The Building Is the Thing

Sixteen years, one very narrow road, and several quietly skeptical dinner parties later: Michael aboard Archimedes.

There’s a question that creeps up on people somewhere in their sixties and seventies. It arrives quietly and starts sitting in the room. What do you want this stretch of life to be for? Some people decide the answer is rest. Some chase the places they never got to. Some pour themselves into grandchildren, or a garden, or finally restoring the car that’s been under a tarp for twenty years. And a stubborn, wonderful few decide that what they want is to build something enormous and improbable with their own two hands, just to prove it can be done.

Michael is one of those few.

On the side of Saddleback Mountain, at Jamberoo, he set out to build an ocean-going catamaran. A self-designed, eighteen-and-a-half-metre boat, built in his own backyard. He’d talk about it with this great, infectious enthusiasm: the big idea, the plan, the vision of it finished and on the water. And beside him, as she always is, his gorgeous wife Susie would sit and smile. What a woman she is.

He’d bring it up at dinner parties, the way other people mention a renovation or a recent trip, and around the table you’d see the same look settle on every face. We were all thinking something. We were each, I suspect, thinking something completely different. Somewhere in that circle was jealousy, and amazement, and flat incredulity, quietly calculating the boat’s chances against a road that accommodates cows and precisely one car at a time. We’d nod warmly and pass the wine. Then we’d go home to our perfectly normal backyards, containing no catamaran whatsoever.

How on earth are you ever going to get it out of here?

When he started, I doubt Michael imagined it would take sixteen years. The big idea rarely comes with the small print attached. Somewhere along the way there was even talk that the ABC might make a documentary of it, that the grand finale would see the boat lifted out by helicopter, surely the only sensible way to get a thing that size off a mountain. Anyone who knew the narrow road he lived on was asking the same question we all were: how on earth are you ever going to get it out of here?

Photo credit

The helicopter stayed on the ground and the documentary went unmade. What happened instead was better: the boat was cut into pieces and crawled down a narrow road, metre by metre, over the better part of a week. The polished launch footage you can find online skips all of that and shows the dream going into the water, clean and triumphant, with the difficult and stubborn and real parts left on the cutting-room floor. Watching it, knowing what it actually took, I find myself quietly amused. That’s a long way from how it looked coming down the hill.

The building is the thing. Some people garden. Some people restore cars. Michael and Susie built an ocean-going boat by hand, for sixteen years.

Where they take it, and whether they take it anywhere at all, almost feels secondary to having proved it could be done.

The launch video carries a line as its title: to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. It’s the closing line of Tennyson’s Ulysses, a poem about old age and the refusal to stop. Whoever chose it understood exactly what this was: a way of answering that quiet question that arrives in your sixties and never quite leaves.

What do you want to do with the years you’ve got left?

Michael and Susie answered it on the side of a mountain, one piece of fibreglass at a time. And the boat is finally on the water.

Want to hear more from Michael and learn what does it take to pull off an incredible Project like ” Archimedes” ?

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.

Councils rely on silence until a community remembers its voice

The three arrows represent the choices communities face when they encounter a council that holds all the authority and none of the curiosity. The left and right paths symbolise the familiar reactions that come with frustration, blame or fatigue. The path labelled Forward shows something different. It marks the moment a community steps out of the noise and moves with clarity and principle. Forward is the empowerment choice. It is the reminder that while we cannot control council’s behaviour, we can control how we act, how we respond, our character and how we treat others. It is the road that stays true to who we are.

When council forgets who the power belongs to

Power imbalance appears when a council begins to behave as if authority is ownership.
Information becomes selective. Access becomes conditional. The community is treated as an audience rather than the owner.

People feel the shift long before they name it. Straightforward questions turn into complicated pathways. Residents are managed instead of respected. Accountability starts to look optional.

How people get pushed toward the victim triangle

When the field is uneven, communities can slide into powerless roles. They feel dismissed or stonewalled and begin reacting from frustration, fatigue, or blame.
This is a predictable response to a system that holds all the levers.

The moment a community shifts from powerless to unstoppable

The way back is the empowerment triangle

Communities regain their footing when they centre the only things they control:
• how they act
• how they respond
• their character
• how they treat others

This is where agency settles in.
People organise. They ask precise questions. They document facts. They refuse drama. They stand in clarity rather than reaction.
The power imbalance may still exist, but it no longer defines the community’s stance.

The simple principles that turn frustration into power

The shift that matters

Once people anchor themselves in principle, the dynamic changes.
Council can still try to shape the story or slow the process, but they cannot control a community that knows its rights, its voice, and its values.

The forward road belongs to all of us – if we make courage a shared act
And even though some people cannot speak openly because they depend on Council, the community can still walk that road together. Forward is not the loudest choice, it is the principled one. It is how we hold our ground, protect each other and keep insisting on the standards our local government was meant to uphold.

#Kiama #CommunityVoice #GoodGovernance #Transparency #Empowerment #CivicEngagement #Accountability #LocalGovernment #PowerImbalance

I also acknowledge advocating/truth-telling at this level is easier for me. Once their actions forced me to leave a job I loved, I don’t rely on Council for anything, and I know many people who want to speak up but worry they will be punished for it. We all know examples of that happening in our community.

The Woodcraft Group showed leadership when Council did not

I have done more leadership and negotiation courses than I can count. They do not make me a good leader. They do not make me a good negotiator. What they do give me is the ability to recognise leadership when I see it, and to recognise when it is missing.

And looking at this Woodcraft Group mess, leadership has been missing from the very people who should have shown it.

Here is the truth.
There were phone calls.
There were meetings.
There were chances to resolve this early, quietly and respectfully.
None of it made a difference.
Those conversations ended up being a waste of time because the people in the room were not prepared to act.

Leadership is not complicated.
It is not a twenty page report or a confidential motion.
It is not silence dressed as process.

Leadership is the ability to say, I hear you.
It is the courage to face a mistake, even a small one.
It is the strength to stay open when closing ranks feels safer.
It is the discipline to choose honesty over convenience.

The Woodcraft Group did not receive leadership.
They received delays, contradictions and closed doors.

And yet the most powerful leadership in this story came from the people with the least influence.
The people who stayed calm.
The people who kept asking fair questions.
The people who followed their values when they had every reason to give up.

That is leadership.
That is integrity.
That is character.

Leadership is not a title.
It is a behaviour.
And in this case, the only real leadership came from the people who had no authority at all, only a belief in doing the right thing.

#Kiama #KiamaCouncil #Leadership #CommunityLeadership #Transparency #Accountability #LocalGovernment #Jamberoo #KiamaWoodcraftGroup #CommunityAdvocacy #CouncilCulture

Kiama’s party history society shows how heritage gets done

There are book launches, and then there is the Kiama Historical Society throwing itself a fiftieth birthday party with cake for 40 that somehow feeds about 145.

On 22 November the Society launched Dr Tony Gilmour’s new book Celebrating History Defending Heritage 50 years of Kiama Historical Society at Kiama library. The running joke of the afternoon was that this is not a dull, dusty organisation. As Tony reminded us, this is the Party History Society. The program proved his point.

A welcome that starts where it should

President Sue Eggins opened by introducing a room full of living history. Former mayor and founding instigator Neville Fredericks. Long-time leaders Ben and Margaret Meek. Volunteers, members, councillors and mayors. Then she handed to Aunty Dr Joyce Donovan, Wodi Wodi Elder and founding Aboriginal patron, to welcome us to Country.

Aunty Dr Joyce Donovan- Patron with Sue Eggins- President Kiama Historical Society.

Aunty Joyce did what she always does. She began with story. La Perouse to Red Rock and down this coast. Salt water people. The last great corroboree at Kiama. The birthing places along the Minnamurra river. The tent that became the first Illawarra Aboriginal medical service, and her job as a young woman lighting the fire so the doctor could wash his hands.

She talked about what happens when Aboriginal memories and settler memories sit side by side. Families bring her documents and stories, she tests them against the old people’s knowledge and the historians’ papers, and together they build something solid.

“Between the lot of us,” she said, “we have some fantastic stuff here.”

From archives to fish and chips wars

Then it was Tony’s turn. In between promising not to write another book for at least a year, he walked us through five decades of local history work. The birth of the Pilot’s Cottage Museum.

The very polite but determined shift from “serious scholarly society” to “we like a party as well as write papers.” Heritage weeks with costumes and home-grown theatre.

He reminded us that this town went from losing buildings without a second thought to describing itself proudly as a heritage centre. That didn’t happen by accident. It happened because people like Sue, Ben, Neville, Gordon and Heather Bell, and many others, went from writing letters to fronting picket lines, collaring ministers on Terralong Street when buildings like Barroul House and the police residence were under threat.

Sue followed with forty years of personal memories. Discovering the Society accidentally over high tea in the Pilot’s Cottage. Mentors like Fran Whalan and Bill and Joan Leyshon who seemed to live up there with paintbrushes in hand. Four decades of fights for buildings that many towns would have shrugged off as too hard or too far gone.

She listed exhibitions that have quietly shaped the way locals see this place. The Lost and Found Treasures of Kiama show that documented houses we saved and houses we lost. The celebrations of Charmian Clift and Orry-Kelly that reclaimed people who barely rated a mention in their own town at the time of their deaths. The recent Orry-Kelly gala opening, complete with furs and frocks, that turned a costume designer into a household name again.

What struck me, listening to Aunty Joyce, Tony and Sue, was how much of Kiama’s identity now rests on the work of volunteers who read minutes, chase grants, run events and, when needed, stand in front of a bulldozer with a clipboard.

Fifty years on, the Historical Society is still doing what its constitution once called “promoting social intercourse” and what we might now call bringing people together so our stories do not get paved over.

Mayor Cameron McDonald (left) and Fiona Phillips MP (right) are patrons of the Kiama Historical Society, alongside Aunty Joyce Donovan. Dr Tony Gilmour (centre back), Vice President of the Society and author of the two books shown, joined them at the launch. Apologies to Aunty Joyce, she was in such demand on the day that I missed getting a photo of her with the full team.

On the way out, people bought books, poured wine, served cake and argued cheerfully about which battle over which building was the hairiest. It felt fitting. If history in this town is safe in anyone’s hands, it is probably in the hands of a party loving history society that knows how to mix frocks, fireworks and footnotes.

The book is available through this link for $25, with free delivery in the Kiama council area. All proceeds to Kiama Historical Society.

BTW Readers I do have better quality photos which I will locate and replace some currently in this blog

#KiamaHistory #KiamaStories #LocalHeritageMatters #HistoricalSociety #CommunityHeritage #LivingHistory #WodiWodiCountry #AuntyJoyceDonovan #PilotCottageMuseum #KiamaVolunteers #ProtectOurPast #DefendingHeritage #CelebratingHistory #CharmianClift #OrryKelly #KiamaIdentity #HeritageChampions #SavingOldKiama #IllawarraHistory #FiftyYearsStrong #GrassrootsHistory #HistoryInTheHandsOfCommunity #PartyHistorySociety #KiamaProud #RegionalHistory #CultureAndCommunity #OurSharedStory #HeritageIsCommunity #KiamaVoices #LocalLegends

When Jamberoo’s dairy men outsmarted Mrs Jones.

Julia Child famously said “With enough butter, anything is good”.

It is one of those delicious footnotes in Australian dairy history. While the margarine world rolled out Mrs Jones (see footnote images), the fictional housewife who campaigned against margarine quotas in Australia, the men at the Jamberoo Dairy Factory were quietly proving that rural ingenuity could beat any marketing campaign, no matter how determined her smile.

Mrs Jones objected loudly to restrictions on vegetable oils. Jamberoo’s dairy men responded in the most Jamberoo way possible: they made butter that tasted so good even the margarine companies secretly kept an eye on them. It was a win win born from stubbornness, pride and a deep belief that butter should never apologise for being butter.

They knew the margarine firms wanted to get vegetable oils into every kitchen. So Geoff Boxsell and Kevin Richardson and their Jamberoo Dairy Factory team simply did the unexpected.

Mrs Jones, the fictional housewife claimed Australians deserved choice, Geoff and Kevin quietly made a different kind of choice available

They worked out how to blend cream with safflower and sunflower oils to create the first spreadable butter, long before anyone in a city boardroom saw it coming. They faced threats that their factory licence would be revoked and even received a stern letter from the NSW Department of Agriculture telling them “to pull their heads in.” The men kept going.

Jamberoo Dairy Factory had the best butter in the state for 15 yrs in a row and in 1976 won Supreme Dairy Product in Australia.

The result was a product so successful that it immediately found a local black market of farmers who refused to hand it back once the Department of Agriculture paused its release. If anything, Mrs Jones proved useful; the louder she complained about margarine quotas, the more the Jamberoo team doubled down on better butter.

In the end, both sides claimed victory. Mrs Jones rallied the nation’s housewives. Jamberoo’s dairy men created a spreadable butter that reshaped breakfasts for ever. A fictional housewife and a group of practical innovators from a small valley accidentally created the same outcome: more choice for everyone at the table.

A win for Mrs Jones, a win for Jamberoo, and a very big win for anyone who has ever tried to spread cold butter on toast.

The Backstory

The long battle between butter and margarine

Timeline of the Mrs Jones campaign, the margarine quotas, and what Jamberoo did differently

Early 1900s to 1950s

Regulation of margarine begins

State governments introduce strict limits on margarine manufacture to protect the dairy industry.
Some states impose colour bans so margarine cannot resemble butter.
Quotas are applied to table margarine production.
The dairy industry is politically powerful and deeply connected to rural communities.

1950s

The protectionist system tightens

Margarine producers must apply for manufacturing quotas.
The dairy industry defends quotas as essential to farm incomes.
Vegetable oil processors, including peanut, safflower and sunflower growers, begin pushing back.

1962

The Mrs Jones campaign begins

Marrickville Margarine launches an advertising campaign built around a fictional consumer known as Mrs Jones.
Mrs Jones is framed as the reasonable Australian housewife who wants freedom of choice and who finds production caps ridiculous.

1963 to 1966

The campaign escalates

Full page advertisements and pamphlets appear.
Mrs Jones asks why Australian families should be denied affordable spreads.
The dairy lobby hits back hard and brands the campaign misleading.
Hansard records members saying the campaign is “scurrilous”.
Source: Qld Hansard 1966.

Mid 1960s

Supreme Court cases

Major litigation unfolds between State regulators and Marrickville Margarine.
Cases such as Beal v Marrickville Margarine Pty Ltd become landmarks in food regulation.

Late 1960s to early 1970s

Public sympathy grows

Mrs Jones becomes a household name across Australia.
The campaign becomes one of the country’s most successful long form consumer advertising efforts.
Pressure builds for reform as people question why a spread made from Australian-grown oils is so heavily restricted.

1974 to 1977

Quotas begin to collapse

State by state, restrictions start to fall.
NSW formally withdraws its quota system in 1977.
Australia moves into a period of deregulation.

1980s to 1990s

The aftermath

Margarine becomes mainstream.
The original Mrs Jones ads are remembered as a turning point in food regulation.

Key players

Marrickville Margarine Pty Ltd

The company behind the campaign. They produced margarine using Australian vegetable oils. Their survival depended on challenging quotas.

Richard Charles (Dick) Crebbin

Managing Director and later Chairman of Marrickville.

Determined to break the quota system.
Green-lighted the Mrs Jones campaign.
Source: Australian Dictionary of Biography.

Ben Dawson

Head of the campaign’s early direction.
Source: Australian Oilseeds Federation history.

Solomon (Sim) Rubensohn

Advertising strategist from Hansen Rubensohn McCann Erickson.

Designed the tone and personality of Mrs Jones.
Known as a pioneer of persuasive political and retail advertising.
Source: ADB biography.

State Agriculture Ministers and Dairy Boards

Defenders of the quota regime.

Kept strict licensing in place for decades.
Believed margarine posed an existential threat to dairy incomes.

Vegetable oil farmers

Indirect stakeholders.

Their industries (safflower, sunflower, peanuts, cottonseed) carried the potential to expand if margarine limits were removed.

And then there was Jamberoo

Where innovators quietly solved the problem in a completely different way

While Mrs Jones and Marrickville Margarine ran a national political battle, the men at the Jamberoo Dairy Factory took a different path.

They did not fight margarine.
They reinvented butter.

1970s, Jamberoo Dairy Factory, staffed by innovators who refused to accept limits

Under the leadership of Geoff Boxsell, Kevin Richardson and team, Jamberoo created the first successful spreadable butter in Australia.

And here is the twist that makes the Jamberoo story a perfect counterpoint to Mrs Jones:

They achieved the win win that Sydney advertisers only dreamed of.

What Jamberoo did

They blended cultured cream with safflower and sunflower oils, using local farmers’ milk as the anchor ingredient.
They spent 18 months convincing authorities the product was safe and legal.
They received a stern warning that their licence could be revoked if they continued.
They kept going anyway.
Their early batches developed a black market among local farmers who refused to hand them back once the department pressed pause.
They created a product so successful that it became the forerunner to modern spreadable butter.

This was innovation delivered not through advertising or political lobbying but through talent, persistence and hands-on dairy science.

The real win win

Mrs Jones argued for choice.
Jamberoo delivered it.

Consumers gained a new kind of butter.
Vegetable oil growers saw demand rise.
The dairy industry kept its identity intact.
Farmers in a small valley became accidental trailblazers.

Jamberoo did not need a fictional housewife.
They had something more powerful.
They had a factory full of people who believed that innovation was part of the job.

And let’s not forget the dairy industry had Julia Childs -if only the Jamberoo factory team had sent their sample to Julia!!!!!

Source

Footnote:

A little bit of history from The Bulletin

And this from The Australian in 1966

#ButterVsMargarine #MrsJonesCampaign #FoodRegulationHistory #JamberooInnovation #DairyScience #AgriculturalReform #AustralianFoodHistory #SpreadableButterStory #VegetableOils #SafflowerAndSunflower #InnovationInTheValley #RuralIngenuity #DairyIndustryLegacy

What this palliative care expert taught a room full of strangers about dying well

For those new here, I’ve spent the past month highlighting the toxicity and dysfunction within Kiama Council, and it has drained my energy.

So its time to take a break and focus on taking Alex Reed’s advice and working on thriving

Dear readers, I invite you to stay with me on this blog journey as I turn my attention to the extraordinary humans in our community. People often tell me I write beautiful stories. Now feels like the right time to focus on the good in the world.

When I shared my article with Dr Barbato, he replied with this:

Thank you. You have captured the 30-minute talk perfectly. It is rare to meet someone who hears not only the words one speaks but also the deeper messages

“Show up. Shut up. Listen.”

The room was full. Locals had come together for the usual Lions Club dinner. But when Dr Michael Barbato, a retired palliative care expert, stood up to speak, something shifted.

The clatter of cutlery stopped. The room went quiet.

He came with carefully constructed slides. The kind that draw you in without saying too much. As one woman whispered, “He could teach a masterclass in how to use slides.”

Dr Barbato wasn’t there to give a typical health talk. He spoke with gentle authority and offered the kind of truth most of us spend a lifetime avoiding.

His message was confronting, but never cold. Comforting, without being sentimental.

We all know we’re going to die. But very few of us are ready to talk about it.

“We talk about politics and religion,” he said. “But not dying.”

That silence, he believes, is hurting us.

One story he shared has stayed with me, that of writer Cory Taylor, who died from cancer in 2016. In her final book Dying: A Memoir, Taylor didn’t say the worst part was pain. It was loneliness.

People didn’t know how to be with her. They didn’t know what to say. And so they said nothing.

Dr Barbato reminded us that just a few generations ago, most people died at home, surrounded by family. Now, we’re more likely to die in hospital, disconnected from the people who know us best.

And that, he says, is something we can change.

He spoke about the rise of End-of-Life Doulas – trained companions who support dying people and their families with presence, care and calm. He explained how pain relief is essential not just for physical comfort, but for emotional peace. “When people are in pain,” he said, “all their energy goes to their body. Only when pain is controlled can they start to process the rest.”

But what moved the room most deeply was what he shared next, stories of End-of-Life Visions and Dreams.

A little girl who smiled at something unseen just before she passed.

A woman who dreamed of packed bags and a waiting boat, though no one had told her she was dying.

A young man who saw a visitor named Trent sitting at his bedside.

These experiences, Dr Barbato said, aren’t delusions. They are not side effects of medication or confusion. They are part of the dying process, and they happen more often than most people realise.

“Eighty to one hundred per cent of dying people experience them,” he told us. “And they matter. They bring peace. They open space for conversation, for love, for letting go.”

But what many people remember most from his talk wasn’t a statistic or a vision. It was this:

“The job of visitors is simple. Show up. Shut up. Listen. Be the friend you have always been. These people are living, not dying.”

And truth-telling, he added, doesn’t mean forcing people to acknowledge the end. It means giving them room to talk about dying – if and when they’re ready.

“If they’re not speaking about it,” he said, “they’re not in denial. They’re doing what they need to do.”

Before closing, he shared a story from his own childhood, a near-death experience at age seven, and the moment he watched a dying patient suddenly sit upright, arms outstretched, just minutes before passing.

His final words were simple.

The dying don’t need pity. They don’t need performance.

They need presence.

They need permission.

And they need peace.

#PalliativeCare #EndOfLifeCare #DyingWell #DrMichaelBarbato #PeacefulPassing #Kiama

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.

Harnessing Youth Innovation for Disaster Resilience

Empowering the youth to leverage technology in building a disaster-resilient world.

Our world is no stranger to natural disasters—each year, they become more unpredictable and challenging. In these trying times, the fusion of young minds and innovative technology brings a beacon of hope. This very synergy is the cornerstone of my blog today and the core of our mission at Champions4Change.

As part of this inspirational journey, we’ve embarked on an exciting venture, we are inviting young people to design and develop technology solutions specifically aimed at natural disaster management. The vitality and fresh perspective they bring to the table are unmatched, and when steered towards the creation of resilient frameworks, the potential for impact is vast.

Educate, Equip, Empower

Our approach is threefold. First, we educate. By instilling a keen awareness of the need for emergency preparedness across the Australian population, we lay a foundation for change. But awareness alone is not enough. That’s why we equip. Providing the tools and knowledge to harness technology effectively means that when disasters strike, our communities are not just alert, but ready.

Finally, we empower. Conversation is a powerful tool for change. By teaching our young innovators how to engage with a diverse range of people across the technology adoption curve, we ensure that the solutions we create are accessible and understood by all, from tech-savvy enthusiasts to those who may be more hesitant about new technologies.

Building a Resilient Tomorrow

Our initiative is more than just an educational program—it’s a commitment to shaping a future where technology is a steadfast ally against the whims of nature. From AI-driven disaster prediction models to mobile apps that provide real-time updates during emergencies, the potential to enhance disaster preparedness and response is limitless.

By tapping into the creativity and dynamism of the youth, we not only develop innovative solutions but also foster a new generation of leaders—ones who understand the power of technology and its potential to safeguard communities.

This blog is a tribute to their efforts, a chronicle of our journey together, and an invitation to you, the reader, to join us in this critical conversation. For as we look to the horizon, it is clear that our collective resilience lies in the hands of those who dare to dream and do—our youth.

Let’s inspire, innovate, and integrate technology for a safer, more resilient tomorrow.

Addendum: Future-Focused Technology and Climate Resilience

As we delve into the realm of technological advancements and their applications, it’s fascinating to observe the diverse interests and areas of focus that enthusiasts prioritise. From the integration of AI in daily operations to the emphasis on energy-efficient solutions and beyond, these developments reflect a drive towards a more connected and efficient tomorrow.

However, amidst these innovations, there is a notable silence on technologies directly addressing the increasing frequency and severity of extreme climatic events. This gap may suggest that our collective tech enthusiasm is more attuned to the immediate and tangible benefits rather than the long-term and, arguably, more existential challenge of climate change and its associated disasters.

Is our technological vision too shortsighted, fixated on the present at the potential expense of our future? It’s a question worth pondering as we champion the breakthroughs of today. Shouldn’t the measure of our technological progress also be reflected in how well we’re preparing to face the uncertainties of tomorrow?

The recent discussions and wish lists of tech updates from industry experts and publications like MIT Technology Review and Technology Magazine are indeed impressive and futuristic, but they often lack a focus on disaster management technology, which is critical considering our current environmental trajectory (Technology Review) (Technology Magazine).

This oversight may not be from a lack of interest but could stem from the complexity of predicting and managing extreme climatic events. It’s also possible that the development of such technologies is lagging behind more commercially attractive innovations.

Nonetheless, this should serve as a wake-up call to steer some of our best minds and resources towards innovating for climate resilience. As we continue to marvel at and benefit from the rapid pace of technological advancement, we must also direct our gaze forward, anticipating and preparing for the climatic challenges that lie ahead.

#YouthInTech, #DisasterResilience, #TechForGood, #ClimateAction, #InnovationLeadership, #EmergencyPreparedness, #CommunityResilience, #SustainableTech, #AIforClimate

Samantha Mostyn is a Beacon of Hope for All Australians

Samantha Mostyn AM photo source

When the news broke of Samantha Mostyn’s appointment as Australia’s next Governor-General, it wasn’t just a win for gender equality or a nod to her illustrious career; it was a moment of recognition for every Australian who believes in diversity, inclusion, environmental stewardship, and social justice. If there’s anyone who embodies the spirit of what it means to be Australian, across every socio-economic background, it’s Samantha Mostyn.

Mostyn’s career spans across a broad spectrum of fields including sports, the arts, gender equality, and business, showcasing her versatility and commitment to societal improvement. Her leadership roles, such as being the first woman appointed to the Australian Football League (AFL) Commission and her advocacy for women’s inclusion at every level of the game, underline her pioneering spirit.

Her significant contributions have also been recognised with an Order of Australia in 2021, for distinguished service to business, sustainability, and the community, particularly through her work in advancing gender equality and environmental sustainability. Beyond her AFL involvement, Mostyn has led and served on various boards including the Sydney Theatre Company, The Australian Museum, and as a founding supporter and chair of the women’s climate action group, 1 Million Women.

Mostyn doesn’t just stand for the ideals we hold dear; she actively works towards manifesting them. As the Chair of the Foundation for Young Australians, she is at the helm of an organisation dedicated to empowering the youth of Australia, helping them access the resources, tools, upskilling, and connections needed to make a positive impact and drive change.

Moreover, her leadership extends to other significant organisations such as Aware Super, Australians Investing in Women, and Ausfilm, to name a few. Her roles emphasise her commitment to fostering a sustainable future, supporting women’s economic opportunities, and promoting the arts.

Mostyn’s approach to leadership and advocacy mirrors the Australian ethos of “fair go” – everyone deserves an opportunity, and every voice matters. Her work spans the breadth of Australian society, from championing the rights of young Australians to pushing for gender equality, from advocating for mental health through her work with Beyond Blue to emphasising sustainability and environmental stewardship.

As Australians, we pride ourselves on our diversity, our sense of community, and our relentless pursuit of equality and justice. Samantha Mostyn not only represents these values; she amplifies them through her actions and leadership. Her appointment as Governor-General isn’t just deserved; it’s a testament to the impact one individual can have in championing the cause of the many.

In Samantha Mostyn, we don’t just have a figurehead; we have a role model, an advocate, and a leader who reflects the best of what it means to be Australian. Whether you’re from the city or the bush, whether your concerns are for the planet or for social justice, Samantha Mostyn’s appointment is a reminder that these are not just values to aspire to; they are principles to live by. And if that isn’t every Australian, then I don’t know who is.

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