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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
Take almost any street, in any modern city, and we are there. We are the substrata of society, ever-present, the unseen lining, the padding in the crowd. We carry our backgrounds closer than our wallets, effortlessly. Yet they inform our every step.
The attack, and the travel advisories it prompted, was disquieting: I'd visited El Paso before, had driven from there all along the Mexican border to the remote artists' refuge of Marfa. Now I was about to embark on a journey through New Mexico, and onwards through a different part of Texas. I'd never relied on travel advisories before.
As an Aboriginal woman walking the streets at night, I am significantly more concerned about being brutalised by those charged to keep our streets safe — the police — than I am about any fellow lone wanderer on the streets. The case of Tanya Day and the response to it reinforced to me that my fears were well-founded.
As Adam Goodes paid heavily for his defence against racism, defending country continues to be a costly business for the people of the Flinders and Kimba regions, whose communities are irrevocably torn apart by the National Radioactive Waste Management Facility project.
All right, Chongqing, let my dry skin fall in love with your moisture, my eyes used to the desolation and wind and sand ... Your sudden flashes of lightning and thunder, commotion of dripping water, and the heaving quietness, the fate of history.
According to anecdotal evidence, Pauline Hanson arrived at Uluru, climbed up to 'chicken rock', slid back down on her backside and then, later, met with some Anangu elders to 'get permission' to climb Uluru. The disrespectful farce was but one illustration of how the week went when it comes to showing respect for Indigenous rights and views.
While this saga was going on, I read an alarming piece about the transient nature of the digital world. Mobile phones get stolen and photos not backed up are irrevocably lost; flash drives and their capacities do not last forever. 'Print out' was the author's advice. Who would have thought?
Three times in the past three years I have received a spontaneous gift in the form of a scarf. The gifts came from three different people, on three different continents. As it happens, there's a shelf in my bedroom cupboard stacked with neatly folded scarves and wraps in rainbow hues. Every last one of them has a story to tell.
This might be the Mediterranean were it not for the snow-lacquered mountains abutting the fjord we're sailing through. But no, it's the Arctic in summer — or, more precisely, the Arctic in the summer of 2019, when the climate emergency is at its zenith and the region is expected to record the lowest sea ice on record.
At 4am on a cold morning, my brother phoned from the hospital. My final conversation with my mother, while harrowing, was not unexpected. My attempts to thank her for who she was and what she had given to me did not suffice. Mother Merle was in a hurry to leave this life, and the cancer that had drained her strength. She was over it.
One hundred and eighty years on, we walk the Myall Creek Memorial Way ... there's a quietness amidst our camaraderie ... murdering rage and gall are quieted, smell of gun powder spent, yet screams that cried that stark cold night still sigh amidst the sway ...
As we will be asked to participate in a referendum on the issue within the next couple of years, each Australian needs to inform themselves of the facts about the proposal and the design process.
157-168 out of 200 results.