The Truth:

For most of us, “education” means thirteen years of repetition — memorizing information that rarely applies to real life. Yet this isn’t an accident; it’s conditioning. The modern school model was shaped not to create free thinkers or leaders, but compliant participants in a larger system.

The same powerful interests that reshaped medicine also influenced education. They understood that for people to accept their version of health care, politics, and economics without question, they first had to be conditioned to obey, to conform, and to dismiss anything outside the official narrative.

Today, people are starting to notice the cracks. You can learn more practical, usable skills in a few hours online than in years of school, yet the traditional system remains. Its real product isn’t knowledge — it’s predictability. After years of schooling, many automatically reject anything that challenges the worldview they were taught, without even examining it. That reflex is a sign of how deeply the conditioning runs.

True education should empower you to think critically, discover your own identity, and build a life of freedom and purpose. Instead, the current model often produces people who have lost touch with their sovereignty — and don’t even know it.

To understand how today’s media operates, you need to look back at its roots in propaganda. During World War I and II, governments perfected the art of shaping public opinion — not just through words, but by triggering emotional and biological responses in entire populations. That legacy didn’t disappear; it evolved.

My own experience brought this home to me. After healing myself from a supposedly “incurable” disease, I tried to share my discovery with the world. I sent hundreds of emails, physical letters, press releases, and even documented testimonials from people whose lives had been transformed. In any normal situation, that kind of story would attract headlines. Yet for seven years, mainstream outlets lost every trace of my correspondence. Not a single article, not a single interview.

That silence forced me to investigate. I began to see how governments, corporations, and major networks are interconnected — how the same talking points appear across outlets like a single script on a teleprompter. This isn’t accidental. It’s a system designed to control the narrative, to decide what you hear and what you never even know exists.

I didn’t start out as a critic of the media. I started out trying to help. But the pattern is undeniable: information that threatens entrenched interests is buried, no matter how many lives could be saved or improved. Over time, this suppression has contributed to vast suffering and countless preventable deaths.

Mainstream media presents itself as a watchdog, but it has become a gatekeeper. As more people wake up to this reality, the narrative control will weaken — and a genuine free flow of information can return.

For decades, the taxi industry was a proud and thriving part of Australia’s transport system. My own family has long been involved with Silvertop Taxis, one of the country’s most recognised names. Back then, owning a taxi was not only a job — it was an investment. Taxi plates alone were worth over $1 million, and operators would invest heavily in vehicles, equipment, and base connections.

Everything changed with the arrival of Uber and similar ride-share services. Exploiting regulatory loopholes, these new platforms entered the market without the same licensing costs, safety regulations, or overheads that traditional taxis were required to meet.

The result has been devastating. Taxi plate values have plummeted from over $1 million to virtually nothing. Just recently, a maxi-taxi — complete with plates, vehicle, and base link — was listed for $55,000, sitting unsold for months.

The question remains: How could such a regulated and established industry be dismantled so quickly? And why did governments allow it to happen, at the expense of thousands of hardworking taxi owners and families who built their livelihoods on fair and lawful trade?

Just like the taxi industry before it, Australia’s hospitality and food delivery sector has been turned upside down by global giants starting Uber Eats. What was once a thriving, community-based industry built by local businesses has been eroded by unfair practices and corporate greed.

The average Australian hospitality business operates on a net profit margin of around 8%. Yet companies like Uber Eats demand up to 35% commissions on every order. These platforms justify it by saying, “You’ve already got the lights on and the staff working,” but the truth is — their model bleeds small businesses dry.

As a former number one sales rep and performance management trainer for Coca-Cola, I’ve seen every sales tactic in the book. Uber’s methods are pure manipulation — shifting all costs and risks onto local operators and desperate drivers, while the company itself enjoys offshore tax advantages.

Drivers, many working over 60 hours a week, often earn as little as $400, covering their own fuel, insurance, and car maintenance. The platform markets itself as “flexible work,” but in reality, it’s modern-day exploitation.

Once again, we must ask: Who allows this? How do multinational corporations continue to exploit loopholes that destroy local industries and livelihoods — while Australian families, small businesses, and workers are left struggling to survive?

This is more than unfair competition — it’s an ongoing injustice, contributing to the growing number of people doing it tough across the country.

Over the past few years, I’ve lived firsthand through Australia’s Airbnb explosion — spending over three and a half years in 116 Airbnb properties across the country. From coastal towns to city blocks and regional centres, I’ve seen entire buildings of 22 units where 20 were Airbnbs. Multiply that across Australia and you’ve got thousands of properties that once housed locals — now sitting empty most of the week, waiting for tourists.

Yet, according to reports from institutions like the University of New South Wales, Airbnb supposedly isn’t impacting the housing crisis. Let’s be honest — anyone who’s been on the ground knows that’s impossible. When there’s money, lobbying, and influence involved, studies tend to say whatever the donors paying for them want the outcome to be.

From what I’ve seen, most of these Airbnbs are only booked two nights a week — and those two nights bring in more money than a local tenant would pay for the whole week. Meanwhile, owners avoid long-term tenants, avoid wear and tear, and send profits offshore to a company based in America, taking advantage of tax loopholes while Australians pay the price.

The result? Fewer homes for locals. Rising rents. Families pushed out. Homelessness on the rise. And yet another example of governments turning a blind eye while corporate greed wins again.

Add this to the growing list of modern Australian injustices — the fall of the taxi industry, the delivery bullies of Uber Eats, and the supermarket self-serve takeover. When profit comes before people, the system itself becomes the problem.

When self-serve checkouts first appeared in Australian supermarkets, I made a point of always lining up for a person. It wasn’t about convenience — it was about protecting jobs. These weren’t just any jobs either — they were entry-level positions that gave generations of young Australians their first shot at earning, learning, and building a work ethic.

But today, companies that claim to “give back” to Australians have quietly done the opposite. In the name of profit, they’ve replaced people with machines, all while preaching about “community” and “convenience.” Let’s be honest — this isn’t innovation. It’s manipulation.

Supermarkets are using psychology and behavioural hacks to drive impulsive buying and compliance. The same education system that taught us repetition and obedience now shapes us into compliant consumers who happily do the company’s work for free — scanning, bagging, and paying, while they record record-breaking profits.

Australia’s major supermarkets are returning billions in annual profit, yet they’ve eliminated thousands of local jobs. Those profits flow straight to international shareholders who will never even set foot on Australian soil, while local communities pay the price.

And here’s the real kicker — the solution is simple. If someone opened a supermarket tomorrow built on old-school values, real service, and fair pricing, they’d wipe out the competition overnight. Because people are craving humanity again.

We walk past homelessness, inequality, and despair every day, wondering how it all went wrong — yet we stand at a self-serve checkout helping the very system that caused it. Whether we realise it or not, we’ve become part of the problem, and that’s the uncomfortable truth Australia needs to face.

If we’re talking about real injustices and systems that quietly strip wealth from everyday Australians, we have to talk about the banks. Australia’s “Big Four” banks are among the most profitable in the world — generating record-breaking billions every year — yet most Australians have no real understanding of how the system even works.

We’re taught the basics of banking, but never the truth. The education system conditions us through 13 years of repetition to become compliant customers, not free thinkers or world leaders. And while banks promote themselves as “Australian institutions,” over 70% of their ownership sits with three of the largest global investment firms, meaning the majority of profits flow out of the country. Australians get the crumbs — never the full pie.

These same banks have been caught time and again in unethical behaviour: mis-selling superannuation packages, pushing high-risk investments, and deceiving customers. When they’re caught, they simply pay a fine — often less than half a percent of their annual profits — and carry on as if nothing happened.

It’s the same pattern we see across industries: corporations causing harm, paying token penalties, and still profiting from the damage. The system protects them, not us. And it’s time Australians understood that truth.

Because when billion-dollar banks can exploit people and face no real consequences, it’s not just bad business — it’s a national injustice.

I grew up in an Australian pub — the true heart of every town. A place where locals gathered, supported each other, and shared stories over a meal or a drink. Pubs weren’t just businesses; they were community hubs, part of our identity.

When I was 18, I worked for Bruce Mathieson, who owned over 500 pubs and built a billion-dollar portfolio before selling a large share of it. Today, most of those pubs — and the majority across Australia — are owned by just two supermarket giants, Coles and Woolworths.

To see how much things had changed, I spent time working at one of the busiest pubs in Queensland — Broadbeach Tavern. After decades of corporate ownership, it was clear what had been lost. There’s no live music, no real connection, no local feel — just streamlined operations focused on one thing: profit.

The real money isn’t in the food or the bar — it’s in the pokies. Every Australian family has been touched by them in some way. I’ve seen it myself: relatives losing homes, lives unraveling. Yet pubs keep pushing the two things most addictive and profitable — alcohol and gambling — because that’s where the margins are.

And just like in other industries, over 70% of the profits from these venues don’t stay in Australia. They flow to international investors and shareholders, while local families, small businesses, and communities get left behind.

This pattern runs through every part of our economy — from banks and supermarkets to pubs and hardware stores. Small, family-run businesses that once built Australia are disappearing, bought out by multinationals that care only for the bottom line.

So when people talk about the cost-of-living crisis, this is where it begins — not in your wallet, but in who owns what you depend on. Every pint poured and every dollar spent is quietly feeding systems that take more than they give back.

Australia’s old pubs once brought people together. Now, they’ve become just another machine — one designed to keep us addicted, distracted, and spending.