The PR Blog

I am personally horrified by what has happened since October 2023. This wasn’t just a Middle East tragedy - it was the spark for a global war of ideology and hate.

Hamas has nothing to be proud of -  their actions brought only suffering, not liberation. What’s equally heartbreaking is what has happened in my own country since. I’ve watched antisemitism creep in and take root, openly and shamelessly, under the banner of “activism.” It has poisoned conversations, divided communities, and created anger, violence and hatred. This is no longer about Gaza but a global war of identity and division, where HARMONY is being choked out.

The “Pro-Palestine” movement, as it now stands, feels less like a call for justice and more like a weapon -  one used to divide and destroy the harmony that once held our nation together. I have deep sympathy for the innocent people of Gaza, trapped in unimaginable hardship, but I can’t ignore that many there have been taught to celebrate the destruction of Jews and of Israel itself. That’s not a movement for freedom -  that’s a war of faith and hatred, and it terrifies me.

Much of Australia’s early slang comes from the convict culture of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Australia was established as a penal colony, with convicts from Britain, Ireland, and other parts of Europe bringing their own slang terms with them.

The working-class origins of many early settlers meant that language was often informal, and humour and making the best of a bad lot became central to the Australian identity.

Convicts and settlers alike used slang to defy authority and express camaraderie. Words like "larrikin" reflect a rebellious, cheeky attitude that became part of our national character.

Slang became a way to survive and thrive in tough, often harsh conditions, helping people bond and deal with adversity. And boy, it must have been tough back then. 

 In 1925, a small courtroom in Dayton, Tennessee, became the stage for a battle over ideas. The Scopes Trial - immortalised in the film Inherit the Wind - pitted a young teacher, John Scopes, against the state’s Butler Act, which banned the teaching of evolution in schools.

The trial wasn’t just about science versus religion; it was about who gets to control thought.

Clarence Darrow, defending Scopes, warned that dogmatic gatekeepers -religious or secular - pose the greatest threat to the human right to question and reason.

A century later, that warning feels prophetic.

Today’s battle over free inquiry isn’t fought in courtrooms but across digital platforms and halls of government. Governments in the UK, Canada, and Australia are wielding vague laws and weaponised labels - “racist,” “bigot,” “misinformation” - to silence dissent, all in the name of protection.from Australia’s under-16 social media “delay” to the UK’s arrests for “mean tweets,” we are edging toward a digital Butler Act.

Only bold resistance - by figures like Elon Musk and by ordinary citizens - can halt the quiet march on freedom.

I spent most of my working life in the Aussie bush. It is a way of life most Australians would struggle to understand.

Picture this. You’re on a cattle station the size of a small European country. The nearest hospital is many hundreds of kilometres away, the roads are red dust tracks, and someone in the family has taken a bad turn. No phone, no ambulance, no chance of a doctor riding up on horseback.

Then -  a sound overhead. A single-engine plane rattles in from the horizon, wheels kicking up dust as it lands in a paddock. Out climbs a doctor, medical bag in hand. For us blokes out bush, that wasn’t just a plane. That was hope.

That’s the story of the early Royal Flying Doctor Service -  or as most people know it, simply “the Flying Doctor.”

Ratty News Exclusive
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Special Correspondent (aisle seat, back row) Reporting from the Ratty Flyers Fling 

In Longreach, the Flyers Ball is elegance under the stars -  gowns, pearls, champagne flutes tinkling in perfect rhythm, and speeches that last longer than the sunburn on a tourist’s nose. It is a celebration of generosity, of polish, of refinement.

In Dusty Gulch, we do not often attempt civilisation, but when we do, it is in a manner uniquely our own: sequins glued to bicycle helmets, lamington holsters duct-taped to battered Akubras, and one particularly dedicated fellow who strapped a sausage roll to his forehead to “improve aerodynamics.”