Patriot Realm

From the Eureka Stockade to today’s silent struggle, Australians are waking up -  not to rebellion, but to restoration. 

There comes a time in every nation's life when the soft underbelly is laid bare, and that time is now. Australia is being gutted from the inside out. And we, the people, are standing in a fog of apathy, like possums caught in the headlights of our own destruction. Well, it’s time to snap out of it. Time to rise. Time to fight.

They ripped out our heart when they sold our land, our industries, and our children’s future.

They took our backbone when they told us to sit down, shut up, and trust the process. But something stirs now -   from country towns to crowded cities  -  the old spirit isn’t dead. It’s waking.

This isn’t about Left or Right. This is about Australia. A land worth defending. A people worth fighting for. And a heritage worth remembering. The fight begins...  not with bullets, but with truth, with courage, with the mongrel in us rising once more.

Many of our elected representatives, no matter which coloured tie they wear, have betrayed us. They’ve thrown open the gates not to hopeful new citizens, but to those who hold contempt for our way of life. Our taxes, earned through sweat and backbone, are handed over to those who neither share our values nor want to.

Terrorists walk our streets under the guise of “diversity.” And we are expected to smile, to bow our heads in shame for being Australians.

We are told our culture is offensive. Our religion outdated. Our voices too loud. Our beliefs too colonial. Our very language is up for grabs. We are being shot, stabbed, blown up, and silenced...but God forbid we call it what it is.

The Australia we knew, the one built by rough hands, strong hearts and true grit, is being stolen. Stolen by governments who barter our votes through preferential tricks. Stolen by ideologues rewriting education to confuse our children into forgetting what a boy is, what a girl is, and what it means to grow up proud and free in the Lucky Country.

We once valued citizenship like gold. Today, it’s a reality show - just cry on camera, garner sympathy, and you’re in. Our history? Under attack. Our families? Undermined. Our farmers? Strangled by green tape and leftist lies. They won’t allow grazing in National Parks. They won’t allow burning off. They’ll cull your herd for the climate gods but won’t lift a finger to build a dam.Meanwhile, the banks swoop in. Lending fake money not tied to gold but backed by the illusion of value. When drought, law or market crushes a farmer... well, hell, they take the land. The oldest trick in the book: theft by stealth. And our government? They nod and smile.

Our citizens sleep in tents while economic migrants enjoy housing. Our elderly can’t afford to warm their bones in winter while migrants enjoy fully-funded comfort. Our veterans lie forgotten, or worse, vilified. And our children are told they’re villains if they don’t bow to whatever ideology is trending this week.

This is not politics. This is war.

Which brings me to the article written a few days ago. About my Uncle walking from Wau in New Guinea to safety back home.  I think it was what is now known as the Bulldog Track.  After his trek, through the steaming guts of New Guinea, our diggers built a road on the same footpath he used. 

Many people know the name of the Kokoda track, but few today remember the other track - the one less known but no less heroic: the Bulldog Track, carved out in 1943 by the men of the Australian Army Engineers. In some of the most punishing terrain on earth, they cut a lifeline through mountains and mud, building bridges and blazing trails with nothing but tools, guts, and a vision of victory. That spirit, gritty, inventive, and unstoppable, is the heart of this call. 

After the Battle of Wau was won, the Australian military realised something: they couldn’t rely solely on air supply to hold the position. They needed a road. A real one. So in mid-1943, they set out to upgrade the Bulldog Track into a vehicle route. 

The Bulldog Track ran from Wau over the Owen Stanley Range to a tiny settlement called Bulldog, near the Lakekamu River. At its highest point, it reached nearly 9,000 feet. It snaked through steep jungle-clad ridges, mud so deep it sucked boots off your feet, leech-filled creeks, and misty mountain passes that could turn deadly in an instant. Think Toowoomba Range is 2200 and you get the picture. 

Miners had hacked it out in the 1920s and '30s to reach goldfields, but by 1943, it was barely a ghost of a trail. Just a memory on the map.

What followed was one of the most ambitious and gruelling engineering projects of the war.

Two companies of Australian Army Engineers, mostly from the 2/1st and 2/2nd Field Companies... were given the impossible job: build a road jeep-capable over mountains where even mules struggled. They had almost no machinery. Just hand tools, explosives, and pure grit. Alongside them were Papuan labourers, local carriers, and ANGAU officers, all working in appalling conditions. 

During the months of construction, more than 70% of the Australians contracted malaria. In total, the project took nine months of construction and roughly 1,038 Australian engineers and 1,825 Papuans laborers supported by 524 Papuan carriers to build the road. During construction, only four Australians were killed; one by a landslide, one by a falling tree and two by accidental explosions. Locals from the Kukuku (Kukukukus) tribes of pygmy people sometimes raided camp areas and stole axes, knives, and explosives.

And to think: my great uncle had walked that same route just before all that. Before there was a road. Before there were bridges or bulldozers. 

Bulldozers were flown in,  in pieces ,  to Wau and carried or dragged through the jungle. Much of the cutting and grading, however, was done by hand with picks, axes, and sheer determination. The men built bridges from saplings, culverts from logs, and cleared dozens of switchbacks up impossible inclines.

They fought not just gravity, but disease. Malaria, dysentery, and tropical ulcers were constant threats. Food was scarce, water wasn’t always clean, and sleep was more idea than reality. Yet they pushed on.

Which brings me back to my story today. Where has that spirit gone? Please? Tell me.  Because I sure as hell have no bloody idea. 

Churchill, the British Bulldog, stood with us back then. But Britain has long abandoned us. Today, we don’t need a British Bulldog... we need an Aussie dingo.

A mongrel. Wily, scrappy, and born of dust and drought.

We need a Dingo Track now... cut through the spin, the lies, and the censorship. We need to build a Dingo Fence that keeps the rot out and lets the truth run wild. We need heavily armed kangaroos, metaphorically speaking... or maybe not...that punch back with pride.

Because what we’re facing isn’t just a political mess. It’s an assault on the very idea of what it means to be Australian.

When kids can't go to a toilet in peace. When babies are killed in the womb and called progress. When Christmas is shunned but Halloween thrives. When the Prime Minister flip-flops like a wet thonged foot on hot concrete, and women cheer for abortions while mourning miscarriages. When “Mighty Aussie Meat” is replaced with cruelty-censored exports to satisfy Islamic preferences. When our fish is foreign, our fruit is poisoned, and our seafood is dredged from filthy overseas farms.

When truth itself is hate speech. When free speech is a prosecutable offence. When we must whisper in our own country to avoid offending imported sensitivities. When our national broadcaster replaces the Aussie larrikin with a knife-wielding migrant who screams victimhood while tearing down our flag.

Then yes...it is time.

Time to rise up. Time to rediscover the fire in our bellies. Time to march... not just on ANZAC Day but every damn day....with the spirit of the diggers, the mongrel of the dingo, and the stubbornness of a kangaroo that refuses to back down.

We are not dead yet. But if we don’t fight now, we soon will be. Not from bombs or blades, but from silence, cowardice, and the slow rot of surrender.

This is the new Dingo Track. And we need every Aussie with heart, guts and memory to start walking it.

Pick up your barrow. Shoulder your load. Sharpen your voice. And remember what it means to stand your ground.

We are Australians. And we are not done ........yet.