There’s been a steadily increasing acknowledgment of the danger posed by the far-right in Australia. So much so, that our chief domestic spy agency broke from its usual silence to voice its concern. And now deep in to the pandemic, we have seen examples of the far-right across the globe attempt to capitalise on a world in fear to further peddle their narrative. But is it the groups themselves that we should be concerned about? And what is the most effective way we can address this threat? Let

Multicultural NSW recently launched Remove Hate from the Debate, a website designed to help people address online hate speech. Hate speech, as defined by the UN, is “any kind of communication… that attacks or uses pejorative or discriminatory language with reference to a person or a group on the basis of who they are”. This includes race, gender, religion and sexual orientation (but is not limited to these). Online hate speech can exacerbate negative thinking and quickly escalate disagreements,

It wasn’t long after my 13th birthday that I descended into a spiral of heavy drug and alcohol abuse. It wasn’t long after the abuse began that I met Mal, aged 29. It wasn’t that I hadn’t learned my wrongs from rights, more that they didn’t matter to the group of kids I then found myself around. Grades or sporting prowess accounted for nothing. Instead, accomplishment was measured by something that might actually be achievable: criminal records and the ability to tolerate copious amounts of dru

I turned to my escort as we walked together through the desolate central yard of Frank Baxter. It wasn’t the ten foot or so tall razor wire fence or the CCTV cameras in such abundance even Orwell would shiver that I found the most unsettling. It’s what was not there that threw me. Sound. Aside from the odd crackling of a guard’s radio or clanking of heavy steel on steel as doors were locked behind us, there was none. Not a whisper. Dead silence. ‘So the centre’s not full?’ I asked the juvenile j

We called him Peaches. Not because of his cheery disposition, but because the obese dealer was always sucking on a peach whenever we saw him. As soon as my mate Tony had begged, borrowed or stolen the fifty dollars — being the minimum price for the lowest weight of ice that was being dealt at street level at the time — he would jump on the phone to Peaches and make the journey to the usual meeting spot. Sitting in the gaming room at an Oxford Street pub, it never took long for Peaches to arrive