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Comparison of these two cases is illuminating. One is the recruit to the Australia A cricket team, Pakistani born Fawad Ahmed. The other is, in Tony Abbott's words, the 'convicted Jihadist terrorist', Egyptian born Sayed Ahmed Abullatif. Ahmed will be the second Pakistani born cricketer in an Australian side that desperately needs a good leg-spinner. Abdullatif has possibly a more difficult road ahead.
Some lessons need to be learned more than once. A young boy punches an older peer in defence of the honour of a girl he admires. The girl is so impressed that she invites the boy on a date. Is violence, then, an approved medium for the defence of romantic ideals? The boy tests this premise twice more, with less gratifying results.
It has been embarrassing to sit in on meetings of the UNHCR recently and be asked by other countries' delegates why Australia is so worried about its relatively small number of asylum arrivals. We need to take a broader perspective on this issue and, rather than complain, learn how to better manage arrivals.
They're hooked, no longer hear the church's gong, the stories or the insights that beget it, Real need for intimacy drives them on, a bare heartbeat from chaste religious song.
We have wished to invade Australia like you'd never imagined from where we are based in Pakistan and Afghanistan, countries reduced by hegemony to hell. We ruled the waves till we were in sight of an island that looked from afar like a welcome entity.
The details of the event as so far publicly known suggest seriously life-threatening negligent process. No one would have died if this unnecessary and, on the face if it, unprofessional halt and boarding had not taken place. No amount of blaming the asylum seekers' poor seamanship can get around that fact.
Man, yeah, I would be pope, if the phone rang, late at night, collect from the Vatican. Yes, I would, if I could do it right. I'd call a meeting of the Curia and say boys, we are letting women run everything for the next five years. Each of you gets a new boss in high heels.
What I fear is that on Judgment Day one's punishment will be to hear God reciting by heart the poems I would have written had my life been good.
Whenever I spot that lithe mottled feral cat lurking behind our pumpkins, I have to fight bipolar urges. The kitty-lover in me wants to lure it in with milk and sardines, then trap it into a co-dependent relationship. My other urge is the environmentally responsible one: to take it to the vet and have it put down.
Health and beauty executive Amy suffers a breakdown at her company's corporate offices. Flash forward, and she has just returned from a stint at a new-age treatment clinic. Enlightened parodies the self-centred philosophies of the cult of self-help and reveals how they can turn a person like Amy into a monster.
Business Council of Australia president Tony Shepherd justifies superannuation tax concessions for the wealthy: 'We go to work, we get paid. The money is ours.' In the USA, philanthropy is common among self-made men. There is no such tradition here, where taxes are needed to fund welfare and other projects for the common good.
If my short tenure in university politics gave me anything, it is an appreciation for non-politicians. Not only did Barbara Ramjan's allegations against Tony Abbott not surprise me, the honest brutality of the act sounds preferable to the slow, steady harassment that sustains student politicians these days. Friday 28 September