Inclusiveness in the Film Industry: Are We Telling New Stories or Rewriting Old Ones?

I’ve been thinking about what inclusiveness really means in the film industry.

Film and television have a powerful influence on how we see the world, including how we understand history, other cultures and ourselves. I’ve noticed a growing emphasis on what is often called wokeness in entertainment, and I sometimes wonder whether the industry’s approach to inclusiveness reflects what inclusion should really mean.

To me, genuine inclusiveness means giving people from different backgrounds opportunities to participate, tell their stories and have their cultures represented fairly. It means making room for different experiences, ideas and perspectives, particularly those that have been overlooked in the past.

But does inclusiveness mean changing the people and cultures within an established historical story to meet modern expectations?

I don’t believe it should.

What does inclusiveness really mean?

Inclusiveness is about deliberately including people from a wide range of backgrounds, especially those who might otherwise be excluded or marginalised, and treating them fairly.

It does not automatically mean changing documented historical events or presenting a historical setting in a way that differs substantially from the world in which the story originally took place.

I believe people from different backgrounds should have opportunities to work in film and television. Audiences should also be able to see a wide range of cultures, experiences and perspectives represented on screen.

Lately I have been wondering whether the emphasis on representation has become more about ticking boxes, meeting targets or satisfying award criteria than about creating meaningful stories.

When that happens, people risk being treated as categories rather than individuals. Representation can begin to feel artificial rather than genuine.

True inclusion should make room for everyone, but it should not mislead audiences about the history a production claims to portray.

When historical casting changes the story

In recent historical and period productions, we have seen actors from backgrounds that differ from those traditionally associated with the historical settings being portrayed.

One example is Helen of Troy in adaptations of Homer’s Iliad and related Greek mythology. Helen is described in ancient Greek poetry as leucoxenes, commonly translated as “white-armed”. This is a poetic description associated with female beauty in ancient Greek literature, although it should not be treated as definitive proof of her precise skin colour.

Nevertheless, when a production presents ancient Greek mythology in a recognisably historical setting, casting choices can affect how audiences imagine the people and society of that period.

A similar question arises with historical dramas set during the Russian Revolution. When a production depicts early twentieth-century Moscow, audiences may reasonably expect the characters and their surroundings to reflect the historical society being portrayed.

I am aware  that  not every production aims to recreate the past faithfully. Some deliberately reinterpret familiar stories, and creative casting can be part of that approach.

My concern is not that actors should be restricted to playing only people who share their own background. It is whether a production is clear about what it is trying to achieve.

There is a difference between saying, “This is a modern interpretation of an ancient story,” and presenting a production in a way that encourages viewers to believe they are seeing an accurate representation of history.

That distinction matters because film and television can shape our understanding of the past, particularly when viewers have little knowledge of the period.

Why not tell more stories?

I believe there is a better, more meaningful way to approach inclusiveness: tell more stories.

Rather than continually reshaping established historical narratives to meet modern expectations, why not invest in stories about cultures and communities whose experiences have too often been overlooked?

America, for example, could bring more Native American histories to the screen, with Indigenous characters at the centre of their own stories. There is also an extraordinary wealth of material in African American history, Asian cultures and the histories of Indigenous peoples around the world.

My own Greek heritage offers rich possibilities. The Byzantine era and the Greek War of Independence both helped shape the nation Greece is today. Australia also has a little-known connection to that struggle: a group of Greek sailors, convicted of piracy during the revolution, were transported to New South Wales. Stories like these could introduce audiences to fascinating histories they may never have encountered.

Australia’s Indigenous cultures also hold some of the world’s oldest and richest storytelling traditions. Stories grounded in the Dreaming offer immense creative possibilities, provided they are developed with the participation, guidance and authority of the communities to which they belong.

Moana showed that a story rooted in Polynesian culture could connect with a vast international audience. Viewers embraced a film that welcomed them into a cultural world many had not seen represented on screen before.

Why not build on that success?

There is enormous creative potential in exploring different histories, traditions, achievements and struggles. Audiences could discover unfamiliar worlds, while the people whose cultures are represented could have a stronger voice in shaping how those stories are told.

To me, that is inclusion at its most meaningful: not changing the people in someone else’s historical story to suit the present but creating genuine opportunities for more communities to tell stories of their own.

Creativity, history and artistic freedom

Inclusiveness in the Film Industry: Are We Telling New Stories or Rewriting Old Ones?

I am not arguing that every historical film must be a perfect reconstruction of the past. Nor do I believe actors should only ever play characters who look exactly as they would have looked in a particular historical setting.

Artists have always reimagined stories. Shakespeare adapted earlier works, myths have been retold across generations, and filmmakers are entitled to interpret familiar material in new ways.

But where is the line between creative interpretation and rewriting history?

When we look thousands of years into the past, we cannot know everything about how people lived. We reconstruct ancient civilisations from what has survived: ruins, pottery, coins, inscriptions, artwork, buildings, tools and fragments of written records.

Historians use this evidence to build the best possible understanding of people and cultures that existed long before us.

Film can help us imagine those worlds, but it can also blur our understanding of them.

I believe producers should be honest about what they are creating. If a production deliberately reimagines history, there is nothing wrong with making that intention clear. If it presents itself as a historically grounded story, then historical evidence should matter.

The past should not simply become an empty canvas on which we impose whatever the present would like it to look like.

Truthfulness and transparency matter, particularly when entertainment also serves as an informal source of historical knowledge.

Hollywood needs more original stories

Another concern I have is the apparent reliance on familiar franchises, remakes and reimagining.

I miss the films of earlier decades, such as The Sound of Music, Camelot and Singin’ in the Rain. They had their own distinctive settings, musical traditions and storytelling styles. I also remember films such as Schindler’s List, which told a harrowing story from the Second World War and carried a profound message.

These films are very different from one another, but each had a distinctive identity.

I sometimes wonder whether today’s emphasis on representation and established franchises has come at the expense of original storytelling. There are talented writers, actors and filmmakers from many backgrounds, yet I would like to see more opportunities for them to create something new rather than continually revisiting familiar properties.

There has been speculation over the years about changing James Bond’s gender or ethnic background. Ian Fleming created Bond as a particular character, with a specific identity and history.

Why not create a new spy franchise instead?

Imagine a compelling spy film centred on a woman, or a hero from a different cultural background, with their own history, motivations and world. Such a character could be just as interesting as James Bond without having to replace him.

That would give writers greater creative freedom and audiences something new to discover.

It would also allow established characters to retain their original identities while opening the door to a much wider range of stories.

To me, that is where genuine inclusiveness and creativity can work together.

Inclusion should make the storytelling world bigger

I do not oppose inclusiveness. I welcome opportunities for people from different backgrounds to participate in the film industry and share their experiences.

But I am concerned when inclusion appears to become a policy of representation rather than a commitment to meaningful storytelling.

People are more than labels, and cultures are more than categories. We should not assume that an actor’s background alone determines which stories they can tell, nor should we assume that every audience wants the same approach to representation.

What matters is giving talented people opportunities, respecting cultural differences and allowing a wider range of stories to reach the screen.

There is room for historical dramas, imaginative adaptations, fantasy and contemporary stories. These approaches do not have to compete with one another. The important thing is that audiences understand what they are watching and that filmmakers have the freedom to create something meaningful.

And perhaps respecting history, even when it is uncomfortable or unfamiliar, is itself a form of inclusion: inclusion of the people who lived it.

For me, the question is not whether everyone should be included. Of course they should.

The question is how we include people without reducing them to categories, ticking boxes or erasing the particularity of the stories, cultures and histories that already exist.

True inclusiveness should make the storytelling world bigger, not simply rewrite the stories that are already there.

It means telling new stories, supporting writers and filmmakers from different backgrounds, and allowing cultures to speak through their own histories and experiences.

If we want representation to be sincere, it must be guided by truth, creativity and respect, rather than simply by the desire to tick a box.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

Do you enjoy seeing actors cast in historical roles when their backgrounds differ from the historical setting, or would you prefer to see more original stories that represent a wider range of cultures and experiences?

 

How We Are Distracted in the modern World

 Philippians 4:8

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."

Recently, I decided to tackle my room. Over the years, I’ve accumulated stack upon stack of books, handwritten notes, tax receipts, and cherished memorabilia I just can't bring myself to part with. Many of these books and notes have piled up since I retired, leaving my space feeling cluttered and untidy.

As I sifted through the shelves, I made an interesting discovery: I have had so many passions and interests over the years that I had completely forgotten about. Shelves filled with forgotten information on health, numerology, crystals, history,  Information Technology (IT),  religious and spiritual books waiting to be rediscovered. Stories, novels waiting to be read. It made me reflect: what has distracted and sidetracked me from these interests and stories? 

The answer, overwhelmingly, is technology. Platforms like Facebook and Instagram take up far too much of my time. More recently, Artificial Intelligence (AI) has shifted my habits even further. Where I once turned to books to learn and research, I now rely on AI for immediate answers.

While AI can be a helpful tool—a fast way to confirm ideas or discover new resources; it should not replace the experience of reading.

Social media, too, has evolved. While I use Facebook and Instagram for news and business growth, the constant sensationalism is hard to ignore. Modern technology has fundamentally changed how we consume information; people rarely pick up physical newspapers, magazines, or books anymore. I fondly remember the time when you could read stacks of old magazines in waiting rooms, or flip through them at hair salons while sitting under the dryer. I really enjoyed that era; it was a great way to catch up on articles from magazines I wouldn’t normally buy.

Returning to present day, what I see and feel is something I believe many others experience as well. Technology has become a source of disharmony, misrepresentation, and endless distraction, leaving us with very little time to simply sit quietly, think deeply and reflect.

We live in a landscape where misinformation, if repeated often enough, is accepted as truth. Proper debate is rare, and there is subtle pressure to conform to the dominant narrative, even when you disagree.

My solution is a return to balance. We could do this by:

• Read more offline: Reconnect with books, physical magazines, and longer-form writing, just like before technology took over.

• Minimise digital noise: Cut back on unnecessary screen time and passive scrolling.

• Connect deeply: Focus on real-world interactions and genuine human connection.

By stepping back from the screen, I can clear not just my room, but my mind—making space for thoughtful reading, real connection, and quiet reflection.

A Return to Balance

I have already begun bringing balance into my life, by  intentionally minimising digital noise. Instead of reaching for my phone, I spend time reading a book, reflecting, and writing in a notebook. I have found that my mind is less scattered, my thoughts are clearer, and the questions I ask myself are more focused.

I have also returned to one of my old notebooks, which has allowed me to look back on the issues that once troubled me and see whether I have resolved them. This has become a valuable form of private reflection at the end of each day.

Rather than journaling on my phone or typing on a computer, I now write by hand in a notebook. I find this much more personal and engaging. Writing by hand makes my reflections feel more meaningful and memorable, allowing my thoughts to settle more deeply and become part of my own understanding.

In modern day living what has been your distractions.  What do you do to sidetrack the distractions?  I love to hear from you . 

🌿 Reclaiming the Spirit of Wisdom

 From the 60s to Now: The Fade of Discernment and the Call to Wisdom

There was a time when demonstrations carried the fragrance of conscience, courage, and unity — a spirit that echoed through the streets, inviting the world to listen. In the 1960s, peaceful protest wasn’t about performance or division. It was about truth spoken with grace, often at great personal cost.

Think of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. leading marches for civil rights in the United States. Among those who stood beside him was the Greek Orthodox Archbishop Iakovos, defying expectations by walking alongside a Black Baptist preacher. This wasn’t about religious identity or politics — it was Sophia, the Divine Wisdom of Christian tradition, leaping across cultural divides to make herself practical.

This courageous action is the very embodiment of Binah, the understanding aspect of the Divine Feminine in Jewish mysticism.

If Sophia is the sudden, blinding flash of divine justice, Binah is the sacred matrix that gives it shape, structure, and a pair of walking shoes.

This force is not soft or abstract, but quietly courageous, deeply reflective, and grounded in right action. Binah doesn’t shout; she discerns. She listens. She takes the raw spark of Sophia’s wisdom, births it into the physical world, and sustains the march with patience and love.

From Sophia to the Streets: What Changed?

Fast forward to today. Something’s shifted — not just in Australia, but across the Western world. Protests still happen, but the spirit feels different. Gone is the tone of humility, the inner authority rooted in moral clarity. In its place, we often find anger masquerading as truth, celebrity over substance, and a narrative that divides rather than heals.

We see this tragic shift vividly in how our society processes collective trauma and terror. Consider the horrifying Bondi Beachmassacre in December 2025, where an antisemitic terrorist attack turned a peaceful “Chanukah by the Sea” celebration into a tragedy that claimed 15 innocent lives.  

While the majority of the population felt profound grief and concern, a deeply troubling element within society actively tried to downplay the slaughter. During subsequent reviews, those who gathered or attempted to speak up about the targeted violence faced swift intimidation and threats across social media. For many everyday citizens, it felt as though substantial sections of the mainstream media fell silent or glossed over these compounding injustices, leaving the burden of speaking out to select independent voices like 2GB or Sky News.

When those who demand justice for victims of an antisemitic massacre are aggressively labelled as "racist" simply for speaking up, true justice is subverted. It stands in jarring, painful contrast to the streets being filled with highly disruptive contemporary demonstrations — where public spaces are blocked for prayers in the middle of political marches. This display is a world away from the unifying, respectful ethos of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. leading marches alongside Archbishop Iakovos.

Take also the Harbour Bridge protest in Sydney, which was heavily promoted as a “March for Humanity.” On the surface, it echoed the calls of past justice movements. But if you looked closer, stark contradictions emerged:

• Aggressive Rhetoric: Some protesters chanted threats like “destroy the bridge” — on the very infrastructure they claimed to march across for peace.
• Extremist Imagery: Banners displayed photos of known terrorists — yet this was heavily downplayed by political figures who later claimed they “didn’t see it.”
• Selective Empathy: Not a single word was uttered about the hostages being brutally held by Hamas at that time. No yellow ribbons. No calls for their safe return. Just a cold, calculated silence.

This is not Sophia. This is not Binah. It’s not even compassion.

Celebrities and the Death of Discernment

Another troubling trend is the increasing reliance on actors and influencers to shape public thought. Whether it’s net-zero policies, global conflicts, or truth-telling in politics — we’re increasingly told what to think by faces trained to perform, not to lead.

This sends a subtle but dangerous message: that the average person can’t be trusted to think, and that moral clarity can be outsourced to a PR campaign. In contrast, the great movements of the past trusted the people. They encouraged discernment, not division.

The “Woke” Spiritual Guard

In Australia today, there’s a noticeable shift: traditional religions, especially Christianity and Judaism, are increasingly sidelined — while “spirituality,” as long as it remains vague, non-confrontational, and palatable, is celebrated.

• Selective Respect: In many Western circles, Christianity is often mocked or dismissed, while Eastern or Indigenous spiritualities are respected, even idealised.
• Quiet Exclusion: At events such as the Mind Body Spirit Festival, this contrast became glaringly obvious. A Jewish healer was initially excluded due to her Jewish identity — a decision only reversed after public protests raised concerns about antisemitism. The question remains: why exclude her in the first place? The reversal appeared to be a form of damage control; without public pressure, this quiet form of discrimination would have gone unchecked. Sadly, antisemitism today often operates in these subtle, socially tolerated ways.
• Political Inconsistency: Politicians often identify with faith to appeal to certain voters, but avoid acknowledging it during formal, historic occasions. When Prime Minister Anthony Albanese was sworn into office, he chose a secular affirmation rather than taking an oath on the Bible, explaining that a Prime Minister should represent people of all faiths. While this may appear inclusive, it raises deeper questions about authenticity. If he publicly identifies as Catholic, why avoid expressing that identity during such a significant milestone? Meanwhile, former Prime Ministers like Tony Abbott and Scott Morrison faced intense public criticism for openly expressing their Christian faith.

There seems to be an unspoken rule in the general public: religious expression is only welcome when it fits the dominant cultural narrative. Otherwise, it is labelled problematic or inappropriate.

• The Shield of Labels: Criticism of groups like Hamas is often quickly labelled as “Islamophobia,” while the violent acts committed by the same group are overlooked or excused.
• Politicised Truth: “Truth-telling” has become weaponised — used more to divide than to heal. What could be an invitation to reconciliation becomes a narrative of blame, separating people into strict categories of “us” and “them.”

This climate reflects a loss of deeper spiritual discernment. It is far removed from Binah — the Divine Understanding that sees beyond surface labels and embraces nuance, context, and inner truth. It also distorts the essence of Sophia — Christ’s wisdom — who is not only compassionate but clear, not only gentle but discerning. True wisdom does not cancel, silence, or polarise. It integrates, reveals, and guides with both love and truth.

A Christian Reflection on Wisdom

In Christian tradition, Sophia (Wisdom) is seen as an attribute of Christ, described in the book of Proverbs and the Psalms as the one who stood beside God during creation. In the Orthodox liturgy, before the Gospel is read, the priest cries out:

“Σοφία! Ορθοί!” — Wisdom! Let us stand aright!

It is a call to sharp attention. Not just to hear the Word, but to receive it with humility, stillness, and openness. Christ did not coerce; He invited. He didn’t cancel; He transformed.

True Wisdom is never loud or trendy. She invites the soul into silence, discernment, and integrity. In both Jewish and Christian thought, wisdom builds up. It doesn’t tear down.

The Bigger Picture: A Global Phenomenon

The loss of balance we’re seeing isn’t unique to Australia. As goes America, so go many other Western nations. Movements that began with a vital, necessary message have quickly hardened into rigid us-and-them ideologies.

Dialogue has become dangerous. Forgiveness is treated as betrayal. Justice is regularly confused with mere punishment. Social media algorithms compound this by rewarding outrage over insight, leaving people afraid to speak—or worse, repeating scripts they don’t believe just to stay "on the right side of history."

But what if the right side of history is actually the side of wisdom — quiet, firm, and completely overlooked?

A Call to Return

Now, more than ever, we need Binah — true understanding. We need Sophia — divine and human wisdom, made practical. We need discernment over division, and spiritual depth over shallow activism.

Let us return to what was sacred in the spirit of the 60s — not just the aesthetics of protest, but the inner fire of righteousness, deeply rooted in love, clarity, and humility.

The Power of a Single Step

It is easy to look at the vast landscape of cultural division and feel entirely overwhelmed. We wonder how a single voice can cut through the noise of algorithms, or how quiet discernment can stand against the roar of the crowd.

But history reminds us that major shifts rarely begin with a multitude. They begin with individuals who refuse to compromise their inner truth. The monumental march in Selma didn’t start at the destination; it began with a single, courageous step forward by people who chose clarity over comfort.

Real change does not require us to match the volume of the world. It asks us to change the cadence of our own stride. When we choose to listen instead of shout, to seek context instead of passing judgment, and to speak truth with grace rather than anger, we are taking that step. We become the matrix through which Binah and Sophia can move.

You do not need to alter the entire cultural landscape tomorrow. You only need to align your next step with wisdom.

A Biblical Anchor

In a world that demands we rush to the frontlines of every loud and trendy grievance, Scripture offers a different path — a reminder that the path of the righteous is built on steady, divinely directed steps.

As the Psalmist beautifully captured:

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way.” — Psalm 37:23

When we allow our steps to be ordered by Divine Wisdom rather than cultural pressure, we find a firm footing. Let us stand aright, move with humility, and trust that even the smallest step taken in love and truth has the power to reshape the world.

Further trading 

1: https://colourawareness.blogspot.com/2026/01/when-world-feels-too-loud-and-god-feels.html

When Spiritual Teachers Disappoint: Returning to What Is Steady

I recently reflected on a post about feeling disillusioned with modern spiritual teachers. It resonated deeply with me, because I have walked that path myself.

There was a time when I was drawn to authors like Doreen Virtue, a former New Age teacher who later embraced Christianity; Marianne Williamson, a spiritual writer and political activist; and Caroline Myss, a medical intuitive and author on personal empowerment. I was searching for something mystical, something beyond ordinary explanations of life, and their words spoke to that longing.

But over time, something shifted.

Spiritual teachers are human. They are not God. Some grow in humility and depth, while others may drift toward certainty that feels rigid or disconnected from the quiet spirit they once expressed.

When Doreen Virtue converted to Christianity, that did not trouble me — conversion is personal. What unsettled me was her criticism of Christian mysticism, particularly Orthodox mysticism, and what felt to me like quoting Scripture without its fuller context. I try not to judge her path. Still, I had to discern what was right for mine. Later, when she described her earlier work as influenced by darkness, I quietly let those books go — not in anger, but to protect my spiritual clarity.

With Marianne Williamson, I have a different experience. I still find insight in her writing, though I sometimes sense tension between spiritual language and political expression. I hold both appreciation and caution together.

With Caroline Myss, I feel something steadier. Even if I might disagree politically at times, I sense integrity — that she largely lives what she teaches. That congruence matters.

Living through disillusionment — whether with spiritual leaders, politicians, public figures, or even a local priest — has taught me something important: no human leader is infallible. Only Christ is steady.

My faith is grounded in Christ and in the life of the Eastern Orthodox Church, where we are constantly reminded of human imperfection. My mother often reminded me of this when I became critical of leaders or clergy: they are human.

Disillusionment, for me now, is no longer a crisis. It is an invitation.

In the Orthodox tradition, mysticism is not about ego or personal light. It is about grace — God working within the heart through humility and repentance. Saints like Gregory Palamas, a Byzantine theologian and mystic, taught that inner transformation is participation in God’s uncreated light — not our own brilliance.

This understanding is shared across the wider Christian tradition. In the Catholic Church, mystical saints such as Saint Teresa of Avila, a Carmelite mystic, and Saint Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits and spiritual guide, show that authentic mysticism is disciplined, discerning, and deeply Christ-centred. Their experiences were never about elevating themselves. They were about surrender — allowing God to purify the heart.

True mysticism, whether Eastern or Western, does not inflate the ego. It humbles it.

Public figures change. Spiritual movements shift. Political leaders rise and fall. Even priests can disappoint.

But my walk with Christ does not rise or fall with any one personality.

I am learning to stay anchored.

To grow quietly.

To pray more and react less.

To stop placing human beings on pedestals they were never meant to stand on.

Disillusionment has become a teacher. It strips away idealism, but it also deepens faith.

Because when the personalities fall away, Christ remains.

And that is steady ground.

Perhaps the deeper question is this: When the people we admire disappoint us, where do we ultimately place our trust?

Further Reading

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When the World Feels Too Loud, and God Feels Too Quiet

To the Champion Leader – A Hymn for Peace in Troubled Times

In a world marked by anxiety, conflict, and noise, an ancient hymn still offers something many people are searching for: strength, peace, and the reassurance that we are not alone.

“To Thee, the Champion Leader, do I offer thanks of victory…”

The Hymn That Endures

These words come from the ancient Akathist Hymn to the Virgin Mary, or Theotokos, in the Orthodox tradition. In the 7th century, as Constantinople faced siege and fear, the faithful turned not to weapons first, but to prayer. According to tradition, the city was saved, and the people responded in gratitude with an all-night vigil of praise.

That is why the Mother of God was praised as the “Champion Leader” — not only as a tender mother, but as a spiritual protector. The hymn, also known by its Greek opening, Ti Ypermacho Stratigo, is still sung today, especially during Great Lent, and continues to speak to people in times of uncertainty.

When Nana Mouskouri sang this hymn in her Peace Concert, she introduced it to many listeners beyond its original liturgical setting. Her performance carried not only the beauty of the melody, but also its deeper longing for peace, protection, and hope.

Why It Still Matters

What does it mean today to call on a “Champion Leader”? For many, it means turning again toward divine help in a world that often feels unstable, harsh, and spiritually exhausted.

In modern Australia, this question takes on a particular weight. Many Christians still have freedom to practise their faith, yet some feel increasingly hesitant to speak openly about what they believe.

This hesitation often comes from a fear of being seen as intolerant, divisive, or exclusive. Respect, dignity, and peaceful coexistence matter deeply in a plural society, and they should. But a healthy society should also leave room for people to speak honestly about faith without embarrassment or dismissal.

Christianity remains part of Australia’s historical and spiritual inheritance. Its language and values — forgiveness, compassion, charity, dignity, and love of neighbour — still shape many of the ideals people affirm today, even when their religious roots are forgotten.

The Presence We Still Feel

Even so, many people who hear this hymn today do not know its full history. Yet something in it still reaches the heart: something happens, and we feel her presence. Its words and melody awaken a sense of comfort and love that is difficult to explain, but deeply felt. We do not need to understand every word to be moved by it.

Perhaps that is the lasting power of the hymn. It reminds us that even when nations tremble and the world seems cold, love still speaks. It whispers, “You are not forgotten. I will stand by you.”

For many believers, the Theotokos embodies that reassurance — a sign of steadfast care, prayer, and nearness to her Son.

 Faith and Public Life in Australia

Who is the Champion in our own lives? What does divine protection mean to us in today’s world, particularly here in Australia? Many Christians feel hesitant to speak openly about their faith, worried that their beliefs may be dismissed or misunderstood because they do not fit the established narrative. Yet how can we become peacemakers — standing firm not in anger, but in prayer, hope, and love — when our voices feel unwelcome?

Christianity should not be pushed aside or treated as something embarrassing simply because it forms part of Australia’s historical and spiritual foundation. It has shaped many of the values people still speak about today — forgiveness, compassion, charity, dignity, unconditional love, and even loving your enemy.

And perhaps this is where the reassurance of the Theotokos becomes important. Through her prayers and the help of her Son, Christians are reminded that they are never abandoned.

A Final Reflection

As we reflect on this ancient hymn, perhaps the deeper question is not only who the Champion Leader was for those who first sang it, but who we turn to now. In a culture that can sometimes make public faith feel awkward or unwelcome, this hymn still invites us to stand with humility, courage, prayer, and peace.

What might it mean, in our own time, to trust that we are not alone?

Below is Nana Mouskouri’s moving rendition of the ancient hymn Ti Ypermacho Stratigo, a hymn of protection, peace, and hope.

https://youtu.be/G52QMjsOFhU?si=SUvQ5O_VV2invfPY

Book Review "The Women" by Kristin Hannah: Judgement, War, and the Forgotten Stories

 

Judgement, War, and the Forgotten Stories

 After reading the book “The Women” by Kristen Hannah, I reflected on the human cost of war, the danger of easy judgement, and the people history sometimes forgets. 

War is often remembered in headlines, history books, and politic. Rarely do we pause to consider the people who lived it. The young men and women sent to fight, the nurses who cared for the wounded, and the veterans who returned home carrying unseen scars…how often do we truly understand their stories? Reading “The Women” reminded me that behind every conflict there are real people, and sometimes the most important lessons come from simply listening.

The War I Remember as a Student

 When the Vietnam War was happening, I was a high school student in Australia. I remember hearing about the war on the news and seeing demonstrations against it. At the time I did not fully understand the anger directed toward the soldiers who had returned from Vietnam.

Many of those young men had not volunteered. They were conscripted through the national service ballot. Refusing to serve could lead to serious legal consequences. They were young and often simply obeyed the law and the orders of their country.

When they finally came home, many were met not with gratitude, but with criticism and judgment. I remember a teacher at my school—Fay Lopo, who was a Labor Party candidate at the time—openly condemning those who had gone to war. Even as a student, I struggled to understand that anger. These were people who had little choice; they were obeying the laws of their country and serving as they were required to. The idea of an adult, let alone a teacher, criticising young people for doing their duty never made sense to me. 

The Forgotten Women

Reading “The Women” revealed something I had never really considered before—the role of women in that war.

The novel tells the story of Frankie, a young nurse who serves in Vietnam and witnesses the horrors of war in hospital tents and operating rooms. These women cared for the wounded, comforted the dying, and lived with the emotional trauma of what they saw.

Yet for many years their service was barely acknowledged. History often remembers wars through political debates and military strategies, but it can forget the individuals who quietly carried the human cost.

 This is true not just in the United States—Australian women who served, particularly nurses, also faced delayed recognition for their bravery and sacrifice. Their stories remind us that heroism often goes unseen.  

Judgement and Understanding

The book made me reflect on a larger truth: it is easy to judge people who served in wars from a distance. Many of the young men and women sent to Vietnam did not start the war, did not make the decisions, and often had little choice about being there. Some witnessed horrors and suffered trauma, yet they returned home to criticism.

 Wars are decided by governments, but the burden falls on ordinary people. This is still true today. Veterans in Australia and elsewhere can be criticised or dismissed, even by those who have never served. The lesson is humility: we can question policies and governments while still recognising the humanity of those who served. Behind every uniform is a person, with a life, a family, and experiences that may leave permanent marks.

True understanding comes when we pause, listen, and reflect before passing judgement. 

A Harmony Haven Reflection

Soldiers often defend the very freedoms that allow people to question, protest, and debate. Yet sometimes, the weight of judgement falls most heavily on those who carried out their duty, rather than on the decisions that placed them there.

This raises difficult and uncomfortable questions: How do we seek truth without losing compassion? How do we pursue accountability without condemning those who may have had little choice? How do we honour service while still acknowledging the complexity of war?

Perhaps before we judge, we are being invited to pause—to recognise that most of us have never stood in those moments, never faced those choices, and may never fully understand what they require.

So maybe the deeper question is this:

If most of us have never stood in those life-and-death moments, is it truly just to judge those who were asked to act within them?

Stories like this remind us how easily judgement can take the place of understanding. War is not lived in headlines or debate. It is lived by people. Many soldiers are young, placed in situations they did not choose, asked to act in moments where decisions are made under fear, confusion, and survival. In those moments, it is not theory or politics—it is life or death.

At the same time, societies have the right to ask questions, seek truth, and hold institutions accountable. These are vital freedoms. But perhaps wisdom lies in how we hold these realities together: don’t be quick to judge if you have never been in a war zone, and don’t take reports at face value, especially when media outlets may have their own agendas.

For example, a recent court case involving the ABC and Heston Russell illustrates this tension. The ABC reported alleged misconduct by Australian special forces in Afghanistan. Heston Russell argued the reporting was false and harmed his personal and professional reputation. The court found some aspects of the reporting were inaccurate and that the ABC could not fully rely on public interest as a defense. As a result, Russell was awarded damages, meaning the ABC had to compensate him.

This case highlights how media narratives can sometimes disregard the sacrifices of soldiers, shaping public opinion while overlooking the danger and responsibility these individuals face. Living far from conflict, it is easy to forget the weight of service and the human lives involved.

Soldiers often defend the very freedoms that allow us to question, debate, and speak openly. Yet perhaps our truest act of respect is to seek understanding before judgement, remembering the extraordinary circumstances under which they serve.

So maybe before making a judgement ask yourself:

If you had to make life-or-death decisions under fear and confusion, how would you want others to understand your choices?

A Bible Verse to Close  

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” - Ephesians 4:2

This verse reminds us to approach others with humility and compassion, especially those who have lived through hardships we may never fully understand.

If you feel drawn to reflect more deeply on these themes, you may wish to explore The Women by Kristen Hannah.

To Sum Up

Reading “The Women” by Kristen Hannah made me reflect on how society treated veterans of the Vietnam War.Many were young, some were conscripted, and many carried the burden of decisions they did not make. Before judging others, we should first try to understand the human story behind the headlines.