Category: Society, Justice and Change

Still Coming to Terms With Gareth Ward? So Am I.

Over the past week, I’ve written about what it means to face hard truths as a community. I’ve spoken about the bravery of the two young men who came forward, and the importance of recognising harm even when it’s wrapped in charm, power, or public approval.

Today, I want to turn the lens inward. Because as Gareth Ward is taken into custody, many of us are left with quieter questions — about what we believed, who we supported, and how we respond when our assumptions are shaken.

We all know the spotlight is on our community right now. The media is asking the question out loud, how could we vote for someone under this kind of cloud? And maybe you’ve had friends from outside the area ask you the same thing. It’s uncomfortable, and it can feel personal. But most of us were voting for the version of the person we thought we knew. And now, we’re being asked to hold that discomfort, to reflect, and to work out where we go from here, together.

Some of my friends, people I care about deeply, were strong supporters of Gareth. I haven’t asked them how they feel now. Maybe they’re unsure. Maybe they’re not ready to talk. And maybe I don’t know how, or maybe I don’t want to start the conversation.

But here’s what I do know: empathy matters. And not just empathy for others, empathy for ourselves too. It’s okay to say we didn’t know. It’s okay to say we’ve changed our minds. And it’s okay to feel conflicted when someone who once seemed worthy of our support is revealed to have caused harm. No amount of charm, power, or public approval excuses abuse. And the courage to admit we got it wrong — that is a form of strength too.

We don’t always get it right. We don’t always see everything at once. Most of us are just doing the best we can with what we know at the time. And sometimes we learn more, and our thinking changes. That’s not weakness. That’s growth.

It’s okay to say, “I don’t know.”
It’s okay to say, “I used to think that, but I see it differently now.”
It’s okay to change your mind without feeling ashamed.

Most of us know someone who has experienced abuse or wrongdoing. And many of us have asked ourselves quietly, “What would I have done in their place?” I know I have and honestly, there are moments where I don’t know if I would have handled it any differently.

That’s why I think the way forward isn’t about getting it perfect. It’s about being honest. It’s about giving ourselves, and each other, the space to reflect, to shift, and to keep learning.

We’re on the track. Let’s keep walking it, together.

BTW If you have a subscription to the SMH this is worthwhile read

He rots in jail for sex crimes, but this MP keeps his taxpayer-funded salary

#EmpathyMatters #LearningInPublic #ChangingMinds #MakingRoomForGrowth #CivicCourage #ReflectAndGrow #KiamaVoices #CommunityHealing

Gareth Ward – When Conviction Isn’t the End of the Story

Over the weekend, I was invited to contribute to someone else’s blog post. This afternoon, I found myself speaking live on ABC radio. The topic? Gareth Ward – our local member of Parliament who, despite facing serious sexual assault charges, was re-elected by the people of Kiama. And who, as of Friday, has now been found guilty.

On Wednesday, he will be sentenced.

And if he refuses to resign, our community may be represented by someone serving time in prison. Let that sink in.

Constitutional law expert Professor Anne Twomey explains on her YouTube channel that under changes to the state’s constitution in 2000, conviction is considered to mean “once you have reached the end of the appeals process, if you choose to appeal, and not had the conviction overturned”. (Those still in contact with Ward say he is defiant and will appeal.) Source

Both sides of Parliament have asked for his resignation. The media is circling, not because this is a quirky sideshow, but because they can’t quite believe it either: how did a man charged with these crimes manage to keep his seat?

I’ve asked myself the same thing. And to be honest, I still don’t know the full answer.

What I do know is that our community is split. Some people feel vindicated. Others feel betrayed. Many more just don’t want to talk about it. You hear it in the awkward pauses, someone mentions the conviction, another person offers an opinion, someone else disagrees  and then silence. Then a change of subject.

It’s a clear example of how hard we find it, as a community, to have difficult conversations. Not just online, but in everyday life.

And here’s what’s even harder  – accepting that someone who appeared to be dedicated, effective, and focused on outcomes for the community could also have been abusing their power in deeply harmful ways.

The dissonance isn’t about personal warmth. It’s about the contradiction between public competence and private conduct, and our tendency to overlook troubling behaviour if we think someone is “getting things done.”

That contradiction isn’t new. We’ve seen it in religious institutions, in Hollywood, in politics. And still, every time, it unsettles us. We want the world to be simpler than it is.

It reminds me of what we’ve seen in the United States,  where Donald Trump, despite multiple criminal charges, has been elected president not once, but twice. It’s bizarre, but it also says something about how loyalty works. Once people commit to a political figure, it often doesn’t matter what comes to light. The story becomes about defending a side rather than confronting the facts. And we’re seeing a version of that play out here too.

So now we find ourselves in this strange place. A man has been convicted of serious crimes, and some people still defend him. Others want to move on. Others want answers. And many of us, myself included, are wondering what we do next.

I don’t have easy answers. I do have a strong opinion. But I also know I can’t force it on anyone else.

So instead, I want to ask some questions:
How do we build a political culture that values integrity over popularity?
– Why do we ignore red flags when they come from people we think are delivering results?
– What kind of leadership do we deserve  and what do we tolerate instead?
– What would it take for our community to stop whispering and start talking?
– And perhaps most importantly: How do we move forward without brushing this under the carpet?

Because at the heart of this are two young men who had the courage to come forward. That cannot be forgotten.

The data is clear: only 13% of sexual assault cases are reported to police. Just 1.5% to 3% result in a conviction.

So, when a jury delivers a guilty verdict, it matters. It shows the system can work, and it gives others hope that they’ll be heard.

And then there’s the timeline. These men waited almost five years for this case to be resolved. That kind of delay is traumatic in itself, it shows how long justice can take, and why so many victims don’t come forward.

We may not all agree on what should happen next. But we can agree that the courage it took to speak up deserves to be acknowledged, and that justice, when it comes, must mean something.

The ABC closed our interview with a question: What would I like to see happen next?

My answer

When we have the by-election, I would like to see our community put aside their commitment to being lifelong Liberal supporters, or lifelong Labor supporters, or lifelong Greens supporters, and truly listen to what these candidates have to say. Investigate what they have done for their communities. And make a decision based on this question, does this person represent my values?

#GarethWard #KiamaVotes #CommunityAccountability #LeadershipMatters #PoliticalIntegrity #CivicCourage #PowerAndTruth #HardConversations #JusticeAndTrust

What If We’re Teaching the Wrong History?

 

When I was at school, history was dates and battles, World War I, World War II, Gallipoli, the Depression. But even back then, 55 years ago, the Middle East was in turmoil, Southeast Asia was shifting under our feet, and Indigenous voices in Australia were demanding to be heard. None of that made it into the classroom.

We were taught facts. Not how to think about them.

No one ever asked: What can we learn from history? How do we hold different perspectives? What does it mean to disagree respectfully? Or to understand where someone else is coming from, even when we don’t agree?

And it matters, because if history doesn’t teach us how to listen, how to think, how to judge wisely, then we’re not learning history. We’re learning trivia.

Chris Wallace, a historian and professor, says the same thing in a recent ABC interview. She argues that decades of neoliberalism have narrowed the purpose of education into something transactional, training people to “get a job,” not become thoughtful citizens. History and literature have been among the first subjects to be cut. They’re seen as “nice to have,” not “must have.”

But what do we lose when we strip those subjects away?

We lose critical thinking. We lose wisdom. We lose the kind of broad understanding that helps societies steer through complexity without being manipulated by loud voices or narrow interests. As Wallace puts it, we end up with people in elite positions “who are highly trained—but not deeply educated.”

She’s not just talking about university. She’s talking about a mindset. And it’s showing up in the way we do democracy, especially at the local level.

We talk a lot about “community consultation” in local government. But let’s be honest, most of the time, it’s just a box-ticking exercise. Surveys, feedback forms, public meetings that go nowhere. We capture mass opinion, but we don’t help people work through the hard stuff: trade-offs, values, vision.

Jay Weatherill, the former SA Premier, says public opinion sits on a continuum—from magical thinking (“lower taxes and better services for all!”) to mature public judgement. And it’s the job of leadership to help us move along that line. Not by preaching. Not by pretending to have all the answers. But by creating space for proper dialogue.

That’s what good history teaches us too. That life is complex. That truth depends on where you’re standing. That understanding how we got here helps us work out where we go next.

It’s no wonder students are disengaging. As Wallace says, if you remove meaningful options, if there’s no space to explore Australia’s political history, social history, Indigenous history, then we’re not just dumbing down education. We’re forgetting our own story.

And when we forget our own story, we’re easy to manipulate. We stop asking questions. We confuse certainty with truth.

So here’s my hope.

That we teach history not just as a set of facts, but as a way of thinking.

That we expect more from civic engagement than noisy town halls.

That we stop asking people what they want and start asking why they want it, and what it will take.

That we invest not just in infrastructure, but in informed decision making, in the skills and tools communities need to think together.

Because democracy isn’t just about who wins the vote. It’s about whether we can still talk to each other after.

Additional reading option

Top Australian writers urge Albanese to abolish Job-Ready Graduates, calling their humanities degrees life changing

Humanities faculties are being restructured not because they cost too much to run, but because they are perceived to return too little. Yet the skills they foster – interpretive reasoning, ethical judgement, historical understanding – remain essential to democratic life.

This post is dedicated to a very wise man,  Peter Bailey Brown , who I wish I met earlier

Peter Brown is a man whose legacy continues to unfold in paddocks, policies, and in the lives of the people he’s helped along the way. From the paddocks of Cudal to the boardrooms of international development…

Peter has never lost sight of what matters: listening, learning, and finding practical, human ways forward.

#HistoryMatters #CriticalThinking #PublicJudgement #DeliberativeDemocracy #CivicLeadership #Neoliberalism #EducationReform #DemocracyInPractice #CommunityVoice #LearningFromHistory #TeachTheWholeStory

What I Thought I Was Doing And What I’ve Learnt Instead

When I first began writing opinion pieces for the local paper, I thought I was there to change minds.

I believed that if I presented a strong enough argument, grounded in evidence and guided by conviction, I could shift people’s thinking. I thought that was my role: to persuade.

But over time, I’ve come to understand something more important. My job wasn’t to convince, it was to inform. It was to bring forward the issues that matter, so others could think for themselves. To create space for people to feel informed and empowered enough to participate. That, I’ve realised, is the quiet work of democracy.

I’ve also learnt that true influence rarely comes from telling others what to think. It comes from listening well, sharing openly, and making room for perspectives beyond your own. It’s about moving from an “I” focus to a “we” focus, not because we all agree, but because we believe in one another’s right to engage with the hard stuff.

This shift in understanding mirrors what I’ve seen in the movement for citizen juries and deliberative democracy. These processes don’t hand over power to the loudest voice, they invite ordinary people to consider complex issues deeply and together. And time and again, the results are thoughtful, measured, and grounded in lived experience. Participants surprise us, not because they suddenly become experts, but because they approach problems with humility, empathy, and care.

Still, the sector faces a challenge. It needs more than stories, it needs impact data. Decision-makers, especially in government, often remain resistant even in the face of compelling examples: on homelessness, electricity pricing, insurance reform, climate action.

There’s a frustrating gap between what works and what’s politically safe.

Part of the problem is fear. If politicians adopt citizen jury recommendations without scrutiny, they risk backlash. If they reject them, it breeds public cynicism. “Fake consultation drives people mad,” as former Premier Jay Weatherill warned.

It takes courage to own big problems, to share decision-making, and to act on what the public decides.

We also face a legitimacy paradox. Should citizen assemblies be embedded in our systems before they’re widely accepted? Or should they prove their value first in ad hoc ways?

The answer, I believe, lies in outcomes. Don’t make the process the debate, make the results visible. Show what people are capable of when they’re trusted to think together.

I’ve learnt that writing, like deliberation, isn’t about control. It’s about contribution.

It’s not about shaping the outcome, but about helping shape the conditions in which thoughtful decisions can emerge. It’s about lifting the level of conversation.

And that, to me, is the heart of it. Whether in journalism or policy, change happens when people stop trying to win and start trying to understand.

When we stop shouting from the margins and start gathering in the middle.

When we replace certainty with curiosity, and “I” with “we”.

#DeliberativeDemocracy #CitizenVoice #LeadershipWithCourage #ListenFirst #TrustThePublic

How to Master the Fine Art of Bureaucratic Spin (No Soul Required)

Satirical representation. No actual clowns were employed in the making of this council.

Looking to pivot away from meaningful communication and into a career where vague language, circular logic and passive voice reign supreme? You might just have what it takes to become a spin doctor in local government.

At Kiama Council, we’ve seen the craft honed to such dizzying heights, it really ought to be a university major. So, for those inspired by recent exhibitions of bureaucratic ballet, here’s a breakdown of the essential skill set, and the degree you’d need, to enter this murky but marvellously well-defended world.

📚 Degree: Bachelor of Arts (in Obfuscation and Delay)

Double major in Strategic Ambiguity and Circular Consultation

Core Subjects Might Include:

  • Intro to Passive Voice
    “Mistakes were made.”
    Learn how to strip agency from every sentence so no one ever knows who did what, or why.

  • Advanced Euphemism
    Translate “we stuffed it” into “unexpected budgetary variance within a dynamic delivery environment.”

  • Spin Cycle 101
    Turn every negative into an ‘opportunity for growth’, preferably in 600 words or more.

  • Community Engagement (Optional Elective)
    Because listening is optional. But looking like you’re listening? That’s gold.

  • Excel Acrobatics
    Essential for hiding real meaning inside colourful bar graphs with zero context.

  • Public Speaking for Politicians and Possums
    How to appear calm, cute, and a little bit confused, while firmly refusing to answer the question.

🛠 Real-World Skills Required

  • Deadline Evasion:
    An internal clock that knows how to stall until after the next election cycle.

  • Email Mastery:
    Say everything while saying nothing. Bonus points for including the words “noted,” “strategic,” and “ongoing.”

  • The Long Pause:
    Perfected by council spokespersons everywhere. Gives the illusion of deep thought while waiting for legal to respond.

  • Meeting Bingo:
    Learn how to use terms like “framework,” “lens,” “alignment” and “stakeholder pathways” in a sentence without blinking.

At Kiama Council, we don’t just admire this art form, we live it. From “monitoring future needs” to “aligning with state frameworks,” every missed opportunity is neatly packaged and returned to sender with a bow and a hyperlink to a 72-page PDF no one asked for.

So if you’ve ever read a council report and found yourself more confused than when you started, don’t worry, it’s not you. It’s working as intended.

#KiamaCouncil #BureaucraticSpin #LocalGovLife #PassiveVoiceMasters #StrategicAmbiguity #StakeholderBingo #YouveBeenFrameworked

Why Can’t Governments Let Go? When the Community Moves On But Power Clings to Conflict

Lately, I’ve found myself on a learning journey. Watching what’s happening in the world, and even in my own backyard, I keep coming back to the same question: How do our governments keep getting us into these messes? Conflicts that last for decades, policies that make enemies out of neighbours, and a constant sense that ordinary people are dragged into fights they didn’t start and don’t want.

So I started digging, and here’s what I’ve found. While everyday people often find ways to move on and connect, their governments often don’t. And that disconnect is costing us all.

The broader community don’t hold onto old grudges. They care about safety, family, work and being able to live in peace. They’re not the ones calling for wars or enforcing sanctions. In fact, across the globe, people are reaching across national and ideological lines to find common ground.

A young Iranian might admire Israeli medical tech. A Cuban musician collaborates with an American on YouTube. Indians and Pakistanis laugh together on social media. North and South Koreans cry when they’re briefly allowed to see long-lost relatives. These aren’t enemies. They’re people who recognise shared humanity.

Governments operate differently. Conflict can serve political goals. It creates a clear enemy. It unites people through fear. And it often justifies repression, spending or staying in power.

Sometimes it’s about ideology. For example, Iran’s government positions itself as morally opposed to Israel. China defines itself partly through its claim over Taiwan. And even in democracies, strong anti-enemy rhetoric can win votes.

Letting go of an old rivalry means rethinking identity, power and control. That’s not something governments do easily.

While politicians trade threats and play long games, it’s everyday people who suffer.

Civilians are the ones displaced, bombed, or cut off by sanctions. Families are split by borders. Passports become tools of isolation. Trade stops. Opportunities dry up. The people who want peace often have the least power to make it happen.

Despite all this, i think change is possible. In many cases, people-to-people diplomacy and cultural connection can begin to soften political hard lines. Civil society organisations, global communities, and public sentiment can create pressure for peace.

It may be slow, but history shows that citizen voices can grow too loud for governments to ignore.

“Governments start conflicts in suits and end them in silence. But it’s everyday people who pay the cost — and often hold the key to peace.”

Interesting read in the conversation

Do all Iranians hate the regime? Hate America? Life inside the country is more complex than that

#CitizensForPeace, #PeopleNotPolitics, #VoicesOfChange, #EverydayDiplomacy, #PeaceStartsWithUs, #EndTheCycle, #GlobalSolidarity, #CommonGround, #PowerOfThePeople, #HumanFirst, #ReclaimPeace, #ThinkBeyondBorders, #HopeInTheOrdinary

Empathy is not a declaration of loyalty, it’s a declaration of humanity ❤️‍🩹

This image speaks to me. It captures a truth too often lost in polarised times: empathy is not a declaration of loyalty, it’s a declaration of humanity ❤️‍🩹

When you grieve for a Palestinian child or worry for an Israeli hostage, it does not mean you’ve chosen a side. It means you have chosen to care 🕊️

The world will try to force you into a corner, to brand your compassion as bias and your sorrow as political. But refusing to dehumanise others is not weakness. It is the only strength that moves us forward 💪

You are allowed to feel — to mourn, to question, to hope — without needing anyone’s permission, and without needing to apologise for the complexity of being human 🤍

Holding space for suffering on all sides is not fence-sitting. It’s refusing to be blind 👁️

#EmpathyIsNotAllegiance #HumanityFirst #CompassionMatters #HoldComplexity #RefuseToBeBlind #PeaceWithJustice #ConscienceAndCare #SpeakWithHeart #ChooseToCare