A moment in The Choral that shows how lived experience changes everything

 

I recently saw The Choral . It is a magnificent movie. It broke my heart in a good way.

Partly because it is so beautiful. Partly because it is so powerful. And partly because of one moment that keeps opening out into other moments long after you leave the cinema.

A choir member who is also a Protestant minister stands and says there is no such thing as purgatory. In his faith, the soul goes straight to heaven or hell. No in between.

Then Clive speaks.

He has come back from the war with one arm. He says purgatory is real. It is the space between two sides fighting, the moment when you step forward and you don’t know whether you will live or die.

The room goes completely still.

I am confident that minister would never stand up and say there is no purgatory again. I don’t think anyone else in the room would either and everyone who sees the film.

What moved me was not only the moment itself, but what it unlocked. How often lived experience cuts straight through belief. How two people can stand in the same place and see entirely different things, shaped by what they have lived, what they have lost, what they carry in their bodies.

It felt like a reminder to slow down in conversations. To listen more carefully. To leave room for the fact that someone else may be standing in a place you have never been.

Agriculture’s favourite guest at the table is grievance.

Twenty years ago I set up an organisation to support young people in agriculture to drive real change. The purpose was to help shift how the sector spoke about itself, outward looking rather than inward, solutions focused rather than grievance driven. The idea was that if agriculture wanted influence, it needed start earning it.

Which is why reading much of the agricultural press today feels like déjà vu, the same arguments, the same framing, the same sense that nothing has shifted.. You look at it and can’t help asking, what’s changed?

The issues themselves are familiar enough. Land prices. Succession. Policy settings. Conservation. Capital. Pressure from all sides. None of this is invented. But the way these issues are framed has barely moved. Every challenge still seems to arrive as something being done to farmers, and every response carries the same undertone, why is this happening to us?

Take the current outrage in western NSW about government buying land for conservation. There are legitimate questions here, about scale, about community impact, about how policy is designed. But the story quickly slides into something narrower and less persuasive. Agriculture, once again, positions itself as uniquely wronged.

What’s missing is context. Farmers in my own area were priced out of land decades ago, long before conservation buybacks entered the conversation, when people from Sydney decided it was a perfect place to live. One farmer today can be offered $28 million for 100 acres. That didn’t happen because of national parks. It happened because land has become an asset class, a lifestyle choice, a store of wealth.

And it isn’t only agriculture living with that reality. Young people across Australia are still living with their parents because they can’t afford housing. Teachers, nurses, tradespeople, hospitality workers. The next generation problem is not sector specific, it’s structural. When agriculture presents it as exceptional, it doesn’t sound principled, it sounds disconnected.

There’s also a curious selectivity in where the anger lands. Conservation purchases attract outrage, while amenity buyers, speculative capital, consolidation within agriculture itself, and intergenerational wealth don’t attract the same level of scrutiny. That kind of focus doesn’t read as advocacy for young farmers. It reads as discomfort with who the buyer is.

The irony is that agriculture has a stronger argument than it realises. Conservation and production are not opposites. Smarter conservation, co management, stewardship payments, leaseback arrangements, and policies that value people staying on country are all possible. But those conversations require agriculture to show up as a partner in public good, not a sector demanding exemption.

Support isn’t lost because the problem isn’t real. It’s lost because the tone suggests the world should pause, rearrange itself, and feel sorry.

Twenty years ago the challenge was to move agriculture out of that posture. The stakes are higher now. The room is more crowded. And pity parties, no matter how justified they feel, are a poor way to build a coalition.

#agriculture #ruralaustralia #youngfarmers #landaffordability #conservationpolicy #regionalcommunities #farmingfuture #publicinterest #intergenerationalchange

Garry Disher’s Mischance Creek Review and Why Crime Writers Keep Getting Farmers Wrong

This review will be a work in progress. I’m a big fan of Garry Disher’s books, but I felt compelled to put my initial feelings down in writing. As someone from an eight-generation farming family, I find it hard to stomach when novels focus on only one element of agriculture. Mischance Creek opens with yet another bleak picture: lonely farmhouses, endless cups of tea, stale biscuits, talk of drought that never ends. The people Hirsch visits are tired, sad, and stuck.

I don’t dispute that life on the land can be tough. In Australia, a drought isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime event. It’s the average year. Every farmer I know assumes it’s coming. That means every year, wet, dry, or in between, we plan for it. Stocking rates, feed reserves, pasture management, water storage: you name it, it’s built into the system.

So when I read yet another story where farmers are painted as helpless, waiting until things are so dire someone has to come and shoot their stock, I wince. That’s not how we farm. It’s not how we’ve survived for generations. Yes, there are bad seasons. Yes, there’s heartbreak. But resilience isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a way of life. Farmers adapt, innovate, and prepare, because that’s the only way you last in this business.

What frustrates me is how rarely fiction captures this side of the story. The quiet pride in planning ahead. The foresight that keeps family farms alive. The fact that endurance in agriculture isn’t about waiting for disaster, it’s about being ready for it, year in and year out.

I have now finished the book and its clear while I’m super sensitive to the way agriculture is portrayed, I also realise that Garry Disher’s books often cast outback Australia, in a fairly depressing light. Yes, he gives you real insight into Hirsch, into what he feels, and even into his mother’s struggles in this book. But for me, it was hard to find someone in Mischance Creek who feels truly likeable and the book was more of the same.

#BookReview #MischanceCreek #AustralianCrimeFiction #LifeOnTheLand #ResilientFarmers #RealAgriculture

What If We Spent Our Coffee Money on the Country We Want?

Most of us don’t think twice about spending $7 on a coffee, or $14 if it’s two a week. It’s a small indulgence in a busy life. But what if we all chipped in that same amount and chose to spend it differently?

What if that coffee money could fund the kind of country we actually want to live in?

Turns out, it could go a long way.

💡 Just $7 a year could change lives

A recent study found that if the federal government boosted mental health spending by just $7.30 per adult per year, around $153 million in total,we could prevent:
– 313 suicides
– 1,954 hospitalisations for self-harm
– Over 28,000 emergency department visits for mental health reasons

That’s the impact of one coffee.

But what if we gave up one coffee a week, or two, and asked the same question across different areas of need?

☕ A coffee or a future? Here’s what that money could do

If every adult in Australia redirected $7 -$14 a week to shared priorities, it could add up to $1.5–$3 billion annually. Here’s where that could take us:

🏘️ Affordable Housing

  • Fund tens of thousands of new social or affordable homes
  • Support rent relief for low-income families
  • Keep people safe, secure, and off the streets

📚 Public Education

  • Hire more school counsellors and learning support staff
  • Lower class sizes for better learning
  • Fund early childhood education in underserved communities

🚑 Rural Health Care

  •  Boost GP, nurse and allied health access in rural areas
  • Fund mobile clinics and regional telehealth services
  • Improve outcomes where help is often hardest to reach

🌿 Climate & Environment

  • Support renewable energy projects in the regions
  • Plant millions of trees and regenerate degraded land
  • Fund water security and sustainable agriculture

👵 Aged Care

  • Increase staffing and pay in aged care homes
  • Improve home care options so older people can age in place
  • Make dignity a baseline, not a luxury

💬 What if we had a say?

Now imagine if we didn’t just guess where to spend it, we got to choose.

Picture a national system of participatory budgeting, where each adult gets a voice in how their share of “coffee money” is spent. The government sets out the priorities, and we vote.

It’s already happening in some communities around the world. Why not here?

We’re used to thinking of change as something big and distant. But sometimes, it starts with a small sacrifice,shared widely.

What could we build if we all gave up just a little?

I’m not a researcher, and these figures are estimates based on publicly available data. But the idea is simple: small individual choices, pooled together, can make a big collective impact.

Shout out to The Conversation for the original research and article that sparked this reflection. Their work continues to inform smart, hopeful conversations across the country.

#CoffeeMoney #SmallChangeBigImpact #MentalHealthMatters #ParticipatoryBudgeting #BetterSpending #InvestInCommunity #AffordableHousing #PublicEducation #ClimateAction #AgedCareReform #HealthEquity #AustraliaBudget #EveryDollarCounts #HopefulFuture #RedirectTheSpend

The Power of Storytelling and Digital Legacy

Documenting history matters, not just to remember names but to honour lives fully lived and the impact they had on the world.

Have you ever stopped to think about whose story in your life deserves to be told?

Have you considered documenting your family history?

When we want to learn about something, we turn to Google, but what about the stories that are not there?

The ones that exist only in memories, passed down through conversation but never written down?

My friend Gaye Steel, former marketing manager of McDonald’s and Telstra, once said,

“If you can’t be found on Google, you don’t exist.”

Of course, we know that is not true.

Our lives, relationships, and impact are not measured by search results. But in today’s world, if a story is not documented, it can be easily forgotten. That is why storytelling matters. It ensures the people and moments that shape us are remembered.

Many people throughout history are invisible in the digital space, and I have made it my mission to change that. The National Library has archived my blogs as part of Australia’s digital history, recognising the importance of recording our experiences. But you do not need to be a writer or historian to ensure that the stories of your loved ones are preserved.

One simple step is to label your treasured photos. Add names, dates, and locations to the back of old family pictures. Tell the stories behind sentimental objects in your home. Even a short note explaining why something matters to you can turn an ordinary object into a meaningful piece of family history.

My own family’s history is deeply tied to the Illawarra. My maternal ancestors arrived in Kiama in 1831, and my paternal family settled in Dapto in 1841. The men in my family were well documented, but the women’s stories were largely missing.

My great-grandmother’s obituary, which only refers to her as “Mrs John Lindsay,” speaks volumes about the era in which she lived. It highlights how women were often defined by their husbands with their own identities overshadowed. Despite being described as an “ideal wife and mother,” her individuality, accomplishments, and personal story were left untold. It raises the question of how many other women’s legacies have been reduced to a mere mention in relation to their husbands.

When my parents passed away, I realised there was no public record of them, no trace of their lives online. Growing up, we did not even have family photos displayed in our home. I only discovered a picture of my mother through a Jamberoo Family History Facebook post.

That moment changed everything for me. My cousin, Mark Emery, has been documenting our family history for The Bugle, and through his research, I found my parents’ wedding photo and a beautiful image of my mother at 15. By writing about my parents, I have not only preserved their names but kept their stories alive, ensuring future generations can find them, remember them, and understand their lives.

My own journey has been shaped by storytelling. After leaving home and marrying young, I unexpectedly became a farmer’s wife. Later, I managed a pharmacy, but a series of armed robberies deeply affected me – an event that forced me to re-evaluate my path.

Stepping away from pharmacy, I found purpose in community engagement. I helped establish the Kiama Wine Show, promoted dairy through school programs like Picasso Cows, and was ultimately named Kiama’s first Electorate Woman of the Year. These experiences reinforced something crucial.

For years, agriculture faced negative press, and a friend in marketing gave me invaluable advice. “If you don’t tell your story, others will tell it for you.”

Recognising the need to change this, I  was established a charity to support young agricultural advocates in developing their storytelling skills. Over two decades, the charity worked with top journalists to train young people in crafting compelling narratives, ensuring that their voices were heard and their contributions to agriculture were recognised.

If we do not tell our own stories, others will tell them for us, or worse, they will not be told at all.

More recently, I made the difficult decision to close the charity I had been running. The challenges of working with schools post-COVID, combined with my growing passion for local storytelling, led me to refocus my energy on my own community.

The Bugle covered some of my community talks, and before long, they invited me to write for them. What started as pro bono work turned into a contract role covering council and feature stories.

The most rewarding part of this work is meeting and interviewing fascinating people, uncovering stories that would otherwise go untold.

Throughout my career, I have learned that awards and recognition are not about personal validation. They are about elevating a cause. Every time I won an award, I nominated someone else the following year, and I encouraged them to do the same. I am particularly passionate about the Hidden Treasures Honour Roll for regional women. Last year, I nominated three local women. They were honoured to be included, and now they are eager to nominate others in turn.

We all have stories worth telling, whether they are our own or those of people we admire. So, I leave you with a few questions.

  • Who in your life has a story that should be shared?
  • Have you considered documenting your family’s history?
  • Would you like to learn how to record these stories?

Let’s make sure the voices of those we love are not lost to time. Whether it is writing a blog, labelling old photos, or simply sharing memories with the next generation, every story we tell adds to the rich tapestry of history.

#Storytelling #DigitalLegacy #FamilyHistory #PreservingMemories #LocalHistory #Kiama #TheBugle #CommunityStories #DocumentYourStory #HistoricalRecords

How we Move Beyond “Woke” and Reclaim Meaningful Conversations

The Power of Labels

Labelling an idea as “woke” can abruptly end conversations. It simplifies complex issues into dismissive categories like irrelevant or extreme. This shortcut undermines meaningful discussion and blocks understanding, creating barriers instead of building bridges.

Why Does This Happen?

  • Cognitive Dissonance: When ideas challenge deeply held beliefs, discomfort often arises. Labelling these ideas as “woke” offers an easy escape from confronting that discomfort, bypassing critical thought.
  • Fear of Change: Change, especially when tied to identity or values, can feel threatening. Dismissing ideas as “woke” can act as a protective reaction, shielding individuals from engaging with perceived challenges to their worldviews.
  • Simplification of Complex Issues: Many ideas dismissed as “woke” address nuanced topics like inequality or privilege. Reducing them to a buzzword eliminates the need to engage with their intricacies, avoiding the hard work of understanding.

How Can We Respond?

  • Stay Curious: Curiosity invites dialogue and defuses tension. Ask questions like:
    • “What specifically about this idea do you find problematic?”
    • “How would you approach this issue differently?”
    • This shifts the focus from the label to the substance of the discussion.
  • Refocus the Conversation: Bring attention back to the core topic rather than the label:
    • “Let’s explore the actual idea instead of getting caught up in terminology.”
  • Find Common Ground: Shared values often exist, even in polarized conversations:
    • “We both seem to value fairness—let’s discuss how we might approach this issue differently.”
  • Model Openness: Set an example by demonstrating a willingness to listen and engage thoughtfully:
    • “I can see why this might be difficult to accept—it took me time to understand as well.”

What’s at Stake?

Over-reliance on dismissive labels like “woke” limits dialogue, perpetuates division, and blocks progress. By avoiding deep engagement, we miss opportunities to:

  • Understand differing perspectives.
  • Foster connections across divides.
  • Develop solutions that consider a broader range of experiences.

A Final Thought

Effective conversations aren’t about winning—they’re about planting seeds of understanding and possibility. While not every conversation will yield immediate change, some may grow in ways you don’t expect. And remember, you might change your mind. Even if you strongly disagree with an idea initially, engaging in respectful dialogue can open your mind to new perspectives and challenge your own assumptions.

Have you faced similar challenges in conversations?

What strategies have worked for you?

Are you open exploring ways to move past dismissive labelling and towards constructive dialogue.

#BeyondWoke #MeaningfulDialogue #BridgingDivides #ChallengeYourBeliefs #BeyondLabels #ConstructiveConversation #OpenMind #CriticalThinking

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