There are three numbers Australians should walk away from the last twenty four hours of Senate estimates remembering.
Every twenty years, give or take, the British Left rediscovers the wealth tax. They rediscover it with the bright-eyed conviction of a Labrador rediscovering a tennis ball under the sofa, and with roughly the same level of new information.
There is a certain quality of light that falls across the western plains in late autumn, a light my father used to call "the bachelor's hour" because it found you alone whether you wanted to be or not.
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In our era of fervent debates and polarized certainties, the conversation around climate change often feels like a labyrinth of half-truths and well-meaning distortions. We are caught in a peculiar dance: one side shouts apocalypse, the other whispers denial, and the truth, as it so often does, lingers in the uncomfortable middle, waiting for a clearer voice. Inspired by the sharp reasoning of a recent piece from the Adam Smith Institute, I find myself reflecting not just on climate policy but on the deeper moral and intellectual habits that shape how we approach this defining issue.
In a world where common sense is scarcer than a balanced budget, our esteemed federal judiciary and their left-wing lawyer pals have taken their gavels to new heights—or, rather, new lows—by attempting to outlaw the laws of physics.
I was at a coffee shop the other day, eavesdropping on a conversation between a mother and her teenage daughter.
Margaret Thatcher, Britain's first female prime minister and a towering figure in 20th-century politics, reshaped the United Kingdom and left an indelible mark on the global stage.
The traditional pub is more than a booze-fueled escape hatch from reality—it’s a cultural Swiss Army knife, a social hub, and a defiant middle finger to the sterile, screen-addicted modern world. Picture a pub
In a world where individual liberty and informed decision-making are the cornerstones of a free society, the act of voting carries immense responsibility.
LAGOS — The world has slashed child mortality rates over the past few decades, a triumph of human ingenuity and market-driven innovation in healthcare, nutrition, and sanitation.
In the American imagination, the phrase “diversity is our strength” has become a kind of civic mantra, a shorthand for the belief that our differences—racial, cultural, religious—make us not just vibrant but resilient. It’s a sentiment etched into the national psyche, from corporate boardrooms to elementary school assemblies. Yet, in recent years, a counterargument has gained traction, one that challenges this orthodoxy with a provocative question: What if diversity, far from being a unifying force, is a source of fracture?