I remember when I arrived in Australia, all those decades ago, I had an accent that I would chuckle at today.
Now I speak with an accent that is proudly Australian.
I was a kid from Europe whose parents barely spoke English. We were almost like kids that had been adopted by parents that we did not know and did not understand.
And I learned ballroom dancing
Read more: How I Became an Australian and Learned About the Importance of Ballroom Dancing
In 1984, our family was adopted by a cat named Billy. He was a tiny little 8 week old kitten who entered our lives with a soft meow and impacted upon us with a great roar.
We had previously enjoyed the company of a gracious young Cornish Rex who, in human terms, was named Tripitaka.
Tripi was a white Cornish Rex with huge ears and resembled the monk from the famed television series " Monkey " from Japan.
The family has long ago grown up. But the memory remains.
Read more: Billy - a Story about a Cat Who Forgot He Was a Cat
Read more: Nurse Nice Day.... A story about when the world was kinder and a better place
No, I don’t believe for a split second that suddenly, college students all over America really care about the plight of the Palestinians. I don’t believe this anymore than, a few years ago, people around the globe were suddenly concerned about the plight of Black Americans when they marched for BLM. Not a chance. Instead, this is just the latest manifestation of raging against the machine, of standing up to “the man.”
As expressed by Khymani James, one of the Columbia University anti-Israel protest leaders who is Black and identifies as trans, non-binary, and queer, just as, in the past, Haitian revolutionaries had to “kill their masters in order to gain their independence,” it’s the same with Hamas and the Palestinian people today. They, too, must kill their white supremacist masters.
And, he adds, “What is a Zionist? A white supremacist.”
That about sums it up.
More than anyone else in history, Karl Marx exemplified trying to fix the world while neglecting to clean one's own room first.
As I make my way through Paul Kengor’s wonderful book The Devil and Karl Marx, numerous things stand out about the father of communism. It’s not an exaggeration to say that it’s hard to imagine a more wretched human being than Karl Marx.
It was almost as if all of the worst traits of humanity were bundled into this one spiteful man, who then constructed a philosophy based on his own bitterness and self-loathing.
He was lazy but greedy, always begging for money from family and friends who feared for his happiness and sanity. Marx didn’t seem to notice or care. They were simply a means to an end for him. He was so self-centered one wonders if he was on the spectrum. His lechery and drunkenness are well chronicled. But what really struck me is that Marx was a total slob.
Read more: Why Karl Marx Desperately Needed Jordan Peterson’s Advice
Each war seems to produce its own under-appreciated heroes who, for reasons that have nothing to do with their courage, competence or devotion to duty, are by-passed for promotion or otherwise demoted.
In the Boer War it was Breaker Morant, in WW2 it was Brig Arnold Potts and in more recent days Cpl Ben Roberts-Smith. In WW1 it was Brigadier General Elliott, otherwise known as “Pompey”. Elliott was one of the most direct and forceful brigade commanders in the Australian Army.
Loved and admired by the troops he commanded because they knew that he would never ask them to perform tasks that he was not willing and able to carry out himself. He was an outspoken critic of the British Army higher command and of the Australian as well when they deserved it. His belligerence and refusal to kow-tow to British higher authority was the seed of his undoing. He clashed with Kitchener, Haig and Birdwood and the fact that he was usually proved right, probably carried more weight against him that his insubordination.
Pompey Elliott was born in an era when Australia seemed to have an endless supply of natural leaders, adventurous explorers and trail blazers, innovative business people and an inborn ethic that gave precedence to common sense.
Many years ago, a beloved mentor told me a story—a parable, if you will—about a wife who came home one afternoon to find her husband in bed with another woman. She screamed and fled the room, sobbing.
A few minutes later, her husband emerged, still buttoning his shirt, and asked her what was wrong.
“I saw you with that…that…woman!” she sputtered.
“What woman?” replied the husband, calmly tucking in his shirttails.
“That woman you were in bed with!”
“What are you talking about? There was no woman.”
At the time, I found the story mildly amusing. I understood that my mentor was trying to convey some deeper truth, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I was still young enough to believe no one would really lie that blatantly and transparently when the truth was plain to see.
Remember the olden days when you made a phone call on what is called a landline? Or posted a letter and actually received one? You took a photograph using a camera?
Or had a conversation with a neighbour without someone taking a selfie? Remember when a hug was saved in that hard drive called your memory ... not something that was uploaded to a cloud in cyberspace?
Remember when you went shopping and interacted with someone who smiled as they took your cash and gave you change? Remember that? And when you actually trusted your government and you thought that your vote counted? Remember that?
Ahh, the foolish days of days of wine and roses. Or the Salad Days. My, how times have changed. Now, we live in an era where a robot tells us to prove we are not a robot and satellites rule our lives. Our lives are controlled by robots. Which brings me to DARPA..... and my. what a tangled web it weaves.
Read more: The other side of Satellites... Who is Really in Control?
If all satellites suddenly stopped working, the consequences would be widespread and significant. Satellites play crucial roles in various aspects of modern life, including communication, navigation, weather forecasting, scientific research, and national security.
Satellite communication is integral to global telecommunications networks. If satellites ceased functioning, communication channels relying on them, such as satellite phones, television broadcasts, internet services, and GPS systems, would be severely disrupted or rendered inoperative.
In other words, we would be, as our contributor Paddy would say, " fooked. "
It was pointed out a few days ago, that GPS has become very important in today's world. How our food is delivered, our packages make it to our homes and how we even get to visit Grandma; No one owns a map anymore. It is all GPS.
So what would happen if satellites went down? It is interesting to drill down into history and see how it all started. And it all started with the Space Race...
Read more: What if all the Satellites Stopped working? From Space Race to Space Force
A few nights ago, I watched a series on pay TV called " The Mill. " Like so many British period dramas, it was bleak, grim, disturbing and hard yakka to get through.
It took me back to a time, sitting in my country school, back in the 1960's in New Zealand when my country teacher ( later my mentor and all round hero apart from my Dad ) asked one simple question.
" Have you heard of Lord Shaftsbury? " he asked.
Well, of course, I had not. Nor had any of my fellow classmates. After all, we were a class made up of children from widely diverse backgrounds. Most of my friends were Maori, Hindu Indian, Moslem, Chinese and Caucasian, from both sides of the financial divide.
I was fortunately on the kinder side of the line that divided poor white from my white. But my friends came from both sides of that curtain and both sides of the diversity curtain that now seems to hang like a shroud over what we once were.
I belong to the group known as Baby Boomers – the ones that were born in the post war years and lived through the “ burn the bra “ and early feminist days of the pill, the equality of the sexes and the general liberation of women from the kitchen.
At the time, I did not realise that my life had gone from one of comfortable domesticity to one of 5 am starts, 10 pm finishes and a pay cheque that largely went to childcare providers.
As a woman, I was proud of what we achieved then. But now, I am not so sure we did anything other than bite ourselves on the bum. And in turn our menfolk into pawns, pansies and poofters.
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