Jane Eyre remains for many reasons a very English novel. While the force of its critique of patriarchal structures estranges and unsettles the axioms of its context, its political imagination cannot help but remain bordered by Whiteness.

If ‘Omelas’ shows us that people can act in wilful ignorance of inequity, it also shows us that people are entirely capable of forgetting inequity altogether. Further still, it suggests that those conscious of the child in the tower are morally capable of calculating its impact upon the world and proceeding anyway. By personifying this calculation of human life, Le Guin shows us that injustice is often a product of a system of justice.

If a nation is willing to detain and torture innocent men, women and children, for years on end and indeed indefinitely, all to protect its borders, it’s crucial to ask: what is the Australian border? Why is it so important, and so fragile that it needs this incredibly violent, elaborate and expensive protection?

After a century of Royal Commissions and interstate agreements we are arguably closer than ever before to destroying our largest river system.

John Batman the mass murderer has become a Jesus Christ figure. By blaming him, White Australia absolves itself of the sins of the past. Perhaps he’s the saviour we deserve.

In the silver light, the brumbies’ plush manes glisten. A soft dusting of snow clings to the thick hair that hangs around their hooves. We pull our car to the side of the road and watch in silence as the band trots down into the still, white valley. There is something majestic about the scene. The hillsides sparkle in the headlights. ‘They are Australian?’ my Colombian partner asks me. ‘Yes,’ I reply, but falter.