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Through last week's Sunday Night report on Channel 7, we were treated to another round of fear mongering. Never mind that just last year police admitted that the so-called 'Apex Gang' did not exist. As an Aboriginal woman, I'm tired of being told by politicians and newspapers which other people of colour I'm supposed to scared of.
'In the Beginning Was the Word' opens with Angelina D'Costa, 'five years to the day after she stopped being a Catholic', entering a church, determined to confront a popular priest who is known to have covered up for another priest who abused children; only to be moved to submission by the familiar beauty of the Mass.
How many more times are we going to see people get away with murder because police fail to value the lives and liberties of Aboriginal women enough to ensure they do their jobs? Will everyday Australians ever care enough to pressure these systems for justice for Aboriginal women?
Using memoir as a kind of litmus, Atkinson challenges the myth that traumatic events are socially 'out of character' and asks us to look at how by its very nature, patriarchy demands the abuse of its most vulnerable citizens.
If you are inclined to discount expert opinion from medicos, lawyers and criminologists, you could consider the evidence of your own eyes. Observe the body language around you if a parent hits their kid in public. A hush descends and tension increases. Post-Royal Commission, violence against kids is more and more on the nose.
Amid the shock and grief for Anthony Bourdain's death, one blue-tick Twitterer attempted to capture five minutes of shameful fame, declaring that religious people believe hell or purgatory is his afterworld destination. While all the great religious traditions generally proscribe suicide, they also contain nuanced views of the suicide's fate.
No LGBT+ person can be certain how someone else is going to react. When I came out, I felt like I was risking my relationships. Whenever someone who didn't know about my sexuality told me they loved or cared for me, I mentally added a 'but': 'But that might not be true after I tell you.'
People have always had issues with my name. They don't pronounce it properly, or want to give me a nickname, or straight up make jokes out of it. I've lived a life of people telling me my name was too different, too hard. One afternoon at the office of my real estate agent, whiteness once again wanted to erase my name.
Every year around the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, politicians with white ribbons pinned to their suits deliver passionate speeches about protecting women from domestic violence. But when it comes to implementing life saving measures, their lack of action speaks louder than words.
A thread of male entitlement binds the American literary world to a shepherd's world in India's Kashmir valley. Days ago, the American author Junot Diaz left the Sydney Writers Festival amid allegations of sexual abuse. In India there is another, more sinister and tragic manifestation, woven with the use of rape as a weapon of war.
Commemorating the 25th anniversary of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, NITV re-screened Richard Frankland's 1993 documentary Who Killed Malcolm Smith? Watching it, it became totally clear to me about Manus Island and Nauru. Perhaps as a nation this violence, this contempt of the 'other', is in our DNA.
While Jews around the world celebrated Passover, other people protested their right to return home, as the Palestinian 'Great March of Return' was launched on the Gaza Strip. The night that Jews globally celebrated freedom, 19 Palestinians were killed and over 1000 injured because they rightfully demanded theirs.
145-156 out of 200 results.