Australia has woken up to horror. Again.
At Bondi Beach - a place synonymous with sun, family, and carefree summer evenings - innocent people were murdered simply for being Jewish. Children celebrating the first night of Hanukkah never came home. Parents never tucked them into bed. A nation that prides itself on tolerance was forced, yet again, to confront a truth it has spent decades avoiding.
This was not an isolated act. It did not come from nowhere.
Violence like this grows in soil prepared over many years - by excuses made, by moral cowardice dressed up as “balance,” and by the quiet tolerance of hatred when it is politically convenient.
This is one such reflection.
Read more: The Men We Chose to Admire: The Myths We Protected — and the Price We Now Pay
At 9:41am on Monday, 15 December 2014, Man Haron Monis forced Tori Johnson, the manager of the Lindt Café in Sydney’s Martin Place, to call 000 and say that an Islamic State operative had taken hostages armed with a gun and explosives.
Eighteen people were held captive for more than fifteen hours. Twelve escaped in separate incidents. In the early hours of the following morning, Tori Johnson was shot and killed by Monis. Shortly afterwards, police stormed the café.
During the brief exchange of gunfire, Katrina Dawson – a lawyer, a mother, a friend – was fatally wounded by a deflected police bullet. Monis was killed at the scene.
Two innocent Australians were dead by the time the sun rose over Sydney the following day.
Read more: Comfortably Numb: Ten Years After the Lindt Café Siege
Recent news in Australia has sparked debate: a ban on social media for under-16s. The government’s intent is clear – to “protect” young people from online pressures. But what if age alone isn’t the barrier to greatness?
Consider this: at 16, Lindsay Fox already had a truck driver’s licence, a battered Ford F200 borrowed from his mother’s shop till, and a vision for building one of Australia’s most successful transport empires. No filters, no likes, no algorithms – just grit, charm, and an iron handshake.
Fox is a reminder that real achievement often starts quietly, far from the headlines. He wasn’t wrapped in cotton wool, he wasn’t shielded from risk, and he certainly didn’t need a government protective shield to prove himself.
Filed from beneath the warped floorboards of the Dusty Dingo Pub, where the beer is cold, the floors are sticky, and the truth is clearer than the tap water.
In the sun-baked badlands of Dusty Gulch - where gidgee whisper gossip and kangaroos kick up dust storms of discontent - a scandal erupted like a geyser from a cracked billabong. And at the molten centre of it waddled none other than Prentis Penjani: the slickest duck ever to paddle the political pond.
Prentis, leader of the Quack Coalition of Green and Red, had long promised “fair feathers for all,” but everyone knew his wings flapped more for perks than for public service. Even still, no one expected this.
Word spread faster than a leaky bundy rum barrel emptying behind the Dusty Dingo:
Prentis was getting married.
And not just married - staged. Scripted. Funded.
A wedding built like a movie set, paid for like an aboriginal space exploration subsidy, and sincere as a lyrebird at a karaoke contest.
How many of us feel exactly like that man today – surrounded by a civilisation that has chosen blindness and now regards our ability to see as an affliction to be stamped out?
Read more: Has the ‘Woke’ movement finally awoken the slumbering Saxon?
Education, often celebrated as a beacon of enlightenment and progress, can also become a potent weapon in the hands of those seeking to shape minds for dark purposes.
History has shown how classrooms, designed to nurture curiosity and critical thinking, can be transformed into echo chambers of radical ideology, where young, impressionable minds are moulded to serve political agendas.
From carefully curated textbooks to charismatic educators, the machinery of indoctrination works not by coercion but by planting seeds of loyalty and conviction, ensuring that the next generation becomes willing participants...or even zealots...in a cause they are taught to revere without question.
Nestled in the quaint seaside town of Bexhill-on-Sea, East Sussex, England, Augusta Victoria College (AVC) operated from 1932 to 1939 as a unique finishing school for young women aged 16 to 21. However, unlike other institutions of its kind, AVC has drawn attention for its disturbing ties to Nazi Germany.
On December 9, 2019, New Zealand's White Island erupted .claiming 22 lives and leaving survivors with injuries that will follow them for the rest of their days.
What began as a routine tourist adventure to the country’s most active volcano turned within seconds into a desperate race for survival, as visitors and guides were swallowed by searing ash, scalding steam, and toxic gases. The world watched in horror.
Time has not softened the tragedy of White Island, nor has the legal system provided the closure many hoped would come.
In early 2025, a High Court ruling overturned a key conviction linked to the disaster - another twist in a story that never seems to settle.
So let us revisit that terrible day… and then look at what has happened since.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword, and nowhere is that truer than in the world of political cartoons.
With a few strokes of ink, cartoonists have toppled reputations, challenged authority, and sparked revolutions...all while eliciting a chuckle, a gasp or a laugh or two.
These satirical sketches called cartoons turn complex issues into powerful, often humourous images, proving that sometimes a well-drawn caricature can wound more deeply than any blade.
No wonder they are seen as enemies of the establishment these days. But then again, they always have.
In a world where the news often feels stranger than fiction, we need the sharp, exaggerated truths of political cartoons. As Mark Twain apparently said, “Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”
Before the sun had fully risen over Hawaii, a chain reaction had begun — one that would sweep across the Pacific and pull nations far from the attack into a single tide of war. Pearl Harbor was an American tragedy, yes—but also an Allied turning point.
The memory of Pearl Harbor lives on as a powerful reminder of courage, sacrifice, and the sheer patriotism of a nation tested by tragedy. On December 7, 1941, a surprise attack by Japanese forces thrust the United States into World War II.
More than 2,400 American lives were lost, countless others were wounded, and the mighty Pacific Fleet lay crippled. Yet from the ashes of devastation emerged a profound resolve to defend freedom and ensure such aggression would not prevail.
Remembering Pearl Harbor is not just about honouring the fallen or the bravery of those who stood their ground that day; it is a sobering reflection on the cost of complacency, the value of vigilance, and the unyielding spirit of those who rose to meet the challenge of war.
“Minor Problem: I Identify as a 73-Year-Old Tabby, Therefore I’m Legally Entitled to X (and Werther’s Originals)”
By [Little Johnny], definitely not a cat
BRUSSELS/SYDNEY.
Last week the European Union and Australia simultaneously banned under-16s from social media to “protect children.”
This week I solved the problem for every teenager on the continent and Australia:
I came out as a cat.
Not in the cringey 2016 Tumblr way.
In the 2025, fully compliant, legally airtight way.
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble – Foreign Correspondent, Rodent Division
Filed from beneath the bar at the Dusty Dingo, where the floor is sticky but the truth is clear
Dusty Gulch has survived bushfires, floods, rat plagues, ( yours truly was a survivor of the last one ) locust waves, and a brief but memorable outbreak of interpretive pirate dance in ’92. But nothing - nothing - prepared the town for Duck Day.
A new national directive, written somewhere far above sea level by people who panic at the sight of soil, had declared that all future population metrics must be duck-based.
Not Dusty Gulch Day. Not Eureka Day. No, this was the day the bright lights of bureaucracy descended, clipboards quivering, to announce that from now on, only ducks count.
You could hear the silence fall across the Gulch like a dropped stubby.
Even the roos stopped mid-chew. Even the crows paused mid-criticism. Even Trevor the Wallaby - whose titanium-and-tungsten cyber-knees can hear electromagnetic storms three postcodes away - went very still.
And at Moonlight Manor, the temperature rose six degrees.
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