Another Federal Budget, another slap in the face. Once again, the funding allocated to First Nations people is little more than an afterthought—tokenistic crumbs thrown in our direction while billions are funneled elsewhere. It’s exhausting, but not surprising. Australia has the unique privilege of being home to the longest continuing culture in the world, yet it goes out of its way to erase it. This country is in an identity crisis, torn between its colonial past and its desperate need to be accepted by the toxic boys’ club that exists in America. Half Stockholm syndrome to the monarchy, half desperate to prove we belong at the table with those who have built their empires on exploitation.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s unfolding in America—how the accumulation of obscene wealth translates directly into power and privilege. The problem isn’t just in government; it’s in the structures that allow a handful of men with no empathy, no respect for minorities, and no sense of shared humanity to hoard resources and dictate the direction of entire nations.
But here’s the thing: power is not just about politics. It’s about where we, as everyday people and businesses, choose to invest our money, our time, and our energy. Imagine if we collectively stopped feeding the machine—if we divested from people and systems that actively oppress and reinvested in those breaking down barriers and creating real change. If we prioritised businesses, leaders, and initiatives that value empathy, community, and shared success, it wouldn’t just benefit minority groups—it would benefit everyone.
Imagine a world where real change isn’t reliant on government policies and political parties but instead driven by the choices we make every day. We have the power not only to decide who we vote into power but also to shape the systems we engage with, the businesses we support, and the communities we build. Independence from government decisions isn’t just possible—it’s necessary. By working together, making intentional choices, and refusing to accept the status quo, we can create a future where culture, identity, and community aren’t just acknowledged but truly valued.
Dismissing these ideas as ‘idealistic’ is just another way of maintaining the status quo. It’s not idealism that’s the problem—it’s complacency. Calling people naive for believing in a better way forward isn’t critical thinking; it’s a defense mechanism, a way to avoid discomfort and accountability. The word ‘idealistic’ has become a tool of oppression, used to undermine and silence those who dare to imagine something different. But change has never come from cynicism—it has always come from those who refuse to accept that ‘this is just the way things are.’
