Trouble Down Under

Mike,

>It's called "liberalism", a philosophy which declares
>that if someone commits a crime, the victim is at fault.

Liberalism is a political philosophy which John Locke ruminated on in detail. Liberalism is the basis for Australian Liberal party ( the conservative party ) and I believe the American Libertarian party.

http://library.thinkquest.org/3376/Genktk5.htm




cam

[mike_baram]

Agreed. The old "Liberalism" is, essentially, a libertarian philosophy, which is based on the absolute minimum of government interference in the life of the individual citizen.
However, the modern day (American) form of "Liberalism" (or "Progressivism", as the case may be) sees the individual as a dolt who cannot make even the simplest decisions for himself and needs a paternalistic, omniscient and omnipotent "Big Brother" to nurture, protect, and control him, to the point that he can be told what to think and say (aka "PC").
Oh, that also means that poor dumb Mr. Citizen can't be trusted with his own money, and the government has to take as much of it as possible in order to assure the "proper" use of said funds.

[Ross_Moorhouse]

Last night it rained here in Sydney. First rain in 18 days. Not a great length of time but one that was hampering the fire fighting efforts.

In fact the rain we had was a thunder storm and down pours from 1 am onwards. I do believe that they also had rain down south and up in the moutains which would of helped to put the fires out.

Today is forecast for heat. But its still raining. So maybe, just maybe its all over for us here in NSW. Victoria was put on a total fire ban over the week-end so i do hope they dont have a repeat of their black fire days down there.

As to thos lighting fires, here is what one victim said in a letter to the SMH paper...

"Dai Rimmer's Springwood home burnt to the ground on Boxing Day. This is her open letter to the firebugs responsible for the blazes raging across NSW.


Everyone has heard the joke about the schoolkid who came home and found his parents had moved without leaving a forwarding address. Well, I went to my address but there was no home. Where once stood my shelter, my security and my possessions was a heap of smouldering ashes and twisted metal - a Christmas gift from a firebug.

Do you know me? Do you know what you've done to me? Have you any idea of the loss you have caused and the grief you have inflicted? Can you imagine returning to your home tonight only to discover that everything you love has disappeared forever? No cosy bed to jump into, no popstar pin-ups on the wall. Where are those sporting trophies that are proof of your achievements and that fabulous watch you received for your birthday, the one you couldn't afford to buy yourself? And that gooey mess in the corner - surely not the hi-fi equipment you worked so long and so hard to pay for?

I lost all of that and more. And through no fault of my own.

Did you ever consider the consequences of your irresponsible act? What did you hope to accomplish? What made you perpetrate such a heinous crime? Words cannot describe the misery and heartache I feel. My losses are irreplaceable.

In my mind's eye I can see the accumulation of 20 years, so many treasures collected and gifts received. I realise now I took so much for granted, believing that they would be in their respective places for as long as I chose. The bed lamp, originally my father's, is a swirl of tortured colours. The mantelpiece I cut and carved from a stringy bark is lumped like coals above the fireplace. My great-grandfather's plaque, presented to him by King George after World War I, is somewhere in that mess, the brass melted into an unrecognisable blob. I regret I will never complete the refurbishing of my mother's oak dining suite, and I mourn that I cannot enjoy the video of my daughter's wedding one more time.

Your fire ripped through a lifetime of history, mine and my family's, and left it as black and burnt as the bush. If you can, put yourself in my shoes. The landscape on which you stand is stark in its bareness. Like an old movie, there is no colour. It's monochromatic. The earth is charred and covered by thick grey ash. Behind, beyond and all around you are black sticks, totems to your all-consuming fire. There is no familiarity in these surroundings, only desolation and despair.

I wish you were here, your eyes stinging from a mixture of smoke and tears, to shift the ashes with me; to see what I am seeing; to feel what I am feeling. My past drifts away with the breeze stirred by my footsteps, and there is a hollowness in my chest that is choking me. What do I do now? Where do I go?

I have no desire for revenge or retribution. Nothing can salve the pain in my heart. I am numb and I keep saying 'why?'. I don't understand how you could commit such an act of deliberate cruelty against your fellow man. What was your purpose? What made you light the flame?

My home was my life. I built it with my own hands. I knew each brick and beam intimately. I created a haven for myself, my family and my friends. I'm at a time in my life when I can't put it together again. Everything has gone. I've lost my roots. I belong nowhere. All I have are memories.

Dai Rimmer's house was in Paterson Road, Springwood. She and her partner started building the house in 1981, living on the land in a caravan. She built much of the house herself, a process that took about six years. Her partner died five years ago. She is staying with friends in Springwood and hasn't decided if she will rebuild.



http://www.smh.com.au/news/0201/07/nationa.../national2.html