Category: Abuse of Power

In what parallel universe is history a discount code for present day suffering!

There is something almost impressive about the confidence it takes to defend a present day war by reaching for a greatest hits list of other disasters.

World War I lasted longer.
World War II lasted longer.
Vietnam lasted longer.
Korea lasted longer.
Iraq lasted longer.

Thank goodness that has cleared things up.

By that standard, the public is not supposed to ask whether this war is justified, whether the goals keep shifting, whether families can afford to live through it, or whether turning whole regions into trauma zones counts as a problem. We are apparently meant to calm down because, in the grand timeline of human ruin, this one has not yet made the podium. Reuters and ABC both reported Trump framing the current war that way, urging Americans to “keep this conflict in perspective” and calling it “an investment in your children and your grandchildren’s future.”

It is a remarkable political trick. Take a fresh wound, stand it beside several amputations, then announce that everyone is being dramatic.

Perspective, it is not. It is comparative minimisation with a flag wrapped around it.

A shorter war can still be grotesque. A newer war can still be catastrophic. A war that has not yet reached the age of Vietnam does not become wise, noble or economically sensible through the simple passage of fewer months.

This is were it goes beyond the pale ( as if it could get worse). It asks ordinary people to lower their standards in real time. Do not ask whether this should be happening. Ask whether it is, historically speaking, long enough to deserve your concern. Do not measure the dead, the displaced, the fear, the cost of groceries, the cost of fuel, the cost of public trust. Measure the calendar.

It is the politics of lowered expectations. Your power bill is up, your food bill is up, global tensions are up, and the sales pitch is that other wars were even worse.

How reassuring.

History is not meant to be used as a discount code for present day suffering.

We live in a world where petrol prices have become our moral compass

There is something bleakly revealing that the NYTimes tell us pollsters are wondering whether petrol at more than US$4 a gallon will finally dent Donald Trump’s support. In the United States, the national average has just moved above that mark for the first time since 2022, driven by war with Iran and the disruption of oil flows through the Strait of Hormuz. Reuters reported the shift this week.

Think about what that says.

A president can help drag the world into another ruinous conflict. Thousands can die. Billions can be burned. The White House can be treated like a developer’s vanity project. Washington’s cultural and historic institutions can be pushed around as if they are items on a personal mood board. Yet the thing that may finally make the rusted on pause is the cost of filling the car.

This is hedonism. It is a form of citizenship so narrowed by self interest that mass suffering, public waste and institutional vandalism barely register until the pain arrives at the petrol bowser.

This week a federal judge halted Trump’s $400 million White House ballroom project, finding he lacked authority to push ahead without congressional approval. The project had already involved demolition of the East Wing and formed part of a broader push to remake Washington landmarks, including the Kennedy Center.

So this is the picture. A leader can preside over war abroad and grandiosity at home, and for many supporters the real test still comes down to whether the weekly drive costs a bit more.

In any rational world pollsters would focus on food prices. Food hits every household, whether they drive or not. But petrol has always had unusual political power because people see it in giant numbers on roadside signs. It is immediate, public and emotional. Pollsters know that. Politicians know that. It becomes shorthand for pain, even when far greater harms are unfolding in plain sight.

 What if we put the weekly cost of bread, milk, fruit, school lunches and basic groceries on billboards the way we do petrol, and people might start talking about cost of living in a way that reflects actual life.

It would expose the absurdity, wouldn’t it.

So yes, there is something in that.

Petrol has political power partly because it is turned into public theatre. Food, even though it is more fundamental, stays tucked inside receipts, shopping trolleys and household stress.

If petrol prices are what finally cracks the rusted on, it will not be because they have reflected deeply on leadership, democracy or human suffering. It will be because the consequences have at last reached their own windscreen.

No way, Jose – Trump does not get to smash the region and then pose as the man who came to save global trade.

Media heading this morning “Trump needs troops to seize the Strait of Hormuz. These are his options”
This is exactly how war gets laundered. The person who lit the fire is recast as the man arriving with the hose.
Once the story shifts to strategy, capability and whether America can pull it off, the original act of aggression starts to slip out of frame. The public is invited to admire the logistics, the resolve, the sheer competence of the response.
Suddenly the question is no longer why this war began. The question becomes whether Trump can deliver a win.
That is how leaders escape responsibility. The destruction they set in motion is folded into a new storyline where they get to play rescuer, defender and strongman all at once.
At between US$1.6 and US$1.9 billion a day, this war is already consuming money on a scale most people can barely picture. That money could have gone into health, housing, education, renewable energy, disaster recovery, food security and public transport.
It could have strengthened lives instead of tearing them apart.
And the meter is still running.
We do not yet know how many lives will be lost.
We do know who made this possible.
We do know who chose escalation.
We do know that media language matters.
The moment coverage starts treating the author of a crisis as the hero of its resolution, journalism stops asking the most important question.
Who created this mess in the first place?
No way, Jose – He does not get to smash the region and then pose as the man who came to save global trade.

When power starts suing its way through democracy

As a citizen journalist, one of the key things I write about is abuse of power. It shows up in local councils, institutions, corporations and political systems. It shows up wherever people with status, money or authority decide the rules should protect them more than the public.

Watching court case after court case announced by the Trump administration, I cannot think of a clearer modern example.

Its become an embedded governing style. As of 20 March 2026, Lawfare was tracking 233 active cases challenging Trump administration actions and 22 suits brought by the administration against states or local governments. Reuters reported on 20 March that the administration had also sued Harvard, seeking to recover billions in federal funds over allegations of antisemitism.

This scale shows how lawsuits work far beyond the courtroom. They operate in the imagination. Every new case carries a message. If you resist, this can become expensive. If you push back, we can drain your time, your focus and your resources. Even when a defendant eventually wins, the punishment has already started.

A courtroom becomes a theatre of intimidation. The people in the gallery take the message home.

The Harvard case lays out the playbook. Take an institution in public view, threaten its funding, force it into a costly fight and let everyone else watch. Universities will see exactly what is being demonstrated. So will every organisation tied to public money.

Australia uses a different model, and some parts of that model offer stronger democratic safeguards. We channel many disputes through administrative review rather than permanent courtroom war. The Administrative Review Tribunal recorded 59,752 lodgements between 14 October 2024 and 30 June 2025. 0 We have a structure that, at least in theory, allows citizens to challenge government decisions through review rather than spectacle.

Still, Australia leaves people exposed in another way. The Human Rights Law Centre says the ACT remains the only Australian jurisdiction with anti SLAPP laws, and even those protections are narrower than stronger overseas models. So while our politics may be less theatrical, wealthy people and powerful institutions can still use legal threat to intimidate critics, campaigners, journalists and ordinary citizens.

Abuse of power often arrives in polished form, a statement of claim, a demand for documents, a threat over costs, a lawyer’s letter written to sound reasonable while applying pressure. The language is formal. The intention is unmistakable.

Do what I want, or I will make this hurt.

A healthy democracy needs courts. It also needs limits on the use of law as a weapon. It needs strong anti SLAPP protections. It needs independent media. It needs citizens willing to keep speaking when power would prefer quiet.

That is one of the reasons I keep writing about abuse of power. Once you learn to recognise the pattern, you start seeing it everywhere.

Democracy does not arrive on the wings of fighter jets

The phrase “real men solve problems with bombs” is not strength. It is a recruitment slogan for other people’s funerals.

The news from the Gold Coast carried a familiar tone of celebration. Five Iranian women footballers, including captain Zahra Ghanbari, escaping their government minders and being granted humanitarian visas in Australia. There were photos, cheers, and, as the Home Affairs Minister cheerfully reported, a spontaneous chant of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie”.

For many Australians it felt like a simple story. Brave women rescued. Freedom offered. A good ending.

Stories like this have a powerful pull. They tap into an old idea that runs deep through Western political culture. The idea that someone will ride in on a white horse and save the day.

The white knight.

Across history the script has repeated itself. Strong men, often described as decisive or tough, step forward declaring that they will fix another country’s problems. The language shifts between defence, liberation, stability or democracy. The outcome rarely matches the promise.

Think  Vietnam. Iraq. Afghanistan. Libya.

Each began with claims that intervention would deliver freedom. Each left societies fractured, institutions weakened and millions of ordinary people carrying the cost for generations.

What is missing from the white knight story is the people who actually live in those countries.

Iranians are not waiting for outsiders to rescue them. They have been debating the future of their country for decades. Students, women, writers, workers, clerics, reformers and conservatives all argue fiercely about what Iran should become. The struggle inside the country is real, complex and deeply Iranian.

History shows something else as well. Lasting change almost always grows from inside a society, not from outside armies.

South Africa dismantled apartheid through internal resistance and negotiation.
Indonesia moved away from dictatorship after mass civil pressure.
Eastern European countries rebuilt themselves after the collapse of the Soviet bloc through internal political movements and public demand for change.

External pressure can sometimes open space. It can support civil society. It can amplify voices that governments try to silence.

War does the opposite. It crushes the very people who might build a different future.

The phrase “real men solve problems with bombs” is not strength. It is a recruitment slogan for other people’s funerals.

Strength measured in explosions is a very old idea. It has left a trail of ruined cities and broken societies.

The Iranian footballers who escaped in Australia remind us of something far more hopeful. People everywhere want the same thing. The chance to live safely, to speak freely and to shape the future of their own country.

That future will not arrive on a white horse.

It will be built by Iranians themselves.

The Epstein Coalition wants to rule the world

Michael West Media has asked the question out loud we have all be thinking. Are we led by fools and sycophants?
MWM coverage is a welcome antidote to the desperate coverage of this epic balls-up, which is not being covered by the corporate media. Read it here. https://michaelwest.com.au/australia-and-the-epstein…/
The pix is a bit of a TL:DR image BUT do read it – its horrifying and to top it all off the Iranians are calling the US and their supporters the “Epstein Coalition”
The Israeli propaganda narrative that Iranians would sprinkle rose petals at the feet of their invaders has not come to pass. It has already been demolished in fact.

Yet here was Australia, Saturday night, first out of the blocks worldwide to throw its support behind Donald Trump and his preposterous “Operation Epic Fury”, a probable pedophile being blackmailed and led around by the genocidal Benjamin Netanyahu like a pony at the fairground show.

The cold facts of this debacle are that regime change does not work, that Iran did not want this war, that Iran appears to be exceptionally well prepared – even winning the war – that the Epstein Coalition, which Australia supports, is daily backing war crimes: blowing up hospitals, schools and civilian infrastructure.

Like George O, Grahame Parker nailed it with this song

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.

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.