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In an age of transient politics and market-driven morality, the papacy remains a rare constant. The pope has enduring significance as a global moral figurehead whose authority lies not in power but in the stubborn articulation of what ought to be.
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.
From across the Pacific, Australia’s election looks refreshingly sane: debates over fuel taxes and modest wage hikes. But the surface calm belies deeper frustrations: housing scarcity, voter disillusionment, political evasion. But for an American watching from a fractured homeland, the question is how long that difference can hold.
Despite a lot of talk about education, neither of the major parties has talked about the funding of universities. However this federal election is likely to be determined by voters under the age of 45, the very group that rising university fees and HELP (higher education loan program) debts are hitting the hardest.
Even in a world marked by war, exile and devastation, the Easter story offers a defiant hope: that ruin is not the end. Rooted in a vision of restoration beyond history’s violence, it speaks to a yearning deeper than despair — for justice, for peace, for a feast with no end.
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.
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?
Across a range of divisive issues from gender to race to public health, newsrooms are increasingly blurring the line between reporting and advocacy. As language is reshaped to reflect activist priorities, and opposing views are treated as moral threats, journalism risks losing its most essential commitment: telling the truth plainly.
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.
Frank Brennan wears his prominence lightly. A priest, lawyer, and tireless advocate for Indigenous rights and refugees, he is as at home in political corridors as he is at the dinner table, welcoming friends with stories and good cheer. Now, celebrating 50 years as a Jesuit, he reflects on faith, justice, and a life of service.
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?
Despite public fascination with ancestry, true crime, and historical podcasts surging, formal study of history is in free fall. With university departments shrinking and misinformation rising, historians face an urgent question: how do you persuade students—and the public—that history isn’t just interesting, but essential to understanding the present?
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