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In an era of reflex opinion and vanishing accountability, moral seriousness can seem an anachronism. Yet history teaches that ideas — and the people who defend them — shape lives and nations.
As cardinals gather in Rome, they must confront declining trust, shifting global power, financial scandals, and unresolved doctrinal divides within the Church. More than a choice of leader, this moment is a reckoning with modernity and the future direction of the Church itself.
Pope Francis’ pontificate was marked not by triumph but by a humble reckoning with failure. In a Church marked by scandal, division, and decline, he didn’t reverse the tide but pointed to another measure of faithfulness: mercy over mastery, presence over power, and the courage to fail, not downward, but upward.
As Australia moves through another federal election campaign, a quarter of a million new voters in the nation’s outer suburbs remain largely invisible in political discourse. These are not marginal communities in the cultural or economic sense; they are the nation’s most dynamic zones of growth, diversity, and aspiration.
Immunisation has protected communities for centuries, from early smallpox prevention in 200 BC to the eradication of deadly diseases. Yet today, vaccine confidence is slipping. Misinformation, social media, and shifting parental anxieties are fuelling a quiet backlash, raising urgent questions about trust and public health in a changing world.
Covid offered a rare chance to reimagine the role of the state. What might have become a pivot to care and collective responsibility became a bonanza for entrenched interests. The crisis passed. Inequality returned. And the deeper reckoning that beckoned was quietly deferred, perhaps indefinitely.
With America's reliability in question, Australia is rethinking what security really means. Should it double down on military self-reliance, or reconsider the cost of placing defence above all else? As alliances fray and power shifts, the country faces a deeper reckoning: whom can it trust—and at what price?
Amid rising hate speech and tighter laws, something deeper festers. In a culture wired for outrage and shaped by tribal algorithms, we’re learning not just to disagree, but to despise. What happens when identity is built on enmity, and public debate becomes less about ideas and more about who we’re against?
Australia’s political class might make grand promises, but for those on the margins — homeless, underemployed, struggling with addiction — these pledges mean little. The people who have been left behind know the game is rigged. As elections approach, they watch from the outside, knowing their vote was never meant to count.
What feels like turbulence in the present often reveals itself, in hindsight, as the rupture of an era. From the fall of Rome to the upheavals of today, are we witnessing mere disruption, or the twilight of an old order?
As Australia heads towards another federal election, the influence of big money in politics looms larger. In the U.S., billionaires and corporate interests have eroded trust in government. Campaigns there cost billions of dollars, while ours, for now, do not. But can we keep it that way?
David Szalay’s Flesh unfolds with quiet, mesmeric intensity, charting a life shaped by desire, disappointment and disaster. As the ordinary shades into the catastrophic, Szalay’s controlled, unshowy prose builds a world of betrayals, longings and subtle devastations, proving, once again, that no one writes the ache of being alive quite like him.
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