It didn’t take long for some of the facts about the new Premier of NSW to surface. The fourth estate did their homework, and sure enough an article in the Sydney Morning Herald (by a woman, details torn out but now lost in the swirl of paper and electronic info that swamps me daily, and I’m not going to check the cat tray liner).
Keneally, or KKK as the columist called her, apparently approved just about every development application that came her way, including questionable projects and lots for new coal licences and the expansion of the Newcastle coal handling facilities. Should’t those have been joint planning, development and environmental decisions? In any case, that’s the sort of approach that won’t move us to a green economy. So Kristina may be cute, but she ain’t no saint. But you, wise readers, knew that already. 80% of NSW is in drought, and divine intervention is unlikely.
I keep hoping to find real leaders, and so far, Big Al is one who has held my respect. Ralph Nader is another, but can you see him getting the nod from Rome? Our home grown Sister Mary McKillop seems set to become a saint, but forgive me if I see that as a sop to the feeble minded. Which brings me to Richard Dawkins, George Monbiot and Jared Diamond as maybe not candidates for sainthood, but at least worthy of sincere appreciation. I have a vision of Big Al on Green Island, a towering, thoughtful figure, (although this was really a mystery man on Dunk Is):

More than can be said about Rudderless or Stanhopeless in the ACT.
Yesterday was the Walk Against Warming. I rode there on my bike, braving the main road on a Saturday morning with little traffic. I attend these things mostly to show support for the real saints in my canon – the organisers, young and old, who give so much energy to nonviolent education and protest.
And it is a good place to meet old friends, chat and plan to get together. One retired Labor stalwart still volunteers at the Big House. Canberra is good like that, and in the evening I found out that the young girls at the pre-Christmas barbie had been there holding a banner. Sweet 11 year olds, by time they are their parents age, about 50, the CO2 could hit 500 or more parts per million. We’re at about 380 now, and glib goals of 450 will ensure their lives will be impoverished in many ways.
If they could see what their world will offer without emergency action, and what might be gone forever, maybe they wouldn’t be so happy. I hope their families take them to see the Great Barrier Reef soon.
And I hope Keneally’s kids hold her accountable, that might mean more to her than the big boys that back her. I don’t like the vision of an embittered generation of middle aged people wandering in the ruins of Sydney’s foreshores, overgrown and decaying like Queensland’s Paronella Park, with no saints in sight: