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I spent the first six or seven years of my life spellbound by my mum’s stories of her childhood in Far North Queensland. Herstory came from warm, outback and subtropical places. She and her sisters wrote on slates at school, played in custard apple trees, kept their own bees.
Anchored in the treachery of sand, wearing waves until the snip of a certain comber shreds them landward. They call this weed. There are people here too busy in their pleasure. They stare further out across the stolid hungers of tankers queued to feed national necessity, rapacity.
I was heartened by the announcement Gordon Legal is pursuing a class action for robodebt victims. I am one of hundreds of thousands of people who has gone through the robodebt process. I too felt the exercise of a reverse burden of proof; guilty until proven innocent.
Every time I need to read an article that deals with climate change, I can feel a tightness in my body. It’s a physical response, the churning in my stomach and my shoulders hunching over, as though I’m trying to protect myself from the information.
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.
People living in the outer suburbs would benefit just as much (if not more) from having access to attractive public space and to being able to meet their daily needs on foot. The social and environmental benefits would also flow to all of us in building healthier, more resilient communities and significantly reducing pollution.
Translations have a knack for defamiliarising English and how we think language and storytelling works. They also expose English-speaking readers to literary movements and times in history of which they might not otherwise have much knowledge. Work is being done to broaden the published translations we read.
The regulations these guys have to abide by — the behavioural hoops they need to navigate — are designed to protect them, the volunteers and the property of the host churches. It is an ethical dilemma, the ceding of normally inviolate personal freedoms for the use of the facilities. I don't know how I would feel about it if I was in their shoes.
I've waitressed at yacht clubs, fire stations, homes. I've seen 16 year olds on their birthdays, old couples on their anniversaries, a surprise wedding. I've watched grandmothers ferrying food to their grandkids, and heard the cadences in people's speech all over Victoria. I learned a lot about people when I wasn't 'really' there.
With the global population consisting of 3.5 billion men, it can take time to sort the good guys from the self-appointed 'good guys'. When so many men (but not all) are quick to separate themselves from the Sexist Monsters That Only Constitute One Per Cent Of The Male Species, how can you quickly tell if someone's alright or alt-right?
Twenty thousand students are chanting 'climate action now!' He has been shouting the same thing for decades, first in scientific papers and then in newspapers, televised debates and rallies just like this one. Now he stands with a new generation, but he can't open his mouth to join them. He is scared he will say what he knows he can't say.
Several incidents in Australia this week highlight the inherent challenges of undertaking travel which people in the Australian disabled community have long understood. Travel is neither completely accessible nor inclusive, even in 2019. I know this from experience. I have low vision and I'm profoundly deaf in one ear.
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