Patriot Realm

For over five years now, this blog has grown into more than just a place to post ideas. It's become a home. A well-worn couch beside the fireplace, a front verandah with mismatched chairs, a local pub with a chalkboard menu and a few good jokes behind the bar. It’s a space where mates gather -  to laugh, share stories, poke fun, and occasionally let off steam about the state of the world.

Our commenters are mostly older, wise, warm-hearted folk who’ve earned their silver hair ( or no hair, or red hair as the case may be ) and a right to enjoy their days in peace. Many of our regular commenters are older folk -  the kind who’ve weathered storms, seen fads come and go, and still know how to laugh with a full heart. We’ve shared stories, laughter, even tears. We’ve farewelled cherished contributors who’ve passed on, and held the space for others navigating the twilight of life who are now unwell. Through it all, what has kept us going is not numbers or clicks -  but camaraderie.

In a stunning turn of events, Roderick “Whiskers” McNibble  -  microphone-wielding rat and founding fur of Ratty News -  has launched a surprise campaign that’s gnawing through the foundations of Australian politics. With a platform built on truth, cheese equality, and regular pub nights, McNibble’s cheeky charm has captured the hearts (and voting pencils) of everyday Aussies who are fed up with political possums and bureaucratic bullshit artists. 

As early polling is set to open and the pub sausage sizzles are set to fire up, one question dominates the nation: Can a rat really clean up Canberra?

Yet in the background, there is something much more puzzling. 

In a bold cultural pivot that’s already got Canberra in a tizzy and the Department of Identity Affairs reaching for the aspirin, Ratty News can now confirm the birth of Australia’s freshest tribal nation: The Rainbow Freckled Folk of Dusty Gulch.

How did it happen?

How did a failed artist and fringe political agitator rise from the ashes of a defeated empire to plunge the world into its deadliest war?

The story of Adolf Hitler’s ascent, and the Nazi Party’s transformation from a gang of misfits into the brutal machinery of a totalitarian state, is not just a warning from history. It’s a masterclass in how democracy can be dismantled from within, how fear can be weaponised, and how a nation once seen as the pinnacle of European culture and science could be dragged into darkness.

This article doesn’t attempt to chart every twist and turn of that grim rise - volumes have done so. Instead, it hones in on the critical years leading up to World War II, viewed primarily through the German lens. It is a story of resentment and retribution, of international indifference, and of political ruthlessness on a scale the world had never seen.

What’s most terrifying is not just that it happened - but how easily it could happen again.

What happens when the battlefield goes silent....but the war doesn’t end?

When soldiers come home, not to parades, but to tribunals. Not to healing, but to headlines....facing allegations, suspicion, and public misunderstanding.

We trained them to fight, to kill, to survive as lions.

We then expect them to return as house cats. Docile. Tamed. Grateful?

But war doesn’t unmake itself. Combat rewires the mind and body. And without an invisible switch,  a path to retrain, reframe, and reintegrate, many veterans face a different kind of battle.

The war within.

John B. Calhoun’s “rat utopia” experiments of the 1960s, designed to be paradises with unlimited resources, resulted in societal collapse and extinction due to extreme behavioural changes, showcasing a dark side of population density and social roles.

The initial population explosion and flourishing of the rat colonies in these utopias turned into a nightmare as they approached their physical and social limits, leading to a breakdown of social structures, deviant behavior, and eventual demographic collapse.

The experiments serve as a chilling parallel to the trajectory of Western society, where periods of abundance and growth gave way to economic shocks, social stagnation, and a rise in antisocial behaviors, suggesting we are experiencing our own form of “behavioral sink.”

Current societal trends, including the breakdown of traditional roles, rising deviancy, and a loneliness crisis, mirror the decay observed in Calhoun’s rat populations, indicating that Western civilisation might be nearing its own “point of no return.”

Humanity possesses the unique ability to recognise its dire straits and has the power to reverse the downward spiral, preventing us from meeting the same fate as the “rat utopias.”

Throughout history, religion has been hailed as a guiding light, a beacon of morality and compassion. Yet, beneath the gilded robes and sacred hymns lies a more unsettling truth: faith is often a tool not of divine grace, but of human ambition. From the emasculation of rivals in Aristotle’s time to the chilling castration of young boys for the sake of celestial choirs, the pursuit of power and control has frequently eclipsed any notion of godliness.

Even figures like Voltaire, whose cynicism toward religion was fueled by its moral hypocrisy, or George Bernard Shaw, whose early exposure to religious pretense led him toward Fabian socialism, reveal how disillusionment with faith can reshape entire worldviews. And in the case of Ned Kelly, it was not merely the iron of his armour that sealed his fate, but the weight of religious prejudice.

This is not a story of divine will—it is a tale of how men, in the name of God, have repeatedly abandoned Him.