The PR Blog

This Saturday, 19 July 2025, unless the Albanese Government does an about-face, Australia will fall under a binding international law that gives the World Health Organization unprecedented power over our nation.

Not next year. Not in theory. This Saturday.

• On 19 July 2025, amended International Health Regulations will give the WHO binding legal authority over Australia without public vote or debate.

• The WHO will be able to enforce public health measures in Australia even if no local outbreak exists, bypassing national sovereignty.

• References to human rights and freedoms have been stripped from the text, replaced with vague terms like “equity” and “inclusivity”.

• A new unelected national body will enforce WHO directives, supported by global NGOs and digital health surveillance systems.

• Australians are urged to contact MPs, reject the amendments, and resist what is described as a globalist power grab.

• Sign the key petitions urging the government to reject the IHR amendments that being circulated by CitizenGO and the Aligned Council of Australia.

You didn’t vote for it. You weren’t asked. There was no national debate, no referendum, no headlines on the evening news. Just a quiet betrayal buried under layers of bureaucratic sludge and globalist double-speak.

I’ve read the official document, the amended International Health Regulations (IHR) adopted at the 77th World Health Assembly, and let me tell you:

It is nothing short of a globalist coup.

It’s been a year since what many still call a Divine Intervention unfolded before our eyes... an event that left us stunned, reflective, and, for some, humbled. As Donald Trump turned his head to glance at a graph on a screen, a bullet tore past him, grazing his ear. A fraction of a second either side, a fraction of an inch, and we would be telling a different story. Instead, the world saw a man brush death by the narrowest of margins: saved, perhaps, by nothing more than a glance. Or by something greater.

A miracle, some said. A coincidence, others argued. But either way, it was a moment that stopped the world. And it made me pause and think: how often do these moments really happen? What do we call them when they’re small and private, when there are no cameras, no headlines, no Secret Service scrambling?

Divine intervention is the belief that a higher power steps in - sometimes grandly, sometimes subtly - to shape human events. It can look like a miracle, or like blind luck. Sometimes, it looks like a well-timed glance. Sometimes, like a stranger holding a door a second too long. And let’s be honest - how many of us have muttered, “Hell, that was lucky,” and moved on?

Filed by Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble
Bunker Correspondent, Scandal Ferret, Emergency Tim-Tam Consultant

They told us it was just about online safety. Just a harmless eSafety Commissioner, tasked with protecting citizens from nasty tweets, cyberbullies, and digital meanies. But the real operation was far grander. What began as a mandate to delete harmful content became a blueprint for deleting dissent. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened just a few nights ago, here in Dusty Gulch. 

I was sitting on the verandah, mug in hand, watching the wind pick fights with the gum trees, when I heard it:  Zzzzap. Then a THUMP. Then a soft, dignified cough. From the shadows emerged a strange figure: fur smudged, tail smouldering.

He looked straight at me, eyes bright as optic fibre, and said: “Apologies for the entrance. Your transformer is poorly shielded. My name’s Didelphis Noxbridge. I come with tidings... and for tea, if you have any.” …the only possum in the southern hemisphere wanted by four agencies, two search engines, one ethics committee... and possibly the last living outlaw to wear both a monocle and a moral compass. Some say he’s a myth. Others say he’s Ned Kelly reincarnated in a circuit board with fur. …a digital bushranger ...Ned Kelly with metadata and a tail ... carrying secrets the cities forgot and courage the country still remembers.

The guillotine has gone digital.

Once it fell in public squares to cheers and bloodlust; now it strikes silently, with a click, a post, or a line of code.

The mob no longer needs to gather -  its outrage is algorithmically amplified, its punishment outsourced to invisible moderators and unaccountable systems.

As the 14th of July reminds us of the Bastille’s fall, we must ask: are we watching a new revolution unfold -  not with pitchforks and torches, but hashtags and hard drives?

The People are singing again. And this time, their chorus echoes through firewalls and fibre-optic cables.