Author: Lynne Strong

I am a 6th generation farmer who loves surrounding myself with optimistic, courageous people who believe in inclusion, diversity and equality and embrace the power of collaboration. I am the founder of Picture You in Agriculture. Our team design and deliver programs that inspire pride in Australian agriculture and support young people to thrive in business and life

The Day I Beat an Olympian

 

Kevin and Chichester at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. Photo Credit: Hugo Czerny.

It’s not every day you get to say, “I beat an Olympian.” But here I am, telling you about the time I somehow managed to outdo Kevin Bacon in a bending race. Yes, that Kevin Bacon—three Olympics, countless showjumping victories, and the legendary partnership with Chichester.

Was it skill? Not a chance. This was pure luck, the kind of moment that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery by picking random numbers. Kevin’s horse was having the day off—not exactly in top form—and decided that knocking over the bending posts was far more entertaining than actually weaving through them. Meanwhile, my pony,  against all odds, played it cool.

By the end of the race, there I was, declared the winner, looking around like someone had made a mistake. Kevin? He laughed. He was gracious enough to act like this wasn’t a total fluke. That’s what made him an Olympian—not just the skill, but the class.

To this day, I dine out on that story. “Did you know I once beat Kevin Bacon?” I’ll say, letting the suspense hang for a moment before admitting it was a bending race where his horse knocked over almost every post in sight.

But you know what? A win is a win. And I’ll never forget the smile and good humour of the man I got to “beat.” Thanks, Kevin, for letting me have my moment—even if it was one for the comedy reel.

 

When Moral Uncoupling Takes Over and Common Sense Disappears

 

Lately, I’ve been captivated by the concept of moral uncoupling—the way societies redirect their attention from tackling complex, pressing issues to fixating on symbolic or superficial ones. It’s a phenomenon that reflects not just our priorities but also how we rationalise what we choose to act on.

Take the example of schools. Across certain debates, there’s an extraordinary focus on shielding children from supposed dangers like “dirty books” or drag queens. Yet, these same spaces are often left vulnerable to far greater, more tangible threats, such as gun violence. A recent cartoon I came across captured this irony perfectly: a school riddled with bullet holes, while a sign outside proudly declared that it was “protected from drag queens and dirty books.”

The image struck a nerve. What does it say about us when we invest energy into fighting cultural symbols while failing to protect the most vulnerable in meaningful ways? Is it easier to argue about books and identity than to grapple with the systemic failures that allow violence to persist? And why are we so drawn to these symbolic battles in the first place?

Moral uncoupling doesn’t just reflect misplaced priorities; it also reveals how we avoid discomfort. Addressing gun violence or mental health requires confronting deeply entrenched systems, questioning power structures, and making real sacrifices. In contrast, banning a book or denouncing a drag performance feels actionable, immediate, and oddly satisfying—like a moral shortcut. It allows us to tell ourselves we’ve done something while the real issues go unresolved.

This isn’t just a problem in schools. It’s a pattern that plays out across society. We see it in environmental debates, where token gestures often replace meaningful action, and in social justice movements, where performative allyship sometimes overshadows systemic change.

Moral uncoupling allows us to feel virtuous without the weight of true accountability. But at what cost? As we divert our attention, the real problems don’t just persist—they deepen.

Perhaps it’s time to ask harder questions. What are we ignoring in favour of the symbolic? And how do we begin to realign our moral compass to face the challenges that truly matter? It’s a shift we owe to ourselves and, more importantly, to those who rely on us to make real, lasting change.

#MoralUncoupling #PrioritiesMatter #SocialReflection #SystemicChange #CulturalDebate #ProtectOurKids #EducationMatters #SymbolismVsAction #SocialJustice #Accountability

 

Why Are We Fighting About Cows When the Real Problem is Us and Trust?

It’s the great cow controversy of 2024, and social media is on fire. This time, it’s not about dairy vs. oat milk or even beef vs. tofu. It’s about a tiny supplement called Bovaer, designed to reduce methane emissions from cattle, and the uproar is deafening.

On Facebook, it’s war. Some are decrying Bovaer as the latest corporate conspiracy, something Bill Gates would whip up in his private jet to poison our milk. Others see it as the saviour of the planet. But here’s what’s really happening: we’re missing the point entirely.

Let’s be honest. The problem isn’t cows. It’s us. The more people we have, the more food we need to produce. That means more cows, more methane, and, yes, more impact on the environment. But when a practical solution comes along to reduce that impact—something backed by a decade of research and field trials—we throw up our hands in shock. Why?

There’s a fundamental trust gap between the people making these solutions and the people consuming them. Scientists, bless their well-intentioned hearts, roll out their data and expect us to just get it. But most people don’t live in peer-reviewed journals. They live in real-world uncertainty, where the line between “helpful innovation” and “corporate takeover” feels razor-thin.

And social media isn’t helping. Instead of nuanced discussions, we’re fed bite-sized outrage. A single post about Bovaer can spiral into fearmongering faster than you can say “methane,” leaving consumers more sceptical than informed.

Take a moment to consider this: humans pop supplements every day with little to no evidence that they work. Collagen powders, detox teas, mystery vitamins—there’s a whole industry thriving on the “it can’t hurt, right?” mentality. But introduce a scientifically-proven supplement for cows, and suddenly we’re all chemical experts, clutching our organic milk bottles like lifelines.

The debate over Bovaer isn’t really about methane or cows. It’s about trust. Trust in the people who make our food. Trust in the researchers who develop solutions. And trust in each other to have real conversations instead of trading cheap shots online.

We can’t fix this problem by vilifying farmers who are trying to do the right thing, whether they’re grass-feeding their cows or testing methane-reducing additives. Nor can we solve it by blindly defending corporate-backed solutions without addressing consumer concerns.

Here’s the truth: no single fix is perfect. Grass-fed systems sequester carbon but still produce methane. Feedlot systems can use products like Bovaer but rely on grain, which has its own environmental cost. The real solution lies in recognising that everyone—farmers, scientists, and consumers—is on the same team. We all want sustainable food systems. We all want to protect the planet. We just need to stop fighting long enough to figure out how to get there.

So, next time you see a post about cows “killing the planet” or a product like Bovaer being the hero or villain of the story, pause. Ask questions. Demand transparency.

But don’t let fear or outrage guide the narrative. Because if we don’t tackle the root problem—how we produce and consume food—we’re just mooing in circles.

Will agriculture ever learn? How many own goals does it need to kick? Trust and Transparency is everything.

I rest my case 4 December 2024 SMH – Panic over additive in cattle feed sparks milk and meat furore 

 

#Bovaer #MethaneReduction #SustainableFarming #GrassFedBeef #DairyFarming #ClimateAction #FoodSecurity #LivestockSolutions #EnvironmentalImpact #ConsumerTrust

WTF is neoliberalism and why do experts insist on making it impossible to care?

The  Democrats’ loss is all over the news, and every expert with a degree and a platform is lining up to explain why it happened. Except, they’re not really explaining anything. They’re throwing around words like “neoliberalism” and “economic paradigms” as if everyone spent their weekend reading the same textbooks they did.

Here’s the thing: most people don’t speak “expert.” And they shouldn’t have to. The second you start explaining election results with dense, academic jargon, you’ve already lost the very audience you’re trying to engage. People don’t need lectures on the intricacies of market deregulation—they need to understand, in plain terms, what went wrong and why it matters to them.

What even is neoliberalism?

Good question. Stripped of the fluff, it’s the idea that free markets solve most problems, so governments should back off and let businesses run the show. It’s why services get privatised (think healthcare, electricity, even water), why taxes get cut, and why regulations on industries are slashed. In theory, it’s supposed to make the economy hum. In practice? It often leaves regular people worse off while the wealthy thrive.

Why does this matter to elections?

When experts say neoliberalism is why the Democrats lost, they mean this:

  • People feel abandoned. Voters want leaders who care about their daily struggles—affording groceries, keeping a job, paying for childcare—not policies that mostly benefit corporations or the wealthy.
  • Inequality is rising. When markets are left unchecked, wealth piles up at the top, and working-class people are left behind.
  • Trust is broken. If voters think the party is too busy courting businesses or “elites”, they stop believing Democrats are on their side.

All of this makes sense when you break it down. But when you call it “neoliberalism” and bury it in academic language, you lose the people who need to hear it most.

Why does the language matter?

Dense, inaccessible language isn’t just lazy—it’s dangerous. It builds walls instead of bridges. If voters tune out because they don’t understand—or feel talked down to—they won’t stick around long enough to hear your point. And then what happens? The people you wanted to reach stop caring, and the people who already agree with you start arguing over terminology instead of solving the problem.

Here’s the real question

Do you want to win over hearts and minds, or do you just want to sound smart to your peers? If it’s the latter, go ahead—keep dropping “neoliberalism” into every sentence. But if you actually care about changing anything, ditch the jargon. Speak plainly. Say what you mean. Explain why it matters.

Because if your big idea can’t be summed up in a way your neighbour would get, maybe it’s not that big—or that useful—after all.

#politics #neoliberalism #elections #languagebarrier #communicationmatters #plainlanguage #voterengagement #democrats #economics #accessiblewriting #jargonfree #socialjustice #progressivevalues #politicalanalysis #blogging

 

Rethink Your Corporate “Present”

Last week, I attended an event that ticked most of the right boxes—until it came to the “end-of-function present.” A big fuss was made about this gift, complete with speeches about how meaningful it was. But when I got home and unwrapped it, I felt deflated.

Another useless implement. Another addition to the pile of things I didn’t ask for, didn’t need, and now have to deal with. Worse still, it left me agonising over what could go in the yellow bin, what had to go in the red bin, and how much of it was just destined for landfill.

Why do organisations keep doing this? It’s time to make a statement

Rethink your corporate present.

My friend and I, who shared my horror, had a simple suggestion: Instead of giving out something that no one asked for, why not make a donation to a charity that everyone can feel good about? It’s a gesture that has meaning, leaves no waste, and makes a positive impact.

Imagine the difference it would make if all that money spent on throwaway gifts was instead directed to causes that matter. Whether it’s supporting local food banks, planting trees, or funding research into diseases, the ripple effect of a charitable gift goes far beyond a fleeting moment of applause at an event.

We’re not fools. A thoughtful contribution to charity says far more about your organisation’s values than another trinket destined for the bin. And in an era where sustainability is critical, gestures that align with those values resonate so much more.

It’s time to ask ourselves—and the organisations we engage with—to do better. Let’s stop pretending that physical tokens are necessary and start embracing meaningful alternatives. Because sometimes the best present is one that gives back to the world we all share.

#CorporateGifting #SustainabilityMatters #EcoFriendlyEvents #GiveWithPurpose #MeaningfulGifts #RethinkWaste #CharityOverTrinkets #SustainableChoices #NoMoreWaste #MakeADifference

Who Do You Trust When the Stakes Are High?

As I press the publish button, I find myself unsure of what image could best represent my thoughts. What would you choose? I’d love to hear your suggestions.

Trust is a tricky thing. It’s built on shared values, strengthened by actions, and yet, can be so easily shaken by doubt or conflicting perspectives. Recently, I found myself grappling with a question that’s likely familiar to many of us: when someone’s support aligns with your agenda, but their values don’t, do you trust them? Or do you hold out for someone whose principles better align with your own—even if it complicates things?

It’s a scenario that tests both integrity and pragmatism.

When Actions Speak Louder Than Words

In this particular case, someone has stepped forward to support my goals. Their actions—at least on the surface—seem to align with what I want to achieve. But there’s a problem: their broader values and behaviours don’t sit well with me. They’ve made choices that conflict with principles I hold dear, and those choices raise an important question: can I separate their support from their values? Should I?

Here’s the thing about trust: it isn’t built on convenience. It’s built on consistency and integrity. Someone’s ability to advance an agenda isn’t enough on its own. If their motivations or values don’t align with mine, it’s not just my trust that’s at risk—it’s the integrity of the cause itself.

Weighing Short-Term Gains Against Long-Term Values

It’s tempting to prioritise short-term wins. After all, when someone is prepared to champion your agenda, it can feel like progress—like the end justifies the means. But does it really? If their values don’t align with your own, what’s the cost of that alignment? Does it undermine the very principles you’re fighting for?

It’s a question I keep coming back to. In a world where trust can be fragile, how much does it matter that the person advancing your cause reflects your own values? For me, the answer is clear: it matters a lot. Trust isn’t transactional. It’s not something I can compromise on without losing sight of the bigger picture.

Making Hard Choices

I’ve learned that the easy path isn’t always the right one. I’ve also learned that integrity means making decisions that might not always yield immediate results, but ensure you can stand by your choices in the long run. If someone’s actions or values conflict with the principles I believe in, then their support—no matter how appealing—comes with a risk I’m not willing to take.

Ultimately trust isn’t just about the person in front of you. It’s about the community, the cause, and the credibility you bring to it. It’s about making decisions that reflect not just what you want to achieve, but how you want to achieve it.

Final Thoughts

The next time you find yourself in a similar position, ask yourself: is this someone I can trust not just to support my agenda, but to honour the values that matter to me and my community? If the answer is no, maybe it’s time to rethink the alignment—because trust, once lost, isn’t easy to rebuild.

And for me? I’ll choose the harder path if it means staying true to my values. After all, trust and integrity are worth it.

#TrustMatters #IntegrityFirst #SharedValues #LeadershipChallenges #EthicalChoices #ValueAlignment #AuthenticLeadership #PrincipledLiving #LongTermVision #BuildingTrust #CommunityCredibility #ActionsOverWords #IntegrityOverConvenience #TrustAndValues

 

 

How 19-2 Explores the Moral Uncoupling We All Face Every Day

Image Source 

There’s a moment in every episode of 19-2, the gripping Canadian police drama, where the characters are forced to make choices that don’t fit neatly into right or wrong. The brilliance of the series lies not in the action or the crime-solving—it’s in the quiet, relentless confrontation of moral compromise. And in that, 19-2 holds up a mirror to our own lives.

At its heart, the show is about people who wrestle with doing what’s right while navigating a system that often blurs the lines. Police partners Nick Barron and Ben Chartier don’t just face criminals—they face themselves. Each call they answer, each interaction with their colleagues, and each decision they make is coloured by personal histories, pressures, and the limitations of their environment.

One of the show’s most searing moments comes when Ben makes the devastating decision to arrest his father. Ben knows it’s the right thing to do—his father’s actions leave him no choice—but it’s a decision that isolates him from his family, compounding his own personal grief. In that moment, Ben sacrifices belonging for integrity, and we’re left wondering: how often are we willing to do the same?

Ben’s choice is the exception to the moral uncoupling that often defines the lives of the show’s characters—and, by extension, our own. How often do we sidestep what we know is right in the name of convenience, loyalty, or self-preservation? It might be as minor as not speaking up when someone makes an offensive comment or as significant as ignoring an ethical lapse in our workplace. These small acts of moral uncoupling—where we detach our choices from our values—are part of the human condition.

What makes 19-2 so compelling is that it doesn’t let anyone off the hook. There’s no easy redemption arc, no grandstanding heroics. Instead, the show reveals how moral compromise accumulates, creating cracks in character and conscience. It forces viewers to question their own boundaries and consider how they would act under similar pressures.

Ben’s decision to arrest his father is a rare and painful act of moral clarity. It’s the kind of choice that reminds us of the cost of living with integrity. It’s also the exception that highlights the rule: most of us, most of the time, compromise.

The series asks us to reflect on our own lives. Are we holding true to our principles, or are we drifting away from them in ways that feel comfortable but ultimately cost us something? In its portrayal of flawed people in a flawed system, 19-2 offers an unflinching meditation on what it means to be human.

Ben’s story reminds us that living with integrity isn’t easy—it often comes with alienation, loss, and sacrifice. But it also challenges us to reckon with our own moral uncoupling and consider what it would take to make the hard but right choice when it matters most.

#MoralIntegrity #TVShowsThatMatter #HumanCondition #PoliceDrama #19Two #EthicalDilemmas #MoralChoices #RightVsWrong #NickBarron #EverydayEthics #IntegrityMatters #BenChartier

How I Frustrated My Year 12 English Teacher—And Learned More About Myself Along the Way

Looking back on my final years of high school, I have to admit I must have been a nightmare for my English teacher. In Year 11 and 12, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a “model student.” I wasn’t rebellious in the typical sense; I simply refused to invest time in studying texts that didn’t resonate with me. And in our English syllabus, there were plenty that didn’t.

Take The Tree of Man by Patrick White, for example. While some found it profound, I found it dreadfully depressing, like trudging through emotional quicksand. And Tess of the d’Urbervilles? Equally exasperating. Despite the supposed literary merit of these novels, I couldn’t bring myself to see the world through their bleak lens. For me, these texts represented an obligation, not an inspiration. So, I did what any self-respecting, strong-willed teenager would do—I avoided them as much as possible.

But then there was Anne Frank. Her story moved me profoundly, and I couldn’t get enough of her writing. Here was a young girl, in the most horrifying of circumstances, expressing hope, resilience, and a love for life that defied her situation. Anne Frank’s words spoke to me in a way no other text on the syllabus could, and I absorbed every word, willingly and eagerly. If my teacher had allowed me to focus on texts like The Diary of Anne Frank, I probably would have been an easier student to manage.

Then there was Shakespeare. Although we didn’t have a choice in studying him, I tackled King Lear as a practical means to an end rather than a journey of literary discovery. I never grew to love it, but I became skilled at wielding its verses in exams. I memorised the key quotes, crafted answers that hit all the right notes, and delivered what was needed to secure a top 1% pass in English. To me, it felt like a bit of a joke—proof that academic success sometimes depends more on strategy than genuine engagement.

Reflecting on it now, I see that my teenage self was driven by a desire to find meaning in what I was learning. I wasn’t willing to fake enthusiasm for texts that felt hollow or irrelevant to my world. My teacher might have been infuriated by my selective engagement, but it was my way of honouring the power of words and stories. Only those that truly connected with me earned my dedication.

In the end, I think my journey through the HSC taught me more than a formal curriculum ever could. It showed me the importance of authenticity and the power of storytelling to capture our attention, inspire us, and help us make sense of the world. And if my teacher (Mr Howell) ever reads this—thank you for putting up with me. I may not have been the easiest student, but I left those years with a fierce appreciation for stories that resonate, and a strong resolve to find and share them in my own way.

#HighSchoolMemories #FindingMyVoice #EnglishClass #Year12Struggles #AuthenticLearning #StorytellingMatters #AnneFrankInspiration #SelectiveEngagement #PowerOfLiterature #EducationReflections  #Mr Howell

How Do We Shift from “I” to “We”?

In today’s world, we’re deeply invested in the idea of “I.” It’s a culture that celebrates individualism to the point where we believe the next breakthrough, the next hero, or the next charismatic leader will solve our problems. Political campaigns too often encourage us to rally behind a single candidate who claims they alone can fix what we’re unhappy about. Corporations and innovators tell us that the newest product or app can change our lives for the better. This mindset, however, is rooted in a story we’ve been told for centuries: the notion that one person or one idea can save us.

Perhaps this goes back to when we first conceptualised God—a singular divine being with the power to intervene and provide answers. Over time, this idea of salvation being delivered by one figure evolved, reinforcing a belief in “the one” who could make everything right. And today, that same mindset persists in our political systems, our social movements, and even in the way we live our daily lives. But how long will it take for us to realise that real change doesn’t come from one person; it comes from all of us?

The truth is, we each carry a part of the power to create a better world, but it only becomes meaningful when we join forces. Individual ideas have their place—they spark innovation and bring new perspectives. But those ideas, no matter how brilliant, will only ever be fragments until we bring them together under a shared purpose. This is the shift from an “I” culture to a “we” culture, a transformation that prioritises collaboration over competition, connection over division.

If we look at what’s working around us—communities, ecosystems, collaborative projects—they are rarely about the efforts of one person alone. Instead, they thrive because individuals come together, sharing their skills, resources, and insights to create something more impactful than any one of them could achieve alone. This isn’t about diminishing individual effort; it’s about amplifying it through unity.

As we move forward, let’s ask ourselves: what does it take to build a “we” culture? It means rethinking how we approach problems, being open to diverse ideas, and seeing ourselves as part of a larger whole. When we truly embrace the idea that change comes from a collective “we” rather than an isolated “I,” we can begin to reshape our world—not with promises of divine intervention or the arrival of a new hero, but through our own shared actions and values.

The power has always been with us. The question is, how long will it take for us to use it—together?

#WeCulture #TogetherForChange #CollectivePower #BeyondIndividualism #CommunityMatters #SharedVision #FromItoWe #UnityInAction #CollaborationOverCompetition #PowerOfWe