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In recent weeks it had become a foregone conclusion that the Democrats were going to post big losses in the midterms; it’s just the way American politics seems to work. The party in power loses seats halfway through a term. What are we to make of the fact that that didn’t happen, or that we didn’t see anything the protests and violence that ensued after the 2020 election?
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?
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
The town celebrated Guy Fawkes day and burned an effigy of the man who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament centuries before. For days beforehand, even as the holy women left the churches where they had prayed for the release of souls from punishment, children would be dragging carts and prams around with Guy Fawkes dummies they’d made, stuffed with straw and newspaper like scarecrows, easy to burn.
The campaign against global warming has been heating up, and the latest protests have focused on works of art. Like the burning of books, assaults on paintings seemed to express contempt for human culture at its noblest. But as more details became public, the reality seemed more complex.
A large part of ending violence against women and children is about convincing men that there’s a more healthy way to live; that there’s a society in which they can feel comfortable in themselves, pursue their dreams, and find love and comfort with others, and feel respected for who they are.
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.
With very little public debate or consultation, Victoria has repealed almost all laws relating to prostitution. Alone among all recreational activities, sex for payment is now unrestricted, even regarding health and safety. If we really care what happens to people, what place does sex work have in our society?
The one thing lacking in much of the debate about the travails of the Essendon Football Club and the brief tenure of its CEO was a proper respect. That lack of respect may merit reflection. Respect begins with persons, not with principles and opinions.
‘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.
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.