“We must cultivate our garden” is a famous line from Voltaire’s novel Candide. However, political philosophers disagree about what Voltaire meant. Some claim: “It’s a metaphor that means to focus on your own life and find joy in simple pleasures, rather than trying to change the world”. Others claim Voltaire’s phrase is best understood as: “Cultivate your own garden; this is the place where your heart is. But don’t neglect the wider world. It, too, needs your attention.”
I first used the garden as a metaphor nearly 30 years ago. After ‘winning’ my case of unlawful discrimination against the University of Melbourne at the Victorian Human Rights and Equal Opportunity in 1998, I travelled to a property in Upper Eden Creek to plant 100 trees. These trees were nourished with the shit from the past 18 months during which I had sought justice.
Gardening saved me again during 2025. After a heart-breaking referendum result, the inhumane genocide in Gaza, the loss of an important friendship and the shenanigans during the community independent campaign in Flinders, weeding my garden became therapy. I began to describe myself as a “whiter” (writer) and a “weeder”.
As I removed each weed, it was given a name of a bad actor (e.g. fossil fuel, arms manufacturer, child abuser, settler coloniser, internet troll). The aim was to clear the bad actors from my garden and allow kindness – in the form of indigenous trees, shrubs and grasses – to grow with gusto. I also transplanted self-seeded banksias as beacons of hope.
I began weeding in the North East corner of my property where there was an abundance of ‘fossil fuel’ weeds, Kikuyu grass. Kikuyu is well known for being a highly invasive and aggressive grower. It proved very difficult to remove. Kikuyu grass has runners (i.e. ‘lobbyists’), that not only spread across the surface but also run deep. Fossil fuel weeds – government subsidies and the lobbyists’ wheeling and dealing – were destroying not only my garden but also our planet.
This part of the garden was also the home to the ‘arms manufacturers’, Quaking Grass. As the name suggests, these weeds quake – as we all should. Like many weeds, some people think they are pretty – most likely those making a fortune from our military-industrial complex.
My efforts to remove quaking grass were successful. However, it did not make our government come clean about the 70 or so Australian arms manufacturer companies supplying parts and components into the global supply chain of Lockheed Martin’s F-35 fighter jet. My heart breaks each time I removed a quaking grass weed, knowing our leaders and our legacy media have mostly remained silent during the ongoing genocides Gaza. It is also shameful that we don’t hear much about the genocides in Sudan and Myanmar.
My plan was to completely obliterate the arms manufacturer weeds. Instead, whenever I removed an arms manufacturer, another arms manufacturer would pop up elsewhere in my garden. While our Department of Defence continues to support arms manufacturers, and our National Press Club has corporate sponsors from the arms industry, there is simply no way for me to stop them spreading.
I then moved on to the ‘pharmaceutical companies’, Dandelions. I acknowledge the pros (e.g. antibiotics) and negatives (e.g. Pfizer’s research misconduct) of big pharma. Some people praise dandelions’ golden blossoms and lion-toothed leaves as a bounty of food and medicine. Despite my personal appreciation for pharmacological treatments (e.g. mood stabilising medications) and my gratitude for vaccines, including Covid vaccines, I wanted big pharma banished. Pfizers’ history of research misconduct encouraged me to remove the dandelions one-by-one with a hand weeder.
Next were the ‘Murdoch readers’. My plant identifier app could not make up its mind whether these were quack grass weed or smut grass. Irrespective of their official identity, Murdoch weeds were prolific in my garden, though most had taken root under my clothes line. As someone who has a long history of airing her dirty laundry in public, most often in opinion pieces in The Age, this spot was perfect. There was, however, some good news: Murdoch weeds were easily removed by evidence-based debates. To prevent regrowth, I covered the area with old copies of The Age newspaper and then a layer of mulch.
Independent media, Purple cudweed, began to take over the space once covered by legacy media – giving me food for thought. In addition, Murdoch’s weeds popped up from time to time. So my dog, Ash Barky, has been known to wear her Shot ‘Fuck Murdoch’ dog bandana when I hang out the washing. Given the damage Murdoch has done – damaging our democracy, preventing climate action and inflaming culture wars – Ash makes no apology for wearing the ‘naughty word’. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I recently noticed parsley plants popping up in unusual spots around the garden. Although parsley plants are good guys, they are ‘ineffectual advocates’ working alone. Unlike the parsley plants working collaboratively in my vegetable garden that are effective activists, these lone parsley plants shout into the void (most often using a pseudonym on social media). They fail to recognise the importance of building relationships and working together with a shared vision for a common cause.
In the South East corner, I came upon my two 25,000 litre water tanks that had been installed to water my garden during our hot dry and windy summers, made worse by climate change. These water tanks were underpinned by solid rocks – emblematic of the solid friendships I have built during my lifetime. However, unbeknown to me, Spiny-head mat rush weeds grew among these rocks, causing the end of two longterm friendships. One friend, a woman I have loved and respected for over 20 years, and often considered my mentor, refused to meet me for over six months to discuss a disagreement. When she offered to share her analysis of our disagreement without first hearing my perspective, I knew the friendship was over.
The other loss was less important. When I was told the husband of a woman I had met in a dog park was bored in his retirement – clearly playing golf was not enough – I arranged for him to join a community group I had founded. His subsequent behaviour, including his letters to the local paper, demonstrated his lack of understanding of the history and values of the community group. More recently, he made ill-informed and defamatory remarks about me in a WhatsApp group, making me wonder what role he played in this group’s latest puerile deception.
When I was a teenager, Mum gave me some advice about friendship. She told me a disagreement with friends was an opportunity to learn more about their character. Those who are willing to talk with you about a disagreement will be good friends for life. Those who don’t were never genuine friends. Until now, this advice had helped me navigate the world of friendship, and not to feel let down by people. However, this year I felt terribly let down by these two people.
Rather than dwell on my disappointment, these friendship experiences inspired me to start a new movement: ‘Try Curiosity, Not Judgement’. I also used AI to design a new logo for my email signature ‘Disagreement is inevitable. Dialogue is possible’. My new movement has led me to form some new relationships with people who do not share my world view. I have engaged in numerous interesting and respectful discussions with people, including our Shire Mayor and federal MP – both decent and hard working people who see the world through a different lens to mine. It takes all sorts to make a garden.
In these troubled times, understanding and respecting our different world views are the essence of social cohesion. Coming together is also the starting point for achieving genuine social change. We need to bring people with us, not push them away.
One of the joys of removing the weeds, was finding the ‘Wheel of Life’ leaning against my bully-proof fence. The fence was named in honour of my developer neighbours, Mr and Mrs Clackerhead. Rather than negotiate with me to determine the type of fence to be built, they made an application to the Magistrates Court to build a paling fence. Mr Clackerhead yelled: “You will have to pay the court’s costs, you mad bitch”.
After Mrs Clackerhead had found out from the internet that I have bipolar disorder, Mr Clackerhead frequently came to my property and was verbally abusive – the essence of his abuse was that I was a madwoman, impossible to deal with because I have bipolar disorder. In court, he learnt that respectful negotiation is my superpower. The Clackerheads were ordered to not only pay the court costs but also share the cost of a post and rail fence (slightly more in harmony with the surrounding environment than a paling fence). I later successfully applied for an intervention order against Mr Clackerhead because I was genuinely afraid of his temper. I did not, however, receive his share of the cost of the fence. He simply refused to pay.
The Mornington Peninsula is rapidly changing, thanks to developers like the Clackerheads. What was once a heavily vegetated area – with bush blocks, beach shacks, farms and wineries – is being sub-divided by developers. The heavily vegetated block that my brothers sold to the Clackerheads soon after Mum died now contains two houses (one used as an AirBnB). The vegetation is nearly all gone, including most trees I planted as a child in honour of my dead relatives. Only Uncle Alan remains.
Large urban-style McMansions on small blocks are increasingly common in Mt Martha- resulting in more bricks and mortar; less trees, birds and wildlife. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, developers know the price of everything and the value of nothing. They certainly do not know the value of community and kindness, nor the power we have when we work together.
For several years, the Wheel had been lost in a sea of Rat’s-tail fescue. This sent me down a rabbit hole of learning more about local and global history. One day, I listened to George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ while I weeded. I felt overwhelmed by the truism: “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” I am currently listening to Dr Joëlle Gergis book ‘Humanity’s Moment: a Climate Scientist’s Case for Hope’.
Moving West from the wheel and the water tanks, several ‘institutional child sex abusers’, English Ivy creepers. These creeps were grooming the large banksia that was the provenance of the self-seeded beacons of hope. Out of sight, out of mind. Once discovered, I removed the creepers while singing along to Tim Minchin’s ‘Come home Cardinal Pell‘. Recently, I felt compelled to round up the institutional child sex abusers with poison. It was the only way to get rid of the bastards.
Next to Cardinal Pell’s creeper was the cosmetic industry, Agapanthus. Many people love the blue and white flowers that appear at the beginning of summer. I, on the other hand – with Michael’s assistance and persistence – gave up on the beauty myth. I have spent several years using by father’s old mattock to remove many agapanthuses. Michael has removed many more. With Michael’s gentle encouragement, the agapanthuses have been replaced with indigenous trees and shrubs that thrive. Now, the birds are my constant companions and wild life (bluey, the lizard and Spiky, the echidna) pop in for the occasional visit. Each day, I am reminded that I live on the land of the Bunurong/Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation. I remain committed to the invitation of the Uluru Statement from the Heart and its call for voice, truth and treaty.
Moving further along the back of the house, I was greeted by the ‘gambling industry’, blackberry bushes. Although I love fresh blackberries, I hate the pricks that inevitably accompany foraging for the fruit. After the blackberries were removed, I transplanted some tiny banksias and wallaby and tussock grasses. They are thriving – and the blackberry bushes have nearly all gone. If only our government would take similar action against the gambling industry pricks.
I then arrived at my vegetable garden –a source of nutritious food. During Smith’s campaign for Flinders, I left some beds to fallow – after four years working to grow a community movement, they needed a rest. This was a mistake as my vegetable garden was overtaken by those who play political games: white butterflies, bush rats and panic veld grass. The shenanigans began before the community independent candidate was even announced and continued long after the election. The vegetable garden had been built on the values of the community independent movement: transparency, accountability, integrity, being your best self and doing politics differently. Those who relish political games did their best to destroy our grassroots movement on the Mornington Peninsula.
I recently found a ‘defensive, prickly’, Thistle weed in the vegetable garden. The thistle weed responded defensively to my attempts to provide constructive feedback to the head honcho of the mob who had taken over the community independent movement. Although I used kid gloves to remove these prickly weeds, the heavens opened. Four-years work was washed away by the storm. Not even God could save us.
Not surprisingly, given who has lived and holidayed on this land since 1935, the most pervasive weed I had to deal with was Patriarchy, Big quaking grass. It literally pops up everywhere. To remove the power from the seeds, they needed to be smashed. It will be a lifetime’s work to remove this weed and its seed from my garden. However, I remain committed to smash the patriarchy.
The remnants of patriarchy were evident in an old swimming pool that oozed entitlement and gender inequality. When I gained ownership of my family’s beach house, I promptly removed the swimming pool. I felt liberated as a jack hammer smashed the concrete that surrounded the pool. In its place is a thriving orchard – with fruit trees that stand up for themselves and the fruits of their labour.
On the west side of the new orchard, I spread used coffee grounds. A bunch of parsley activists self-seeded in an area. Among the parsley are the women who enable patriarchy, spreading pellitory weed. Some refer to these women as crumb maidens. I simply refer to them as enablers.
During the past year in my garden, the kookaburras have given me courage to speak about my weeds, particularly the panic veld grass. Whenever I hear a kookaburra laugh, I think of Mum.
Six months or so before Mum died, she said. “The kookaburras are back”. Apparently, Kookaburras laughed less at Mt Martha during Victoria’s long drought, known as the Millennium Drought (1997-2007). When the Kookaburras laugh, I know that Mum would be proud that I continue to act in line with my values. Mum taught me that integrity is not just a campaign slogan. Integrity is measured by “deeds not words”.
During my ‘annus horribilis’, a family of Kookaburras have often visited me in the morning. They gave me courage to speak up – about the genocide, justice for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, aged care, the National Anti-Corruption Commission and the values of the community independent movement – when the easier option would have been to sit quietly and calmly in my beach box. Again, I hear my mother’s voice when I was a child: “Little girls should be seen and heard”.
Just before Christmas, my new neighbour phoned to say the cypress trees at the back of the tennis court would be removed.
Removing these large trees has replaced a large shadow over my front yard with light. I can now sit on my deck and watch the sun set. This makes my heart sing.
As I sit on my deck welcoming in a new year, after a picnic with friends (both human and canine) in my beach box where we ‘Chucked 2025 in the Fuck It Bucket’, I am mindful that there is much beauty in the world – and much for which to be thankful.
My grandmother was a keen gardener. I used to love working beside her. She gave me the Desiderata when I was around 13 (and becoming politically aware). As the new year begins, I once again acknowledge the wisdom in my atheist’s ‘Bible’: Desiderata.
2026 – here we come.
Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.