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Along the tree lined rural highway / past paddocks where canola gleams / so cars stop for golden photographs / past paddocks where sheep graze / then clumps of darker remnant eucalypts / distant hills wear dancing patches of colour.
In Justice in Kelly Country, author Lachlan Strahan writes on the life of his great-great-grandfather, a policeman whose career stretched over thirty years. When a significant part of that story is intermeshed with such a fiercely contested story as Ned Kelly’s, telling it introduces the further complexities of the writer’s sympathies and judgments.
When people gather on Remembrance Day, commemorating the cease-fire at the end of the First World War, people take great pains to remember; a small acknowledgement of the horror of war, its loss, sacrifice and suffering. And in that time, it’s also worth pausing to reflect on those for whom wartime sacrifices and suffering are a daily reality. What do these people wish to remember?
Reflecting on the value of newspaper commentary on public life prompts self-reflection concerning the quality of what we columnists write and what we hope to achieve through our work. The ephemeral quality of a column suggests how important it is for us not simply to react to the news but to ask what lies beneath it.
There are a great many despairing people about, with parents of children fearing they have no future; believing that by the time they are grown up the world as we know it will have ceased to exist. Floods, drought, wars, pandemics, climate change. In a world ever smaller and more connected, encouragement is needed.
Mum had unshakeable graciousness, although her hand executing cigarette / ballet pirouettes put the fear of foreign emulsification in brothy ox tongue soups / Strong foundations based on love, respect and loyalty with times of grieving — an empath for a neighbour or relative
At the end of the third episode of the Netflix biopic Dahmer – Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, as the ‘Watch Next Episode’ timer ran down, I turned it off and haven’t returned. At time of writing, Dahmer was the number three-ranked show on Netflix Australia. Why are viewers willing to watch? And against the scale of such horror, can there be any redemption?
When Kenneth Hugh Gittins is in the room and crash-tackling the conversation, well, eat your heart out Salvador Dali and Walter Mitty. Conversations turn surreal, fact-checking expeditions run aground. A charming teller of truths and tales (some tallish and some Himalayan), this rustic raconteur has perplexed many an audience or congregation and delighted many a grandkid and great-grandkid with his reminiscences.
Change of season is upon us, / hot unseasonal days have drained us, / human sponges squeezed by the hands / of humidity, but the nights are becomingcool, a relief for bodies and minds in need / of withdrawal and replenishment of deep sleep, but in all of this there is some wakefulness, and there are some choristers returned, in these dogwatch hours.
‘My Island Home’ was first recorded 35 years ago, a song that emerged from a journey and conversation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous voices. It’s helped Australians better understand our home and place in it, and points to the value of enshrining Indigenous voices in our constitution so they can continue to speak to us all.
Why is it that we so often don’t learn from the last war’s mistakes? Time and again, humans are drawn into patterns of behaviour that echo those of the past, and that lead once again to armed conflict. It's too easy to shy away from examining the moral failure that is war. When we eulogise the fallen, do we forget why they were butchered in the first place?
Jonathan Freedland’s book is an extremely harrowing tour de force: at one stage I could read only a chapter at a time. But by the end I had been reminded of the power of the human spirit, and of the way in which some people, those with a sense of mission, can endure almost any trial. Resilience is a great gift.
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