![Illustration: Simon Bosch](/web/20160826050637im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/q/x/1/h/6/image.related.landscape.460x307.gqvw6t.png/1471756477017.jpg)
The bizarre planning scenario playing out in Sydney
We are at a crossroads regarding the Sydney of the future, and we must choose well.
Elizabeth Farrelly is a Sydney-based columnist and author who holds a PhD in architecture and several international writing awards. A former editor and Sydney City Councilor, she is also Associate Professor (Practice) at the Australian Graduate School of Urbanism at UNSW. Her books include 'Glenn Murcutt: Three Houses’, 'Blubberland; the dangers of happiness’ and ‘Caro Was Here’, crime fiction for children (2014).
We are at a crossroads regarding the Sydney of the future, and we must choose well.
For decades, belief in The Market as divine presence – guaranteeing fairness and quality and providing a universal template for everything. Now, at last, this is starting to reverse.
I write this as much in sorrow as in anger. What kind of culture refuses to value its own treasures?
Among the 50-odd portraits in this year's Archibald, two are stand-out, although not in a good way. Both depict sitting politicians but together they reveal us, or what is embarrassingly close to becoming an Australian world-attitude: dominate, exploit, go. Eat, shoot, leave (the rubbish).
Can a man be a feminist? A year 12 student asked me this recently for a school project, and I was thinking, duh.
We need to talk about Kevin. We face a choice; wildly inexperienced but bumptious and bullying male versus wise and experienced female, accomplished, respected, fit for purpose. And we act like this is even a contest?
Right now, for Australia, I reckon a Parliament hovering between the hung and the hapless is the best possible kind.
Australia seems determined to crush its nurseries of thought.
Conditions in Sydney right now conspire toward a perfect planning storm of unprecedented ferocity, and the power tie-ups across three levels of government are critical enablers.
Another day, another solemn prime ministerial hypocrisy: climate change and the Reef, Centennial Parklands and trees, Orlando and homophobia, Indigenous recognition. In a trajectory of doom that is positively Shakespearean, Malcolm Turnbull seems emptier and drier with each appearance. The man who had everything (but wanted more) is already a husk of his former self. Where will it end?
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