They say history repeats. But sometimes, it just whispers.
In an age where speech is filtered, flagged, and fact-checked into oblivion, it’s tempting to believe that coded language and satire are inventions of the digital era - tools for cheeky rebels with clever usernames. But those tools are old. Very old.
So old, in fact, that George Washington used them.
Before America had a constitution, it had a codebook. And when words were dangerous, the wise didn’t shout - they signaled.
Let’s set the scene: 1778. New York is crawling with British troops, spies, and snitches. The city is a redcoat stronghold, and every letter, tavern whisper, and knock at the door could bring trouble.
In steps George Washington, not just general, but the architect of America’s first covert intelligence network, the Culper Ring.
Read more: Before America had a constitution, it had a codebook.
When I tell people I’m a beek, inevitably the first thing they say is, “Yes, we need to save the bees! They’re very important!”. While totally true, it is a noble statement that I cannot claim. I was dragged into beekeeping, kicking and screaming… well almost.
When people say, “We need to save the bees,” they usually imagine someone passionate, fearless, and purpose-driven in a white veil suit.
That wasn’t me. I didn’t plan to become a beekeeper—in fact, I was dragged into it by necessity, not nature.
What began as a practical solution to a tax issue soon turned into something much more: a lesson in courage, humility, and the quiet brilliance of life inside the hive.
Read more: Bee Brave, Bee Calm, Bee Thankful: Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper
When we look back at history, we often speak of "the old wise men" who shaped nations, led armies, or wrote the words that defined generations. But dig deeper, and you'll find something remarkable: many of those wise men weren't old at all.
Because wisdom, it turns out, doesn’t wear a watch.
It doesn’t follow birthdays or wait for retirement.
It comes to those willing to seek it, to shoulder its burden, and to speak its truth.... even if their voice shakes, or cracks, or hasn’t broken yet.
Wisdom isn’t born with age: it’s forged through experience, reflection, conviction, and humility. And passion.
Read more: Wisdom Doesn’t Wear a Watch - and It Doesn’t Come with a Birth Certificate
When dreams turn to infrastructure, who controls the future above us?
In 1957, a lonely beep from space sparked a boy’s dream to build rockets and reach for the stars.
Today, the sky above us is buzzing with thousands of satellites - mostly owned by private companies, controlled by a handful of powerful players, and watched over by governments that now depend on them more than ever.
But what does it mean when the line between public power and private control blurs?
Who really owns the sky - and what happens when that control slips beyond the hands of elected leaders?
Read more: From Sputnik to Starlink — The Sky’s Not the Limit — It’s the Battleground
Without a genuine love for our forbears, how can we truly love - or even live - our lives today? I asked that question about a year ago, and that question has stayed with me. And it’s what prompted this reflection.
We must return to honouring everything we have earned and learned and teaching our young to learn from the past in order to build a future worth living in.
I began writing this to honour our war dead. I thought I was writing about cemeteries. But somewhere along the way, I realised I wasn’t writing about death at all...I was writing about neglect. Not of the past, but of the present. Not of sacrifice, but of silence.
Because in Australia today, it seems death is the only guarantee of honour. A soldier can serve, suffer, and survive, and be forgotten. A citizen can contribute a lifetime of work, and be priced out of their own home. A community can build and endure, and be buried under red tape.
But die in uniform? We’ll build a monument. We’ll send flowers. We’ll clean the stone every year without fail.
So I ask you: When did honour become posthumous? When did life become less worthy than death? And is the True Blue Australia we once knew - quietly proud, fiercely fair - already lying in a forgotten grave?
They didn’t storm the gates. They waited.
While revolutionaries burned flags and shouted in the streets, the Fabians took tea in drawing rooms and quietly rewrote the future.
Their strategy was never chaos, but patience - the slow march through institutions.
Today, as yet another Western leader swears allegiance to their vision, we might ask: how much of our modern world was designed not by accident, nor democracy, but by deliberate, gradual engineering?
And what remains of the civilisation they sought to replace?
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Chief Correspondent, Fence-Sitter, and Eyewitness to History
When the world teetered on the brink of disaster, and diplomacy floundered in the hands of Mr Magoo and Plenty Wrong, it wasn't Canberra, NATO, or the United Nations that answered the call. It was ducks.
Operating under the banner of Ratty News, Duck Intelligence launched the most bizarre and effective peacekeeping mission in modern times.
In what is being hailed as “the most coordinated bathroom-based airstrike in military history,”
Ratty News can now confirm the details of a daring mission carried out by cybernetic ducks, an orange-painted B-2 stealth bomber, and a Trojan Duck disguised as a halal-questionable pizza.
All of it launched from a humble hangar just down the red dirt road from Pine Gap.
Read more: Rat Cunning and the Trojan Duck: The Strike that Flushed a Regime
I lost my cat a few years ago. She wasn’t just a pet. She was my sounding board. My companion. My silent ally. For twelve years, she listened without ever interrupting, rolled on her tummy without judgment, and knew when to stay and when to stay closer. When she passed, something went quiet in me too.
This morning, my Mum - 93 and still sharp as a splinter - said something that stopped me.
"Maybe that’s why people love their cats and dogs," she said. "Because they don’t talk back. They don’t betray."
And that was it. The start of something I didn’t know I was writing: not an article about AI, or censorship, or ducks in disguise (though there were ducks) ... but about connection. About trust. About what we used to give our children, and what we no longer do.
Read more: Teddy and Tabby, Not Tablet: What has been forgotten for today's kids
Once we debated. Now, " they" accuse.
And who are they? Talk about diversity. They come in all colours, all causes, and all hashtags. Some scream for justice, others for tradition. Some are young, loud, and online. Others are older, bitter, and wield bureaucratic power. What unites them isn’t belief - it’s certainty, and the weaponisation of offence. No debate required. Just accusation, echo, and cancellation.
From playgrounds to parliaments, the art of debate is being replaced by hashtags, headlines, and hostile mobs.
What began as dialogue has hardened into dogma - and truth, once pursued through reasoned argument, now risks exile in favour of certainty without substance.
In this reflection, I ask:
What have we lost?
And what must we regain before the noise becomes all we know? Today, disagreement ends not in understanding but in accusation.
Read more: Has Zealotry Destroyed Debate? Shouting in the Ruins: The Decline of Public Reason
Solar generators won’t run on moon-beams – they fade out as the sun goes down and stop whenever clouds block the sun. This happens at least once every day. But then at mid-day on most days, millions of solar panels pour so much electricity into the grid that the price plummets and no one makes any money. And after a good hailstorm they never work again.
Turbine generators are also intermittent - they stop whenever there is too little, or too much wind. In a wide flat land like Australia, wind droughts may affect huge areas for days at a time. This often happens when a mass of cold air moves over Australia, winds drop and power demand rises in the cold weather. All of this makes our power grid more variable, more fragile and more volatile. What do we do if we have a cloudy windless week?
Read more: First Aid for Flicker Power - Battery Mad Hattery
Read more: Steam Trains to Trump Train: The Thrill and Fear of World-Changing Power
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