In the National Interest

Over the past thirty years, the internet has transformed virtually every area of human activity, social and economic. The bulk of these changes have been positive, allowing people to work, imagine and connect with each other in new ways. The boost to economic activity has been enormous. But along with the benefits have come new risks. Our children can learn and play on the internet, but they can also be bullied there, or unwittingly stumble across extreme pornography. For ordinary citizens, the internet provides an unprecedented opportunity to comment and participate in public discourse; but the same digital platforms providing this opportunity can also be forums for the wide circulation of abusive, defamatory or grossly inaccurate material. And while the internet has created vast new opportunities for businesses and consumers, it has disrupted many traditional forms of economic activity. The result is a rich set of policy challenges for governments. Paul Fletcher is Australia's Minister for Communications and has worked on internet policy issues for twenty-five years. In Governing in the Internet Age, he outlines the key challenges the internet has posed for governments as they seek to preserve their sovereignty, protect their citizens from harm, and regulate neutrally between traditional and online business models. Yes, the internet has changed everything-and that goes for governing, too.

Australia has enjoyed an unprecedented period of prosperity in recent decades, yet despite this there has been a widely reported loss of faith in politics and institutions. With the COVID-19 pandemic, Australia faces its most significant economic and social challenges in decades. How is politics placed to deal with these challenges and what is the capacity of our key institutions to do so? What are the lessons and warnings from history? In Challenging Politics, long-time politician Scott Ryan argues that the way we determine issues, the way we practice politics, and what we expect from politicians and government, is in flux. To some, the virtue of compromise has become the sin of sell-out. The louder voices of fringe and single-issue movements attract attention, money and commitment, and apply litmus tests to those who seek to govern. This makes it more difficult for our institutions, and therefore our politics, to function effectively. The long-talked-about collapse of the centre isn't solely about extreme ideas. It is also about how our expectations of politics and our institutions have changed.

As 'America's shoeshine boy in the South Pacific', Australia is accustomed to being told what to do. In the space of a mere five years, the subjugation of Australia's national interest to that of the United States in provoking China under president Trump led us very quickly into a hostile relationship with the rising power of the People's Republic of China, and trashed forty years of positive relationship building. The Australian Government is inexperienced in its dealings with China, about which it knows very little. It fails to understand that primarily China wants to be treated with the respect due to a major power. Seeking to curry favour with Washington, the Australian Government and the media have turned the people against China. Claiming to stand up against the newly aggressive nation under President Xi Jinping, Prime Minister Morrison has damaged Australia's critical trading relationship with China as he acts to shore up his own political support against domestic challengers. As a result, Australia is now suffering serious Chinese blowback. This book describes the current unhappy situation and, based on Gantner's forty years of work in cultural exchange with China, offers some modest suggestions on improving bilateral relations. With the United States pushing for containment of and confrontation with China, and an insecure Australia giving up its sovereignty to buy American protection, it is not at all certain that this will happen.

Australia's prosperity relies on the continent's extraordinary natural-primarily mineral-riches and good fortune. But economic, financial, environmental, geopolitical and societal pressures now threaten the nation's high living standards. The COVID-19 pandemic is the first of many trials to come. Lacklustre reform proposals are mired in ideological necrophilia: ideas which have been tried and failed. Politics is trading insults and slogans. Institutions lack the quality, skills, organisational memory and courage to deliver the required solutions. A disengaged citizenry are focused on preserving their entitled way of life, refusing to accept that the well of plenty is approaching exhaustion. Critics are derided as permanent professional pessimists, the doubting Irishman Hanrahan in John O'Brien's poem warning of 'roon'. Cognitive dissonance is a national religion. Written in accessible, acerbic prose, Fortune's Fool cuts through these issues to expose Australia's current dilemmas and choices. It dissects the pandemic, global trends, Australia's narrow 'house and holes' economy and its dependency on China, spotlighting a political paralysis that must be overcome and the changes that are urgently needed. For Australians remotely concerned about their own future and their children's, as well as the country's, Fortune's Fool is essential reading.

The recent revelations and allegations of sexual harassment and assault in the Australian Parliament have prompted furious responses. Political leaders have attempted to limit the damage by referring to the lack of criminal charges, resisting a discussion of entrenched misogyny. Advocates for survivors of abuse see this as a continuation of the long history of normalising the abuse of woman, perpetuating it through legal mechanisms and the exercise of power. We are now hearing calls from young women survivors such as 2021 Australian of the Year Grace Tame to acknowledge the reality of abuse and reform our approach to social justice and support. Young women in schools are speaking out about the impact on their development and mental health. We might have expected our political leaders to respond to this outpouring, but no. This impasse represents the workings of a 'rape culture' where the abuse of women is accepted as commonplace. Traditionally, women survivors have been deemed mentally unwell, hysterical, delusional, vindictive liars. Psychological theories of repression have been misused, contributing to the recycling of the so-called theory of 'false memories' whereby the recall of trauma is seen as invented, perhaps implanted by therapists. Yet again, women's testimonies are discredited. It is concerning that this complex issue is being ventilated by journalists, politicians and lawyers without any clinical understanding of trauma, memory and the implications for support. Women must not be represented as mentally unstable, untrustworthy or ruled by their hormones while their abusers take refuge in legalisms, obfuscations and the dark art of political calculus.

Scott Morrison wants to spend a lot more money on defence, the business community wants more spending on infrastructure and education, an ageing population wants better health and aged care, and young Australians want more action on climate change and affordable housing. Each problem requires more public spending, but for decades Australians have been told that the less government spends, the better their lives will be. Furthermore, while spending more money will be essential to fund more submarines, aged-care nurses and infrastructure, money alone will not solve the problems faced by Australia. Decades of declining standards of accountability and transparency, of privatisation, deregulation and tax cuts, combined with a lack of energy in strengthening the positive role of government, have led to apathy among the public and parliamentarians. We have allowed our public institutions to shrink and atrophy, and our creativity to wane in choosing not just which services government should provide but how best to provide them. There is a clear alternative: follow the lead of the Nordic countries in the provision of great public health, education, housing and infrastructure, and in doing so boost economic productivity and deliver higher standards of living at lower cost. It is time to jettison the obsession with the 'unfinished reform agenda' of the 1990s, to consider the breadth and depth of the new challenges confronting Australia, and to chart a course in which governments take more responsibility for solving the problems that will dominate Australian lives in the years ahead. We must abandon decades of denial that the public sector can play a bigger and better role in improving our lives. To build the bigger government these times demand, we must first abandon the baggage of the past.

For some time, Australia's democracy has been slowly sliding into disrepair. The nation's major policy challenges go unaddressed, our economic future is uncertain and political corruption is becoming normalised. It's tempting, but distracting, to point to the usual list of reasons, from the declining calibre of the political class to the growing polarisation of politics. But we can't understand the current predicament of our democracy without recognising the central role of Murdoch's national media monopoly. In Queensland, where national elections are determined, he owns thirteen of the state's fourteen newspapers. All his papers are loss-making and retained for political influence only; nationally, they act as a Liberal Party protection racket, providing zero accountability on Coalition corruption and incompetence. Together with the Liberal Party, the Murdoch media cultivates a climate of national anxiety, fear and anger through relentless campaigns on deficit, debt and the threat to Australia from ever-changing but always nefarious foreign interests. Their goal is an anxious Australia, reinforced by the latest campaign applications of political neuroscience, permanently predisposing the electorate towards the reassurance of having conservatives in power. For these reasons, there is no longer a level playing field in Australian politics. We won't see another progressive government in Canberra until we deal with this cancer in our democracy. Three more things must change for Labor to be returned to office. Labor must significantly broaden its political base; demolish the entire rationale for the conservative political project now that the Liberal Party has abandoned its position on debt, deficit and government intervention in the economy; and put forward a clear plan dealing with the challenges ahead: recurring pandemics; demographic decline; technological disruption undermining economic competitiveness and employment; the rise of China; and the continued economic and environmental devastations of climate change. All four tasks are essential. All four will require great political courage to bring about fundamental change. And now is the time for women and men of courage to act.

Every year, Australians break sporting world records through a combination of ingenuity, grit and teamwork. Sport is a source of personal and national pride for millions. In this book, economist, politician and triathlete Andrew Leigh argues that sport can embody both achievement and egalitarianism. On the starting line, what matters isn't athletes' wealth or connections but their hard work. In a fair tournament, the last-placed team starts the next year with a fighting chance to win the grand final. Yet, over the past generation, the Australian economy hasn't matched the performances of our top sportspeople. The nation that brought home a glittering haul of medals from the Tokyo Olympics, and the urn from the last three Ashes series, has an economy that's unfit for the challenges of the future. Productivity is in the doldrums, and student test scores are falling. The business startup rate has dropped, and markets aren't as competitive as they should be. Leigh argues that we don't have a shared national story about the kind of economy we want to build, or the kind of society we want to live in, and that this is where sport can provide the necessary inspiration. Sport isn't just about winning-it's about how we play the game. Sport provides the most powerful rebuttal to the myth that we have to choose between fairness and excellence. Sport reminds us that we can celebrate the underdog and cheer the champion. Sport demonstrates that innovation and equality can go together.

The level of public frustration and disengagement with political leaders has never been higher. At the same time, the problems we need them to deal with, such as the COVID-19 pandemic, a crisis in aged care and accelerating climate change, are immediate and urgent. The system is designed to make our politicians accountable, so why are so many of them failing us, and why is there a crisis of confidence in their ability to rise to the challenges we face? Is our system so flawed that we have lost the capacity for progress? Or has our political establishment lost its way, and is it now betraying the people it is meant to serve while undermining its own legitimacy? Based on his experience working closely with a large number of ministers and their private offices, both at the federal and state level, and his time in the United States, Don Russell reflects on politicians, the political process and the role of government, and explains why our political leaders are as they are. Drawing on his experience, including his involvement in the golden age of public policy of the Hawke/Keating years, and his observations on Australia's early success responding to the pandemic, he suggests that there is a pathway that can lead to dramatically better outcomes for the country and more satisfying and longer careers for our politicians. People want their elected officials to be informed, to be capable and creative, to be able to devise solutions that work, and then to be able to explain those solutions and bring the community with them. They want their elected officials to lead.

The exposés in early 2021 of sexism and sexual violence in Parliament House prompted women across the country (and some men) to take to stages, lecterns and social media to express their rage and demand action. However, while these events highlighted that violence against women is an ongoing issue in our community, in many ways the allegations and incidents should not shock us. They are part of women's daily lives. Violence against women has been called the 'shadow pandemic'; it is certainly an international epidemic. Since family violence was declared a national emergency here in 2015, little has been done nationally to change the tragic reality that one woman is killed by a current or former male partner every week. The lack of federal leadership and action can no longer be ignored, excused or explained away. Canberra's silence on violence against women has become deafening of late. The softly-softly response to allegations of abuse, harassment and sexual violence reflects a longstanding pattern of our political leaders not taking women's safety seriously. In Our National Shame, Kate Fitz-Gibbon reminds us that violence against women is not a private issue that needs bespoke, case-by-case solutions. It is a community-wide problem that, to be properly addressed, requires a dramatic shift in how we understand and respond to men's violence, and most importantly, the tackling of gender inequality in this country. Transformative national leadership must drive this. But do our political masters have either the will or the integrity to meet this challenge?

The Morrison government's moral decline happened first slowly and then all at once. We suffered through 'Sports rorts' and 'Watergate' and an MIA PM, before the dissembling response to allegations of sexual abuse at the very heart of federal politics threw into stark relief the cynicism and moral bankruptcy of a government ready to abandon any semblance of integrity to save its own skin. But at a time when the country is crying out for leadership, the Labor Party seems paralysed, so terrified it may lose votes from its opponent's perennial wedging that, on key moral questions, it has failed to make the case to win them. Burning Down the House tells the story of how our political system went awry and how we have arrived at a place where a group of the most unlikely politicians contemplated the sort of Australia they wanted-responsible, humane, moral-and concluded that was not the Australia reflected in our current toxic politics. Into the breach has stepped a range of independents beholden to no-one but themselves and their electorates, ordinary Australians determined to burn it all down and build something new.

What is it about the culture and structure of Parliament House that has allowed sexual violence and harassment to flourish? Jenny was a Labor MP for twenty-three years, a Cabinet minister for six years, and now gets to view the parliament through the reflective eyes of someone who is no longer there. I'm in my first term as a Labor MP. So we have a generation between the beginnings of our time in the parliament. When Jenny was first elected in 1996, I was in my final years of high school. In that time, the number of women in the Australian Parliament has increased, but unfortunately, they are still not being heard. And tragically, they are not always safe. As women, we believe in the power of politics to do good, and as feminists we recognise that politics is about power: getting it, holding onto it, and using it to improve citizens' lives. Women wielding power in Parliament House, women fighting for equality and an end to discrimination across our country, have made their mark and they have caused change. But the underlying problem of men's attitudes towards women, of men believing it is their right to assault or harass women, remains. For this to change, men will have to give up some of the harmful ways in which they use power-in the parliament and in our community. We are calling for actions to have consequences, and for an end to a culture of political impunity. We want to seize this moment to do the unfinished work-to make sure that women are not just in the room, but that they are safe there. We say enough is enough.

In March 2020, schools and childcare centres across Australia were forced to close to control the spread of the recently arrived novel coronavirus (COVID-19). Families and carers suddenly had to adjust to long periods of home-schooling, disparities in the availability of technology, loss of social connections with friends and relatives, and an exhausting new balancing act of work, home and schooling commitments-all in a confined environment. In the wake of the resulting emotional burnout, heightened by spontaneous lockdown measures and growing COVID-19 cases, we witnessed an exponential rise in youth anxiety, triggering a mental health crisis in children as young as those of kindergarten age. Three years later, what does the post-pandemic child look like? What does the future hold for the millions of young Australians whose formative years were so disrupted? And what help must we urgently provide to this generation of children who found themselves coping with a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic? In The Post-Pandemic Child, Kim Cornish takes us through the key challenges now faced by Australian children, including the return to in-person schooling and the ramifications of online teaching and missed years of social interaction. She also examines the short- and long-term consequences for this 'pandemic generation', and the priorities in enabling these children to regain what was lost during the early years of COVID-19.

A strong higher education system is fundamental to civil society. The building of knowledge and the dissemination of information is vital to the proper functioning of our democracy. At the economic level, higher education is in the top three of our export industries; international students have become central to the hospitality, retail and agricultural economies; and the country desperately needs well-trained, knowledgeable citizens to shore up its future. Yet, in February 2024, a detailed review of higher education in this country concluded that the system is broken and urgently needs fixing. The problems that afflict it are legion, including over-investment in international enrolment, an epidemic of casualisation and the burning out of a generation of academics, culture wars over the content and orientation of university research and teaching, the lack of sectoral coordination around the national interest, and the consequences of decades of funding cuts. In Broken, Graeme Turner provides a reality check for those who imagine the academic life is one of privilege and leisure, laying bare the enormous challenges and lack of hope experienced by many in academia. He unearths the foundations of this crisis, then explains how the solution lies in an overhaul of the one-size-fits-all approach to university funding, the establishment of genuine full-time career paths, and the formation of an independent body to ensure our university system serves the national interest in both teaching and research, rather than the ferocious competitiveness of the marketplace. Above all, we need to jettison the current economic focus on education, and re-embrace the idea that higher learning is a fundamental public good-and should be funded as such.

Authenticity. Vulnerability. Humility. Transparency. These are some of the 21st-century virtues proselytised by mindset gurus, paraded (if not practised) by big corporations, and lauded by professionals on LinkedIn. The quest for authenticity, for example, is central to progressive campaigns for greater diversity and inclusion, while our political and business leaders are highest praised if they appear to be humble. But are Australia's newest virtues fit for purpose? In this provocative book, Lucinda Holdforth questions the new orthodoxy. She suggests that these virtues are not only unhelpfully subjective and self-referential but also, in the absence of broader civic values, fail to serve our democracy. This matters when experience around the world, especially in the United States, shows us that no democracy is guaranteed. Holdforth reminds us that arguments for transparency and authenticity are routinely used by totalitarian regimes to justify ultra-nationalism, artistic censorship and population surveillance. Vulnerability may be a facet of the human condition but that is surely no reason to make it an aspiration. Well-meaning people may talk about the power of 'my' truth, but if pushed too far this risks a dissolution of agreed facts and shared reality, breaking down the decision-making processes essential to effective democracy. If we agree that Australia needs confident, rational, optimistic and outward-looking citizens to shape our future, then Holdforth challenges us to reconsider the contemporary virtues shaping our society.

Why does Australia go through cycles of public policy boldness and timidity? The COVID-19 crisis has shown that the Australian political system has much more tolerance for policy innovation than appeared to be the case on the evidence of the previous twenty years. As another election approaches, though, the signs are that both major parties are keen for a return to policy caution. In Who Dares Loses: Pariah Policies, Wayne Errington and Peter van Onselen explain the political constraints on policymakers and the ways in which they are changing. The obvious comparison to the policy urgency of COVID-19 is climate change, where successive governments have failed to rise to the challenge. Framing climate change as an emergency won't make any difference to the web of interests that has prevented an effective response from Australian governments. However, climate change is one of a series of issues where the major parties are less than frank with voters. The need to raise revenue to deal with such policy problems, as well as social inequality, has to be front and centre. Labor took some modest tax proposals to the 2019 election but hasn't dealt with the underlying problem: Australian's tax system relies too much on personal and corporate income. This book suggests alternative sources of revenue and spending reforms. In addition, it examines the limited debates over welfare, Medicare and public broadcasting. Some of these ideas have been around for decades. Others are the product of new technology. What they have in common is that they are good ideas that have become pariahs when it comes to government action.

In 1996, the first independent national report on the state of Australia's environment found that we faced serious problems. With increasing urgency, five subsequent reports declared those problems were all getting worse, each calling for immediate action to protect our future. The 2021 report determined that, 'Overall, the state and trend of the environment of Australia are poor and deteriorating as a result of increasing pressures from climate change, habitat loss, invasive species, pollution and resource extraction,' and warned of the dramatic impact on our health and living standards. It is now clearer than ever that the consequences of long-term inaction are upon us. Accelerating climate change and the loss of our unique biodiversity are the most obvious signs of the grim outlook for future generations of Australians. But the international trends are equally worrying, with quixotic economic systems casting doubt on the wisdom of running down our domestic production of essential goods and services in favour of a dependence on trade. It is no exaggeration to conclude that Australian society itself is at risk. In Australia on the Brink, Ian Lowe argues that the essential first steps in addressing these threats are stabilising the global climate and protecting our local biota. We must also change the emphasis of resource extraction from a damaging reliance on trade to improving our capacity to meet our own needs. This is our best – perhaps our only – chance of restoring a sense of social stability, and the equality of opportunity that was once a hallmark of this country.

One in five Australian women has been the victim of a sexual assault. For these women, there is less than a 1 per cent chance that their rapist has been arrested, prosecuted and convicted of the crime. These are the bare numerical facts of system failure. We offer rape survivors a stark choice: go to the police, or remain silent. In recent times, the public pressure on survivors to report has increased, alongside a growing focus on two other options: civil action against the perpetrator, or going public. These evolving social responses are intended to offer an alternative to the tradition of silencing. However, each of these choices, for survivors, involves a further sacrifice of what they have already lost. The legal system's responses to rape were designed without survivors in mind, and they do not address, in any way, the questions that survivors ask or the needs they express. Simply put, on the systemic response to rape, we are having the wrong conversation.

In 2023, debate about an Indigenous Voice to Parliament swirls around us as Australia heads towards a referendum on amending the Constitution to make this Voice a reality. The idea of a 'First Nations Voice' was famously raised in 2017, when Indigenous leaders drafted the Uluru Statement from the Heart. It was envisioned as a representative body, enshrined in the Constitution, that would advise federal parliament and the executive government on laws and policies of significance to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. But while Indigenous people may finally get their Voice, will it be heard? In Time to Listen, Melissa Castan and Lynette Russell explore how the need for a Voice has its roots in what anthropologist WEH Stanner in the late 1960s called the 'Great Australian Silence', whereby the history and culture of Indigenous Australians have been largely ignored by the wider society. This 'forgetting' has not been incidental but rather an intentional, initially colonial policy of erasement. So have times now changed? Is the tragedy of that national silence-a refusal to acknowledge Indigenous agency and cultural achievements-finally coming to an end? The Voice to Parliament can be a transformational legal and political institutional reform, but only if we really listen to Indigenous people, and they are clearly heard when they speak.

The scandal involving the allegations against Dyson Heydon, former justice of the High Court (who emphatically denies the claims), confirmed that the scourge of sexual harassment in Australian workplaces was also to be found in the chambers of one of the seven most senior judges in the country. An unquestioning reliance on the calibre of the fine legal minds appointed to the High Court had blinded us to the reality that sexual harassment is as common in the legal profession as it is in corporate Australia and in all other industries. In particular, in the legal profession, a hierarchical structure and a culture of silence had served to perpetuate feelings of embarrassment, fear and shame on the part of victims. In Power & Consent, Rachel Doyle, a practising Senior Counsel for over a decade, argues that we need to understand the power relationships at the heart of the modern workplace. Sexual harassment is rarely a 'one off'. Perpetrators continue their harassment because they are not called to account for their actions. Silence and complicity allow recidivists to go unpunished and normalise the phenomenon of 'getting away with it'. Perpetrators must be taught what consent means. This book demands a new response to complaints of sexual harassment; one which recognises the power of strength in numbers, the probative value of multiple complaints, and the restorative power of grievances shared. It also calls for the imposition of new obligations: it asks bystanders to become participants and to take collective responsibility for supporting victims and stopping perpetrators.

Disregard the critics. Australia's ABC, at ninety years of age, is demonstrably more valuable to Australians now than it has ever been. The ABC's home-grown Managing Director, David Anderson, gives us a rare insight into the ABC he knows intimately: a cultural powerhouse where Australian identity is celebrated, democracy is defended, and a very Australian brand of creativity is encouraged to flourish. This is a challenging era for many public broadcasters, with news media consolidation, globalised entertainment streams and unreliable social media. Yet the ABC has never faltered or lost its relevance: on the contrary. This book sets out why Australians turn to their ABC now more than ever for information and news, solace and entertainment, pride and patriotism. Anderson lays out how the ABC will continue to innovate and develop as our essential and beloved national institution over the years leading to its centenary in 2032, and beyond.

As the many nations of the Pacific deal with the threat of climate change, including rising sea levels and lessening access to fresh water, they are also suffering from some of the slowest rates of development of any region on earth. Now more than ever, the Pacific needs a champion, and that champion needs to be Australia. The Pacific is where our foreign policy starts, yet for too long we have failed to take the lead. Our country has a long and significant history in the Pacific, but our attention has wandered over the last decade, both through lacklustre foreign policy and cuts to foreign aid, and this has left our role in the region poorly defined. We need to have a greater sense of purpose and a greater sense of intent when it comes to supporting our Pacific neighbours. This is the part of the world in which we have the clearest voice, and we simply cannot allow it to languish. In Tides that Bind: Australia in the Pacific, ALP Deputy Leader Richard Marles implores us to step up our support for and commit to building better relationships with our friends in the Pacific, assisting their development and securing peace in the region. He argues we must do so not just for the sake of our global standing, but for the ten million people to whom the Pacific is home.

'We will not achieve net zero in the cafes, dinner parties and wine bars of our inner cities.' Little infuriated the forgotten people of the twenty-first century-women and younger voters, especially-more than Scott Morrison's deluge of disparagement on the issues that mattered to them. The May 2022 election marked the great re-engagement of those ignored and patronised for too long on climate, integrity and gender equity. The electoral map has been dramatically redrawn. However, the triumph of the 'teals' was not entirely unexpected to those assisting their rise, such as Climate 200 founder Simon Holmes à Court. As Australia entered its lost decade on climate action, he observed that conventional advocacy had become a case of diminishing returns, and that Cathy McGowan's election as a community independent in 2013 provided a template for direct political engagement. The result was Climate 200, a crowdfunded outfit intended to provide the money and expertise to better match the major parties and turbocharge the grassroots movement emerging in thirty-plus electorates. Despite a relentless and increasingly shrill campaign of vilification aimed at Holmes à Court and the candidates by the Liberals, assisted by their media mates, we saw the election of six new community independent MPs and one senator. It was a victory of facts over fear, priorities over prejudice. It was a blow to the unfit-for-purpose 'majoritariat', a rejection of the false binary choice between parties that no longer reflect the hopes and complexity of modern democratic Australia. This is the story of how a team of inspired young tech-heads and older sages used their real and virtual-world experience to help a cluster of communities get the representation they wanted.

Imagine a time when any patient, no matter who they are or where they live, can visit their doctor or specialist online and immediately access all the relevant diagnostic information and medical records – a time when a holistic view of a person's health data and outcomes is literally always at their fingertips. Some of this is a reality now, but the system is clunky, incomplete and inefficient. The fact is that the health sector in Australia, in comparison to industries such as banking and commerce, has been slow to adopt digital methodologies. And even when it has, there has been a frustrating lack of connectivity between e-health technologies, confronting clinicians and consumers alike with information silos. Richard Royle and David Hansen have been closely involved in e-health in Australia for over two decades and are committed to the creation of a digital health system that enables connected care for consumers and health providers across the country. With this goal in mind, in Connected Care: Digital Health in Australia they outline the challenges ahead, and what governments and health providers can do to help build and encourage the uptake of the necessary technology. Australia needs a properly interconnected healthcare system. This will reduce costs and increase efficiencies in what is currently an overstretched sector-and most importantly, it will save lives. A digital health community that reliably provides connected care will deliver greater wellbeing to everyone.

Australia's looming population crisis and how to avert it.Is Australia heading for a population shock? Economist Abul Rizvi examines the long-term consequences of population ageing, exploring the economic and social challenges facing Australia as its population ages. Rizvi argues that current government policies are inadequate to address these challenges and proposes a range of policy reforms to slow the rate of population ageing, maintain economic growth, and reduce social inequality. This book is for: - Economists - Policymakers - Demographers Discover Population Shock and understand the critical choices facing Australia's future. Will Australia adapt in time, or will it succumb to the shock?

When Héritier Lumumba's Collingwood teammates called him 'Chimp', it showed a lack of respect. When the Prime Minister referred to Brittany Higgins by her first name in parliament, it showed a lack of respect. When senator Bill Heffernan referred to then prime minister Julia Gillard as 'deliberately barren', it showed a lack of respect. When the federal government refused permission to fly the Indigenous flag in the Senate, it showed a lack of respect. When Bettina Arndt defended a 56-year-old man who had repeatedly raped fifteen-year-old Grace Tame, now the 2021 Australian of the Year, it showed a lack of respect. So when did respect disappear? When did we agree to abandon our respect for expertise, for other people's experience and history, for the boundaries between the personal and the public, for facts as well as feelings? In a civil society, respect is a fundamental principle. Should the government of the day legislate respect? Should it lead the community or follow it? Victorian MP Jill Hennessy, in a passionate argument, exhorts us to reclaim the empathy that respect depends on.

Depending on who you ask, former NSW premier Gladys Berejiklian is either seen as a feminist icon who was done over by a dud boyfriend, or a political player who did everything she could to cling to power. One thing not in dispute is that she has been at the centre of one of the biggest scandals in NSW political history, embroiled in a major corruption inquiry that also enveloped the man with whom she was in a secret relationship for five years. In Gladys: A Leader's Undoing, award-winning 7.30 journalist Paul Farrell takes us behind the scenes of the investigation that prompted Berejiklian's resignation. He gives us a detailed account of how ICAC built its case against the former premier, and the romantic relationship that ended her political reign. And he explores how and why Berejiklian's immense popularity as a powerful female leader in a male-dominated political party persisted despite the accusations against her. This book also examines the arguments for and against corruption-fighting bodies such as ICAC at a time when trust in our political institutions is at the lowest level it has ever been, and it asks tough questions about the state of our democracy. At the centre of all this is the national importance of trust, honesty and integrity, and how much Australians are willing to tolerate when it comes to the behaviour of their leaders.

What does reconciliation and truth-telling look like, and how do we as a nation find justice for Indigenous people? In this deeply personal work, Inala Cooper shares stories of her family to show the impact of colonisation on the lives of Aboriginal people from the 1940s to now. She reveals the struggles faced by her Elders and contrasts them with the freedoms she comes across as an Aboriginal woman today. Speaking only from lived experience, Inala examines racism, privilege, and how deeply personal is one's identity. Her stories illustrate the complexities of identifying as Aboriginal and the importance of community in an increasingly individualist world. Exploring the impacts of major events throughout her life, Inala reflects on how human rights are breached and defended. She examines reconciliation and the need to share wealth and power, and the importance of truth-telling and justice. In finding her place as an advocate and activist for social justice, Inala is supported by her family, her ancestors, community and the academy. It is these supports that help her challenge racist and outdated notions of what it means to be Indigenous, sovereign and self-determined, and to uphold the principles of justice. The thought-provoking stories in this book surface more questions than the necessary answers. But Inala brings us to her home as she weaves together her stories, the country she's connected to, and the elements that shape her path-none so prevalent as Marrul: the changing wind.

In an age of existential threats for Australia and the world, what does society need from companies, and how should companies respond? Corporate social responsibility (CSR) has a leading role to play in answering these fundamental questions. Yet current Australian and international debate remains stuck in polarised positions on CSR and related topics, including environmental, social and governance considerations (ESG), and diversity, equity and inclusion factors (DEI) for businesses. In this groundbreaking book, Professor Bryan Horrigan provides a roadmap for navigating the complexity of CSR and the current controversies surrounding it. How is the corporate landscape changing for Australia and the world on corporate diversity, climate disclosures, and social and environmental harms? Do Australian businesses, the professions advising them, and even universities all have social licences to operate? Should they all speak and act publicly on controversial social and environmental issues, or stay out of the arena of partisan politics altogether? How far should corporate governance standards for ASX-listed companies go in addressing social, environmental and climate issues? Do Australian company directors face legal liability for mismanaging climate risk and disclosure, and what safeguards can protect them? And how does the Trump administration's war on so-called 'wokeness' create ripple effects for corporate Australia, Australian politics and Australian universities? Professor Horrigan brings a unique blend of academic, practical and policy expertise to these topics. This book is essential reading for those in the public, private, not-for-profit and university sectors whose work concerns business and corporations in society.

Australia became a republic many years ago-culturally, if not yet constitutionally. We've long stopped identifying as subjects of the British Crown, relying on UK military and trade relationships, and looking to London as our lodestar. We've long stopped allowing the UK Parliament to override our laws, accepting imported vice-regal representatives, and even hearing from our governor-general on days of national significance. We've long stopped singing 'God Save the Queen', and when the King visited last year, hardly anyone noticed. Some of these have been natural evolutions, some politically imposed; all make the monarchy less and less visible in everyday Australia. For a multicultural federation on the sovereign lands of hundreds of First Nations, all of this makes good sense-but, like it or not, we remain a British realm. Our governments and indeed our democracy exist only at His Majesty's pleasure, codified in a faulty constitution, and systematically incapacitating necessary reform. In When Australia Became a Republic, Esther Anatolitis examines the key moments in our emergence as a republic, and maps out new paths to securing legitimate independence for a more honest society. These include ambitiously neutralising the toxicity that dominates our national conversation; venturous civics education for a new era of empowered citizenship; and of course, constitutional change-because monarchy and democracy are irreconcilable.

The Fourth Industrial Revolution, the digital disruption of business by the information and communications sectors, is well underway in Australia and around the globe. The COVID-19 pandemic has only accelerated the pace of change. We are witnessing a proliferation of new platforms and new markets, with AI replacing human expertise – we are seeing the transformation of the firm, how we work and the nature of society. These seismic changes are all impacting the global distribution of economic growth and income. And alarmingly, among the OECD economies, as a share of GDP, Australia's ICT sector is around half the average, and falling further over time – it is second-last, only above Mexico. Given the scope and speed of change, Australia is now confronted by a stark choice between becoming a tech innovator, and so a producer of economic profits and high-paying jobs, or stagnating. We are at a crossroads, and our policy choices today will determine whether we remain one of the wealthiest and happiest nations in the world, or see our global position continue to slide. In Digital Revolution: A Survival Guide, Professor Simon Wilkie argues that, to preserve our status as one of the most desirable economies to live in, we need a policy revolution that addresses not just universal basic income, but tax policy, lifelong education, social inclusion and the nature of work. In short, the Fourth Industrial Revolution has the potential to usher in a period of sustained prosperity and increasing equality. But to achieve this demands no less than a rethinking of the social contract.

Nature creates viruses. But people and politics create pandemics. And pandemics create new politics. In the 1980s, the toxic politics of the response to HIV/AIDS turned a serious but manageable viral threat into a global pandemic that took the lives of 32 million people and brought illness and suffering to millions more. In 2020, COVID-19 emerged into a world where many governments had failed to heed the lessons of the past, and so they were unprepared and unable to stop its global spread. But some countries had learned the harsh lessons of HIV/AIDS, and had contained SARS1, Ebola, Zika and MERS. When coronavirus hit, they knew what to do to save their people from avoidable infections and deaths. In Unmasked: the Politics of Pandemics, Bill Bowtell draws on his four decades of experience in the global and local politics of public health to examine why some countries got it right with coronavirus while others collapsed into misery and chaos. He looks closely at the critical weeks when poor planning brought Australia to the brink of disaster, until the Australian people forced their governments to put public health before politics. Unmasked reveals how and why our politicians failed us during the greatest public health crisis of this century to date. (209 words)

In Australia, corruption spends public funds in pursuit of power, rewards favour, and strips support from worthy programs. It silences journalists and those charged with upholding standards of integrity by depriving them of funding. Grift and stacking are commonplace as those chasing influence infiltrate the structures of power. Corruption rewards loyalty through appointments to office and by preferencing those within the favoured network ahead of others of equal or greater talent. It conceals itself through unfit-for-purpose access to information laws and processes, vague budget commitments, the assertion of unchecked executive discretion, a quick media cycle and overburdened parliamentary committees. It undermines trust in government at a time when trust is vital to keeping us safe. Corruption allows mistrust to fester, offers nourishment to conspiracy theories, and engenders civil unrest. In Easy Lies & Influence, Fiona McLeod, a practising Senior Counsel and Chair of the Accountability Round Table, tells us what corruption can do, and why it's imperative that we address it. After all, if citizens can't see a way of bolstering the pillars of democracy-trust, truth, integrity and accountability-what chance is there of restoring decency and the prioritisation of community interests in public office?

Technology described as artificial intelligence is becoming more pervasive, with AI algorithms transforming science and industry, along with our everyday lives. They can rapidly analyse and classify all manner of data. They can generate passages of text and produce realistic images. They are used to design medicines, to autonomously drive cars. They are our tour guides through the vast collection of information on the web. They observe us to suggest products to purchase, movies to watch and music to hear. They keep a watchful eye on us through cameras at supermarket self-checkouts. And their scope of application is only widening-increasingly, we are interacting with AI without knowing it. But what is AI really? Is it truly intelligent? Is it always a benignly useful modern-world companion? Not if we consider the increasing volume of AI-enabled criminal activity, or the ethical dilemmas posed by the use of AI-powered weaponry. Further, examples already exist showing that the careless use of AI can lead to the exacerbation of social inequalities. AI systems, no matter how complex their workings or impressive their abilities, are the product of deliberate human design-not just the design of algorithms, but also strategies for sourcing and managing the massive quantities of data on which they operate. But it's not just the creators of AI who need to think about the impact of the technology. Given its ramifications, all of us need to start thinking about how we want to live with AI.

Courts aren't just there to settle divorces, sentence law-breakers and resolve corporate disputes. A healthy legal system, one that ensures access, transparency and accountability, is fundamental to democracy. When the system works, the courts act as a check on government power, holding our politicians and bureaucrats to account. In Courting Power, Isabelle Reinecke, founder of Grata Fund, Australia's first strategic litigation funder and incubator, takes us through the trials and triumphs of some of the public interest cases she has helped bring about-from one launched by Torres Strait Islanders to establish the federal government's duty of care regarding climate change, to a High Court case on remote housing rights in the Northern Territory, and Doctors for Refugees' successful challenge to government gag laws, among others. Isabelle praises transparency infrastructure like our freedom-of-information system, which underpins checks and balances such as the media, a dynamic political opposition and independent voices, while alerting us to how it can be undermined by governments of any colour. She also examines the pernicious forces seeking to influence Australian courts, hungrily eyeing the impact of the far right on the US Supreme Court, and why political attacks on the courts are always sharpest when First Nations people's rights are at stake. In a world of spin and puff, inattention and information overload, media deregulation and TikTok, evidence and accurate information have never been so important. The courts are perhaps the last remaining place where facts are primary and hyperbole is ignored. Courting Power is a timely reminder of how ordinary people can rely on them to keep the powers that be accountable.

Rarely is the public taken deep into the inner sanctum of major news organisations. In this extraordinary book, award-winning journalist John Lyons goes to the heart of how the media reports-or does not report-one of the biggest stories of our time: the conflict in the Middle East. He looks at the power of lobby groups and shows how they determine much of what is written about Israel, and he turns the spotlight on his own profession and its failings. For Lyons, the six years he spent in Jerusalem as Middle East correspondent for The Australian were the toughest of his forty-year career. He explains how lobby groups attempt to prevent the real story being told, revealing how he himself became a target, and the dirty tricks that are used. He describes how journalists who accurately report what they see can be hounded and vilified, part of a practice of intimidation, harassment and influence peddling that is designed to stop the truth from being told-a practice that must stop. This is an insider's account of why the real story of the Israel–Palestine conflict goes largely unreported. It is also the story of why, in the wake of the international backlash against media coverage of the May 2021 Israel–Hamas violence, this could be about to change.

Why should we in Australia, or any country, care about poverty, human rights atrocities, health epidemics, environmental catastrophes, weapons proliferation or any other problems afflicting faraway countries, when they don't, as is often the case, have any direct or immediate impact on our own safety or prosperity? Gareth Evans' answer is the approach he adopted when Australia's foreign minister. He argues that to be, and be seen to be, a good international citizen-a state that cares about other people's suffering, and does everything reasonably possible to alleviate it-is both a moral imperative and a matter of hard-headed national interest. The case for decency in conducting our international relations is based both on the reality of our common humanity, and a national interest just as compelling as the traditional duo of security and prosperity. Four key benchmarks matter most in assessing any country's record as a good international citizen: its foreign aid generosity; its response to human rights violations; its reaction to conflict, mass atrocities, and the refugee flows that are so often their aftermath; and its contribution to addressing the global existential threats posed by climate change, pandemics and nuclear war. Measured against them, Australia's overall record has been patchy at best, lamentable at worst, and is presently embarrassingly poor. The better news is that, on all available evidence, the problem lies not with the negative attitudes of our people, but our governments. Those in office might prefer Berthold Brecht's solution: 'dissolve the people and elect another.' But the right course for the rest of us is to persuade our political leaders, on both moral and national interest grounds, to change their ways, and to vote them out if they don't.

The erosion of public trust in government has been a characteristic of liberal democracies in recent years. How much have the twists and turns in climate change policy over the past decade contributed to this in Australia? As a senior public servant during six prime ministerships, Martin Parkinson had a front-row seat from which to watch the inability of successive governments to tackle climate change. From an emissions trading scheme through to a National Energy Guarantee, this is a story of science and expertise ignored, short-termism, wasted opportunities and international disappointment. Climate change demands both a local and a global response, just as do pandemics, mass migration and ocean pollution. The increasingly urgent question is whether governments are up to the challenge or are prepared to bear the consequences of inaction or indifference. The history of climate change policy in Australia is a sorry story which should leave Australians demanding more courage and commitment from their political leaders.

Invest in a fairer future: Discover how public policy can advance human rights. Are human rights just for times of crisis? Michael Mintrom argues that advancing human rights is an investment in a better society. This insightful analysis explores how public policy can enhance the quality of life for all citizens, not just a select few. Mintrom examines key areas like early childhood education, the school-to-prison pipeline, and prisoner re-entry, revealing how strategic policy changes can yield lasting benefits. He also considers Indigenous health, LGBTQIA+ rights, and aged care, offering a roadmap for a more just and equitable Australia. Discover how: - Strategic investments in early childhood education can transform lives. - Effective policies can break the cycle of incarceration. - Culturally safe services can improve health outcomes for marginalized communities. This book is for policy makers, social workers, and anyone who believes in the power of public policy to create a more caring and just society. Will our political class rise to the challenge?

As Australia comes to grips with accusations that some of its elite soldiers committed war crimes in Afghanistan, a catchcry for certain commentators is that the 'fog of war' explains, justifies and possibly excuses the alleged atrocities that have come to light. The term seeks to capture the uncertainty regarding one's own capability, the adversary's capability, and intent. However, the 'fog of war' is woefully inadequate in explaining actions that were deliberate, targeted and repeated. Abuses of power and the normalisation of deviance are at the heart of the 'cultural issues' that have long plagued the Australian Defence Force. In fact, this can be said of all institutions grappling with the same problems: histories of abuse and secrecy, sexual harassment, and problems of diversity and inclusion. It is always easiest to point a finger at a 'what' rather than a 'who', so 'culture' features prominently in analyses of what went wrong regarding the alleged war crimes committed by Australia's Special Operations Command. But does a focus on culture provide clarity or obscurity? Does it lead to or is it a barrier to accountability? How do you know when you've achieved cultural change? In Blood Lust, Trust & Blame, sociologist Samantha Crompvoets tells the story of what went wrong in the ADF. It is a chronicle of the consequences of pursuing the truth, the politics of accountability, and the cost of action.

These days, barely a week goes by without pointed media stories about the trans community, usually targeting trans women. They are likely to have a sensationalist headline and a salacious tone, and the writing is often ill-informed and vilifying. Favoured topics include women in sports, bathrooms, where prisoners are housed, and health care for trans and gender-diverse children and young people. What tends not to be reported is the abuse, assaults and online hate that have become a daily experience for trans women, and the bullying that trans kids experience at school. Some of this is due to the ripple effects of the animosity spewed out by the so-called 'leader of the free world'. From the early days of his campaign for a second term as US president, Donald Trump has had the trans community in his sights, and he now appears intent on denying their very existence. But a broader dynamic seems to be a deep-seated intolerance, if not loathing, of trans people in our society. Why are trans people so hated? Why have they become contemporary 'villains' and the target of so much prejudice and bigotry? And most importantly, how do we change this? Is it possible to move from blaming, shaming and excluding trans people to respecting, protecting and including them? These questions are at the heart of Sex, Gender & Identity, alongside the goal of increasing community-wide understanding of this much maligned minority.