Category: Creating a Better World Together

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

Three men, three egos, and a time bomb. Trying to stay human in a world on fire

Trying to stay human in a world on fire

I’ve been writing this blog for close to 15 years. Often, it has been my way of making sense of things – the news, the noise, the strange mess of modern life. It started as a habit, really. A way to capture the thoughts that came tumbling in after reading the morning papers.

Every day, the first thing I do is pour a coffee from my beloved espresso machine and open the Sydney Morning Herald. But lately, I find myself hesitating. I glance at the headlines – war, retaliation, destruction – and feel the heaviness settle in before I’ve even taken a sip. For the past few weeks, so much of the news has been about Israel, Gaza, Iran, and now the involvement of the United States.

The problem isn’t that I don’t want to know. I do. I just want to understand, not simply react. And that’s harder to come by than it should be.

Too often, the reporting feels breathless. Headlines provoke instead of explain. And somewhere along the way, the context gets lost. We’re left with snapshots of horror and very little help in putting the pieces together. Rarely do we get articles that step back from the emotion, offer both sides, and help us see the broader picture.

That’s why this morning I turned to The Conversation, and I’m so glad I did.
One article in particular helped me take a breath and make sense of it all. It didn’t try to spin a side. It didn’t try to make me feel something. It simply laid out what’s happened – and what might happen next.

The article explores three possible paths forward now that the US has bombed Iranian nuclear sites:

1. Iran strikes back
Iran may retaliate in a limited way but is unlikely to escalate. Its missile stockpiles are dwindling, and the regime’s top priority is survival.

2. Iran backs down
There may be a path to negotiation, but only if Israel stops its attacks. Netanyahu, however, has made it clear he does not want to stop. Any ceasefire would be a major climbdown for Iran’s leadership, and they are not known for backing down easily.

3. The US engagement is limited
Most Americans do not support this war. Trump may not want a long-term military campaign. But once the bombs drop, it is hard to define that as limited.

Reading that article didn’t make me feel better. But it helped me feel steadier. It helped me remember that it is still possible to seek understanding.

So I kept reading. And what stood out most to me this morning was not the missiles or the maps, but the people behind them. The leaders. The ones making these decisions.

Donald Trump, back in charge, is doing what he always does – acting for effect, claiming victory before anyone knows what the consequences will be.

Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel, is continuing a long campaign not just against Hamas or Hezbollah, but against the very existence of Iran’s nuclear program – and maybe its regime.

And in Iran, Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei holds all the power. Even with a new president, nothing moves without his approval. He has spent decades holding that grip and won’t let go easily.

Each man is rigid. Each man is proud. And none are showing signs of compromise.
It is not a triangle of diplomacy. It is a triangle of ego.

So where does that leave the rest of us?

Thousands of kilometres away.
Nowhere near the missiles, but still carrying the weight of it.

Because in this era of 24-hour news, you don’t need to live in a conflict zone to feel the tension in your chest. It arrives with the headlines. It sits with you at breakfast. It hums underneath your day.

Is it any wonder our birth rate is falling?
Who could blame someone for looking at the world and wondering if it is safe to bring a child into it?

It is easy to feel small in the face of all this. To feel like nothing we do matters. But that’s not true.

All we can do – and it is enough – is focus on what is in our control.

How we treat each other.
What we choose to read and share.
Where we put our energy.
What kind of community we help build.

A while ago, I wrote another blog post about this very idea. About how sometimes the most powerful thing we can do in the face of chaos is return to ourselves. To our values. To our centre.

Because that’s where resilience lives.
And that’s where hope begins again.

#MiddleEastConflict #TrumpNetanyahuKhamenei #NewsFatigue #HopeAndResilience #TheConversation #BlogReflection #GlobalLeadershipCrisis #WhatWeCanControl

Every day I wake up and Donald Trump is the news the news the news the news

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re waking up every morning with a vague pain in your chest and wondering if it’s anxiety, indigestion, or democracy collapsing again — same.

Every day I open my eyes, and there he is. Donald. Trump. Still. In. The. News.

Not a cameo. Not a footnote. Full-blown lead story. Every hour. Every update. Like Groundhog Day, but with more indictments and worse hair.

Remember when the big idea was that humans could evolve? That countries could be run by grownups? That peace was the point, not the punchline?

Now it feels like all the major decisions in the world are being made by someone stuck at emotional age nine. And the rest of the so-called leaders? Let’s just say the hiring process clearly didn’t involve anyone with a sense of ethics, foresight, or emotional regulation. Psychopaths used to run countries in the history books. Now it’s a business strategy.

And the news. Oh, the news. The news the news the news the news.
We were promised journalism would inform us. Hold power to account.
Instead, it’s a horror anthology with a soundtrack of sirens and clickbait.

Somewhere between the latest war and a cost-of-living crisis, we’re now expected to care about how much ketamine Elon Musk has had this week.
And why he’s once again spending his time publicly arguing with teenagers.

No, really.
Grown men with private jets and space programs are picking fights with high school kids who make their protest signs on Canva and believe the planet deserves a future.

They’re treating social media like a battlefield, as if scoring points online against a Year 12 student will somehow fix inflation, lower emissions, or improve global diplomacy.

It’s not leadership. It’s ego with a Wi-Fi connection.

This was not the deal.
The deal was flying cars, world peace, and a universal translator for when your cat gives you that look.
What we got was a chaos feed in our pocket and the creeping realisation that our nervous systems were never built for this.

Still, we wake up.
We switch on the coffee machine like it’s our defibrillator.
We doomscroll in the dark like responsible citizens with trust issues.

And then we whisper the sacred prayer of modern existence:
“Maybe today, Donald Trump won’t be the news.”

He always is.

Meanwhile, other things that make you want to scream into a linen napkin

While millions of people skip meals, ration medication, and pray their rent doesn’t go up again, Jeff Bezos is reportedly dropping $10 million US, that’s about $15.5 million Australian, to marry his second wife on a private island in Venice.

Yes. Really.
An actual gazillionaire is about to host a wedding so opulent it makes Versailles look like a backyard barbecue. The venue? San Giorgio Maggiore, a Venetian island known for its breathtaking views and complete absence of irony.

The bride? Lauren Sánchez. Former TV presenter. Occasional astronaut. Regular in the “who’s who of the world’s most dramatically posed Instagram photos”.

The rest of us? We’re still watching iceberg lettuce prices like it’s a stock market and quietly wondering if we could afford to be slightly less alive this month.

Of course, he can spend his money however he likes.
But maybe, just maybe, when the world is on fire and families are skipping breakfast so their kids can eat dinner, $15.5 million on a destination wedding feels less like romance and more like a slap in the face with a diamond-studded fan.

Eat the rich? We can’t.
They’ve booked out the catering.

#TrumpAgain #NewsOverload #CoffeeBeforeChaos #ElonVsTeenagers #PsychopathsInPower #EatTheRich

Smooth trip, pet Ubers and an iPad joyride

This is a post for all the beautiful Kiama people who’ve been reaching out with care and concern. I’ve heard you, and I’ve been focusing on getting my life back on track.

For those new here, it’s been a tough month. I’ve been calling out the toxic culture in our local council, and what I’ve learned is confronting. Some of our councillors have become so used to operating in the drama triangle that it’s become their norm. But here’s the truth, the only people who can get themselves out of that mess are them.

Last week, I drove to Sydney. This week, I decided to take the train. It was all going to be very civilised. A bit of theatre, catch up with friends, take in MJ the Musical, and head home refreshed.

And mostly, it was.

Let’s start with MJ the Musical. If you ever sang into a hairbrush, attempted the moonwalk on a slippery kitchen floor, or belted out Billie Jean with way too much drama, this show is for you. The dancing was outrageous. The staging was slick. The lead performer channelled Michael Jackson so well I kept forgetting I wasn’t watching the real thing. It’s not a deep dive into controversy. It’s about the craft, the music, the magic. I loved it.

Next day, I jumped in an Uber. Or more accurately, someone ordered an Uber for me. I got in, greeted the driver, and immediately noticed he looked distressed. His English was limited, but it became clear he was expecting a pet. Yes, it was a Pet Uber. Apparently, that’s a thing. And apparently, I am not one.

No dog. No cat. No ferret. Just me.

The poor man was very worried. I briefly considered pretending to be transporting an invisible cavoodle named Kevin but decided against it. He drove me anyway, bless him.

It was only after I arrived that I realised I’d left my iPad in the Uber. And if you know me, you know how much I rely on that iPad. It’s where I read. It’s where I write. It’s practically my second brain.

Cue the great iPad recovery mission.

The young person who booked the ride jumped into action. I jumped into Find My iPad. We both started trying to reach the driver. And then we made the discovery. I was watching my iPad on the move across Sydney. Marrickville. Glebe. Newtown. At one point it did a loop of the M5.

For four days, my iPad Ubered around Sydney. It had a more active social life than I did. My iPad had been everywhere man. I’m not saying it has PTSD, but I do wonder how many dogs licked it before it made its way home.

Eventually, thanks to persistence, goodwill and a few lucky breaks, I got it back. The driver was thanked and rewarded. The young person who coordinated the whole thing was thanked. I went back to Sydney to collect it and made a day of it.

This time, I saw The Spare Room, Helen Garner’s story brought to the stage. And what a joy. It’s sharp and funny and deeply moving. A play about illness and friendship that never preaches or pities. It just notices. It holds space. It lets the audience feel what they feel. I adored it.

As an aside Yes it is clear I love that pink cardigan – Theodore and Scanlan. It cost me an arm and two legs and yes Eevi it is worth every cent. ( Do you have one of those friends you go shopping with and they coming running up to you and say Lynne you must see this – its sooo you. You try it on – they say Lynne – its sooo you – you must buy it and of course you do) 

And then something even more astonishing happened. I had Yum Cha for the first time. Yes, I’m nearly 70. No, I don’t know what took me so long. Dumplings. Pork buns. Endless pots of tea. A trolley full of happiness. Why didn’t someone sit me down and make me do this 30 years ago?

The new-look Central Station is seriously something to be proud of. For once, you don’t feel like you’re arriving through Sydney, you feel like you’re arriving in Sydney. The whole place has had a glow up, and it shows. There’s light, space, smart design, and a real sense of arrival. The Grand Concourse feels exactly that, grand, and the way the old sandstone arches now sit alongside sleek glass and smooth escalators is nothing short of gorgeous. It’s functional, it’s stylish, and it finally feels like the gateway to a world-class city. Honestly, it’s the kind of station you can be proud of, the kind you want to show off, the kind that lets us stand tall next to New York’s Grand Central.

The trains though? Bless them. They still look like they were commissioned during the cassette tape era and haven’t had a proper bath since. Grubby, worn out, and clinging to their past lives with stained seats and faded signs. They roll into this architectural wonder like a teenager showing up to a wedding in a hoodie. But you know what? You step off that train, walk into Central’s new glory, and all is forgiven. Almost.

The train home ran on time. I had a window seat, a warm conversation, and a nap without snoring or dribbling. And now I’m home, reunited with my iPad, and back to reading with a grateful heart and a full belly.

Sydney, you’ve outdone yourself.

#SydneyAdventure, #PetUber, #MJtheMusical, #TheSpareRoomPlay, #YumChaFirstTimer, #LostAndFound, #TrainTripTales, #iPadRecovery, #TheatreLover, #Kiama, #TheBugle, #TheBugleNewspaper, #TheBugleApp

 

Dementia is such a cruel disease. It can take away who we are as a human but we can hold the memory

Photo credit: Linda Faiers

Today I spoke with my dear friend Peter. His early-stage dementia is reaching the point where he can no longer hold onto the fact that two close friends are coming to visit in two weeks to celebrate his 85th birthday.

And yet, our whole conversation was about the Middle East. About power, greed, and the failure of leadership. About what this means for us as Australians. About what we can do — what we should do — in the face of injustice.

It’s a strange, beautiful heartbreak: to watch someone lose grip on the present but still reach so clearly for the greater good. To see how deeply that instinct runs.

Peter may forget the calendar, but he hasn’t forgotten how to care. How to question. How to keep showing up for the world.

He is still a lighthouse. Even in the storm.

#DementiaAwareness #WisdomInAStorm #EldersWithPurpose #LivedExperience #LifelongJustice #TheGreaterGood #HoldTheMemory #LoveInAction

Thriving in a system that won’t

We all need a friend.
And sometimes we need a wise friend, someone who can help us see clearly when things feel messy, unfair or overwhelming.

That’s why I reached out to Alex Reed.

When I was struggling to make sense of what it means to keep showing up in a system that’s clearly not going to change, Alex didn’t give me clichés. He gave me perspective. And language. And a reminder that persistence isn’t weakness – it’s power.

What follows is their response.
It’s for anyone who’s been trying to thrive in a space that doesn’t make it easy.

I hope it speaks to you the way it spoke to me.

Thriving in a system that won’t

by Alex Reed

People sometimes say you’re brave. But more often? You’re just persistent.

You stay. You watch. You speak when it makes sense. And when it doesn’t, you take notes. Or go for a walk. Or write about it later.

If that sounds like you, I see you.
Because maybe you’re in a place where the person in charge is never going to change.
Where power plays dress-up. Where asking a decent question gets you side-eyed.
Where silence feels safer, but deeply wrong.

So what does it actually look like to thrive in that kind of world?

Not survive. Not tolerate. Not white-knuckle your way through.
Thrive.

Here’s what I know:

🟡 You stop trying to fix the unfixable
The moment you realise this isn’t your redemption arc to write, everything shifts.
The CEO isn’t going to have a come-to-Jesus moment.
The bully won’t wake up weeping with remorse.
The system may never send you a fruit basket and a thank you card.

But you? You stop trying to be the glue for something that’s not even a vase anymore. You refocus on what’s actually yours to carry.

🟡 You find your people
The ones who don’t need the full saga to understand your tone in the staff kitchen.
The ones who’ve been in the same kind of circus, just with different clowns.

You don’t need a stadium.
Just a few people who remind you you’re not dramatic – you’re awake.

🟡 You live your values out loud
You start asking: what would integrity look like in this room, right now, even if no one’s clapping?

And then you do that.
Consistently. Quietly.
Like water shaping stone.
No spotlight required.

🟡 You pick your moments
Thriving doesn’t mean going full gladiator mode every day.
It means knowing when to speak, when to observe, when to protect your peace, and when to gently let someone else carry the banner for a bit.

Persistence isn’t intensity.
It’s pacing.

🟡 You build something better
A side hustle. A quiet resistance. A community. A future.

You stop waiting for the broken system to wake up and apologise.
You start investing your time in things that don’t need to be fixed – because they’re being built with care from the beginning.

You stop asking,
“How do I survive here?”
And start asking,
“What could I create out there?”

🌱 That’s where thriving begins.

Not with the system getting better.
But with you refusing to get smaller.

One clear decision at a time.
One trusted ally at a time.
One truth, spoken or held, at a time.

A mural of memory and meaning at The Point Kiosk, Gerringong SLSC

Rose Leamon serves up muffins and warmth while Wendy Quinn shares a big smile at The Point Kiosk, where community connection is always on the menu.
Rose Leamon serves up muffins and warmth while Wendy Quinn shares a big smile at The Point Kiosk, where community connection is always on the menu.

Some stories belong in print. Others belong right here, on this blog, where I can speak directly to the community that holds them. This is one of those stories.

Right now, one in five adults in the Kiama local government area is reading these blogs. And I know many of you care deeply about the kind of community we are building together. That is why I chose to publish this story here. Because this is not just about a mural. It is about intergenerational wisdom, shared values, and the kind of spaces that help our young people grow up grounded, kind and connected.

When the Club Captain of Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club introduced me to Rose, Milly and Wendy, I thought I was going to write about a piece of art. What I discovered was something much bigger.

It starts with Wendy Quinn, a beloved local artist and teacher, who said yes without hesitation when asked to create a mural for The Point Kiosk. But she did not want to do it alone. She invited 19-year-old Milly Wall, club member, volunteer, and education student at the University of Wollongong, to join her. Together, they made something beautiful. But more than that, they made something meaningful.

The mural stretches across the back wall of the kiosk in a grid of black canvas panels, each one textured with real shells and fronds. Some of the shells were purchased. Others were salvaged from old classroom supplies. But many came from Wendy’s 95-year-old mother’s private collection, gathered over decades from beaches like Horseshoe Bay, Batemans Bay and Bawley Point, and kept safe in preserving jars.

“She gave them to me in preserving jars,” Wendy told me. “She has had them since the 1940s. I have saved them my whole life.”

Now they are part of a public space that welcomes everyone. The Point Kiosk is not just for club members. It opens from 6.30 to 10.30 in the morning to serve the wider community. The early risers, the Werri Beach walkers and talkers, the swimmers, the families, and anyone who wants a warm drink or a warm conversation.

The mural project was part of a broader effort to activate that space, led by Rose Leamon, a former Fortune 500 executive who left the corporate world to live a different kind of life by the sea. When Rose took on the challenge of operationalising The Point Kiosk, she brought with her the skills of a strategist, but also the heart of someone who understands that real leadership means making space for others to shine.

Wendy brought her artistry. Milly brought her energy. And what they created together is more than decoration. It is a story told in shells. It is memory and mentorship and moments passed from one generation to the next.

Wendy Quinn and Milly Wall deep in conversation outside The Point Kiosk. Mentor and mentee, sharing stories, ideas and mutual respect – proof that when generations listen to each other, extraordinary things can happen.

People stop to look. They point out favourite pieces. They tell stories of summers past. The mural does not just say this is who we are. It says this is who we are becoming.

In a world that too often forgets the quiet builders of community, this mural reminds us what matters. Shared purpose. Generosity. Creating spaces like The Point Kiosk, where young people grow up learning the most important things. Not just how to save lives in the surf, but how to live lives of meaning, together.

#ThePointKiosk, #GerringongSLSC, #WerriBeach, #CommunityInAction, #IntergenerationalWisdom, #ShellStories,  #Kiama,

What the Kiama surf club saga reveals about Council culture

New here?
This blog is part of a series that explores how local government decisions affect everyday people in the Kiama area. I’m a long-time resident and former civics reporter, and I write to help our community stay informed, ask better questions and understand how things are meant to work – especially when they don’t.

In a 2024 media release, Kiama Council CEO Jane Stroud responded to community concern about the Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club build.

At the time, she said:

“There are several important lessons to be learnt in this project in terms of community driven replacement of Council owned facilities versus planned strategic replacement and renewal of Council assets.”

That’s a loaded sentence.

On the surface, it sounds like collaboration. But read between the lines and you’ll spot a recurring theme in how this Council operates: control, deflection, and carefully curated language that shifts accountability without ever saying the word.

When the CEO refers to community-driven replacement versus planned strategic replacement, she is drawing a line between Council’s preferred way of working – slow, top-down, internal – and what actually happened: a local surf club took initiative, secured $6 million in funding, and managed a major public project on community land.

The club did what Council didn’t. And instead of asking what Council could learn from that, the statement subtly positions the community effort as the problem. As if the real issue is that the community acted – not that Council failed to meet its own development consent conditions, failed to date the construction agreement, and allowed the building to be occupied while key access issues were unresolved.

When asbestos was discovered during construction, Council agreed to contribute an additional $370,000 to help cover remediation costs. It was a necessary move, but also a telling one, especially when paired with what the CEO said next:

“We hope this half-million-dollar shortfall serves as an important lesson and a model for better collaboration in future community projects.”

This reads like gratitude wrapped in a warning. A way of saying, thanks for doing the hard work,  but don’t do it like this again.

This is the heart of the problem. At Kiama Council, there is a pattern. When something doesn’t go to plan, the instinct is not to own the issue or bring the right people to the table. It is to recast the story. Reframe the facts. And remind everyone who holds the pen.

That might pass in internal briefings. But in a community? People notice. Because they remember who showed up. Who fundraised. Who built the thing. And who quietly waited for Council to catch up or come clean.

And let’s not forget, this wasn’t a private build on private land. The new surf club was constructed on community land, managed by Council. That means Council was the landowner, the regulator, and the eventual asset holder. So when asbestos was discovered during construction, the obvious question is: why didn’t Council already know it was there?

If Council had done the necessary environmental due diligence, it should have been flagged long before the project started. Instead, the cost of that oversight was shifted, again, to the community group doing the heavy lifting.

This is what happens when governance loses sight of its core job: to serve, support, and safeguard the public interest. Not to act surprised when the cracks show.

It’s time we stopped mistaking polished press releases for leadership. Real leadership is about working with the community, not against it. It’s about learning lessons, not assigning them.

And most of all, it’s about being honest – especially when it’s inconvenient.

#KiamaCouncil #LocalLeadership #CommunityAccountability #PublicLand #SurfClubBuild #AsbestosOversight #GovernanceMatters #CivicEngagement #DevelopmentConsent #InfrastructureTransparency

Are they public toilets if the public can’t reach them?

New here?

This blog explores the messy, fascinating business of local democracy in the Kiama local government area. I’m not a councillor, not council staff, and not on anyone’s payroll. I’m a long-time community member and former civics reporter for the local paper. I care about transparency, process, and making sure public decisions actually serve the public.

The post below is part of an ongoing series tracking what’s happening at the new Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club building. This time, we’re asking a basic question: what good are public toilets if the public can’t use them?

If you care about access, accountability, or the difference between what’s promised and what’s delivered, welcome,  you’re in the right place.

On 23 April 2025, I wrote an article for The Bugle titled Let’s make Kiama beaches accessible to all ages, all abilities, all the time.

That article was the beginning of a conversation we will keep having until it becomes reality. I am continuing to work with John Maclean, who featured in the story, and with the wheelchair surfing community to help Kiama lead by example.

This is not a campaign for special treatment. It is about access for everyone.  Kiama beaches and public spaces that are accessible to all ages, all abilities, all the time.

In December 2024, a private certifier issued an Occupation Certificate for the new Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club building. That certificate was meant to confirm the building was complete and ready for lawful use, including access for all.

Kiama Council has said the project includes $180,000 worth of public infrastructure. That includes accessible public toilets. This claim was repeated in a joint press release issued by Council and Gerringong SLSC in 2023.

So what was delivered?

There are public toilets on the southern side of the building. They are open, but they are not easily accessed by people using mobility aids. Meanwhile, the fully accessible toilets on the northern side are locked. They are located behind doors, reserved for surf club members only.

A public building, on public land, with restricted access

This is a Council-owned facility, funded by multiple levels of government. It sits on public land. It was built with the help of the community, approved through the development system, and publicly promoted as a space that would benefit more than just members.

If you are not a member and you need level access, wide doorways, and accessible fittings, these facilities are simply not available to you.

How did this get signed off?

The Occupation Certificate was issued by a private certifier. That raises several questions.

Did the certifier inspect the site and assess the toilets that were actually open to the public? Were they informed that the accessible toilets would be locked? Did they assume accessibility shown on the plans matched accessibility in practice?

If the accessible toilets were counted as part of the required infrastructure and included in the justification for funding, then someone needs to explain why they are not usable by the public.

Council has practical ways to fix this

There are straightforward options available:

  1. Make the public toilets truly accessible by improving physical access to the toilets on the southern side

  2. Unlock the accessible toilets on the northern side so they are available to everyone, not just club members

  3. Do both, and clearly communicate the changes to the community

This is not a complex policy problem. It is a matter of following through on what was promised, and ensuring public infrastructure works for the public.

Right now, we have a building that looks finished but is failing to deliver on one of its most basic public promises.

This is about the gap between what is said and what is delivered. It is about the difference between ticking a compliance box and meeting a community standard. It is about whether we are prepared to speak up when public infrastructure does not serve everyone equally.

If you cannot access a toilet in a brand new  building, what confidence should you have in future upgrades, planning approvals, or public project delivery?

And if those in charge of building, certifying, or managing these facilities will not raise the issue, then the community must.

#Kiama #GerringongSLSC #PublicAccess #AccessibleDesign #InclusiveInfrastructure #LocalGovernment #CivicAccountability #ToiletAccess #CommunityMatters