Category: Behind the Byline

What communities lose when lived experience is ignored.

Psychology shows we feel loss twice as strongly as gain. So when lived experience is not deliberately carried forward, change stalls. Familiar patterns win. Old mistakes return dressed up as new debates.

Communities like to think they are good at remembering. They are not.

They remember dates, names, anniversaries. They remember who was on which committee and who fell out with whom. What they forget is how decisions were made, what it cost to get agreement, and who carried the weight when things went wrong.

My previous post dealt  with recognition, the moment people lean forward and see themselves. This one deals with what communities lose when that recognition never makes it into decisions.

Because loss hurts twice as much as gain feels good, change faces a headwind.

When lived experience is not deliberately held and shared, communities lose ground. Quietly at first. Then all at once.

They lose their memory. People leave. Staff retire. Volunteers burn out. Small business owners move on. What walks out the door with them is the why, not the what. New leaders arrive and inherit problems stripped of context. Old decisions are waved away as historic, which often means inconvenient. The same arguments return with fresh language and everyone wonders why nothing changes.

They lose coordination when pressure hits. When stress arrives, and it always does, groups retreat into silos. Councils consult late. Agencies defend their patch. Community organisations scramble beside each other rather than together. Without a shared memory of how cooperation has worked before, decision making turns reactive. Effort duplicates. Public disagreement escalates and trust thins.

They lose credibility with their own people. Residents can smell process a mile off. They know when engagement is theatre. When people are asked to comment after options have already settled, they disengage. Meetings empty. Submissions dry up. Goodwill drains away. Once lost, it is slow and costly to rebuild.

They lose the ability to shape what comes next. When lived experience is absent, others step in. External advisers arrive with neat models that flatten local complexity. Decisions drift away from those who live with the consequences. Communities stop setting the direction and start reacting to it.

They lose time they do not have. Each round of relearning wastes energy. Complexity grows. Resources tighten. Mistakes become more expensive. The risk is not standing still. It is staying busy while falling behind.

They lose people. Capable contributors step back when they see the same conversations replayed with no accumulation of learning. Volunteers burn out. Staff leave. Younger people look elsewhere. Systems that cannot learn from themselves struggle to keep anyone who can.

They lose a closing window. There are still people around who remember when cooperation shifted outcomes and compromise mattered. That knowledge disappears quietly. Once gone, it cannot be rebuilt from reports or minutes.

This pattern has become embedded in corporate culture because modern organisations reward visible movement over accumulated understanding. New leaders arrive under pressure to signal change, legacy knowledge is treated as baggage rather than ballast, and past decisions are reduced to slide headings stripped of context. Speed, novelty, and personal imprint carry more status than continuity.

At the same time, high turnover, restructures, and consultant driven frameworks fracture memory by design, knowledge is modularised, handovers are thin, and learning is assumed to live in systems rather than people. Loss aversion does the rest. Protecting reputation, control, and momentum feels safer than reopening how decisions were made or acknowledging what went wrong. The result is a culture that looks busy and future facing, while quietly discarding the very experience that could prevent repetition and failure.

This is not about nostalgia or heritage.

It is about whether communities choose to keep the knowledge they have already paid for, or keep relearning the same lessons at a higher price each time.

There is still time to hold lived experience where decisions are made, and stop paying twice for forgetting.

Psychology shows we feel loss about twice as strongly as gain. So when lived experience is not deliberately carried forward, change stalls. Familiar patterns win. Old mistakes return dressed up as new debates.

The nobility is in the fight even when the fight does not look noble

We hear the phrase the nobility is in the fight often enough for it to sound like a consolation prize. Something offered when things stall, drag on, or fail to resolve cleanly. Inside real systems, it can feel thin.

Once you strip away the romance, “it’s the journey” looks suspiciously like a long way of saying stay engaged, even when fixing it outright would be faster, tidier, and deeply satisfying. It asks fixers to resist the urge to wrap things up and instead keep showing up. That may sound like a downgrade, but inside real systems, persistence is often the only lever that moves anything at all.

In local government, and in most public institutions, change rarely arrives with a ribbon cutting. Wins are partial. Progress is uneven. What shifts first are the conditions around the issue. The quality of the record. The clarity of the questions. The awareness that someone is paying attention.

It leaves me with a harder question. Am I too old to change, and can I take this on as practice rather than observation.

The work shows up in asking the same question again, calmly, after it has been deflected.
It shows up in documenting what happens instead of performing outrage.
It shows up in staying present without demanding immediate validation.

There is also nobility in restraint. In learning how to challenge without being consumed by the fight itself. In refusing shortcuts that promise speed at the cost of clarity. In knowing when to press and when to pause, guided by judgement and a clear sense of what matters.

This is where the bystander effect begins to weaken.

When one person stands, the moral landscape shifts. Others watching see that engagement is possible. They may hesitate. They may wait. But silence changes shape. The sense that nothing can be done no longer holds.

This is often when pushback becomes louder. Sometimes it arrives quietly through process. Sometimes it comes publicly and with force. The volume itself is information. Loud responses usually mean the challenge has landed.

The nobility, then, is not in winning. It is in staying present long enough to make avoidance harder. In leaving a trail others can follow. In making it clear that someone noticed, someone cared, someone stood.

Institutions forget. Records remember. And people watching learn what is possible.

 

Fear as a Business Model

Shoutout to Neil Davidson for this extraordinary depiction of fear as a business model

When you look at this graphic, it doesn’t teach you something new.
It puts something you already know right in front of your face.

That’s what makes it soooo uncomfortable.

Systems like these rely on speed and amnesia. Slowing down, insisting on context, and keeping responsibility attached to power may be among the few levers ordinary people still have.

Fear is created, amplified, monetised, and then redirected. Harm happens, outrage flares, blame scatters, and responsibility dissolves. Meanwhile the systems that profit remain largely intact. Guns are one example, but once you see the structure you can’t unsee it. Cigarettes fit here. Gambling does too. So does fast fashion, parts of the wellness industry, fossil fuels, and even the attention economy we’re all swimming in.

What strikes me most is how insidious it is. Quiet, persistent, normalised. We argue with each other while the machinery hums along quite happily in the background. Silence is not a failure of the system, it’s one of its features.

The graphic also explains why so little seems to change. Outrage is short lived. Attention moves on. We’re offered language that feels compassionate or reassuring, thoughts and prayers, gamble responsibly, drink responsibly, take personal responsibility, while the structural questions are carefully avoided.

So here’s the question I can’t shake.

If most of us can see this happening in one form or another, what does it actually take to interrupt it?

Agency might look smaller than we expect. It might live in what we choose to amplify, what we refuse to share, and where we direct our questions when the next crisis arrives. Systems like these rely on speed and amnesia. Slowing down, insisting on context, and keeping responsibility attached to power may be among the few levers ordinary people still have.

In a nutshell

We know how this works.
We know fear is manufactured.
We know outrage is monetised.
We know blame drifts away from power.
Seeing it laid out like this doesn’t teach us.
It reminds us.
So the question isn’t whether we understand it.
It’s what we choose to amplify, and what we refuse to accept, next.

#PowerAndProfit #ManufacturedFear #SystemicHarm #FollowTheMoney #AttentionMatters #CivicResponsibility #MediaLiteracy #SlowDown

What we choose to record shapes what future generations believe

This image I shared on Facebook talks about blame, the habit of pointing elsewhere so we do not have to look too closely at ourselves. It struck me because at the moment I am immersed in recording local history. Old farms, family stories, council decisions, moments that felt ordinary at the time but now explain how a place became what it is.

History has a quiet power. What is written down gets repeated. What is repeated hardens into truth. What is left out quietly disappears.

Working through local archives has reminded me how selective memory can be. The stories that survive are often those that suited someone at the time, those that deflected responsibility, those that made complex decisions look simple and inevitable. Over generations, those shortcuts become culture.

We are seeing that play out again now.

As my Facebook post says I am uncomfortable with how responsibility keeps being pushed onto Anthony Albanese, or onto Australians more broadly, particularly Australian Jews, as if proximity equals culpability. That misdirects the conversation and lets those making the decisions step out of frame.

If accountability matters, it has to sit with alleged war criminal Benjamin Netanyahu and his government, who repeatedly claim to act in the name of all Jews. Many Jewish people around the world have said clearly that this is not true. Ignoring that distinction does real harm.

What also sits beneath this moment is something older and far more corrosive. Millions of prejudiced ideas about Jewish people were written down, taught, repeated, normalised. Those ideas travelled across borders and centuries. They did not arrive by accident. They were documented, handed down, and rarely challenged.

We cannot change millions of people’s prejudices overnight. But we can change how we tell the story now.

We can challenge media narratives that look for someone to blame and promise quick fixes. We can refuse lazy conflations that confuse governments with people, criticism with hatred, complexity with disloyalty. We can insist on context, on history, on evidence.

Most importantly, we can defend the public’s right to make informed choices. That requires more than outrage. It requires resisting the urge to absolve ourselves of responsibility by pointing elsewhere.

As someone recording local history, I am learning this: the stories we choose to document today will shape what feels possible tomorrow. Getting that right matters, not only for our towns, but for the world we hand on.

#AccountabilityMatters #WhoWeBlame #HistoryAndMemory #WhyDocumentationMatters #ChallengePrejudice #MediaResponsibility #Antisemitism #CollectiveBlame #InformedChoices #PublicJudgement #PowerAndResponsibility #TellingTheStoryDifferently

When the paperwork ends and community democracy really begins

If you’ve ever read a council document and thought, that doesn’t quite say what it’s pretending to say, you’re not imagining things.

This is what my experience working with local government has taught me, first as a civics reporter and now as a citizen journalist. My aim is to help people feel confident engaging, asking questions, and standing up for the places they care about.

What’s unfolding in Kiama right now isn’t unique. Communities everywhere face the same challenge: decisions shaped by process and reassuring language, while the practical implications sit just out of view. What matters is how communities respond. This moment offers a clear example of community democracy in action, residents staying engaged after submissions close, asking informed questions, and drawing on institutional knowledge that often sits outside formal reports.

As the conversation around the Shoalhaven Street site continues, attention is turning to the fundamentals.  The basics.

First, process is not the same as truth. When councils say something has been reviewed or assessed, it usually means procedures have been followed. It does not mean all relevant questions were asked, all consequences examined, or all voices heard. A process can be tidy and still leave critical gaps.

Second, reassurance is not the same as accountability. Statements like “it’s only a rezoning” or “these issues will be dealt with later” sound calming, but they rarely explain what decisions are already locked in, what assumptions are being made, or how much room for change actually remains.

Third, councils work hard to control the narrative. Key decisions are often framed as minor or procedural, wrapped in technical language, or buried in attachments released late in the process. This is sometimes described as a shell game because attention is constantly shifted. The details are present, but they don’t sit still. By the time the implications are clear, momentum has already built. Once you recognise this pattern, you start reading past the headlines and paying closer attention to what’s being moved, when, and why.

This is where community advocacy matters. Formal processes move behind closed doors. Advocacy stays visible. It keeps questions alive, brings expertise to the table, and applies pressure at the point when it still matters.

In Kiama, that work is now focusing on a very simple question:

Where does the water from this site go?

Beneath the Shoalhaven Street site sits existing drainage infrastructure and an underlying watercourse. Water moves through this area during heavy rainfall via a system shaped over decades, not just by recent plans. Understanding how that system works, how it has been modified over time, and how it behaves under pressure is central to understanding what the site can realistically support.

Residents are now asking for clarity:

  • how water currently moves through and beneath the site

  • how engineered drainage interacts with natural water pathways

  • and how those systems would function if the site is excavated and built over

These are practical questions grounded in how infrastructure actually works. These questions simply ask for clarity before major planning controls are locked in.

Our investigation continues. What’s happening here shows how effective community democracy works when people stay engaged beyond the submission period, share expertise, and ask the questions that paperwork alone doesn’t answer. For background on how reassurance and process can obscure meaning, see When council reassurance isn’t the same as explanation:

Once you understand how these systems operate, you stop being a bystander to your own future. And that changes everything.

#CommunityDemocracy #LocalGovernment #PlanningTransparency #CivicEngagement #CitizenJournalism #InfrastructureMatters #FloodRisk #PublicInterest #CommunityVoice #Governance

 

Why integrity matters in Kiama, and who pays when it doesn’t

 

In this guest blog post former Kiama councillor Karen Renkema Lang reflects on integrity, accountability and the cost borne by communities. ……

Every now and then, life offers a flicker of hope. My evening with the Centre for Public Integrity in Melbourne last week was one of those moments. Because it told the truth about what happens when integrity fails, and why that truth matters locally.

The speakers were impressive, Harriet McCallum from Mannifera, Dr John Daley from the Grattan Institute, and Dr Catherine Williams from the Centre. The calm, unvarnished way they spoke about integrity made clear who carries the cost when it fails. Sitting there, I kept thinking of Kiama, and of how familiar that sounded.

For several years now, this community has lived with the consequences of financial stress, closed-door decision-making and prolonged state oversight. These are often described as governance issues, but locally they are experienced as something else entirely. Exhaustion. Division. A loss of trust.

Over a short period, Kiama Council sold community assets worth well over $100 million. Some of those sales may have been necessary to stabilise the balance sheet. All of them were permanent.

At the same time, legal costs climbed into the millions. Executive pay rose by more than $75,000, increasing from around $350,000 in 2021–22 to an estimated $428,000 by 2024–25.  Yet the scope of Council’s operational responsibilities narrowed significantly following the exit from aged care and a substantial reduction in staffing.

For residents watching from the outside, these facts did not sit separately. They formed a picture.

That picture raises reasonable questions. About priorities. About accountability. About why the Council recorded a deficit of more than $7 million in the most recent financial year, even after asset sales and years of intervention.

The Centre for Public Integrity talks often about what happens when transparency weakens. Problems build quietly. Early warnings lose urgency. By the time action becomes unavoidable, the financial and social costs are far higher than they needed to be.

That pattern resonates here. People who raised concerns found themselves labelled difficult. Others learned quickly that silence carried less risk. Over time, scrutiny narrowed, decisions hardened, and trust eroded.

The Centre also speaks plainly about whistleblowers.

Integrity systems fail when speaking up relies on personal courage alone. Without real protections, problems remain visible but untouched, because acknowledging them carries a price.

Integrity is about restoring confidence that decisions are made openly, that power is exercised fairly, and that people acting in the public interest are supported rather than sidelined.

That is why integrity matters in Kiama. Because when it is strong, communities hold together. And when it is weak, the cost is always paid locally.

Suggested additional reading – Be Careful What You Wish For by Cat Holloway 

#IntegrityAndAccountability #TransparencyInGovernment #LocalGovernmentNSW #CouncilGovernance #PublicScrutiny #WhistleblowerProtection #CivicIntegrity #AustralianDemocracy

 

Karen Renkema Lang is a former Kiama councillor, public policy practitioner and community advocate. Motivated by the world future generations will inherit, she has worked across local and federal government, community organisations and integrity initiatives, with a consistent focus on transparency, accountability and speaking up in the public interest.

When Council reassurance isn’t the same as explanation

If you’ve ever read a Council document and thought, that doesn’t quite say what it’s pretending to say, you’re not imagining things.

This is what my experience working with my local council has taught me, first as a civics reporter and now as a citizen journalist. I have written this post to help people feel confident engaging, asking questions and standing up for their community.

Having been in the firing line myself, there are a few patterns you start to recognise.

First, process is not the same as truth. When councils say a matter has been reviewed or investigated, what that usually means is that procedures have been checked. It does not mean all relevant voices were heard, all facts were tested, or the full context was examined. A process can be followed perfectly and still leave the real questions untouched.

Second, reassurance is not the same as accountability. Communities are often told nothing is wrong, it’s only procedural, or there will be consultation later. Those statements may be technically accurate, but they don’t explain what decisions have already been made, what limits are already set, or how much influence the community will actually have. Reassurance can close a conversation without resolving it.

Third, councils work hard to control the narrative. Key decisions are wrapped in calming language, framed as minor steps, or buried in long reports and attachments. The important details sit in technical documents, footnotes, or papers released late, when attention has already moved on. By the time the implications are clear, momentum is well underway. Once you see this pattern, you start reading past the headlines and paying close attention to the words being used.

Why this matters to me

I didn’t learn how Council processes work by accident. I learned by living through one.

In my case, a court case was underway involving a development where the community stood to receive close to one million dollars in contributions under a Section 7.11 agreement that the developer had already entered into. While that case was still before the court, Council withdrew the 7.11 and shifted to a Section 7.12 contributions framework.

Because of that timing, the judge could only assess the development under the 7.12 system. The result was that the community lost around $970,000 in developer contributions.

When Council later reviewed the matter, what they examined was whether they were permitted to change from 7.11 to 7.12. What was not examined was when the change was made, how it intersected with an active court case, or the financial impact that timing had on the community.

That experience taught me a lasting lesson. Processes can be followed, reviews can be completed, and yet the outcome can still fall well short of what the community reasonably expected.

It’s why I pay close attention to how decisions are framed, when changes are made, and what questions are – and aren’t – being asked. I want other community groups to understand these dynamics early, so they can advocate with their eyes open and not mistake procedural compliance for genuine accountability.

Finally, this is why community advocacy matters. Formal processes happen behind closed doors. Advocacy keeps issues visible. It creates space for questions, brings in expertise, and helps people engage at the point when it still matters. When communities understand how these systems operate, they are far better equipped to stand up for themselves and for the places they care about.

Good governance depends on more than process. It relies on clarity, honesty and a community that feels confident enough to ask questions and expect real answers.

Once you’ve seen how the language works, you can’t unsee it. And that awareness makes all the difference.

#Kiama #LocalGovernment #CommunityVoice #PlanningTransparency #CivicEngagement #PublicInterest #GoodGovernance #CitizenJournalism #KiamaCommunity #Accountability

We get 2000mm of rain and still hold our breath every time it falls

What makes this time of year properly exhilarating, and exhausting, is that we are heading into a season where everything can flip overnight. We can go from 36 degrees one day to 20 the next, from cows seeking shade and water to cows standing in pouring rain wondering what just happened.

That swing matters.

In summer, rain is not about volume, it is about relief. Relief for pasture that is holding on. Relief for soils that dry fast on the hill. Relief for animals coping with heat stress one day and humidity the next. A cool change with rain can buy time. A hot northerly without follow up can undo weeks of careful management.

This is why summer rain is watched with such intensity. Not because we expect miracles, but because timing is everything. A storm after a 36 degree day can reset a system. A storm followed by another hot blast can vanish almost before it has soaked in.

So yes, we get excited when it rains, even averaging 2,000 mm on paper. Because summer reminds you very quickly that farming here is not about averages, it is about adaptability. One eye on the sky, one eye on the forecast, and a deep appreciation for every break in the heat that gives grass, cows, and people a chance to breathe.

#JamberooValley #DairyFarming #RainfallReality #AustralianAgriculture #SupportLocalFarmers #ClimateVariability #HighRainfallFarming #FarmingLife

Using AI is about working smarter not handing over your voice

I have been teaching people how to use AI productively for some time now, and the one thing I always emphasise is this,

AI is a tool, not a substitute for your judgement or your voice.

If you want to write a blog the way I write a blog, the good news is that the same approach works for anyone. After more than twelve years of blogging, I know what makes a post successful, but I also know how long proper research and proofreading can take. That is where AI can help without taking anything away from the integrity of the work.

It scares me that I am so successful at giving Barnaby Joyce so much oxygen but in this case he did “grope” a very good friend   and this blog was written well before anyone knew what AI would be capable of ( I might run it through AI now and see what it says 😄😄)

Right now, community members regularly send me information they would like explained, unpacked or placed in context. Sometimes that information sits outside my expertise. When that happens, I place everything I have been given into AI and say fact check this and give me references for every claim. This is vital because it helps me avoid amplifying errors that circulate online.

Once I have verified information, I write the blog myself. Every idea, every sentence, every framing choice is mine. When the draft is complete, I use AI again for the practical steps that usually take hours, spelling, clarity checks and suggestions that improve readability. We all know how long proofreading takes and this is one task AI can do in seconds.

I also ask it to format the piece so the structure guides the reader and the length stays within that sweet spot where people do not scroll past ( otherwise known as TL:DR). After that, I ask for SEO # tags and share tags so the post lands where it needs to land.

None of that replaces experience. None of it replaces judgement or voice.

The work is mine. AI simply perfects the polish. It allows me to spend my time where it matters, thinking clearly, listening to the community and writing in a way that is accessible, trusted and human.

AI doesn’t think for me. It sharpens the work I’m already doing.

BTW Kiama Tourism rates the power of AI so highly for local businesses  they ran an event on it 

AI was front and centre, with Liz Ward of Tourism Tribe leading the charge.

As another very important aside ( do hope you haven’t got to the TL:DR point)

AI does not replace experience, judgement or voice. It simply sharpens the work I am already doing. It also matters to recognise that AI is a new set of skills, and like any skill, it helps to learn from people who already know the terrain.

These days you need a licence to drive a car, and you only get that licence after someone qualified decides you have done the hard yards.

This is also why I have such a large network. I have always recognised that other people hold skills I do not, and it matters to have those people in my inner circle. It lifts the standard of my work and broadens the way I see the world.

Refusing to use AI is a bit like announcing you will ride your horse to Sydney because cars seem a bit modern. You can do it, of course, but everyone will know you made life harder than it needed to be.

And thank goodness calculators were invented. My mathematical skills alone would not have advanced civilisation.

BTW I am confident the entire Kiama Community will be grateful when Kiama Municipal Council start using it so their communication is less aggressive, less patronising and they remember it’s not all about them.
Perhaps they could sign up for my workshops!!!

#UsingAI #CommunityVoices #EthicalWriting #DigitalSkills #ResponsibleTech