s successor as general-secretary.

This shake-up has raised two important issues.

The first is whether both the business community in Vietnam and the foreign investor community will have the same confidence as in the past about effective governance in Vietnam.

The Vietnamese business community is nervous. Confidence in the economy had already diminished because of a bonds scandal last year, and because the anti-corruption campaign had made both officials and business chary of taking decisions.

Moreover, while informed foreign banks and business associations with an interest in Vietnam are confident about Vietnam’s fundamentals over the medium and long term—provided some structural reform is undertaken—not much money is coming into the country right now. Potential investors want to know what’s going on.

The government is mindful of the foreign confidence factor. For example, a Nikkei Asia opinion piece in January that suggested Vietnam’s reputation as a well-managed economy was at risk caused alarm in the Vietnamese system. The fact that Chinh stayed on as prime minister and a new president was elected earlier than had been expected suggests the leadership wants things to settle down quickly.

The second issue is how the changes might reflect Chinese influence or stimulate a tilt towards China in Vietnam’s international alignment.

Phuc and Minh were respected and seen as among those most responsible for Vietnam’s largely positive dealings with Western countries. Trong was the first foreign leader to visit Chinese President Xi Jinping after his election for a third term last year. But given the party links between the two countries, that’s not wholly surprising. Interestingly, Trong was accompanied by Thuong.

That said, there’s no evidence to suggest China is behind any of the personnel shifts. Vietnam is respectful of China and Chinese concerns, but it also sees a close relationship with the United States as a deterrent to potential Chinese aggression.

In the final analysis, Vietnam’s foreign policy is driven by consensus, and for the past generation the Vietnamese government has pursued geopolitical balance. Well-informed Vietnamese sources don’t see major divisions within the leadership on international policy. But the relationship between China and Vietnam (and, as a corollary, that between Vietnam and the US) will—understandably—continue to warrant scrutiny.

With 26 January looming, many Australians will be ashamed of the fact that First Nations people in this country are among the most incarcerated on the planet. Our children are almost 10 times more likely to be removed from their families. We are likely to die decades earlier than other Australians. We experience daily, systemic racism. These are the ongoing impacts of colonisation, racism, land dispossession and trauma.

The countless injustices Aboriginal people have faced began on 26 January 1788, but they continue today. Many have asked what it will take for this country to resolve the ongoing injustice.

The answer, I believe, can be found in a treaty. It’s something Aboriginal people have called for over many decades.

Under the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which Australia endorsed in 2009, Aboriginal people have the right to self-determination and to compensation for the wrongs against us. Through the deliberative negotiation of a treaty, our rights can be fully realised. We can work through our painful history and we can all move forward as a nation, with peace and justice.

A treaty is a legally binding outcome of a negotiation that acknowledges Aboriginal people, as the first and sovereign peoples of this land, to have self-governance over our own affairs, to have economic independence and to have land.

Australia is among the only Commonwealth countries without a legally binding treaty with its first peoples. A treaty would provide an opportunity for First Nations people and the Australian state speak to one another, for the first time, as sovereign to sovereign. It would radically reshape the relationship between First Nations peoples and other Australians, beginning with an acknowledgement of a simple truth—that sovereignty of this land was never ceded.

A treaty is ultimately a peace agreement. Until sovereignty is recognised, there can be no lasting peace. Without a treaty, the many injustices suffered by Aboriginal people since the first landing, more than 200 years ago, cannot be properly addressed.

The invasion of this country is the first and fundamental injustice that occurred on this continent. It’s a deep and enduring stain on this nation, but it can be resolved by a treaty. A treaty will make Australia more equal, justice and peaceful, and therefore more united and cohesive.

This would not be the first time this country has considered the importance of a treaty as a means of achieving justice for First Nations people.

In 1988, Prime Minister Bob Hawke committed to a negotiated treaty with Aboriginal people after being presented with a document known as the Barunga Statement. In the statement, First Nations peoples called on the Commonwealth parliament to ‘negotiate with us a Treaty recognising our prior ownership, continued occupation and sovereignty and affirming our human rights and freedom’.

In 2021, some decades on from Hawke’s commitment to acknowledge the sovereign rights of Aboriginal people through a treaty, government proposals to achieve justice for First Nations peoples are far less ambitious.

In recent weeks, early proposals put forward by the advisory group for an Indigenous voice to parliament so far lack the ambition we need if we are to heal our country’s deep wounds. Under the draft model, the government of the day would not be required to take the advice of the voice, or to listen. Aboriginal people have been speaking to governments on both sides for decades. The voice will not serve us if the government and the parliament need not listen to it—nor will it bring about real change if it is not the voice of Aboriginal peoples as the first and sovereign people of this land.

Treaties must first be achieved by a truth-telling process that fully reveals the extent to which Aboriginal people have suffered—and continue to suffer—since the first landing, and how this can be addressed.

The Australian Greens party’s view is that the timing and sequence of these actions matter. A treaty and truth-telling are needed to make sure any changes in the constitution are meaningful and not just tokenistic. We’ve already seen this government watering down its original plans for a voice to parliament and being non-committal on constitutional recognition.

The denial of a treaty for First Nations people remains an injustice in this country. It denies us land, the means to achieve economic independence, self-governance, proper freedom to live in accordance with our culture and even proper recognition of our identity. The priorities for inclusion in treaty negotiation should be led by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island people.

Only through proper treaty processes can Aboriginal people heal and have these rights restored. It will take a lot of talking, listening and good faith, and both Blak and white Australia will need to come on this journey, together.

At its heart, a treaty is about mutual respect—speaking to one another, as equals, and starting with the truth about what our people have faced since that first invasion. It would transform this country. A treaty that starts with truth-telling is the serious change that this country needs.

But we can’t do this alone. We need all Australians to come on this journey of truth-telling with us. Ahead of this year’s Invasion Day, we’re asking you to turn up for us. And we’re asking you to stand with us, to turn this day of mourning into a day of healing so we can all move forward together as a nation.

On 26 January, I hope you’ll join us.

In July, Israel passed a controversial new ‘nation-state law’ that asserted that ‘the right [to exercise] national self-determination’ is ‘unique to the Jewish people’ and established Hebrew as Israel’s official language, downgrading Arabic to a ‘special status’. But the drive to impose a homogeneous identity on a diverse society is hardly unique to Israel. On the contrary, it can be seen across the Western world—and it does not bode well for peace.

In the last few decades of rapid globalisation, nationalism never really left, but it did take a back seat to hopes of greater economic prosperity. Yet the recent backlash against globalisation—triggered not only by economic insecurity and inequality, but also by fears of social and demographic change—has brought a resurgence of old-fashioned ethnic nationalism.

This trend is reflected in and reinforced by what some experts call a ‘memory boom’ or ‘commemorative fever’: the proliferation of museums, memorials, heritage sites and other features of public space emphasising links with local identities and history. Rather than celebrating diversity, people are increasingly eager to embrace a particular and exclusive identity.

In the United States, white people increasingly view the prospect that they will become a minority—a milestone expected to be reached in 2045—as an existential threat and often act as if they are a disadvantaged group. US President Donald Trump capitalised on such feelings to win support and his Republican Party is now relying on overzealous purges of ‘inactive’ voters, stringent voter ID laws and closures of polling places to make it more difficult for minorities to vote.

Meanwhile, support for the European Union’s enlightened values has eroded. Now, somewhat ironically, a grand alliance of right-wing nationalist parties has been established to improve their chances in the May 2019 European Parliament elections.

Such forces rail against ‘identity politics’ (while speaking to predominantly white crowds who insist that they are their nation’s true representatives). This rhetoric has gained sympathy from some intellectuals on both the left and the right. Multiculturalism and international cooperation, authors such as Mark Lilla and Francis Fukuyama argue, turned out to be a fantasy of the liberal elites.

Similarly, the British philosopher John Gray, who has long decried ‘hyper-liberalism,’ has attempted to turn the Brexit vote—a clear outburst of nativism and xenophobia—on its head. According to Gray, by pushing for a ‘transnational government’ that most Europeans did not want, the EU was responsible for the rise of the worst kinds of nationalism. Resisting Brexit, he insists, would restore a ‘dark European past’.

Former British prime minister Tony Blair’s anti-terror laws, enacted after the 2005 al-Qaeda-inspired suicide bombings in London, made him the first Western leader to repudiate so-called hyper-liberalism. Today, such repudiation can be seen across the Western world, from Trump’s administration and the ‘illiberalism’ of Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and de facto Polish leader Jarosław Kaczyński to Italy’s populist coalition government.

Ethnic nationalism like that enshrined by Israel’s nation-state law has long been a staple of politics in Central and Eastern Europe. Blood and religion, not citizenship, was what defined the nation during periods of subjugation. After the devastation of World War II, many of the region’s nations recovered sovereignty through large-scale ethnic cleansing.

Post-war European integration failed to resuscitate Central and Eastern Europe’s fin de siècle multi-ethnic dream. Instead, the ghosts of xenophobia and ultra-nationalism have been revived, exemplified in Germany by surging support for the far-right Alternative für Deutschland, which rejects post-war Germany’s expiations.

German Chancellor Angela Merkel’s enlightened refugee policies might thus turn out to be the last manifestation of Germany’s politics of guilt. Similarly, in Austria—which, to be sure, never admitted guilt in the first place—Chancellor Sebastian Kurz’s far-right, anti-immigration coalition is poised to end the EU’s politics of ‘identity annihilation’.

Western Europe was supposed to be free of ethnic nationalism. Modern nation-states were shaped along civic, not ethnic, lines and the nation was defined as a community of citizens. Race, colour and gender were never supposed to be obstacles to full and equal civic participation.

Moreover, Western Europe is largely secular, whereas much of Central and Eastern Europe (not to mention the US) is more likely to link its identity to a religion-based moral order. Given these factors, in Western Europe, the rise of radical ethnic nationalism as a response to fears of terrorism and mass migration represents a more fundamentally transformative crisis.

This is all the more true of Northern Europe’s traditionally moral superpowers. The rise of the far-right Danish People’s Party and Sweden Democrats, with their roots in Swedish fascism and their nostalgia for the mythic white Sweden of the 1950s, amounts to a devastating blow to the most perfect model of social democracy that Europe has ever produced. The social-welfare state, the nationalists claim, cannot substitute for ethnic identity.

A recent study published in the journal Democratization shows that the overall level of liberal democracy worldwide now matches that recorded shortly after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. There has been a ‘democratic recession’, as Fukuyama calls it, but it is concentrated in the more democratic regions of the world: Western Europe and North America, Latin America and the Caribbean, and Eastern Europe.

Given these regions’ importance to upholding the liberal world order, the rise of (white) ethnic nationalism has potentially serious consequences. Unless these countries devise a new way to balance liberal democratic values and people’s craving for a sense of belonging, they will end up paving a path to disaster.