Author Archives: Ian

GAY, TRANS, CIS, BLACK, WHITE, BLUE, GOD, CHURCHES, LIBERAL, LABOUR, GREEN, THAT, THIS AND WHAT’S THE POINT, WHO ARE WE?

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The Label Drawer

Somewhere along the line, we all got handed a little label maker and told it was “personal growth.”

Gay. Trans. Cis. Straight. Non binary. He him. She her. They them. This. That. The other. And if you do not pick one quickly enough, someone will kindly offer you a set like a waiter listing specials.

And look, I get it. For a lot of people, those words are not decoration. They are survival. They are belonging. They are the way you find your mob when the world has been rough. I am not here to take that away from anyone.

But I am here to ask a blunt question: why is the label so often the first thing we ask for, like it is the password to the real conversation?

Who Are You When Nobody’s Watching?

Here is my problem. Labels can be useful, but they are terrible at doing the job they keep getting hired for. They do not tell me if you are kind. They do not tell me if you apologise when you are wrong. They do not tell me if you are safe to be around when things get messy. They do not tell me if I call and 3.00 am you’ll come?

They do not tell me how you got to here?

And that is what I actually want to know.

What did you crawl through to get here? What are you proud of that nobody claps for? What do you hope for when your head hits the pillow and the day is finally quiet? What do you want to build, or fix, or protect? What makes you laugh so hard you snort and then pretend it was a cough?

Tell me about the dream you have not said out loud because it feels too big. Tell me about the grief you carry like a constant dead weight in your pocket. Tell me about the time you were brave and nobody saw it.

That is the stuff that makes a person. Not a checkbox.

Pronouns, Tribes, and the Great Human Hunger

I am not offended by pronouns. I am not terrified of identity. I am not declaring war on anybody’s flag.

I am just saying that sometimes it feels like we are collecting categories the way kids collect footy cards. Got one. Need another. Rare edition. Signed. Limited release. And, it just ends up in the box with the rest. No really adding to my life, just sitting there to show once in a while to show I have something you don’t.

We are starving for belonging, and we keep trying to eat it through labels. We keep trying to connect by pushing people in and out of a group.

But belonging is not a word. It is behaviour. It is how you treat the barista when your coffee is wrong. It is how you speak to your partner when you are tired. It is how you act when nobody is recording you, and there is no applause, and you could get away with being a dickhead.

If you want to tell me who you are, tell me what you do when you have power, even tiny power. Tell me how you handle anger. Tell me how you handle someone else’s pain. Tell me what you do with your attention, your money, your time, your words.

Because character is identity with receipts.

What’s the Point?

The point is simple. I want a world where the first question is not “what are you” but “who are you.” I practice saying when I meet people for the first time, not “What do you do for a job?” But, “What do you love to do?”

I want conversations where we do not lead with a label and end with silence. And, when we don’t agree the winner is the one that yells the loudest and blames the other. I want friendships built on curiosity, humour, honesty, and the strange miracle of being two humans who both made it through their own storms and still have the nerve to hope. And the understanding that hatred is a disease not a source of energy. And anger need only the addition of one letter to always signify “D anger.”

Maybe if we get good at seeing the person first, we can make someone’s day a little lighter. Maybe we leave a place better than we found it. Maybe we leave a person a little happier, or at least a little less alone.

So yes, be whatever you are. Call yourself whatever helps you breathe. I will respect it.

And then, once that part is done, come closer and tell me the real story.

Tell me your story, without fear or favour, with heart and truth. Tell me, who are you?

Australia Day. Big Fruit, Bigger Feeling and the Bit Where Everyone Yells!

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Australia Day rolls around and I feel two things at once.

I feel proud. And I feel… careful.

Proud, because I love this country. Not in the loud, chest-thumping way. In the quiet, lived-in way. The way you love the place that gave you your first breath, your first scrape of gravel on a knee, your first job, your first heartbreak, your first mates, your first “how ya going?” from a stranger who meant it.

Careful, because I know there will be protests, and I know the words will be sharp: “Invasion Day.” And I get why people feel pain. I’m not blind to history. I’m not trying to sandpaper the past into something comfortable. I know settlement wasn’t always kind. I know terrible things were done. I know Aboriginal people have had a hard go of it since western settlement, and that’s putting it politely.

But here’s the hard bit for people like me: I didn’t do that.

I was born here. So were my mum and dad, my birth mum and dad, and my adopted mum and dad too. I didn’t arrive on a ship with a musket and a flag. I didn’t write the policies, run the missions, make the removals, or sign off on the “experts” who thought they were doing good while causing damage they didn’t understand.

And, I know something else that doesn’t get said much: history can hurt more than one way, to more than one group, for more than one reason.

I was adopted. And there were hundreds of white kids taken from white mothers too, because once upon a time it wasn’t acceptable to have a child out of wedlock. Authorities

thought they were doing “the right thing.” Same story, different uniforms. It came with consequences no one wanted to look at until much later. Pain doesn’t check your skin tone before it arrives. It just arrives.

My pain, your pain, doesn’t cancel anyone else’s pain. It doesn’t compete with it. It just sits alongside it and says, “I’m here too.”

And then came more people. The Chinese. The Afghans. Yes, the camel men, the ones who helped open up the inland and left a legacy most of us never learned properly at school. Those camels are still out there, tough as old boots, so good we even sell them overseas now. Then the ten-pound poms. Then Greeks and Italians. Then Vietnamese, the people who came here after we’d just fought a war with their homeland… or a “police action,” depending on who’s writing the headline.

All of that is part of us now. That’s not a threat. That’s the miracle of it.

So when someone calls me an invader, I don’t get angry first. I get confused. Because, I’ve spent my whole life trying to do what I thought Australians do.

I thought being Australian meant you were a bit of a larrikin but you turned up when it counted. Brave when you had to be. You stood up for people who couldn’t stand up for themselves. You looked after the sick, the weak, the lonely, the person who didn’t fit. You said please and thank you. You gave everyone a fair go, until they betrayed you, and then you said, “Sorry mate, can’t do it,” and you moved on without carrying hate around like a backpack full of rocks.

I thought we were the people who tell the truth and still be mates afterwards.

We built things. We explored. We farmed. We grazed. And we farmed and grazed in some of the harshest country in the world; and we thrived. We carved towns out of dust and stubbornness. We also built the kind of country where someone can have a laugh about a big guitar, a big prawn, a big boot, a big merino! Where I live we even had a big orange that went broke. Honestly, these things are so Australian they should be on the coat of arms next to the kangaroo and emu. We can’t even keep our giant fruit financially stable, but we’ll die trying. That’s our brand.

We also fought wars. For allies, for mates, and sometimes because we were told it was the right thing to do. We defended our own northern shores. People died. Good people. Young people. People whose names still sting when you read them on a plaque. We remember them “at the going down of the sun”… and in the morning too, whether anyone’s watching or not.

So, why do so many of our young people now look at service in defence, police, emergency services, even community leadership and go, “Nah”? Maybe it’s more complicated than one reason. But, I do wonder if part of it is this? We’ve become a country where you can get shouted down for loving the place that raised you. Where pride gets treated like a crime scene. Where people who never carried the weight of service are sometimes the loudest voices. Voices, telling everyone else what they must say, what words they must use, what feelings they’re allowed to have.

And that leaves blokes like me, and plenty of women too, feeling a bit lost. Not hateful. Just… lost.

I’m a self-funded retiree. No concession card. No special deals. No freebies. I am not whinging here just stating the facts. I worked, I paid taxes, I put a few dollars away. I wanted a quiet retirement and to give something back. Not because I’m after applause, but because I’m grateful. I’ve served as a cop, 38 years, my youth gone on years of shift work and missed

Christmas lunches, walking the New years eve street breaking up fights not raising a beer, birthdays, my kid growing up and a few days in hospital getting stitched up. I’ve served in the community because I saw the purpose of duty and fulfilling an oath. I now serve as a local elected member on our local council. Yeah, I get paid. I worked out the hourly rate for the hours I do and it works out to be about. $3.50 an hour. And I don’t reckon I do enough. I put up with the jibes, derogatory comments, attacks and complaints from those that have never served. The parochial who’s depth and breadth of their experience doesn’t extend beyond the next town.

I’m not asking for a medal, because I never got those either. I’m just asking to feel welcome in my own home, my own town, my own country.

Because, I can’t feel guilty for something I didn’t do.

I’ll never apologise for somebody else catching influenza. I will say a heartfelt, “I’m sorry you’re going through that.” How can I’ll help you get better if you’ll let me. That’s what mates do. That’s what humans do when they’re at their best.

And that’s what I want Australia Day to be.

Not a day to deny the past. Not a day to weaponise the past. Not a day to point fingers like we’re all standing in some moral courtroom. But a day where we can say:

  • Yes, some things were wrong.
  • Yes, some people carry pain that deserves respect.
  • Yes, we can tell the truth without tearing each other apart.
  • And yes we can still love this country.

Because loving Australia doesn’t mean pretending it’s perfect. It means believing it’s worth the effort.

I want a country where Aboriginal kids feel proud and safe and strong, not just “acknowledged.” Where culture is treasured, their communities are supported properly, and their voices are respected, not used as political footballs.

I want a country where migrants feel like they belong without having to erase who they are. Where difference isn’t feared, but it also isn’t forced into categories that divide us for sport.

And, I want a country where people like me can stand up on, January 26, or whatever day you choose and say, “I love Australia.” Because its not the date, it’s the sentiment that matters. And suing those words does not mean you are treated like a villain.

Because Australia Day, to me, isn’t about conquest. It’s about celebrating our home.

It’s about the weird, stubborn, generous, flawed, funny family we’ve become and the choice we have, right now, to keep choosing each other.

So this year, if you’re celebrating, celebrate with kindness. If you’re mourning, mourn with truth and forgiveness. If you’re angry, aim it at the systems that failed people not at the bloke next door who’s just trying to understand where he fits.

And if you see someone who looks like they’re walking around with a bit of quiet sadness under their smile, maybe just do the most Australian thing you can do:

Say ‘G’day mate, how ya going”. Offer a chair and have a chat.

Have a beer. Have a laugh. Tell the truth gently. listen more than you speak.

And then together let’s get on with the job of being Australians who smash it, not by shouting over each other, but by lifting each other up.

Because the past matters.

But so does what we do next.

Run – Hide – Fight – The ‘Active Shooter Strategy’

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The ‘Run – Hide – Fight – Active Shooter Strategy’ is actually taught in schools in the United States. As you can see at the bottom of the poster on the left, it is from a school in Pennsylvania US and is on the schools’ main web page!

I always thought this was sad and tragic?

After the sadness created through the tragedy that happened in Bondi in the last week with 15 people murdered by terrorists,

I think it is time we have a look at our ‘mindset.’

And, I’ll try and do it quickly and with just the basic info? There is a lot of movies that make survival look like its the tough who survive. But, in reality it is the smart, with a whole lot of luck.

I often ‘test’ people and say “What is the First Rule of Survival?’ (I wrote a post about all the rules if you want to have a look – click here)

And, I usually get some good answers, find water, find shelter etc etc. But, like a lot of things, the first rule is obvious and people go “Oh Yeah’ when I tell them but people don’t follow it. Most people don’t think it will happen to them, and when it does it’s often, too late?

The first rule of survival is ”DON’T GET IN A SURVIVAL SITUATION IN THE FIRST PLACE.”

Just by reading this post you have exponentially increased your chances of survival in numerous situations. Firstly, by the ones you avoid and perhaps having a little more thought before saying ‘Hey, hold my beer, watch this’ or heading off into the bush, or out in the boat, by getting a fire extinguisher and first aid kit for your car, having a fire evacuation plan for your home, etc etc

The ‘Active Shooter’ scenario is just something we hope will not happen again, but….?

One simulation study using agent-based modelling (look this up – it’s really interesting for working out probabilities?) suggested a survival probability of over 92% for individuals who focused solely on running away, compared to only about 5% for those who solely hid.

Most people will ‘hide’ where they first become aware they are in danger. Under a table, lying down on the ground. These ‘hiding places’ often don’t provide cover or concealment.

’Cover’ is behind something that will protect you from gunfire. ‘Concealment’ is something that will ‘hide’ you but wont stop gunfire. Cover and concealment is the answer; but in the moment how do I find that!?

You find it because you know it before the danger arrives by being ‘situationally aware.’

There is not one cop I know who doesn’t think about ‘what if there is a hold up’ every time they walk into a bank?

When you are ‘aware’ of what is happening, if you are in danger, particularly an active shooter situation, you have to ‘respond, not ‘react.’ A ‘reaction’ may actually put you in more danger. By having a route of escape that does not put you in more danger than hiding you are ‘responding’ and making a conscious decision. Remember there is ‘cover’ that will protect you from gun fire and there is ‘concealment’ which means that you can’t be seen but your ‘concealment’ probably wont stop a bullet. You will need, cover, concealment and a route of escape.

I think we’ve all done it. Walked around in a day dream or our head in our phone. I think we’ve all nearly ran over someone who just stepped off the kerb without looking. Situational Awareness is not walking around ‘ALWAYS READY!!!’, it’s just not walking around oblivious.

Also, often when a lot of people run away from danger you have the real possibility of creating a ‘mob stampede’ in which people get injured or killed by the crowd and not the threat. In these situations is not about being the ‘coward’ who ran away, or the ‘hero’ who stayed and fought, it’s about working together and helping each other. Make that your catch phrase if you are in one of these situations. Yell it out “Work together, help each other.” Humans are best when they do that.

I hope you never have to use the information I shared here, other than to stop yourself getting run over, and perhaps see the world a little clearer. And, mostly, not get in a survival situation in the first place.

Some Alone Time at Christmas

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I think about loneliness sometimes.

Not my own, as I rarely get lonely. I’m more likely to get lonely in a crowded room where everyone is wasting my time?!

When I think of loneliness, I think often of those who may be.

My Mum Gloria lived 25 years after my Father Lindsay passed away. My Nana Cooke lived for 45 years after my Grandfather, Pa died and she had lost both her bothers in World War 1.

I think of loneliness in our culture not as cruel, although it can be, but almost inevitable for most of us; particularly the elderly.

So, at Christmas perhaps don’t be sucked in by the Santa Clause created by Coca-Cola (Look that one up, it’s TRUE! I’ve even given you a link click here!) and spare a thought for those spending it alone.

So, every year around this time year, I start thinking about people who find this time of year hard. I am sure some, perhaps many in today’s world, feel lost, forgotten and some sit in a quiet house while the rest of the world seems to be celebrating.

And sometimes the loneliest people are standing right beside us and we never notice. I always remember Robin Williams quote about loneliness:

I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up alone. No. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone,”

I’ve learned over the last few years, when your own heart has broken once or twice, you start to see the cracks in others more clearly. I know what it feels like to hope someone will reach out, because you’re to embarrassed to ask, or worse afraid you do, and nobody comes.

Christmas has a way of magnifying whatever we carry inside, as the lights seem brighter, red and green is everywhere and then that moment when the sadness becomes heavier. And that’s why the real spirit of this season matters. Not the gifts or the lights, but because it’s a chance to remind people they aren’t alone in the world.

That I believe, when you ignore all the commercialism and Santa Clause, just perhaps the entire idea behind this Christmas, is hope.

Whether you believe or not, the celebration is about the birth of a bloke who later on in life would give up his life for the rest of us. It is somehow noble when we think about it in the context of war and quote: “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends,”

Just a hint, that is from the bible John 15:13. Bear in mind I’d rather mow a mates lawn than get nailed to a cross: but, you do what you have to do for mates.

Connection doesn’t have to be grand or complicated, it’s a coffee, a phone call, an invitation, or even just asking someone “How you going mate, dont bullshit me? …. And then, the hard part, taking the time to listen to the answer (Not waiting for a gap in the conversation to tell him you’ve got a new TV or you think so-and-so Politician is an idiot!).

I’m not an expert in anything, but, I do know what it’s like to feel broken and to slowly put the pieces back together. I know how powerful it is when someone takes a moment to see you, to check in, to care. I know that loneliness isn’t fixed by speeches or sermons, only by people.

So this Christmas, I’m reminding myself to look around more carefully.
To notice the person who seems a little quiet.
To reach out instead of assuming they’re okay.
To make room at the table, or the shed, or wherever people gather for someone else.

And, today I heard at a lunch with mates, a few saying they were going to ring, or visit someone and that ‘someone’ died before they got to visit them. Think of someone, ring or visit that someone, now! That when you get around to it may never come….

Because none of us get through life alone.
And none of us should have to face Christmas feeling forgotten.

We may not be able to heal every hurt, but we can sure make someone feel seen.
We can remind each other that this world is less cold than it sometimes feels.
And we can offer the simplest Christmas gift of all, connection and our time.

If you’re struggling this year, please know this: You are not invisible, to me, you matter to me, and even in your hardest moments, you are not walking alone.

It’s Jesus’s Birthday, he’d want us to celebrate!

We Are Australian — Not Because We Wave Flags and sing the national Anthem, but, because… “I am, YOU are, WE are Australian”

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(Note to reader – no pictures this time as I just had to write and post?! – Sorry about the typo’s and spelling errors!)

“If guns kill people, pencils misspell words, cars drink drive, cutlery makes us fat, lighters set bushfires.”


Yesterday. many people were murdered. Australians were murdered and our guests, in Sydney, in Bondi…”

These words, remind us of something important. It isn’t objects, or sensationalised video future of Australians doing what they do, that define tragedy or its cause.

It isn’t simplistic slogans and thoughts. It isn’t panic or division, it’s the human condition, greed, creed, ideology, doctrine, the raw unfortunateness of madness.

And with the promise of more laws slapping on bans, we’re again being told to be afraid and divided instead, from our mates.

Australians don’t scare easy. That’s not in our DNA. From the Dreamtime to the prison ships, from the diggers at Gallipoli to the stories our bush poets wrote that inspired generations, songwriters have sung, what makes us Australian isn’t fear, it’s resilience and looking after each other.

The Seekers got one thing right in We Are Australian.

“We are one, but we are many… We share a dream and sing with one voice: I am, you are, we are Australian.”

That dream isn’t a political slogan. It’s about community, shared struggle, shared strength.

That’s the same spirit John Williamson captured in True Blue, the idea of being fair dinkum, genuine, authentic, and loyal to your mates. True blue isn’t about exclusion or fear. It’s about being good people who look out for one another, stand up when times are tough, and don’t hide behind catchy headlines or fear mongering.

And, Redgum’s I Was Only Nineteen ,haunting ballad about the cost of war, about men in suits sending our young to die in countries they’ve never heard of, in wars they dont understand.

These songs, these Australian anthems, remind us that mate ship isn’t rhetorical, it’s lived in hardship, fire, drought, flood and blood and memory. That song isn’t an anthem about politics, it’s about people.

We are better than fear and division, and what God your pray to.

We don’t need more bans, more fear, more “solutions” that really just divide us and strip away liberty. We need mates ship, empathy and mostly we need to look after each other, especially when the world feels mad, and bad and poor and always on the brink of war.

Australian’s don’t bend easily, . We don’t roll over when someone tells us to be scared or to choose sides. That’s not who Australians are.

And speaking of being ripped off, let’s talk resources, how then ‘popular’ elite that govern us have decided what happens to what we all own.

We are a resource-rich nation, really rich. But, most of the massive profits from our minerals, gas and coal don’t actually make their way back into the community that owns those resources. According to my research, mining taxes and royalties combined make up only about five cents of every dollar of government revenue, despite mining being one of the most profitable sectors. Much of that revenue goes overseas, or into corporate structures designed to minimise tax, sometimes illegally, but most often legally because the system lets them. Many gas fields and resources are exported royalty-free or pay minimal tax, leaving the public, the owners of those resources, with far less than they should receive.

We need to ask, if these companies are digging up our land, exporting our resources and enriching shareholders overseas, why are we not seeing a fair share of that wealth reflected in better hospitals, better schools, better regional services, better support for veterans and struggling communities.

That’s not sovereign wealth. That’s selling the farm and being told we’re lucky they bought it.

Our leaders aren’t always the best qualified, so they hire consultants, for billions, YES billions of dollars, and tell politicians what they want to hear.

Let’s be real. Big politics is often about big egos and small accountability. Hire a consultant and get the answers you want, in black and white, from the experts.

We deserve better, NO we need to start demanding better.. We deserve leaders with backbone, vision, and real understanding of public good over private profit.

So what do we do?

We lean into what makes us Australian. Mateship, you help a mate when he’s in a fight. A fair go, we give it, and we expect it back. Resilience, we don’t cower, we stand up. Truth, we call out bullshit when we see it.

We remember the stories, the songs, the history, the shared struggles. That’s what being Australian really means, not fear, not division, not spin and sensational headlines.

We are better than our fear. We are better than the cheap narratives sold to us to distract us. We are still the people who sing I Am Australian and mean it, because we understand it’s about people, not slogans.

And, this is not a call to ‘action.’
This is a call ‘‘thought.’
It is a call to ‘truth.’
It is a call to “not only some mates looking after some of us, but, all of us looking out for all our mates.’

And, as our mates have lost their lives in the last day or so, we saw when the fighting gets tough and Australian is not who you want to have that fight with. We’d rather have a beer, a chat and sort it out that way. But, somehow we got into a struggle where a bloke born in this country, and his Dad, somehow!!!!, thought it was okay to kill his fellow Australians.

My heart breaks, for those murdered, those injured and those that this day will now define them. But, my heart rejoices in seeing the spirit of Australians in this tragedy, helping their mates, running towards danger for their mates, protecting there mates with their own bodies, getting together and saying we will not live in fear…. And making the ultimate sacrifice because:

No one has greater love than to lay down his life for his friends,”

I am in shock still, I wonder, why we have come to this. My Dad was a Truckee, my Mum a primary school teacher, and we didn’t have much. But, we were happy, and we had our community, a diverse group of countries we were born in and came here from, religions, skin colour, languages spoken at home, sexual orientation, men and women, gays and straights, but, we knew one thing, if they called we went, and if I called I knew they would come.

Because, that’s what Australian’s do.

The only ‘pub test’ was after, wether you were having a soft drink or ‘necking a beer’, because we did it together.

Thanks mate….

PS: When I was writing this I was flicking through all the news stories (with fucking tears in my eyes!) and then I came across the show ‘Love Island Australia’ being aired at the same time…. There is a fair chance we may already be fucked!!!!!!

When Life Breaks Without Warning

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I keep seeing a post on Facebook where an old work associate is breaking and sharing his pain on numerous posts. Many kind people are replying with their love and support. It doesn’t seem to be helping.

Today he posted about ‘seeing himself’ and understanding things he was blind to before. That is what tragedy brings you, as its unwelcome gift, a world covered in shit that rolls down hill and you live in a valley.

Sometimes, there are moments in life when the floor simply gives way.

One minute you’re steady. The next, something blindsides you: a relationship collapses, a dream dissolves, someone you love disappears from your world, or life just… turns.

A life that was going alone nicely, with hopes and dreams and something to look forward to gets, real hard, real quick, it just seems life suddenly got very cruel. Bad things mostly happen quickly, without warning.

And, they happen without asking permission.

Hearts don’t crack politely, minds don’t break with affection.

They break loudly, silently, suddenly. That suddenness fills your life with grief, rejection, loneliness, uncertainty, tragedy, betrayal, and mostly, a pain in your chest, heart, head that seems impossible to bear. The reasons are endless, but the feeling is unmistakable.

And in those moments where nothing makes sense, where you’re left staring at the pieces thinking, “How the hell did this happen?” there’s an ancient line from an old shepherd-turned-king that still hits the human heart squarely:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”
Psalm 34:18

Now, whether you see that as literal truth from a higher power, or as ancient poetry describing what humans have always hoped was true, the message lands the same:

You are not alone in your pain.

David, the guy who wrote that verse, lived a life that swung between triumphs and absolute disasters. He wasn’t preaching theory he was naming something he had survived. Something we all have survived in our own way: the belief (or maybe just the stubborn hope) that even in disaster, we’re not completely abandoned.

(PS: ‘Fact Check’ on the bloke above. The ‘rock-slingers’ in ancient armies were the most feared combatants as they could kill you from 50 yards away with a single stone. ‘Little Rock Slingers’ easily killed big giant dudes with armour and swords by hitting them in the head with a rock. A fact, not a miracle!)

The funny part about the Old Testament in the Bible is that its a horror story, filled mostly with bad people doing bad things and getting pulled out of the shit at deaths’ knock by a God they’ve just been ignoring while they worship golden cows, having orgies and getting on the piss. (I’d get rid of the Old Testament if I was doing a rewrite – not that I’ve read it all, to much begetting of sons and fathers!)

So, when it comes to tragedy, ask yourself quietly: Is your heart broken? Is your spirit crushed?

If so… take this next part however you need it:

From a religious point of view: God is near.
Or if you don’t believe in “God” or any higher power perhaps consider the truth in any case:

Comfort is near.
Meaning is near.
A way through is near.

You haven’t been left to fight this alone.
You are seen, even when no one seems to notice.
You are held, even when no one seems to reach for you.
You are not forgotten, even when your mind tries to convince you otherwise.

And no, as we all know, there is no free pass from hardship.
Life doesn’t work like that.
But it does mean there is something, call it God, call it strength, call it the human Spirit, call it stubborn human resilience that steps closer when everything else falls apart.

That is how we survive. That is how we, as a species have always survived the hardships and tragedies of just living.

The Bible says God is called the Comforter, a presence that soothes, steadies, guides, and whispers encouragement into the wreckage. Even if you’re an atheist, that word Comforter still makes sense. We’ve all felt comfort that came from somewhere we couldn’t fully explain.

Maybe it was a friend.
Maybe it was a memory.
Maybe it was a moment of calm when your whole world was burning.
Maybe it was just your own heart proving it still had some fight left.
Maybe it is that undeniable resilience of the human spirit shining through.

Whatever the source, comfort is real. And it keeps people alive. Sometimes it just arrives, sometimes we may need to seek it, sometimes we may need to be the one offering.

Screenshot

So, if today your spirit feels crushed firstly take a breath. Look around, and realise the world is still there, understand it is mostly happening within you and not too you. The human race, I believe has always been in good hands. We just use our gifts for a lot of the wrong reasons. And it doesn’t matter if you call those hands divine or simply human.

Life will always contain trials and hardships.
But pain doesn’t get the final say.
You do.
Your healing does.
Your next chapter does.

Name, even quietly, whatever has cracked your heart open. Acknowledge it without rushing to fix it. A wise old soldier mate of mine once rewrote a old saying into:

”Don’t just do something, stand there.”

Then give yourself permission to sit, in a divine presence if you believe in that, or simply in a moment of stillness. Not doing something and taking a moment is often the best answer.

Let the weight shift and lift a little.

Irrespective of fate, divine plans and the chaos of human existence, somehow we are all connected. Even if we don’t notice everyday, as we are cruel, unkind and indifferent to each other. I believe, no, I know under the surface, in all of us there is closeness, comfort, connection healing and better days to come..

We that are all here, are still just here, living everyday as it comes.
And that means something good is still possible, wether it be divine or not, as tomorrow will come, with our permission or not.

FORMS FOR FINES – and a bit on going to Court?

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I keep intending to write may article on ‘How to Never Pay a Traffic Fine Again’ but, you know, life gets in the way and this blog is a hobby and not my absolute passion, or source of income.

…. and basically what is below is the guts of what I haven’t got around to???

I have been promising the above article for some time. So, due to the insistence of a few mates I am going to share a few ‘pro-forma’ letters you can use to send to the Police if you elect to be prosecuted and not pay any traffic infringement notice.

(Please see my disclaimer – This is NOT legal advice and should you wish legal advice you should go to a suitable qualified and certified law professional!)

So here are the ‘pro forma letters’ if you don’t feel like reading the rest of the article but, it may help you use these letters better.

2024-12-17 – Generic Letter – Prosecution re DisclosureDownload
2024-12-17 – Generic Letter – Prosecution re Disclosure – Camera Only OffenceDownload
2024-12-17 – Generic Letter – Prosecution re Disclosure – Officer Issue Radar GunDownload

The ‘pro-forma’ letters speak for themselves in the titles regarding the type of traffic infringement notice you have elected to go to court for. I have left them in ‘Word’ format so you can change them to suit your particular circumstances.

I usually send in one of the above three letters shortly after receiving the summons. Irrespective of that, take one to your first appearance as the one you sent to the respective prosecution section never gets in your file.

I say elected to go to court because my strategy has been to, on my first appearance, NOT to enter a plea as I am waiting to get ‘the evidence’ (legal disclosure) from the Police. Give the prosecutor a copy of your letter you have taken along to court and the matter will be adjured for a month or 6 weeks.

Then what happens…?

In my experience. Your next two or even three appearances you will have received nothing from the Police. I have watched a mate (With sad eyes to the Magistrate!!) say:

“Your Honour this is my fourth (or fifth) time in court, I just wanted to see the evidence.”

In one case the following conversation speaks for itself….

Magistrate: (Loud and Stern) “MR PROSECUTOR”
Prosecutor (Quiet and Sheepish) “we withdraw your honour….”

If by some miracle you do get some disclosure you are facing a good chance of finding a mistake. Another mate finally got all the disclosure and made this statement the next time he went to Court and the Magistrate asked him how did he plea?

He said “Im at a loss your honour. It was there and I did speak to the Police Officer but, the video footage says one thing, his notes say another thing, the notes on the traffic infringement notice say another thing and what I remember happening is another thing. I don’t know which one to plead to?”


Yeah you know what happens next:
Magistrate: (Maybe Loud and Stern, or just feeling sorry for the Prosecutor) “Mr Prosecutor?”
Prosecutor (Quiet and Sheepish “we withdraw your honour….”

My experience, is other than the ‘fun’ involved, the majority of the time the Police will mess around with disclosure, which of course messes around with the Court (A ‘not happy Jan!’ Court is not a good Court for the Prosecution?) and if finally you do plead guilty it is rare for the fine to be more.

Again my experience, is if you tell the Court how much of a good, fine upstanding citizen you are etc etc, learned my lesson etc etc, you rarely get half of the fine and a few for dollars for costs (often prosecution costs are waived for obvious reasons!) and the victims of crime levy. All in all, usually less than the original fine.

PLUS!!!!! – and the bonus answer!!!!
Please don’t pay the fine in one big chunk out of your saved holiday money. Contact Fines Enforcement and Recovery Unit (details are on the infringement notice) and enter into a payment plan – my standard offer is $10.00 a fortnight – you don’t miss it. It is not means tested, so they usually accept what you say, to get it off their books. I think I’ll be dead before I pay of an ancient couple of speeding fines and too many Council fines from my Houdini Dog Scooby!!

Well, best of luck. Plus, driving slow and safe is always an option.

The Internet, Gender and Dialectics – the Existential Crisis of an Astronaut!

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“Dialectic is a formal system of reasoning that arrives at the truth through the exchange of logical arguments. Dialectic is a process of examining an issue using very careful steps. It allows for two opposing ideas to both be right at the same time”

The world is becoming a very strange place. The ‘dialectics’ keep on coming. So many things are right and wrong at the same time?

Here is my favorite ‘new one’.

We are restricting, by law, access children have to the internet because they can’t make decisions as to what is safe and harmful, so the government is protecting these innocent children. No free access to the internet until you are 16 – well that make sense, you can drive a car then?

But, my dilemma (and dare I say a dialectic) is that children of any age can choose if they want to be a male or female (I think the proper term is ‘gender’ as there are more of them to choose from?) irrespective of what chromosomes and genitalia they were born with.

I would have thought that choosing your sex (Gender you bigot!!!) was a bit more important and required some cognitive understanding and maturity beyond having Facebook, looking at porn or being stalked by a predator on line.

I’m just at a loss? And, I really would like to understand. I wonder if the parents in the 1960’s felt the same when their kids started wearing ‘tie-dye’ and growing long hair?

The media, the world, our government, and now in our classrooms, and living rooms, are becoming places where sticks and stones may break our bones. (When I say stick, I’m not referring to a bunch of sticks tied together, which is know as a faggot.) Words may now also break my bones. They may also break my bank account, employment, and social acceptance.

I am actually really open to any new ideas. I love to learn and hear discussions. I enjoy spirited debates about new and/or controversial things. I even have a friend who believes the world is flat. I love nothing more than listening without judgment or criticism to their explanations and proof.

I remember an old Vietnam Veteran mate of mine who would say, you can think anything you want, you can worship any God you want, just don’t force it on me.

I remember when the Flintstones used to have a ‘gay old time’. ‘Sledging’ in sport was considered a national pride and an ‘art form.’

If all the kids I went to primary and even high school with were ‘allowed’ to pursue anything that came into their head most of us would be AFL football players, astronauts, fighter pilots, nomad desert bikers, bank robbers etc.

Well, I suppose in today’s world, I can identify as any one of those. I choose an astronaut, and good on me… “Ground Control to Major Tom can you hear me…. because, Houston, I think we have a problem!”

Random Policing or Tyranny?

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I read the news paper the other day (I scold myself again for wasting the money….) and found the below article hidden in subtext after the winner of a game show and the elections and ramblings of overseas political incomprehensibility.

Screenshot

The article just reminded me of a conversation I had in the mid 1990’s…..

As a bit of history first. I graduated as a Police Officer in 1980.

Drink driving in those days meant that you were not allowed to drive drunk. We often pulled over a driver a bit after midnight (the pubs ALL closed at midnight) and had the following conversation:

“Hey mate where you off too?”
“Just going home”
“Where you coming from”
“Just been down the pub.”
“You had a few?”
“Yeah but I’m okay…”
“Okay mate take it easy, be careful.”
“Yes sir, can I go?”
“Yes mate…..”

Then a short time later ‘The Limit’ came in at 0.08 which nobody really knew what it meant. It became illegal to drive above the limit of alcohol in the blood, whatever that meant. But, the Government put advertisements on TV and it was a catchy phrase, and maybe it was a song something like “Four Men and Women Two” which turned out to be pretty wrong! Who knew?

Drivers then had to ‘blow in the bag’ (some of you will recognise the ‘altho-test’ in the above photo – no fancy electronics!!!) to show us they we sober. Sorry not sober, or too drunk to drive, but, ‘under the limit’ of 0.08. By the way it was still illegal to drive drunk!

Setting up the bag was a nightmare, breaking off the ends of little glass tubes filled with crystals, then connecting it to a bag and a mouth piece (with bare hands…). Then going through the legal jargon of saying blow until the bag is full. Then if the crystals changed colour above a little red line it meant you went over the limit, which was bad.

But, we didn’t do too many, as you had to be observed committing a traffic offence or driving in a manner which indicated your driving was impaired. This had to be see before the Police could pull you over a get you to ‘blow in the bag.’

Okay, later they brought in electronic breatherlsisers and legislation that gave Police the power to take your car and cancel your license on the side of the road. But, before that they did something else which, brings me to the point of my ramblings.

They (the infamous ‘they’, normally meaning the government or big business…) brought in:

RANDOM BREATH TESTING!!!!!!!

Wow! Randomly Policing the public just in case they were committing a crime with no indication that they have ever committed a crime, might commit a crime, let alone are committing a crime…. it’s all ‘random’ ….. dare I say ‘just in’ case Policing?

It was strange, as this is the main point of my story. When they brought in this ‘random policing model’ I was a Detective and studying to be qualified as a Sergeant. It was an era of enlightenment when Policing studies were aligned with TAFE and University Courses and qualifications actually meant something.

I went along to TAFE as a 30’s something fifteen year ‘veteran’ in the Police with the other students in the class being adolescents and kids all around 18 years old, which was a lot of fun. It came to a bit of a head in class discussions when we were doing something relating to random breath testing and drink driving.

I saw an opportunity to cause trouble, never an opportunity I would let pass by and spoke against the principle of random breath testing. Remember everyone was there just to get qualified in something and each 45 minute lecture in Adelaide TAFE was attended just so you could get a basic pass and get on with life.

I realised something while being the ‘devils advocate’ in this lecture it all came down to one question. I asked that question….

DO YOU BELIEVE IN RANDON BREATH TESTING …. AND IF SO, WHY?

Oh yeah, they were all for it. IT Stopped dangerous people on the road, saved lives, lowered traffic injuries and deaths. Unfortunately, experience tells us other than complete tyranny, enforcement has never actually ‘stopped’ a destructive community behaviour or crime problem. I love the story of alcohol prohibition in the US, it worked so well, it created “Organised Crime!”

Now, I want you to imagine you are at home one night with your family just finished tea and taking your positions to watch “Farmer Wants a Wife” or some other inane TV show designed to make you dumber. There is a knock on the door: the family all look at each other in surprise “Oh, I wonder who that could be?” We hear Dad open the front door and a measured and authoritarian voice is heard to say:

“Good evening sir”
Dad: “Hello Officer how can I help you?”
“We are conducting random house searches for drugs and stolen proptery… blah, blah, blah…

Okay, you say not probable, but, I say inevitable…?

But, can you not apply your reasoning for agreeing with random breath testing to this ‘random house searching’. Are they not justified on the same principles?

By allowing the Police to randomly ‘police’ us we are handing over our ‘right’ to go about our business peacefully without interference from an over controlling or oppressive regime. We are handing over all our rights to not be considered ‘possibly guilty until proven innocent.’ That is really the crux of the matter. Your presumption of innocence is surrendered by any form of random policing.

Oh, I hear you say again but that will never happen in Australia!

Well, you mean like, when you are randomly stopped in your car, and the Police have the power of ‘judge, jury and executioner’ when they cancel your licence on the spot and impound your car…. but, aren’t you innocent so why the ‘roadside penalty’ when Court, like a real Court, could be months away. Just point out to me in these situations where is your ‘presumption of innocence.’

Well, sorry too late….. ask those in Port Augusta if they enjoyed tyranny. (PS: The statistics they quote in the article below don’t mean anything?)

Doctor, Doctor…. I’m not paying your “Gap”

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I am a member of a few retired Police Officer and Detective groups which I read and try to constructively contribute to. Many have had real hard times and there is a lot of bitterness, anger and recriminations and allegations about their times of service.

Just lately, while I have been while reading through the posts and comments, I find that they no longer resonate with how I actually see the world.

The bitterness so often displayed, I do not think, is genuinely and objectively looking how we were lucky enough to be able to be make it to a point were we could join ‘retired groups.’ Lots of my mates didn’t make it.

I recently bastardised this quote:

“People sleep peaceably in their beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

I did this bastardisation when I wrote to a SurgeonSo, Doctor who wanted to charge me a $900.00 gap for a minor medical procedure.  The gap was waives as was that of the anaesthetist.

Please feel free to further bastardise it and be proud of your service and draw its true value to the attention of others in an honourable way…. (Names and a few details changed to be it anonymous – well except for me!

Dear Practice Manager,

Thanks for the email and all the information.

I just had a moment when I received all the information.

I could immediately see that Surgeon XP was a true professional and cared about his patients. I was very impressed by his mentoring of young overseas surgeons, one of whom I met. I am sure all is truely earned by him.

Yes, there is a ‘but’ or I would prefer a ‘however’…..

Professor Bain advised me of the ‘gap’ or ‘out of pocket expenses’ or a new term of prepaying appointments for a year…. I was just interested in my response and feelings when actually seeing it in writing and realising that I would have to call the anaesthetist’s office to find out his/her additional cost?  I’m not going to do that; I’m a little prideful for that.

I think you and most certainly the Professor are aware that I was a retired Police Officer with 38 years experience, 28 as a Detective.

I gave my heart, soul, a marriage and literal blood, sweat and tears in the fulfilment of my oath.  I retired early on invalidity due to stress, anxiety and depression, and moved to my home country town, which I love.  I volunteer, go to Church, was elected to the local Berri Barmera Council, attend a men’s group and run ‘shed squad’ for a few blokes in my own shed on Tuesdays.

I bear no ill will to those I served, for so many years.  An occasional ‘thank you’ was all one could hope for.

I must live with the knowledge that so many slept peacefully in their beds, achieved their aspirations, goals and loves, because I was not with my family, but, one of the men and women who ran towards danger, who became rough in our attitudes and actions, ready to serve violence and take the injuries, so those who slept and rose in the safety we provided,  didn’t have to.  It was our duty, and gift.

So, I am afraid, now, no-one pays my gap. My gap is just carried by me; forever paid for by my family, friends and colleagues.

I did what my Government and community asked of me.

In my career, in those long hours, in the blood and tears, in the lonely recovery and the names I say often, as they didn’t make it…. I have asked no-one to pay my gap.

I’m afraid, that as much as I respect our medical professionals and the difficult job they do, if Surgeon X and the anaesthetist, perhaps on his asking, are not prepared to wave the ‘gap,’ a ‘gap’ incidentally that our Government has decided our medical professionals are not worth. 

Then I must with all good conscience decline the operation and thank the good Surgeon X for his time.

I live in a poor community, but will wait in line for my turn in the public system, that I suspect are finding it as difficult to fulfil their own oaths to serve and I did.

I do not do this request with animosity or judgement on our good Doctors and professional health specialists and health soldiers.

I just feel that it is the principal.  

For me character, integrity and service are always a gift and not a commodity for sale.

With great kindness and respect.

Sincerely,

Ian Schlein

So, I suppose you want to know the result?

Both gaps waived.

I also send a similar letter to Jones and Partners and the ‘scanning’ mobs and have had the gap they make you pay up front refunded.

Its time we pointed out the gap we are ‘required’ to pay is for valuable and often expensive services that the Health Funds and the Government undervalue not us.