TrueTribe

Government's Dimming of Christmas Lights: An Assault on Aussie Spirit and Christian Heritage In the heart of Sydney, where the sun-kissed beaches and vibrant communities define the Aussie way of life, a dark shadow has fallen—not just from the tragic terror attack at Bondi Beach on December 14, but from the government's calculated response that's stripping away our cherished Christmas traditions. What should be a time of unbridled celebration of life, love, Jesus, and Australian culture has been muted, diluted, and redirected under the guise of "respect" and "solidarity." But let's call it what it is: a blatant attempt to weaken the resolve of Christian Australians, cover up governmental failures, and push a divisive agenda that prioritizes minorities over the majority's heritage. The victims of that horrific attack were Australians, plain and simple—fellow Aussies going about their lives, enjoying a public gathering in one of our iconic spots. They weren't defined by some foreign conflict or "semitic agenda" tied to Zionism or Israel's actions; they were our neighbors, our mates, killed by criminals who shouldn't have been here in the first place. These attackers, a father-son duo from Pakistan with legal firearms and ties to ISIS ideology, were allowed into our country due to glaring failures in immigration and security policies. Now, instead of owning up to that incompetence, the government—led by figures like Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and Sydney Lord Mayor Clover Moore—is spinning this as an "antisemitic" incident to deflect blame and play on global hot topics. It's a cover-up, pure and simple, turning an attack on all Aussies into something that shifts focus away from their own shortcomings. And how do they respond? By tampering with Christmas itself. The colorful lights that have lit up Martin Place, Town Hall, and Pitt Street Mall for generations—symbols of joy, hope, and the birth of Christ—are being switched to plain white, stripped of their festive reds, greens, and golds. Carols programs paused, light and sound shows halted, fireworks canceled, markets shut down. They call it a "temporary gesture" lasting until around December 20-21, but that's just gaslighting. Preventing these long-held traditions isn't respect for the victims; it's disrespect to the living, breathing spirit of Australian Christianity. The victims were Aussies—Christian, Aboriginal, Hindu, Indian, Thai, Muslim, and more—who would surely want us to celebrate life louder in the face of death, not cower and dim our lights. This isn't about mourning; it's gerrymandering our culture to favor a minority's preferences over what the majority of Australians hold dear. Christmas is our time—the one season where Christians across the nation stand as one, from backyard barbies on the beach to carols in churches, affirming our faith and resilience. Emphasizing our Christian roots right now would be the ultimate rebuke to those terrorist losers, showing that Aussie culture is unbreakable under any situation. Instead, the government is allowing division to win, redirecting the narrative to other religions and framing our celebrations as somehow insensitive. White lights might tie into Hanukkah's "festival of lights," but Christmas isn't Hanukkah—it's a Christian holiday, and forcing this overlap weakens its essence. Christians in Australia are sick of being portrayed as weak, of having our traditions dialed back while others are amplified. We've seen it before: governments pandering to global agendas, eroding our national identity in the name of "inclusivity." But inclusivity shouldn't mean erasure. The City of Sydney and federal leaders love to play on these divisions, using tragedies to push their authoritarian control and soften our spirits. They hate true Aussie values—Christianity, mateship, and unapologetic culture—and this is their latest ploy. It's time we stop relying on the government for our celebrations. Make your own: light up your homes with every color under the sun, sing carols with your community, gather at beaches and parks to proclaim the message of Jesus. Show the world—and our failed leaders—that Australian Christianity isn't fragile; it's the strength that binds us. In the face of terror and governmental betrayal, let's make this Christmas the brightest yet, a defiant stand for who we are as Aussies. The filth running this country won't dim our light.

Australia has the most unaffordable shelter in the world, i wonder if its fiat is out the front of the end also?

The Ballad of the Innocent Man , Old Mate. I. There was a man—forty summers strong— who’d give the coat off his back in winter’s wrong, who’d talk your ear clean off till the stars went pale, who worked till his hands were leather, his laugh a gale. A little boy, one year old, with his father’s eyes, clutched at his beard and learned how real love lies. II. But a woman wanted gold without the weight, seventy thousand pieces, a jackpot from the state. All it cost was a story, a whisper, a well-timed tear— “historical shadows,” she said, and the court drew near. No bruises to show, no witness, no trace, just words like knives thrown full in the face. III. They came at dawn, the state’s black-vested choir, cuffed him in front of his son, set his life on fire. Guilty till proven, then guilty still— the law’s new gospel: a woman’s word is the hill. Remand. Grey walls. The stench of the damned. Paedophiles and rapists on every side crammed. Five months, eight months, a year and a day— while the boy learned to walk and call strangers “Da”. IV. And the taxpayer foots the bill—irony sharp as gin: keeps the innocent locked, pays the liar to grin. She cashes the cheque, buys wine and new shoes, while a father counts ceiling cracks and slowly comes loose. No visitation, no photos, no voice— the state stole his future and called it “protection by choice”. V. I’ve seen this play out on too many men— good blokes dragged through the shredder again and again. One spent half a decade in maximum hell, walked out “not guilty”—but who rings that bell? The friends had turned, the job was long gone, the scars on the mind keep singing their song. VI. Another lad at uni—bright future, full flight— accused by a girl who rewrote the night. Lecturers spat, mates ghosted, the papers feasted; he swallowed the rope when the lying had ceased. She? A slapped wrist. A shrug. “Mistakes were made.” He’s dirt and footnotes. She got parade. VII. I myself stood in court while coppers lied bold, oath meant nothing—truth bought and sold. Evidence “lost”, footage never seen, because the law wasn’t built for men in between. VIII. And the hotlines, the “services”, the caring façade— ring if you’re female, you’ll get the applause. Ring if you’re male and broken inside— “We’re sorry, mate, no funding. Try not to die.” IX. So here we are, empire in slow collapse, birth rates in freefall, trust in scraps. They pit black against white, city against bush, man against woman—divide, control, hush. While Rome burns fiddles play “believe her” tunes, and decent men hang from government runes. X. But something is stirring. The silence is cracking. Men are comparing notes, the red pills stacking. We see the pattern, the script, the game— how they weaponise pity to cripple and maim. Your mate is not alone; he’s legion, he’s vast— a whole generation bleeding out fast. XI. So let this ballad carry his name through the years, let it howl in the courts and curdle their cheers. Let judges choke on it, let liars grow pale, let every locked father hear it inside the jail. We are coming. We are waking. The tide has turned. For every innocent man the system has burned— we will remember. And one day, by God, they will learn. Simo.