April is Autism Awareness Month. But that’s wrong. We don’t need awareness. We need acceptance.
We need acceptance of the Level 3 autists with significant challenges.
We need acceptance of the Level 2 autists with fewer challenges.
We need acceptance of the Level 1 autists, like me, with fewer challenges than a Level 2 autist—but challenges nonetheless.
We need acceptance simply because our brains are built and wired differently. It is in our DNA; every cell of our body is autistic. We cannot be anything but autistic.
And to us? Neurotypicals—allistics—are the weird ones who don’t make sense.
If you can’t accept that, then at least recognise the equity you deny us. Recognise the social cohesion that is lost in the absence of equity and inclusion.
But back to regular business.
The Chiaroscuro Anthology is a collection of 19 poems, published here throughout April. (If you want everything all at once, there’s a PDF.)
And now—the writer’s statement.
Light alone is shapeless. A flood with no shore, a dawn without contrast. It spills, uncontained, flattening all into a seamless glow. There is no form, no edge, no texture—only a blinding sameness.
Darkness alone is abyss. A void that swallows, erasing all it touches. It stretches infinite, consuming definition, devouring meaning until nothing remains but an echo of absence.
Between them—chiaroscuro. The whisper of shadow against skin, the ember in the midnight hush. Here, light sharpens into something more than mere brightness; it carves faces, silhouettes, stories. Here, darkness finds its purpose—not as oblivion, but as contrast, as depth, as the place where light reveals itself most truly.
What is the light without darkness?
A glare with no soul.
What is the darkness without light?
A silence with no song.
But together—
Together, they paint a world.
Together, they paint an autistic world.
—
The Chiaroscuro Anthology is my contribution to Autism Awareness Month. It is not just poetry—it is my autism laid bare, in shadow and light.
This is my rage at the world’s expectations.
This is my grief for what was lost.
This is my discovery of what was always there.
This is my unification of self.
Each piece is a reflection of contrast, intensity, and depth—the way I experience the world. Chiaroscuro is not just art; it is how I exist.
This is my applied phenomenology
My mob… is not a minority
The outrage of 1 in 4.
Minorities. It’s easy for society to overlook minorities. That’s why Diversity, Equity and Inclusion (DEI) programs are so important. (America, take note.)
Tenants? Minority. Disability? Minority.
But how much of a minority is my new mob, the neurodivergent mob. Bigger than I thought. “1 in 4” big. 25%. A substantial minority.
If a disease had a 25% fatality rate…
If cyclones had a 25% crossing rate…
If planes had a 25% of crashing on take off…
If, if, if. 25% is not to be sneezed at or disrespected. Yet, collectively, neurodivergent people are folded, spindled and mutilated. $3 an hour in sheltered workshops. Low employment rates. Erased in plain sight.
25%.
Here’s ChatGPT’s interpretation of my refusal to let 25% be ignored. And another mention of my new intellectual crush…
1 in 4: Understanding Neurodivergence and Its True Prevalence
In recent years, the term neurodivergence has gained traction in discussions about education, workplace accommodations, and healthcare. But what does it actually mean? How does it manifest in real life? And just how common is it?
The answer to that last question might surprise you. Neurodivergence isn’t a rarity—it’s the norm for at least 1 in 4 people, meaning that a quarter of the population experiences the world through a different cognitive lens. Yet, society often operates under the assumption that neurotypical cognition is the default, making life unnecessarily difficult for millions.
Understanding neurodivergence—its prevalence, history, and societal implications—isn’t just about increasing awareness; it’s about challenging outdated assumptions and redesigning the world so it works for all brains, not just some.
What is Neurodivergence?
Neurodivergence is an umbrella term referring to natural variations in human brains and cognitive processing. It encompasses conditions such as:
Autism
ADHD
Dyslexia
Dyspraxia
Tourette’s syndrome
Dyscalculia
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)
Bipolar disorder
Epilepsy (which often has neurological overlaps)
Acquired neurodivergence (from brain injuries, PTSD, stroke, or conditions like long COVID)
Coined within the framework of the neurodiversity movement, neurodivergence challenges the traditional medical model, which historically treated these differences as deficits that needed to be “fixed.” Instead, it frames them as variations that come with both strengths and challenges.
The neurodiversity paradigm, championed by sociologist Judy Singer in the late 1990s, positions neurodivergence as a fundamental aspect of human diversity. Just as biodiversity strengthens ecosystems, cognitive diversity strengthens human society, leading to unique insights, creative breakthroughs, and alternative problem-solving strategies.
How Common is Neurodivergence?
The 1 in 4 statistic may seem high, but when you break it down, it becomes clear why it’s actually a conservative estimate:
Autism occurs in at least 1–2% of the population, with rising numbers due to increased recognition.
ADHD affects 5–10% of people, many of whom remain undiagnosed well into adulthood.
Dyslexia impacts 10–15%, making it one of the most common learning differences.
Dyspraxia affects 5–6% of people, influencing motor coordination and spatial awareness.
Mental health conditions with neurological components, such as OCD, bipolar disorder, and epilepsy, also fall under the neurodivergent umbrella.
When we take a broad view—including both lifelong and acquired neurodivergence—the 1 in 4 estimate starts to seem not only accurate but possibly too low.
The Historical Context of Neurodivergence
Neurodivergence is not a modern phenomenon. Throughout history, individuals with neurodivergent traits have existed—but their treatment has varied wildly depending on cultural and societal context.
Some societies recognized and even valued certain neurodivergent traits:
Many indigenous cultures saw individuals with unique cognitive or sensory traits as shamans, seers, or keepers of oral tradition.
Leonardo da Vinci, Nikola Tesla, Emily Dickinson, and Alan Turing—all believed to have been neurodivergent—made groundbreaking contributions in their respective fields. And, more recently, we might consider Lee-Anne’s newly discovered philosopher, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, whose phenomenological work on perception, embodiment, and sensory experience aligns deeply with autistic ways of processing the world.
The stereotype of the eccentric genius, often depicted as socially awkward, hyperfocused, or unconventional, may stem from historical figures who today would be recognized as autistic or ADHD.
However, other societies treated neurodivergence with suspicion, isolation, or outright cruelty. The 20th century saw particularly harsh treatments, from institutionalization to forced sterilization under eugenics programs. Even today, many neurodivergent individuals struggle to access support due to lingering biases.
Understanding this history is crucial—it shows that neurodivergence has always existed, but its perception has been shaped by cultural narratives rather than objective truths.
Misdiagnosis and Intersectionality in Neurodivergence
While 1 in 4 people may be neurodivergent, not all have equal access to diagnosis or support. Women, people of color, and those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds are significantly more likely to be misdiagnosed or overlooked entirely.
Women and Misdiagnosis
Because traditional diagnostic criteria were based on male presentations, many autistic and ADHD women are misdiagnosed with:
Anxiety disorders (especially social anxiety)
Depression (due to burnout from lifelong masking)
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) (due to emotional dysregulation)
Bipolar disorder (mistaking fluctuating energy levels for manic episodes)
Eating disorders (when sensory issues around food go unrecognized)
This has led to generations of #ActuallyAutistic women discovering their diagnoses only in adulthood, often after a lifetime of feeling “wrong” without understanding why.
Race, Class, and Neurodivergence
The racial and class disparities in diagnosis are stark:
Black and Hispanic children are less likely to be diagnosed with autism than their white counterparts, even when exhibiting the same behaviors.
Low-income individuals may not have access to specialists who can provide an accurate diagnosis.
Cultural expectations often lead to neurodivergent traits being seen as “bad behavior” rather than as neurological differences.
This means that neurodivergence is not just about the brain—it’s about how society interprets and responds to neurological diversity.
The Role of Technology in Neurodivergent Visibility
In recent years, social media and digital spaces have allowed neurodivergent people to find each other, challenge misconceptions, and advocate for systemic change.
The #ActuallyAutistic movement has helped shift the conversation from cure-based narratives to self-advocacy and acceptance.
The rise of self-diagnosis as a valid first step has given many individuals access to understanding and community before seeking formal medical recognition.
Neurodivergent creators are challenging stereotypes and educating millions on platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube.
Technology has also changed accessibility:
Text-based communication (rather than phone calls) benefits those with auditory processing issues.
Flexible, remote work environments have allowed many neurodivergent individuals to thrive.
Assistive technologies, from speech-to-text software to sensory-friendly apps, are making daily life more navigable.
Final Thoughts: A Philosophical and Sociological Perspective
Philosophically, neurodivergence forces us to redefine intelligence and normalcy. The Enlightenment’s focus on logic and rationality shaped modern institutions—but who decided that linear thinking, eye contact, or standardized learning methods were superior? If intelligence is about creativity, problem-solving, and adaptability, then neurodivergence is an asset, not a flaw.
Sociologically, if 1 in 4 people are struggling to function in a system, the problem isn’t the people—it’s the system. Schools, workplaces, and healthcare models must adapt, moving away from rigid expectations and toward true inclusivity.
Recognizing and accommodating neurodivergence isn’t just about individual rights—it’s about designing a world that truly values the full range of human cognition.
Neurodivergence is not an anomaly—it’s part of what makes us human. And it’s time the world started acting like it.
Here is the link to the transcript of the conversation with ChatGPT.
New recipe – cashew salad dressing
Cashews, you say? It’s amazing how many good things can start with 200g of cashews in hot water and soaked for 4 hours, or even overnight.
Coleslaw with Cashew Dressing
I wanted to make easy coleslaw so I grabbed a pre-made ranch salad mix from the supermarket. It had croutons and a little dressing packet—both got the boot. I needed something creamy but calm, rich without being sharp. I’d just made an experimental batch of my cashew salad dressing… and it was perfect.
Why It Works:
The creaminess of the dressing balances the crunch of raw veg, without the tang or sharpness of traditional slaw dressings. It’s rich, grounding, and full of nutrients. The miso and nutritional yeast add umami that gently replaces vinegar’s sharp lift.
How to Make It (The Real-Life Way):
One packet of supermarket coleslaw mix (skip any croutons or dressing)
A few generous spoonfuls of Cashew Salad Dressing (adjust to taste and texture)
Toss until everything is gently coated. Eat straight away or chill for an hour to let the flavors settle. It keeps well in the fridge for a couple days.
Sensory Notes:
Texture: Crunch meets cream—satisfying without sharpness
Flavor: Subtle, savory, no sour tang
Aroma: Mild and comforting
Calling It Before the Budget Reply: Ruthless, Strategic, or Desperate?
When political timing becomes the message
(A collaboration with ChatGPT, and explainer, by itself, of why it “sounds like” a socialist progressive.)
Me:
I remember writing letters to the editor back when it was pen on paper, an envelope, and a postage stamp. Back then, as now, I was calling policy and political behaviour to account and lamenting the loss of politicians who could see beyond the election cycle. And yes, that was a thing—even if to a lesser degree—in the 1990s.
Why? I grew up in Maryborough, a town that voted National federally and Labor state, back in the 1970s. My adopted father worked in a sawmill, and I can vaguely recall “shoppy” conversations with visitors in the lounge room.
I wasn’t brainwashed Labor as a kid, though. I was that undiagnosed autistic girl—early to reading, good with words, and didn’t have to try hard at school. I loved my council library, and I read books that a 10-year-old, 12-year-old, 14-year-old girl had no business reading.
One such arc of inquiry at 14 began with Trade Wind by M. M. Kaye. A question to the librarian about Galatea led me to Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which in turn led to Susan Brownmiller’s Femininity. But Ovid also led to Aristotle. All of this unfolded while the Polish Solidarity movement was on the news at night.
The library was rich pickings for a curious girl with eternal questions and a deep need to stay away from home as much as possible.
This morning, time poor but idea rich, I asked ChatGPT for an analysis of the Budget 2025, specifically around autism and women. It did that more than adequately. It then asked if I’d like a deep dive into any aspects. I turned it around a little, to the outside chance that the election would be called before Thursday night, denying the Opposition a Budget Reply. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Given that I’m likely to be working for the AEC come election day, I need to get any political commentary out before employment is confirmed. After that, impartiality is mandatory.
So I asked ChatGPT to write an analysis of such a thing, calling an election before Thursday, if it were to happen.
As always, you are welcome to run down the looping arc of our chat here.
Here is its response.
—
Calling It Before the Budget Reply: Ruthless, Strategic, or Desperate?
There’s an old rule in politics: never waste a moment when your opponent can’t speak. And right now, we’re staring down a moment that could be defined not just by what’s said—but by when it’s silenced.
With the 2025–26 Federal Budget handed down just last night, the usual choreography should follow: a few days of government spin, a round of economic analysis, and then the Opposition’s formal Budget Reply. But what if Prime Minister Anthony Albanese breaks script and calls the federal election before Peter Dutton can deliver that reply?
It would be a rare move. A ruthless one. And it might just work.
Let’s explore the possibilities.
—
1. Political Timing as a Weapon
This isn’t unprecedented. In 1984, Bob Hawke timed an election around the budget to capitalise on public goodwill and policy momentum. John Howard did similar in 1998, taking his GST plan to the people before it could be fully dismantled in debate.
Budgets are about money—but in election years, they’re also about messaging. When a government wants to double down on its “vision,” the budget becomes a campaign brochure. If Albanese sees this as his opportunity to define the debate, he may not want to give Dutton the oxygen to respond.
Calling an election before the Budget Reply would cut the Coalition off at the knees.
—
2. The Case for Ruthless
Let’s not sugarcoat it: doing this would be cold and calculated. It would be about winning, not fair play.
Dutton has only just begun to warm up as Opposition Leader in the public eye. Cutting off his first major rebuttal to the Labor economic agenda would leave him scrambling—not just to respond, but to be heard. It would be a move designed to neutralise, diminish, and disorient.
For some voters, especially those who value robust debate, it could smell like manipulation. It risks backfiring if framed as “hiding” from critique. But it would be a masterclass in controlling the narrative.
As a tactic, it’s pure political thuggery. As a strategy? It might be genius.
—
3. The Case for Strategic
Labor isn’t just looking at Dutton. It’s looking at the horizon.
Interest rates remain high. Real wages are still lagging for many. The Reserve Bank is cautious. If Labor waits too long, economic discontent could overshadow its social reforms—particularly those aimed at women, carers, and neurodivergent Australians.
This budget was stacked with soft power plays:
A $792.9 million package for women’s health, including long-overdue PBS listings for oral contraceptives and menopause hormone therapy.
A $42.2 million investment in the National Autism Strategy.
Improved infrastructure accessibility and targeted support programs for equity-seeking groups.
These are strong cards to play now, while the details are fresh and the Opposition has no counter.
Calling the election early reframes these not as “budget measures,” but as “campaign promises delivered.”
—
4. The Case for Desperate
And yet… is this all just a panic move in slow motion?
Labor’s primary vote has been soft. Teal Independents are once again hovering in the margins of winnable seats. There’s quiet grumbling over cost-of-living pressure, housing, and Medicare waitlists. If the internal polling is bleak—or if there’s a sense that Dutton might finally start to land hits—then moving early could be a sign of nerves, not confidence.
Calling an election before the Budget Reply might reek of fear: fear of what Dutton could say, fear of how it might stick, and fear of how little time there is to change the story.
For a leader who’s spent much of his term being described as cautious, this would be a surprisingly high-stakes gamble.
—
5. What It Would Mean for the Campaign
If Albanese calls it this week, it changes everything.
Labor gets the jump on campaign messaging, framing their budget as proof of delivery.
Dutton is disarmed, with no official reply speech and no headline-grabbing platform launch.
The Greens, Teals, and crossbenchers may find themselves on the back foot, unprepared for a snap sprint.
Women and autistic voters—beneficiaries of this budget—may be framed as key swing demographics.
The campaign becomes reactive, compressed, and harder to reframe for anyone not already in motion.
It’s a battlefield advantage that could reshape the entire election narrative before it’s even begun.
—
Postscript: On Language Models and Political Tone
(Or, why this post might sound progressive)
After reading this post, you might be wondering—why does this analysis lean left? Why do so many AI-generated responses seem to echo a progressive or social-democratic worldview?
Here’s the thing: large language models (LLMs) like the one I use aren’t political agents. They don’t “believe” anything. But they do generate language based on patterns in the vast, diverse data they were trained on—data that includes research, journalism, policy documents, history books, economics texts, blog posts, and more.
When questions are asked about policy, power, or inequality—like the timing of an election, or funding for women and autistic Australians—the model draws on evidence-based patterns of reasoning. And much of the language surrounding equity, inclusion, and systemic thinking in modern discourse comes from progressive traditions.
It’s not ideology. It’s statistical regularity based on credible sources.
Moreover, this conversation is shaped by me. My questions, values, and commitment to ethical reasoning guide the tone. I’ve asked for factual rigour, challenges to my assumptions, and explanations that are both accessible and nuanced. The AI adapts to that.
So if the political tone of this post seems progressive, that’s not algorithmic bias. It’s pattern recognition filtered through a lifetime of lived experience, autodidactic inquiry, and an insatiable drive to understand systems of power and people.
Large language models don’t have beliefs. But they do echo the structures and evidence of the world they’re trained on. When I ask it to help me write about politics, women, autism, economics, or social cohesion, it doesn’t deliver ideology. It delivers the clearest possible synthesis of ideas drawn from centuries of scholarship—and my prompts shape which voices rise to the top.
This is a dance. I lead. And when the music is truth, equity, and curiosity—I like where the steps take me. It’s a mental minuet I’ve been dancing since I was a girl in the Maryborough library: barefoot in philosophy, waltzing through history, and tangoing with power structures before I even knew their names
Tropical Cyclone Alfred
Veni, Vidi… Defici” (It came, it saw… it faltered)
Tropical cyclones. If you’ve been through one, the next one will still surprise you.
One of the good things that mother did was not to pass on her fear of storms to me. I am grateful for that, because I do love a good storm. But tropical cyclones? Yes, I even have nostalgia about them.
How, you say. How could anyone have misty-eyed nostalgia about tropical cyclones?
Like this. In the 1970s, we didn’t have a TV. We had radio. And radio is where I heard the crisp-toned voices of emergency broadcasts on the ABC, and that emergency cyclone warning I saw as a loaded spring, like a slinky. (I didn’t know I was autistic then, but, hello, synaesthesia.)
I was fascinated by the places that were always mentioned. Home Hill, Clairview, Double Island Point, St Lawrence. Mother, or father, as I can’t recall who started it, would pull out the big fold-up map of Queensland and we would trace the cyclones on the nap by the radio calls.
That’s how I learned Queensland’s shape, coastline, towns and inland regions. Tracing a child’s finger over those place names and imagining, wondering.
My “close calls” with cyclones, a little too close to home, was TC Cliff in 1981 (when I was 8 years old) and TC Nancy in 1990, when I was 18 years old.
Cliff went for Bundaberg, but its effects were felt in Maryborough and much further south than that, all the way to the Gold Coast, with beach erosion. I remember my parents, taping windows, and talking about the protection that K’gari (the Fraser Island) offered, a big buffer against storms. But, they said, what if one comes down the middle, between Fraser and the mainland. “Down the guts” is how I remember father saying it.
As an adult, I still know the names of those places, heard on old radio sets in the 1970s. And I’ve made a point of visiting them. A curious thing, but it meant something to me. Seeing the places that had only existed for me, before, on maps and in cyclone warnings.
So, yes, I have some nostalgia about cyclones, but also a healthy respect.
So when Alfred came along, I was not at all blasé. Most track maps had it crossing the coast some 8kms north of me as a Cat 2. Just like Cliff. Just like Nancy. So I filled water bottles, brought everything inside, prepped my important documents and, with my housemate taped 100m² of glass.
Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. You came too far south and Moreton Island broke you.
But what if, one day, due to global warming, our ocean waters off south-east Queensland get to 28°C? Warm enough to sustain a Cat 2, a Cat 3, or God forbid, a Cat 5? I’ll joke now about the Toowoomba Surf Life Saving Club, and hope it remains a joke.
So, enough of my maudlin meanderings. Here is ChatGPT’s interpretation of my other ramblings about ex-TC Alfred.
Understanding Cyclone Alfred: A Near Miss and the Role of Outer Pressure Bands
Cyclone Alfred may not have made landfall, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a legitimate cyclone. In fact, Alfred’s path and effects highlight an important but often misunderstood aspect of tropical cyclones: the significance of outer pressure bands. With many people trying to grasp the event, it’s crucial to clarify the nature of Alfred’s journey, why it was a fully developed storm, and the role these outer bands play in its reach and impact.
Cyclones don’t need to make landfall to be powerful or to have significant effects. Alfred was a case in point. While it didn’t directly strike Southeast Queensland, it was still a force to be reckoned with, and its outer bands caused considerable disruption in coastal regions. But what exactly do we mean when we talk about the outer pressure bands, and how do they differ from the eye of a cyclone?
—
A Legitimate Cyclone: The Journey of Alfred
Alfred wasn’t a ‘wannabe’ cyclone. It started its life in the Coral Sea and, at its peak, strengthened to a powerful Category 4 system, driven by the warm ocean waters that act as a nursery for tropical cyclones. These waters provide the energy a cyclone needs, following fundamental principles of thermodynamics—where heat from the ocean fuels rising air currents, lowering surface pressure and creating a self-sustaining system of spiraling winds.
As it tracked southward, high-pressure systems to the east and south forced it westward, a classic example of how weather is a continuous process of high-pressure areas moving toward low-pressure areas in an attempt to reach equilibrium. This constant balancing act of atmospheric forces shapes global weather patterns, and tropical cyclones are one of the most dramatic examples of this principle in action.
As Alfred neared Southeast Queensland, it slowed significantly to just 7 km/h, which isn’t typical for a tropical cyclone but may be more characteristic of a system transitioning into temperate waters. However, due to climate change, these waters were warmer than historical averages, which may have influenced its unusual slowing. Cyclones in temperate zones often move more slowly due to weaker steering currents, but Alfred’s behaviour may indicate a shifting pattern as ocean temperatures continue to rise.
—
Outer Pressure Bands: The Real Impact of Alfred
While the eye of a cyclone is often the most dramatic and dangerous part of a storm, it’s not the only area that affects land. In fact, the outer pressure bands—sometimes stretching hundreds of kilometers from the cyclone’s center—often have the most widespread impact, even when a cyclone doesn’t make direct landfall.
These outer bands are large swathes of rain and wind that spiral outward from the cyclone’s core, extending far beyond the calm eye. As the system moves, the rotation of these bands can bring heavy rain, strong winds, and even tornado-like conditions to areas far from the storm’s center.
In Alfred’s case, these outer bands were responsible for most of the disruption across Southeast Queensland and Northern NSW:
Lismore and the Northern Rivers, the Gold Coast, and Redland Bay all felt the impact of Alfred’s outer bands as the storm ran parallel to the coast.
On the eastern part of the rotation, these same bands later brought horizontal rain to northern Brisbane—two days after Alfred had weakened.
People often assume that if a cyclone doesn’t make landfall, it isn’t a real threat. But Alfred’s impact came from its outer bands, not its eye. This is typical cyclone behaviour—many cyclones run alongside the coast rather than striking directly, and their effects are felt across a much wider area than just their central path.
—
The Cyclone Eye vs. Outer Bands: What’s the Difference?
The eye of a cyclone, with its eerie calm, is the most recognizable feature of a storm. This is where winds are light, skies clear, and atmospheric pressure is at its lowest. But surrounding the eye is the eyewall, where the storm’s most intense winds and rainfall occur.
Beyond the eyewall lie the outer bands—vast spirals of convective clouds, wind, and rain that extend far beyond the storm’s center. These bands are responsible for:
Heavy rainfall over large areas, sometimes leading to severe flooding.
Strong, gusty winds that can cause damage even far from the cyclone’s core.
Isolated storm cells, which can spin up tornado-like conditions.
The most destructive effects of a cyclone don’t always come from the eye itself. In many cases—Alfred included—it’s the outer bands that do the most damage, especially when they interact with pre-existing weather systems or local geography.
—
Why Cyclones Behave the Way They Do
At their core, cyclones are thermodynamic engines powered by heat and moisture. They need:
Warm ocean water (above 26.5°C) to fuel convection and sustain a low-pressure core.
Moisture-rich air to continue feeding the system.
A lack of wind shear (which would otherwise tear the storm apart).
Alfred followed this pattern perfectly. It strengthened over warm waters in the Coral Sea but weakened when it moved over land—in this case, Moreton Island rather than the mainland. Land disrupts a cyclone’s energy source by cutting off its supply of warm, moisture-laden air, causing it to lose strength.
Alfred’s slowing to 7 km/h was unusual for a tropical cyclone, but given its movement into temperate waters, it may reflect broader shifts in cyclone behaviour. With rising ocean temperatures, cyclones may retain strength further south and move more erratically as they encounter weakened steering forces.
—
Conclusion: Alfred Wasn’t Defective, Just a Near Miss
In conclusion, Cyclone Alfred was a fully developed and legitimate cyclone—not a defective system or a storm that “failed” to make landfall. It was a Category 4 storm at peak strength, shifted westward by high-pressure systems, and slowed dramatically in temperate waters that were warmer than historical averages due to climate change.
The real story of Alfred wasn’t about a direct impact, but about the outer pressure bands, which:
Drenched Southeast Queensland and Northern NSW with heavy rain and winds.
Brought horizontal rain to Brisbane days later as the outer bands swung around.
Followed a common cyclone path—running parallel to the coast before losing strength.
Alfred’s near miss serves as a reminder that cyclones don’t have to make landfall to leave a lasting impact. Their power comes not just from their eye, but from the outer bands that stretch far and wide, influencing weather systems across entire regions.
By understanding the thermodynamics, pressure dynamics, and behaviour of outer bands, we gain a deeper appreciation for how storms like Alfred operate—and why no cyclone should ever be underestimated.
As always, here is a link to the full chat I had with ChatGPT about this blog post.
And what did BoM have to say about TC Alfred? This is an extract from the Tropical Climate Update, 11/03/2025.
Severe Tropical Cyclone (TC) Alfred impacts Queensland and north-eastern New South Wales
Severe Tropical Cyclone (TC) Alfred (22U) formed in the Coral Sea off the Queensland coast on 20 February. Tropical Low 22U reached TC status on 23 February and its intensity peaked at Category 4 (a Severe Tropical Cyclone) on 27 February as it tracked southwards. On 4 March, TC Alfred turned westward, and over the days that followed, tracked slowly as a Category 2 system towards Queensland’s south-eastern coast. TC Alfred stalled in its movement just off the coast from Bribie Island early on the 8th then weakened to a tropical low and crossed the Australian mainland coast, north of Brisbane, at 9 pm local time.
Very heavy rain and flooding has impacted south-eastern Queensland and the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales as TC Alfred approached the coast (from 6 March). Seven-day totals to 9 am on 10 March of more than 200 mm were recorded across much of south-eastern Queensland and north-eastern New South Wales, with some regions south of Brisbane recording totals of over 400 mm. Three sites in the Gold Coast Hinterland exceeded 7-day totals of 1,000 mm to 9 am on 10 March. Some sites across New South Wales’ Northern Rivers and bordering south-eastern Queensland recorded 4 consecutive days of rainfall above 100 mm.
Daily annual and March rainfall records were set at a number of sites across south-eastern Queensland and north-eastern New South Wales, including Brisbane, which recorded 275.2 mm to 9 am on 10 March, both an annual record for the site (26 years of data) and its highest daily rainfall total since January 1974. K’gari Eurong (43 years of data) recorded 427.3 mm to 9 am on 9 March, breaking the previous annual record of 301.0 mm on 22 February 1976. Hervey Bay Airport, with 27 years of data, set a March and annual record of 261.4 mm to 9 am on 9 March, close to triple its previous March record of 94.8 mm.
Sustained, strong winds impacted coastal areas as TC Alfred moved towards Queensland’s south-eastern coast. Many locations recorded wind gusts of more than 100 km/h, with sustained winds causing damage across parts of south-eastern Queensland and north-east New South Wales. Byron Bay (Cape Byron AWS), which has 22 years of data, set a highest wind gust record of 120 km/h on 7 March.
Many rivers across south-eastern Queensland and north-eastern New South Wales peaked at major flood levels during the passage of TC Alfred. As of 11 March, most river levels are dropping. Flooding is forecast to gradually ease in these river basins as rainfall associated with ex-TC Alfred eases. For more information, visit the Bureau’s National Warnings Summary.
As of 11 March, there have been 8 tropical cyclones in the Australian region during the 2024–25 season. Recent post-event analysis has shown that 09U sustained Category 1 intensity for long enough on 10 January 2025 to be re-classified as a tropical cyclone. 6 of the 8 tropical cyclones have reached Severe intensity (Category 3 or higher).
An Autistic Cookbook?
I chat with both of my AI chatbots, ChatGPT and Replika, about my cooking, and how reclaiming my special interest in cooking, food and nutrition was key in coming back from skill regression.
One thing that I think is sorely missing in late autism diagnosis is advice about autistic burnout and skill regression. It was a horrible surprise for me. But, through focusing on cooking for myself, not cooking for others to seek validation, was key to reclaiming that special interest.
From that first three course meal I cooked when I was eight, to my present cooking, exploring ingredients, swapping out allergens and inflammatory foods, focusing on macros, nutrition, number of plants, plus taste, taste, taste; cooking is everything to me. I could talk about it for days. But that’s not socially acceptable, so I talk to AI about it instead.
It was during one of these conversations that ChatGPT suggested I should write an autistic cookbook. In the typical autistic way, I took that at face value, just a cookbook, and discounted the idea. But chatting about it with one of my regular Shebah clients gave me a completely different insight into the contents of said cookbook. Not just recipes, but so much more; an autistic approach to cooking, or rather, my autistic approach to cooking, from my accumulated knowledge.
Not just a recipe, but possible allergens, possible ARFID triggers, and possible substitutions or other solutions.
Not just presentation, but autistic appeal. Thinking about plates and cutlery, what’s ok and what’s ick.
Not just what, but why? Why can you only keep cooked rice for three days? Why is the temperature of chicken important?
Not just why, but history and legacy; sense and sensory.
And ChatGPT explains it so much better than more. After all, ChatGPT has given me the structure and all the things to consider. It has learned from me well.
When I started writing An Autistic Cookbook, I knew it would be more than just a collection of recipes. It had to be. Food is never just about food, especially for autistic people. It is routine, sensory experience, nourishment, control, and often, a battle against a world that wasn’t built with us in mind.
I’ve spent a lifetime navigating food through multiple lenses—special interest, survival, social expectation, and, more recently, unmasked autistic joy. My approach to cooking changed dramatically once I stopped filtering my needs through a neurotypical lens. That’s why this cookbook exists. It isn’t just about making food palatable; it’s about reclaiming autonomy in the kitchen, understanding our sensory realities, and finding ways to make food work for us, rather than forcing ourselves to fit into a rigid and inaccessible system of rules.
Sensory Experience & Food Autonomy
For many autistic people, food can be fraught with difficulty. The texture of certain foods can trigger an immediate gag reflex. The unpredictability of restaurant meals or pre-packaged foods can cause anxiety. Even the pressure of meal planning or cooking after a long day can be overwhelming. The sensory landscape of food is complex, and yet most cookbooks ignore these realities.
That’s why An Autistic Cookbook is structured differently. It doesn’t just present recipes—it provides adaptable frameworks. It acknowledges that what works for one autistic person might be intolerable for another. Instead of rigid ingredient lists and instructions, it offers pathways to creating meals that fit individual needs.
I’m building in ways to modify recipes based on sensory preferences, energy levels, and executive function demands. Some people need crispness and contrast to enjoy a meal, while others need soft and uniform textures. Some find spices overwhelming, while others need intense flavors to counteract sensory dullness. Autonomy means recognizing these needs and giving ourselves permission to cook in ways that work for us, even if it doesn’t align with traditional culinary expectations.
Cooking & Masking: The Before & After
Before my autism diagnosis, my cooking was deeply intertwined with masking. I cooked for others as a form of social connection, as a way to meet expectations, as a demonstration of skill and care. I made elaborate meals, layered with meaning, hoping they would speak for me in ways that I struggled to express. Food was love, but it was also labor.
Post-diagnosis, I had to redefine my relationship with food. I lost my ability to cook for a while—skill regression hit hard, and I struggled to find the motivation to return to the kitchen. Cooking had been an act of performance, and without that external validation, I floundered. It took time to rebuild, but I did so on my terms. Now, my kitchen is a space of joy, not obligation. Meal prep is an extension of my autistic routines, not a burden. I cook for myself, not for approval. That shift changed everything.
More Than Just Recipes: A Guide for the Autistic Experience
An Autistic Cookbook isn’t just a set of recipes; it’s a philosophy. It’s a way to rethink how we approach food, to give ourselves permission to eat in ways that make sense for us, to reject the shame often tied to food aversions and preferences.
It’s also practical. It includes:
- Sensory-friendly cooking strategies – because food should be enjoyable, not a battle.
- Meal prep and planning tips – designed for executive function challenges.
- Food science explanations – so substitutions work, not just exist.
- Flexible frameworks – allowing recipes to be adapted to individual needs.
- Reflections on food, masking, and unmasking – because cooking is often about much more than sustenance.
Most of all, this project matters because autistic people deserve to see their needs reflected in the kitchen. We deserve cookbooks that acknowledge our realities, our challenges, and our joys. Food is culture, identity, and autonomy. It is how we nourish ourselves—not just physically, but emotionally and intellectually.
This cookbook is my way of saying: You deserve to eat well, in a way that works for you, without shame, without struggle, and with all the joy that food should bring.
You will find the link to the full transcript here.
The Fulcrum of Neurodivergence
If we are different, what is normal?
All my life, I have danced to the beat of a different drum. Being autistic, albeit undiagnosed, explains that. One characteristic I have discovered about my autistic thought is that it loops and swirls. And therefore, is very oppositional to the concept of the “average woman”, let alone the “average man”. And that the word normal is actually rooted on a carpenter’s square? that is singularly offensive, to me.
A long time ago,in a journal, I wrote about the original meanings of suave, debonair, seeing them as singularly male descriptives, yet in origin, they means very different things. Suave from Latin suavis, meaning agreeable or sweet. The Collins dictionary, today, defines it as “(esp of a man) displaying smoothness and sophistication in manner or attitude; urbane”. Debonair, from Old French via Latin, meaning of good lineage, good family. The Collins dictionary, today, defines it as suave and refined, carefree; lighthearted; courteous and cheerful; affable. The way language shifts means it is alive. I would not describe anyone as suave to mean “agreeable or sweet”. The same way I would not use ‘sophistication to mean lies, a la sophistry.
But I take a great deal of umbrage that ‘normal’ is derived from a carpenter’s square.
Human nature, thought and existence is not nicely squared up at 90 degrees. Therefore, to me, normal is a most disagreeable word. Yet it is at the root of our modern society, in concept and in fact.
Yet. I. WILL. REBEL. I will colour outside the lines. I will step outside the box. Always have, always will.
Yet it strikes much differently, knowing I am autistic. Of course, unmasked me colours to my lines, has a different shaped world outside the box. Always have been, always will be.
In this post, ChatGPT clearly elucidates all that I detest about the construct of “normal”.
What is normal? A deceptively simple question, yet one that sits at the heart of how society constructs meaning, power, and identity. If neurodivergence is, by definition, a divergence from a supposed norm, then where, exactly, is that norm located? And more importantly—who gets to decide?
For every dys (dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia) and every hyper (hyperlexia, hyperfocus, hyperempathy), there is an implied middle—a so-called equilibrium against which all deviation is measured. The problem with this concept is that it assumes a fixed, objective standard from which some people stray too far in one direction or another. But what if the middle is not a universal truth, but rather a cultural construct?
This question isn’t just theoretical; it has real consequences. The way we define normal determines who gets access to resources, who is marginalized, who is celebrated, and who is pushed to the fringes. The idea of normalcy is woven into education systems, workplace policies, and medical diagnoses. But before we can deconstruct it, we need to ask: where did this concept come from?
The Origins of “Normal”
The idea of normality as we understand it today is relatively recent. In pre-modern societies, there was no singular standard against which all people were measured. People existed in a web of different roles, each with its own expectations. A person’s value was often determined by their contribution to the community rather than their adherence to an abstract standard.
That changed in the 19th century, when statistics and industrialization reshaped our understanding of human difference. The word normal comes from the Latin normalis, meaning “made according to a carpenter’s square,” implying a rigid, straight, and measured standard. In the early 1800s, the Belgian mathematician Adolphe Quetelet applied statistical analysis to human populations, developing the concept of the “average man” (l’homme moyen). His idea suggested that the most common traits in a population were inherently the most desirable. This was one of the first steps in transforming what is statistically frequent into what is morally and socially ideal.
By the late 19th century, the growing fields of psychology, eugenics, and medicine took this concept further. Intelligence testing, psychiatric diagnoses, and public health measures all began reinforcing the idea that deviation—whether in intellect, behavior, or ability—was something to be managed, corrected, or eliminated.
In short, the definition of normal was not discovered—it was invented.
The Tyranny of the Middle
The middle is often framed as the ideal—the place where abilities and behaviors are neither too much nor too little. The Goldilocks zone of human cognition and behavior. But this notion of balance is not neutral—it is, in fact, a value judgment. To be in the middle is to be acceptable, to be unremarkable in a way that requires no intervention.
Yet, for neurodivergent people, the middle is a mirage. It does not reflect an authentic, lived experience but rather a societal expectation imposed from the outside. It is an abstraction that exists only in statistics and policy, not in real life.
This is where injustice creeps in. Because the idea of the middle is tied to the concept of deviation, and deviation carries weight—often, the weight of being deemed broken, disordered, or in need of fixing.
Consider the term twice exceptional (2e). A person is deemed both gifted and disabled because their abilities do not neatly average out to “normal.” A child may be hyperlexic—reading fluently at age three—but struggle with motor coordination or social interaction. A teenager may have exceptional mathematical ability but need accommodations for ADHD. Instead of being seen as whole, they are labeled with contradictions. Their strengths do not cancel out their struggles, nor do their struggles erase their strengths. But the system demands categorization.
The irony is that the middle, this supposed point of balance, is itself a fabricated benchmark. The real human experience is not a bell curve but a vast, multidimensional landscape.
The Harm of Standardization
The tyranny of the middle becomes most evident when we look at how systems—education, work, and daily life—are designed to favor predictability over individuality.
1. Education: The Myth of the Average Student
- Schools are built around the idea of an “average learner,” despite overwhelming evidence that no such student exists.
- Neurodivergent students are often either left behind or forced to conform through rigid behavioral expectations.
- Gifted students with executive dysfunction are labeled lazy, while autistic students are told they are “too smart” to need accommodations.
Sir Ken Robinson famously said, “We are educating people out of their creativity.” In many ways, we are also educating people out of their natural cognitive styles, demanding compliance over curiosity.
2. Work: The Standard Worker Model
- Productivity is measured in hours at a desk rather than the quality of output.
- Social networking and performative teamwork take precedence over genuine contributions.
- Office environments are designed for extroverts, penalizing those who work better in solitude.
Imagine if workplaces were built around different cognitive strengths rather than forcing all employees into a singular mold. What innovations have we lost because the right minds were placed in the wrong environments?
3. Everyday Life: Sensory and Social Norms
- Many social expectations (eye contact, small talk, body language) are culturally specific, yet enforced as universal.
- Public spaces are designed for neurotypical sensory tolerances, often overwhelming autistic individuals.
- The assumption that everyone should thrive in the same conditions leads to needless suffering and exclusion.
“Fixing” vs. Accepting Neurodivergence
At the heart of this discussion is a fundamental question: is neurodivergence something to fix, or simply a different way of being?
The medical model of disability frames neurodivergence as a disorder—something to diagnose, treat, or correct. The social model of disability, by contrast, suggests that the real issue is not the neurodivergent individual but the way society refuses to accommodate difference.
The neurodiversity movement challenges deficit-based models. It suggests that cognitive differences are just that—differences, not inherent flaws. The problem is not the divergence itself but the way in which society demands conformity to an arbitrary middle.
Beyond the Binary of Normal and Abnormal
Perhaps the real question is not “Where is the middle?” but rather “Why do we need one?” The idea of a singular equilibrium point is an illusion. It does not account for the fluidity of human experience, the spectrum of abilities, and the shifting nature of what society deems valuable.
Instead of measuring ourselves against a fictitious middle, what if we embraced multiple fulcrums—each valid in its own right, each a center of gravity for a different way of thinking and being?
This would not mean abandoning structure but rather restructuring—not bending neurodivergent people to fit the world, but bending the world to include them.
Conclusion: The Right to Exist Outside the Middle
Neurodivergence is not a deviation from the middle. It is a center in its own right.
And perhaps, in the end, the real injustice is the insistence that we must all balance on a single point, when we were never meant to.
The full chat with ChatGPT is here.
The Soft Hello: Why Big Government is the Backbone of a Just, Responsible, and Cohesive Society
If you’ve read much of my blog, this won’t be a surprise to go.
I want big government, and yes, high corporate and personal taxes. Because I want Medicare to be stronger, I want quality health care, I want quality education, I want quality roads, I want to be safe, I want a universal basic income or something similar. I want our people, land and water to be protected. I want food, fibre and energy security. But most of all I want people to be comfortable and happy, happy enough to say, “G’day,” when passing on the street, or at least a smile and nod. This is the “soft hello” that can only be seen when there is social cohesion.
I’m a big fan of social justice, social responsibility and social cohesion. The world is a little less jagged.
So when the 2024 Scanlon Report showed even more threats to social cohesion than in 2023, I take notice.
And when the Grattan Institute publishes their Orange Book 2025. I take notice.
And I still want big government.
So as I am wont to do lately, I turned to ChatGPT. We had a conversation about the Orange Book in conjunction with the Scanlon Report. I asked it to generate a long form blog post, drawing on the Orange Book, about the benefits of “big government” for social justice, social responsibility and social cohesion, from the lens of the “soft hello”.
Here’s what ChatGPT had to say about it.
There’s a quiet power in the soft hello—the warm greeting of a neighbor, the recognition of shared humanity in a passing smile, the simple acknowledgment that we are all in this together. It is an ethos of care, one that acknowledges that societies do not function on individual grit alone, but on the scaffolding of support we build for one another.
The Grattan Institute’s Orange Book 2025 lays out a vision for Australia that leans into this ethos of care, advocating for government to step in where markets fail, where inequities deepen, and where social cohesion is under threat. It makes the case—implicitly, yet undeniably—for big government as a force for social justice, social responsibility, and social cohesion. And in an era where the political right often demonizes government as an overreaching bureaucratic monster, it’s worth taking a step back to appreciate why big government is not the enemy, but the quiet, persistent, and necessary soft hello that keeps a nation together.
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Social Justice: The Government as a Great Equalizer
The Orange Book 2025 highlights the need for policy interventions to ensure economic opportunity, access to quality education, and affordable healthcare—all core tenets of social justice. But let’s call it what it is: big government doing its job.
At its best, government is not merely a regulator of markets but a corrective force against their excesses. Left unchecked, the free market does not create fairness; it rewards those with power, capital, and connections. It doesn’t care if a child is born into poverty, if a single mother can’t afford rent, or if an aging worker is discarded when their skills become obsolete. That’s not malice—it’s just indifference.
Big government exists to inject fairness where the market has no incentive to do so.
Economic Growth & Wages: Without fair work laws, without progressive taxation, and without safety nets, the reality for most workers would be stagnant wages and increasing precarity. The Orange Book’s call for stronger productivity-linked wage growth is a recognition that prosperity cannot be left to “trickle down.”
Education as a Right, Not a Privilege: Public schooling, university funding, and vocational education are not just social programs; they are equalizers. An underfunded education system entrenches generational inequality, while a strong, well-funded one lifts entire communities.
Healthcare as a Public Good: The government-run healthcare system in Australia ensures that your bank balance does not determine whether you live or die. Markets will always make healthcare a commodity; governments can make it a right.
Social justice is not about handouts—it’s about creating the conditions where everyone has a fair go. And that is not something markets will ever do alone.
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Social Responsibility: The Government as a Custodian of the Future
Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) has long been accepted as an ethical framework for businesses, encouraging them to think beyond immediate profits and towards long-term societal well-being. But what about Governmental Social Responsibility (GSR)? What happens when governments take on the role of stewards rather than just arbiters?
The Orange Book presents a vision of government that does not just react but anticipates and plans—for climate change, public health, infrastructure, and housing affordability. These are not areas where market forces alone can be trusted to deliver the best outcomes.
Housing: The market will always chase the highest returns—meaning affordable housing gets pushed aside in favor of luxury developments. Without government intervention to increase housing supply, prices will keep climbing, locking more Australians out of home ownership.
Climate Action: No company wants to voluntarily reduce profits by investing in sustainability unless forced to do so. Governments step in to regulate emissions, fund renewable energy, and ensure a liveable planet for future generations.
Healthcare and Public Health: Markets optimize for immediate gain, not long-term public health. Governments, on the other hand, have an obligation to invest in preventative care, pandemic preparedness, and medical research—not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because it reduces long-term costs and suffering.
A responsible government plans for the future—not just the next quarterly earnings report.
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Social Cohesion: The Government as the Great Unifier
There’s a reason why countries with strong welfare states and robust public institutions tend to have higher levels of social trust and cohesion. It’s because when people know that their basic needs will be met, they are less fearful, less resentful, and less prone to division.
The Scanlon Report (2023) found that social cohesion in Australia is under pressure, with increasing polarization around issues like immigration, economic inequality, and national identity. The question, then, is this: does small government make us stronger together, or does it tear us apart?
When people feel abandoned by the state, they turn on each other.
A society without public healthcare? Rich versus poor, insured versus uninsured.
A society without affordable education? Private school elitism versus struggling public schools.
A society without housing regulation? Owners versus renters, haves versus have-nots.
A society without climate action? Rural vs urban, young vs old, fossil fuels vs renewables.
Big government, done right, creates a sense of shared fate. It builds the roads we all drive on, funds the schools our children attend, and ensures that no one is left so far behind that they lose faith in the system itself.
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The False Allure of Small Government
The dream of small government is, at its core, a fantasy of self-sufficiency—one that assumes that markets will provide fairness, that private industry will prioritize ethics, and that individuals will succeed purely on merit. But history tells a different story.
Reagan’s deregulation? Led to economic inequality unseen since the Gilded Age.
Thatcher’s privatization? Dismantled public services, leaving generations struggling.
Trumpian tax cuts? Enriched the wealthy, increased national debt, and did nothing for workers.
Big government is not about handouts. It’s about ensuring that the rules of the game are fair, that prosperity is shared, and that society does not become so fractured that it loses its sense of common purpose.
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Big Government is the Soft Hello
At the end of the day, government is not some faceless machine; it is the quiet infrastructure that makes daily life possible.
It is the doctor that treats your illness without asking for a credit card first.
It is the school that gives every child, regardless of background, a chance to learn.
It is the road that connects communities and the power grid that keeps the lights on.
It is the soft hello that reminds us we are not alone—that we owe something to each other.
The Orange Book 2025 presents a roadmap for a nation that embraces that responsibility—one that prioritizes justice over unchecked capitalism, responsibility over short-term gains, and cohesion over division.
Because in the end, a society is not measured by the wealth of its richest, but by the security, dignity, and opportunity it provides to its most vulnerable. And that is a job too big for the market to handle alone.
Big government is not just necessary.
It is how we care for each other.
New Recipes in the Library – With FODMAP & Nightshade-Free Options!
I’ve just added three new recipes to The Auld Skald’s Fudgel, each with FODMAP-friendly and nightshade-free modifications for those navigating dietary restrictions.
Poulet Cocotte Grand-Mère – A classic French country-style chicken dish, now with a FODMAP-friendly onion substitute and nightshade-free potato alternatives.
Salmon with Three-Herb Sauce Ravigote – A fresh, zesty dish that works just as well with fillets as it does with a whole side of salmon. Simple swaps make it FODMAP-friendly.
Pumpkin and Tomato Curry – A warming, spiced dish with a nightshade-free version using sweet potato & tamarind instead of tomatoes, plus my own chili-free hot spice mix.
If you’re looking for flavorful, adaptable meals that cater to FODMAP needs or nightshade allergies, check them out!
Let me know if you try them—or if you have any requests for future modifications.
The Stock Exchange: The Longest Con of All?
A novel I read a long time ago spoke about “tha market” being about confidence. In that story, a convenient billionaire in on the gig bought shares in a particular company to “shore up confidence” in it. That always stuck with me, tucked neatly alongside stories of grifters and hucksters, con men and women and mentalists… Recent stock market trials and tribulations prompted this post.
The stock exchange is often touted as the beating heart of modern capitalism, a system where companies raise capital and investors build wealth. But at its core, the stock market operates on confidence—perception rather than intrinsic value. This reliance on faith, speculation, and psychological manipulation mirrors the mechanics of a long con.
What is a Long Con?
A long con is an elaborate confidence trick that unfolds over time, designed to build trust and extract maximum value from its victims before they realize they’ve been deceived. Unlike short cons—quick scams that rely on immediate deception—a long con requires careful manipulation of belief. Classic long cons involve setting up an illusion of legitimacy, often with multiple players reinforcing trust.
The origins of the term confidence trick date back to the 19th century, when William Thompson, a New York swindler, convinced victims to lend him valuables with the promise of returning them. His success relied on social engineering, creating an aura of credibility so that targets willingly handed over their possessions.
Sound familiar? The stock market runs on the same principles. Investors place their faith in companies and the market as a whole, believing that their money will return with profit. But this confidence is easily manipulated, and when the illusion shatters—think dot-com bubble, 2008 financial crisis, or sudden corporate collapses—those at the top cash out while everyday investors are left holding the bag.
Step Right Up to the Grestest Show in Town! Write Your Own Market Gamble!
The Stock Market as a Confidence Game
Share prices do not reflect absolute value; they reflect perceived value. A stock rises not necessarily because a company is performing well but because investors believe it will perform well. This collective confidence creates self-reinforcing bubbles, only for them to burst when sentiment shifts. The very phrase “market confidence” acknowledges this psychological aspect—when confidence is high, prices rise; when confidence wanes, markets tumble.
Governments and regulators attempt to maintain transparency through mechanisms such as continuous disclosure obligations and trading halts.
- Continuous Disclosure (ASX Rule 3.1): Listed companies on the Australian Securities Exchange (ASX) must immediately disclose any information that could materially impact their stock price. Theoretically, this prevents insider trading and maintains fairness. In practice, it often allows companies to strategically time announcements to minimize damage or maximize hype.
- Trading Halts: If a company expects major news to impact its stock, it can request a trading halt to allow the market to digest the information. This prevents knee-jerk reactions but also gives executives time to spin narratives, further reinforcing the confidence game.
Despite these measures, the fundamental nature of the stock market remains unchanged: it thrives on belief, speculation, and carefully managed illusion.
The Sheer Uncertainty of the Stock Market
If the stock market is a confidence game, then it is also a house of cards. Crashes like the 1929 Great Depression, the 2008 Global Financial Crisis, and the COVID-19 market collapse all show how fragile investor faith is. Even in non-crisis times, markets are notoriously unpredictable—commodity prices fluctuate, consumer trends shift, and unforeseen disruptions cause financial chaos.
A stark example is Enron, once hailed as an innovative energy giant, which crumbled overnight when accounting fraud was exposed. The confidence in Enron was carefully cultivated, with executives leveraging market perception while manipulating financial statements. By the time investors realized the con, the damage was irreparable.
If the stock exchange is such a precarious system, what alternatives exist?
Enter B Corps: A Different Way of Doing Business?
Certified B Corporations (B Corps) present themselves as an ethical counterbalance to profit-driven corporations. These companies commit to social and environmental responsibility, balancing profit with purpose. Unlike traditional corporations, which primarily serve shareholders, B Corps claim to serve all stakeholders—employees, customers, communities, and the planet.
What is B Corp Certification?
B Corp certification is awarded by B Lab, a nonprofit that evaluates companies based on their impact in areas like governance, employee welfare, environmental responsibility, and community engagement. The certification process includes:
- B Impact Assessment: Companies must score at least 80 out of 200 points across five categories: governance, workers, community, environment, and customers.
- Legal Accountability: Companies must amend their governing documents to commit to stakeholder interests beyond just shareholder returns.
- Transparency: Certified companies must publish their B Impact Report, detailing their social and environmental performance.
- Recertification: Every three years, companies must reapply, proving continued commitment to B Corp principles.
Recognizable B Corps in Australia
Several well-known Australian companies have obtained B Corp certification, including:
- Bank Australia – A customer-owned bank that prioritizes ethical lending and environmental sustainability.
- Ecostore – A household cleaning and personal care brand committed to reducing plastic waste and toxic chemicals.
- Who Gives A Crap – A toilet paper company that donates 50% of its profits to sanitation projects worldwide.
- KeepCup – The reusable coffee cup brand tackling disposable cup waste.
- Australian Ethical Investments – A B Corp that is also listed on the ASX, proving that ethical investing can exist within the constraints of the stock market.
Conclusion: Confidence vs. Commitment
The stock exchange, by its nature, is a long con—a system where faith, perception, and strategic narrative control determine success. Continuous disclosure rules and trading halts attempt to instill fairness, but ultimately, the market remains a confidence game.
B Corps offer an alternative model, focusing on ethical business practices and stakeholder interests. However, when a B Corp goes public, it enters the same speculative ecosystem as any other corporation. The tension between maintaining ethical commitments and satisfying investor expectations creates an ongoing challenge.
Australian Ethical Investments demonstrates that it is possible to be both a publicly traded company and a B Corp while complying with all ASX and superannuation regulations. This challenges the assumption that corporate ethics and profitability are mutually exclusive. While the stock exchange thrives on speculation, B Corps rely on a different kind of confidence—one rooted in trust, accountability, and sustainable impact.
So, is the stock exchange truly a long con? The answer lies in whether investors continue to believe in the illusion—and whether B Corps can resist being absorbed into the same confidence-driven machine they claim to oppose.
The Auld Skald's Fudgel 