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How about truth as an antidote to war? Who would have stomach for it, though we see war as part of existence? The trouble with its normalisation, such as in games, both in backyards and in cyberspace, is that becomes uncoupled from reality.
On a June day in 1914, a Bosnian nationalist in Sarajevo ignited a chain reaction that reshaped the world. Gavrilo Princip, a 19-year-old student, did not aim to unleash a global conflict. From the halls of imperial power to the fields of battle, how did the shots fired in Sarajevo echo across continents, drawing empires into disarray and redrawing the map of the modern world? (From 2004)
An Arabunna man, Uncle Kevin Buzzacott devoted himself to the protection of that delicate, glorious country of north eastern South Australia with its Great Artesian Basin’s ancient waters threatened by the succession of powerful mining companies operating Roxby’s Olympic Dam.
Anzac Day draws us away from the geopolitical chess board to consider the price that so many persons have paid for the wars in which their leaders join. It reminds us of the need for diplomacy based on respect for the humanity of persons on all sides of conflict.
Can a chatbot write a poem? The answer reveals something about the heart of human interaction. True connection, like true poetry, requires discomfort, vulnerability and a richness of experience that defies the simplicity of algorithms.
For the men in these conflicts, there was an expectation they would resume the lives they had left behind as if nothing had happened, as if they had been on an extended business trip. It calls to mind a phrase that has become common in recent years: unexamined trauma.
Karl Rahner, a Jesuit priest whose ideas helped modernize the Church, left an indelible legacy on contemporary Catholicism. On the 40th anniversary of his death, what can a flower left at his niche tell us about the lasting bonds between belief, memory, and the enduring search for human connection?
There is beauty in returning to places that experience has made so full of memory that they have become layered with meaning. Just as there is in hearing music that you have listened to at different moments of your life, and that is filled with meaning, not just for you, but even moreso for the artist standing before you and in myriad different ways for the audience with you.
February marks 15 years since the Black Saturday fires in Victoria when some 400 fires raced through 78 locations, taking 173 lives, injuring hundreds more, destroying more than 2,020 homes and the entire township of Marysville. In a warming climate, that reality of loss is likely to be repeated ad infinitum.
‘The loss of memory by a nation is also a loss of its conscience.’ As the loss of conscience grows with each succeeding generation, one day righting the boat on the sea of forgetfulness will become impossible. In the end, what people don’t know, they won’t miss.
Tolstoy once wrote that exile is a long dream of home, but the dreaming does not persist forever, so that you eventually wake to the knowledge that home exists only in your head and in your memory. Welcome home, various people have been saying, but my silent question is Where is it?
Months after the referendum, can we allow this referendum to die while preserving the essence of its vision and optimism? This is akin to our response to the loss of a loved one — we hold onto their memory, reluctant to let go. How do we keep the deeply treasured aspirations of the referendum journey alive while facing the reality of its death?
1-12 out of 200 results.