Welcome to Eureka Street
Looking for thought provoking articles?Subscribe to Eureka Street and join the conversation.
Passwords must be at least 8 characters, contain upper and lower case letters, and a numeric value.
Eureka Street uses the Stripe payment gateway to process payments. The terms and conditions upon which Stripe processes payments and their privacy policy are available here.
Please note: The 40-day free-trial subscription is a limited time offer and expires 31/3/24. Subscribers will have 40 days of free access to Eureka Street content from the date they subscribe. You can cancel your subscription within that 40-day period without charge. After the 40-day free trial subscription period is over, you will be debited the $90 annual subscription amount. Our terms and conditions of membership still apply.
Peter’s playful, profound love of life ranged from the earth to the skies, and from the oceans to the great mysteries of the universe. It was a love that was grounded in family and community rituals.
In the last few weeks, we have been drowned, smothered or mired in words that have striven for solemnity. Such occasions as the death of Queen Elizabeth II and the various Grand Finals are held to transcend the everyday and so to demand elegiac or epic words. It is easy to laugh at the manifest failures to reach those heights, whether by Poets Laureate who should have known better, or by excitable journalists. There is, however, something endearingly human in the attempt.
Anyone at Friday's climate strike couldn't help but notice just how much the terms of the debate have shifted in recent years. The crisis is one of being. Climate change denialism isn't simply a political position anymore. To deny the science is to embrace nihilism; it is to be complicit in one's own extinction.
The Victorian state election is on this Saturday and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I could be less inspired about it if I tried. I want readers to understand just how much of a statement this is coming from me. I loathe our political system and most of our politicians but being an Aboriginal woman who works in the union movement and writes opinion, I am deeply invested in it all.
Thinking my jadedness of the nine-to-five was vindicated, I crossed the road at lunchtime where this tow-truck was waiting its turn at the lights. The trucker had 'Born on the Bayou' by Credence blasting through open windows. Thought he had an amazing sound system. Then realised he had a drum-kit set up on his dash and was going for it with his sticks in time to the tune. He made his day job look easy — and all of a sudden I felt like a small little angry man. He made my week.
Each time I see a Melbourne driver wait for a pedestrian, it seems they can barely restrain the urge to run the poor person over. Similar observations could be made about how our politicians confront the most vulnerable individuals.
When James Hird, coach of the Essendon Football Club, says his club has a 'right' to play finals despite the ongoing drug scandal, he obviously means that the players have won enough games to qualify. But when you wed his use of the word 'right' to his often proclaimed love for the club and his aspiration to put it back where it 'belonged', 'right' starts to assume the force of due privilege.
The smell of hot bitumen asserted itself in the chilled winter air. A family of saried women, nimble men and children sifted gravel and carried piles of stones on their heads. The driver, seeing the direction of my gaze, nodded towards the ghostly work party and explained: 'Delhi Games.'
somewhere, .. on a dusty stump .. or parched rock ... far from here on the road inside myself .. patiently fanning flies .. and hoping that I'll have the heart .. to travel on and not look back.
They came to stop the violence. Four, maybe five of them, in hooded jackets and pale, worn jeans. Hovering in the car park. Shadow-like. Haunted. We were gathered outside the place to which he had come, bleeding, begging for help. Wrongly, we assumed they had come to join us.
Multi-faith dialogue is just a conversation, over time, between dear friends.
Reader's Feast Bookstore is delighted to once again join with Eureka Street to offer an award in the area of social justice writing. Funded by Reader's Feast Bookstore and organised by Eureka Street, the theme for the essay was 'Climate change and the global financial crisis: can we afford to save the planet?'