Artificial intelligence promises extraordinary benefits. But in just a few years, how much of our world might we be willing to hand over to it? I was born in 1955. The world I entered would be almost unrecognisable to a young person today. There were no personal computers, no mobile phones, no internet, no email, no Google, and certainly no social media. Television itself was still something of a novelty in many parts of the world. Communication was by letter or landline telephone. Photographs were taken on film and developed days or weeks later. If you wanted to know something, you consulted a book or encyclopaedia, visited a library, asked someone who might know, or simply accepted that the answer was not immediately available. In the seventy-one years since then, I have watched technology transform almost every aspect of our lives. And yet I now wonder whether the greatest transformation has only just begun. Artificial intelligence has arrived with remarkable speed. Only a few years ago, the idea of holding a detailed conversation with a computer — asking it to analyse information, improve a piece of writing, explain a complicated subject, draft a complex letter, generate an image, or help solve a problem — would have seemed extraordinary. Today, millions of people do precisely that every day. So let us move forward a little. Not fifty years. Not even twenty. Imagine waking up on an ordinary morning in October 2030. An ordinary day in 2030 Perhaps your personal AI assistant has already been working while you slept. It has reviewed your emails and identified the three that actually require your attention. It has noticed that your electricity bill is unusually high and has compared alternative suppliers. It has checked your calendar, rearranged an appointment because of a scheduling conflict, and reminded you that your car is due for servicing. Being the start of the week, it has used your personal preferences to produce your meal plan, compiled your grocery shopping list, checked current prices with your three preferred supermarkets, and placed the order with the supermarket offering the best value for money. Your order will be delivered by an autonomous vehicle or drone at 10:00. It has also analysed information from your smartwatch and noticed a small but persistent change in your resting heart rate. It regards this as a routine matter and has scheduled a virtual consultation with an AI-approved virtual doctor at 10:30. The consultation will be fully funded by Medicare. Your virtual consult identifies that you need to see your GP and your AI assistant schedules the appointment for the following day. Your doctor, when you see him or her, is also using AI. Before you enter the consulting room, a system has reviewed your medical history, medications, recent blood tests, and perhaps thousands of relevant medical studies. It has identified several possibilities for your doctor to consider. None of this seems particularly far-fetched. Indeed, much of the technology required to do it already exists in some form. By 2030, the extraordinary thing may be that it will no longer seem extraordinary at all. The enormous promise It is easy to focus on the dangers of artificial intelligence, but doing so can obscure its enormous potential for good. Medicine may be one of its greatest beneficiaries. AI systems can already identify patterns in enormous quantities of information far more quickly than any individual human being. Applied responsibly, that capability could help doctors detect cancers earlier, identify rare diseases, design new drugs, and tailor treatments to individual patients. Scientific research could accelerate dramatically. Problems that once required years of analysis might be tackled in months, weeks, or even days. Education could also change profoundly. Imagine every child at school having access to his or her own knowledgeable and understanding tutor, capable of adapting a lesson precisely to that child's abilities. A student struggling with mathematics might receive a completely different explanation from one who has already mastered the basics. Language barriers could largely disappear. For older people, AI might provide another form of independence. Systems could help manage appointments and medications, identify potential scams, simplify increasingly complicated bureaucratic processes, provide local autonomous transport, and allow people to remain safely in their own homes for longer. And in the workplace, countless hours of repetitive administration could disappear. That could free human beings to spend more time doing the things machines do less well — creating, caring, persuading, leading, imagining, and simply interacting with other people. That is the optimistic future. But there is another possibility. What happens to work? Every major technological revolution has changed employment. Machines replaced much agricultural labour. Factories transformed manufacturing. Motor vehicles transformed transport. Computers eliminated some occupations while creating entirely new industries. Artificial intelligence is already beginning to do the same. The difference is likely to be the speed and breadth of the change. For much of history, automation primarily threatened physical labour. AI increasingly reaches into areas we once assumed required uniquely human intelligence. Accountants, lawyers, programmers, designers, translators, journalists, administrators, financial analysts, and many others may discover that significant parts of their work can be performed by machines. My current passion — the world of books and publishing — will not be immune. That does not necessarily mean that entire professions will disappear. Some jobs will undoubtedly disappear, while others we cannot yet imagine will emerge. The economic benefits could be enormous. So could the disruption. If AI allows a business to accomplish with ten employees what previously required fifty, productivity rises dramatically. But what happens to the other forty? That question is not ultimately technological. It is social, economic, and political. Can we still believe what we see? There is another problem that may be even more difficult. For most of my life, a photograph provided reasonably persuasive evidence that something had happened. A recording of someone's voice meant that the person had probably spoken those words. Video was more convincing still. That assumption is disappearing. AI can already create realistic photographs of events that never occurred, reproduce people's voices, and generate increasingly convincing video. By 2030, we may routinely encounter material that is virtually indistinguishable from reality. Imagine an election campaign in which a convincing video appears to show a candidate saying something outrageous. Imagine a telephone call from someone who sounds exactly like your son or daughter telling you that they are in trouble and urgently need money. Imagine fabricated evidence appearing during an international crisis. The problem may no longer simply be that people believe things that are false. It may also be that they stop believing things that are true. A society in which nobody can readily distinguish reality from fabrication faces a problem far deeper than misinformation. It faces an erosion of trust itself. Who is watching whom? AI also has the potential to know an extraordinary amount about us. Our phones already know where we travel. Search engines know what interests us. Retailers know what we buy. Social-media platforms know what attracts our attention. Now imagine artificial intelligence combining and interpreting that information. Used benignly, this could be extremely useful. A system that understands our preferences could make our lives easier. But the same capability could be used for surveillance, manipulation, or control. Governments might employ increasingly sophisticated AI systems to monitor people. Companies could understand our behaviour — perhaps even our vulnerabilities — better than we understand them ourselves. Privacy has been gradually eroded throughout the digital age. AI could accelerate that process enormously. What about war? There is another area in which the consequences of artificial intelligence could be profound — warfare. Wars have always been shaped by technology. Gunpowder, the machine gun, aircraft, radar, missiles, and nuclear weapons all changed not only how wars were fought, but also the balance of power between nations. AI may represent another such change. The current wars involving Russia and Ukraine, and the United States, Israel, and Iran, have already given us glimpses of how warfare is changing. By 2030, increasingly autonomous drones might identify and track targets with limited human involvement. Swarms of relatively inexpensive unmanned aircraft could overwhelm weapons systems costing many times more. AI might analyse satellite images, intercept communications, identify patterns in enemy movements, defend computer networks, or launch cyberattacks at speeds no human command structure could match. It might also save lives. Robots and autonomous vehicles could undertake dangerous reconnaissance, clear mines, deliver supplies under fire, or perform tasks that would otherwise put soldiers at risk. More accurate intelligence and targeting might, at least in theory, reduce civilian casualties. But there is an uncomfortable question at the heart of all this. If autonomous weapons reduce the immediate human cost of going to war — particularly for the country deploying them — might political leaders find military action easier to contemplate? The arrival of nuclear weapons forced humanity to confront the consequences of possessing destructive power on an unprecedented scale. Artificial intelligence may present a different challenge. This time, the danger may lie not only in the power of the weapons we create, but in how much control over those weapons we are prepared to surrender. From assistant to decision-maker There may, however, be an even more important development. At present, most of us think of AI as a tool. We ask it a question. It responds. We ask it to perform a task. It assists us. But what happens when we begin allowing AI systems to act independently on our behalf? Instead of merely suggesting a holiday, your AI could plan it and book it. Instead of explaining different insurance policies, it could choose one and purchase it. Instead of helping a company analyse its business, it could negotiate with suppliers, recruit employees, move money, commission advertising, and make operational decisions. In medicine, an AI might move from assisting a doctor with diagnosis to recommending — or perhaps eventually initiating — treatment. That transition may prove more significant than simply making AI more intelligent. The crucial question may not be: How clever can artificial intelligence become? It may be: How much authority are we prepared to give it? And what if it becomes more intelligent than us? Beyond today's AI lies a much more uncertain possibility. Researchers sometimes speak of artificial general intelligence — AGI — meaning, broadly, a system capable of performing intellectual tasks across many areas at or beyond human level. Beyond that lies the still more speculative idea of artificial superintelligence — ASI — intelligence substantially greater than our own. Nobody knows whether such systems will be developed, or when. Perhaps 2030 will arrive and today's AI will simply have become a much more capable tool. Perhaps progress will slow. Or perhaps something genuinely transformative will occur. The uncertainty itself is important. For the first time in human history, we are seriously contemplating the possibility of creating something intellectually more capable than its creators. That should inspire both excitement and humility. The question may ultimately be about us Technology itself does not determine what kind of society we create. Human beings do. Nuclear physics gave us both nuclear medicine and nuclear weapons. The internet gave us instant access to much of humanity's accumulated knowledge — and also scams, cybercrime, misinformation, and new forms of exploitation. Artificial intelligence will almost certainly be similar. It may help cure diseases while contributing to entirely new forms of illness or dysfunction — perhaps even changing the way our brains develop and operate. It may liberate people from tedious work while depriving others of meaningful employment. It may democratise knowledge while concentrating enormous power in the hands of governments or a small number of corporations. It may make us more productive while making us increasingly dependent upon machines. The technology will matter enormously. But so will the choices we make about how it is used. October 2030 October 2030 is not far away. God willing, I will be seventy-five. Perhaps I will look back at this article and smile at how much I got wrong. Perhaps the changes will have been slower than expected. Or perhaps I will be astonished at how conservative these predictions were. What seems much less doubtful is that artificial intelligence will play an increasingly important role in our lives. The challenge will be to embrace what it can offer without surrendering things we discover, too late, were worth preserving — privacy, trust, human judgement, meaningful work, personal responsibility, and genuine relationships with other human beings. We have spent centuries inventing tools to extend human physical ability. We are now creating tools capable of extending — and perhaps eventually surpassing — aspects of human intellectual ability. That is an extraordinary achievement. It is also an extraordinary responsibility. Perhaps the most important question we will face between now and 2030 is not whether artificial intelligence can become more like us. It is whether, in embracing it, we can preserve the things that make us human.

What might our world look like in 2030? Not twenty or fifty years from now — just four years away. Tomorrow, I’ll be publishing a new article looking at a change already underway that could transform how we work, communicate, learn, receive medical care — and perhaps even how wars are fought. Its potential for good is extraordinary. So are some of the questions it raises. Tomorrow: 2030 — The World AI Made?

Where do stories come from—and why do certain stories remain with a writer until they eventually demand to be told? I was recently invited by Hidden Voices to share the story behind Zachary’s Cry and reflect on the questions that first inspired the novel. Long before I began writing books, I became aware of a deeply troubling real-life case involving a newborn child, a frightened and confused young mother, and a young doctor confronted by circumstances he neither expected nor fully understood. The story remained with me for many years. When I eventually began writing fiction, I found myself returning to the difficult human and moral questions it had raised. Although Zachary’s Cry was inspired by that case, it is a work of fiction. The events portrayed in the novel are substantially different from what occurred in real life, but the emotional and moral questions at its heart remained the same. At the centre of the story is a child who has no voice and whose future will be determined entirely by the decisions of adults. The Hidden Voices feature explores the novel’s themes of human frailty, responsibility, rural medicine, justice, forgiveness, and redemption. It also considers the extraordinary contribution made by Zachary’s foster parents, Anne and Ian Prince-Smith, whose quiet devotion provides the moral heart of the story. Hidden Voices describes Zachary’s Cry as “a deeply human story of responsibility, fragility, and quiet courage, where the smallest acts of care carry the greatest weight.” Read the full Hidden Voices conversation here. Zachary’s Cry is available in Kindle and paperback editions from Amazon and other online booksellers.

What happens when one irreversible moment changes a life forever — and who should bear responsibility for the consequences? Longlisted for BookViral's 2025 Millennium Book Award Zachary's Cry is a contemporary Australian novel about trauma, medical responsibility, justice, and the extraordinary capacity of ordinary people to love a child whose life begins in the most difficult of circumstances. Set largely in rural South Australia, the story begins when a frightened young nursing student conceals an unwanted pregnancy and gives birth alone. Her premature baby, Zachary, survives — but with profound brain injuries that will affect him for the rest of his life. From that single night flows a chain of consequences involving Zachary's family, the people who come to care for him, a rural doctor, and eventually a multimillion-dollar medical negligence claim. More than a courtroom story Although a medical negligence case becomes an important part of Zachary's Cry, the novel is ultimately about people rather than litigation. It asks uncomfortable questions about responsibility and blame. What happens when people make decisions under pressure, with incomplete information? Can responsibility for tragedy ever be neatly assigned? And what does justice mean when no legal judgment can undo what has happened? At its heart, however, Zachary's Cry is a story about compassion, resilience, and the remarkable difference that love can make to a vulnerable child's life. Find Zachary's Cry on Amazon Zachary's Cry is available in Kindle and paperback editions on Amazon. Choose your local Amazon store below.

I’m pleased to share that No Clean Exit has been featured in the Discover Books series on Hidden Voices—a curated platform that supports independent authors and helps thoughtful books find new readers. Set against the emerging AUKUS submarine programme and heightened tensions in the Indo-Pacific, No Clean Exit explores the hidden world of espionage, foreign interference, and counterintelligence. At its centre is an Australian submarine engineer whose private vulnerability threatens not only his career and family, but also some of the country’s most closely guarded secrets. You can read the Hidden Voices feature here. You can watch the short promotional video below. No Clean Exit

Who is responsible when one irreversible moment changes a life forever? That is a question that lies at the heart of many of life's greatest tragedies. When calamity strikes, our first instinct is often to ask, Who is responsible? We search for someone to blame because we hope that, if responsibility can be neatly assigned, then perhaps the tragedy itself will somehow make sense. Real life, however, is rarely that straightforward. A split-second decision, made under pressure and with incomplete information, can have consequences that echo for decades. Those involved are often ordinary people doing the best they can in extraordinary circumstances. Sometimes they make mistakes. Sometimes they follow accepted procedures and still fail. Sometimes they simply find themselves caught in events beyond their control. Nowhere is this more evident than in rural Australia. People living in cities are accustomed to having hospitals, specialists and emergency services only minutes away. Rural communities often operate under very different conditions. Doctors, nurses, and first responders must frequently make critical decisions with fewer resources, partial information, longer transport times, and limited specialist support. They carry enormous professional responsibility while working within constraints that many urban Australians never have to consider. Yet when something goes wrong, the question remains the same. Who is responsible? Is it the individual? The system? Circumstance? Or is responsibility sometimes shared in ways that defy simple answers? These questions have fascinated me for many years, not only as a writer but also through my professional career in law and healthcare. They eventually inspired me to write Zachary's Cry, which was longlisted for BookViral’s 2025 Millennium Award. Although the novel is a work of fiction inspired by real events, its heart lies not in the courtroom, but in the lives of ordinary people whose futures are transformed by a single irreversible moment. At the centre of the story are a frightened young woman, a rural doctor faced with an impossible situation, a newborn child whose life hangs in the balance, and the foster parents whose extraordinary love and commitment ultimately redefine what family can mean. At first glance, Zachary's Cry may appear to be a medical or legal novel. In truth, medicine and the law provide the setting, but people provide the story. It is a story about human frailty, compassion, resilience, forgiveness, and the quiet heroism of people who continue to do the right thing long after the headlines have faded. Perhaps that is why so many readers tell me they continue thinking about the characters long after finishing the final page. The legal questions matter, but they are not the story's destination. They are simply the path that leads to a much deeper exploration of justice, responsibility, and hope. I deliberately avoid telling readers what conclusions they should reach. Instead, I invite them to walk beside the characters, to experience the uncertainty they face, and ultimately to answer the novel's central question for themselves. Who is responsible when one irreversible moment changes a life forever? If that question intrigues you, I invite you to discover Zachary’s Cry. Watch the trailer and begin the journey. Click here.

A concluding reflection on Zimbabwe's Constitution Amendment Bill No. 3 When I first began writing about Constitution Amendment Bill No. 3 earlier this year, the proposals existed only on paper. Today, that journey has come to an end. The Bill has been approved by both Houses of Parliament, and President Emmerson Mnangagwa has assented to the legislation. The amendments are now part of Zimbabwe's constitutional framework. The legislative process is over. However, the constitutional consequences are only beginning. Although legal arguments and debate may yet continue over aspects of the amendment process, the political reality is that Zimbabwe's constitutional landscape has now changed in a profound and lasting way. Throughout this series of articles, I have deliberately tried to avoid approaching this issue through a party-political lens. Governments come and go. Constitutions remain. Or at least they should. My concern has never centred upon one individual or one political party. It has centred upon a far more enduring question. What happens when a government, without the consent of the people, becomes sufficiently powerful to alter the constitutional rules that were originally designed to restrain it? That question has now moved from theory to reality. Supporters of Amendment No. 3 believe the reforms will strengthen governance, promote stability, and improve the efficiency of government. Time alone will determine whether those objectives are achieved. Others, however, view the amendments very differently. They see another step in a constitutional journey that has, over many decades, steadily transferred authority towards the Executive and reduced the practical restraints that a constitution is intended to impose upon those who govern. History rarely judges constitutional amendments by the intentions of those who enact them. It judges them by the way they are ultimately used. That is why constitutions deserve such careful stewardship. Their true purpose is revealed not when governments exercise power responsibly, but when they are tempted not to. A Promise Forgotten There is one aspect of this debate that should not be lightly dismissed. Shortly after becoming President in 2018, Emmerson Mnangagwa was interviewed by CNN journalist Christiane Amanpour. During that interview he reaffirmed his commitment to constitutionalism, saying: "Even if the people love me, I will still go away because I believe constitutionalism is important. In fact, we must give people the chance to have other leaders. Ten years is not a short period. In my view, it's quite a long period, and if you have a vision, that period is long enough to implement your vision." Those words reflected an important constitutional principle. Power should always remain subject to constitutional restraint. Whether the passage of Amendment No. 3 is consistent with that earlier commitment is a question each reader must answer for themselves. For my own part, I find it difficult to reconcile the President's actions over the past year with the constitutional principles he articulated in 2018. Zimbabwe's Constitutional Pattern Zimbabwe's constitutional history offers little comfort. Since the late 1980s, constitutional amendments have more often concentrated power than dispersed it. Checks and balances have gradually weakened. Executive authority has steadily expanded. Institutions intended to provide independent oversight have, at various times, struggled to perform that role with the independence originally envisaged by the Constitution. Some people may disagree about the extent to which Amendment No. 3 continues that pattern. I, for one, believe it does. My concern is not that the governing party has demonstrated its ability to secure the constitutional majority in both houses of Parliament necessary to amend the nation's founding document. It is that Parliament has demonstrated its preparedness to reshape Zimbabwe's constitutional framework without seeking the direct endorsement of the electorate. That represents a significant shift in the relationship between Parliament and the people. Whether that ultimately strengthens Zimbabwe's democracy or weakens it will depend not merely upon the wording of the amendments, but upon how they are exercised in the years ahead. Healthy Democracies There is another reason for concern. One hallmark of every healthy democracy is the realistic possibility of political change. Regular elections, while essential, are not enough. Elections must also offer citizens a genuine opportunity to replace those who govern. Constitutions should create conditions in which governments can be replaced peacefully through the ballot box when citizens choose a different direction. When constitutional change increasingly favours the long-term dominance of one political party, questions inevitably arise about the future vitality of democratic competition itself. That does not mean Zimbabwe has ceased to be a democracy. It does, however, mean that the resilience and independence of its democratic institutions deserve closer scrutiny than ever before. Beyond Amendment No. 3 My greatest concern is not Amendment No. 3 itself. It is the constitutional precedent it establishes. If future constitutional changes command overwhelming parliamentary support but lack the confidence of the Zimbabwean people, the constitutional pathway through which citizens may resist those changes has become considerably narrower. Passing constitutional amendments is a legislative act. Building a culture of constitutional restraint takes generations. Constitutions are not self-defending. They rely upon citizens who understand why constitutional limits exist and who remain willing to defend those limits, regardless of which political party happens to hold power. The principles of constitutional restraint are tested most severely when governments are politically secure and possess the parliamentary numbers to alter the rules themselves. That is precisely when vigilance matters most. As this chapter of Zimbabwe's constitutional history closes, another begins. Whether future historians regard Amendment No. 3 as a measure that strengthened Zimbabwe's democracy or one that accelerated the concentration of political power cannot yet be known. History will render that verdict. For my own part, having lived through constitutional change in both Rhodesia and Zimbabwe over many decades, I cannot escape a deep sense of unease. I sincerely hope that history proves my concerns to have been misplaced. For if it does not, the greatest cost will not be borne by today's politicians. It will be borne by the generations of Zimbabweans who inherit the constitutional choices made on their behalf. Can the People Still Protect the Constitution? In my previous blog I asked that question. Having reflected further on the passage of Amendment No. 3, I have reluctantly come to the view that the answer is no longer yes. For a constitution to be effectively protected from arbitrary or self-serving amendments, three constitutional safeguards must exist. First, Parliament must genuinely understand that the Constitution does not belong to those who govern. It belongs to the people, and Parliament's first constitutional duty is to protect it accordingly. Secondly, the courts, the judiciary, and every institution entrusted with upholding the rule of law must be willing, when necessary, to exercise the powers entrusted to them to prevent constitutional safeguards from being bypassed or undermined. Finally, the electorate itself must remain sufficiently informed and motivated to vigorously defend the Constitution through the lawful exercise of democratic rights. These three safeguards are not alternatives. They depend upon one another. If one weakens, the others come under greater strain. If all three weaken together, the Constitution itself becomes increasingly vulnerable. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that Zimbabwe has now moved perilously close to that point. That is why the passage of Amendment No. 3 concerns me so deeply. Not because constitutions should never change. But because the institutions upon which constitutional government ultimately depends no longer appear to possess either the independence or the resolve necessary to prevent the concentration of power when constitutional limits are ignored or tested. For that reason, I find it increasingly difficult to believe that the Zimbabwean people, acting alone, will be able to protect their Constitution. History has shown that constitutions are strongest when governments willingly accept limits upon their own power. It has also shown that once those limits begin to erode, restoring them is rarely easy.

A further reflection on Zimbabwe's Constitution Amendment Bill No. 3 When I first wrote about Zimbabwe's proposed Constitution Amendment Bill No. 3 in February 2026, and again after the public consultation hearings began in April, I expressed concern that the process appeared unlikely to alter the Bill's eventual outcome. Events over the past week have done little to change that assessment. The National Assembly has now approved the Bill with the required two-thirds majority. Unless an unexpected political development intervenes, the Senate is also expected to do the same. If that occurs, the amendments will become part of Zimbabwe's Constitution. Importantly, this will have occurred without the proposals first being put directly to the electorate through a national referendum. That moment should cause all Zimbabweans to pause. Not simply because the Constitution is changing. But because of what is changing. Constitutions exist for two purposes. They establish government. But they also restrain it. Those two purposes are equally important. A constitution that creates institutions without limiting their power risks becoming little more than a legal framework for concentrating power in the hands of the Executive. A constitution worthy of the name also protects citizens from the natural tendency of governments to accumulate power over time. This is not a criticism of any particular government. It is an observation about politics itself. Throughout history, governments of every ideology have sought greater freedom to govern with fewer constitutional constraints. Some have justified those changes in the interests of efficiency. Others have argued they were necessary for stability, national unity, or economic reform. Sometimes those arguments have been persuasive. Sometimes they have not. What matters is that constitutional safeguards, once weakened, are rarely restored with ease. This pattern is not unique to Zimbabwe. In 2017, Türkiye approved constitutional amendments that substantially expanded presidential powers. Supporters believed the changes would provide stability following years of political uncertainty. Critics feared they weakened the separation of powers. Regardless of where one stood, the decision ultimately rested with the electorate through a national referendum. Five years later, Chile offered a different lesson. Following an extensive constitutional review, a proposed new constitution was put before the people. Despite widespread expectations that it would be adopted, Chilean voters rejected it. Whatever one's opinion of the proposal, the process demonstrated a fundamental democratic principle: constitutions derive their legitimacy from the consent of the people. Poland provides another example. Over the past decade, reforms affecting judicial independence and constitutional oversight generated intense domestic and international debate. Elections eventually produced a change of government, illustrating that democratic institutions, when sufficiently robust, retain the capacity to direct and correct their own destiny. These countries differ profoundly in their histories, cultures and political systems. Yet each reminds us that constitutional change is never merely a legal exercise. It is a question about where power should reside. Zimbabwe now finds itself confronting that same question. Supporters of Amendment Bill No. 3 argue that the changes will promote stability and improve governance. Critics argue that the changes move constitutional power further towards the Executive and further away from the citizen. Whether history ultimately vindicates one view or the other remains to be seen. History does, however, teach another important lesson. Democracies seldom disappear overnight. More often than not, constitutional change occurs incrementally. A term of office is extended. An appointment process is altered. An oversight body becomes less independent. Each individual change can be defended on its own merits. Only later does the cumulative effect become apparent. That is why constitutions deserve such careful stewardship. They are not written for today's leaders. They are written for leaders who have not yet emerged. Every constitutional power granted today will eventually be exercised by someone else — perhaps by leaders whose values and priorities have yet to emerge. That simple truth should encourage humility in every generation that seeks to amend its nation's founding document. Lord Acton's famous observation remains as relevant today as when he first wrote it more than a century ago: "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." His words were never intended as an attack upon individual leaders. They were a warning about human nature. The American jurist Learned Hand expressed a complementary, but chilling, thought: "Liberty lies in the hearts of men and women; when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no court can save it." Zimbabwe's constitutional journey is still unfolding. Whether Amendment No. 3 ultimately strengthens the nation or weakens its democratic foundations will not be decided by this week's parliamentary vote alone. It will be determined over many years by how the amended Constitution is exercised, respected and defended. Whatever one's political persuasion, one principle surely deserves broad agreement. Constitutions should never belong to governments. They belong to nations. And ultimately, they belong to the people. For history suggests that when citizens gradually surrender constitutional safeguards in exchange for promises of stability or efficiency, they often discover — too late — that restoring those safeguards is far harder than preserving them in the first place. To conclude, perhaps the most enduring lesson of constitutional history is this: Constitutions are most vulnerable when governments are sufficiently strong to change the rules themselves without reference to the electorate.

Over recent weeks there has been growing media discussion in Australia surrounding the AUKUS alliance, rising strategic tension in the Indo-Pacific region, and the increasingly fragile relationship between China, Taiwan, and the United States. As global geopolitics increasingly dominates international headlines, issues once viewed as distant strategic concerns are beginning to feel far more immediate and relevant to ordinary Australians. At the same time, reports continue to emerge about high-level discussions between Washington and Beijing — including ongoing commentary surrounding Taiwan and the risks of strategic miscalculation between major powers. For many Australians, these issues can still feel distant. Abstract. The domain of diplomats, defence analysts, and political leaders. But I suspect that is beginning to change. For decades Australia enjoyed the comfort of geographic isolation. Most global conflicts seemed to occur somewhere else — followed from afar through television screens and newspaper headlines. Yet recent events in the Middle East and elsewhere have demonstrated how rapidly geopolitical instability can escalate and ripple across the global stage. Strategic competition in our region is no longer theoretical. Decisions made by global superpowers carry consequences that may eventually affect all of us. That changing reality was one of the inspirations behind my new novel, No Clean Exit. Although fictional, the story is grounded in many of the geopolitical themes now appearing regularly in public discussion: the strategic significance of AUKUS intelligence operations and secrecy military posturing in the Indo-Pacific the risks of escalation and miscalculation and the personal cost paid by those caught within larger institutional struggles What interested me most while writing the novel was not simply the geopolitical contest itself, but the human dimension beneath it. Behind every strategic decision are individuals — intelligence officers, politicians, military personnel, journalists, and ordinary families — all trying to navigate uncertainty, loyalty, fear, and competing versions of truth. For me, these themes are not entirely abstract. In my own life I have seen and experienced some of these realities — both the good and the bad. One of the dangers in any period of rising tension is that public narratives can harden very quickly. Once governments, institutions, and media organisations settle upon a particular interpretation of events, alternative explanations can become increasingly difficult to examine objectively. History shows us that perception, misinformation, and political expediency can sometimes shape international crises just as powerfully as facts themselves. That does not mean conflict is inevitable. Far from it. But it does mean that understanding these issues matters. Perhaps one of the valuable roles fiction can still play is helping readers engage emotionally with subjects that might otherwise feel remote or overly technical. Novels allow us to explore uncertainty, ambiguity, and consequence in ways that official statements and policy papers often cannot. In the end, No Clean Exit is not a prediction of the future. But it is very much a story shaped by the world we are living in now. And judging by recent headlines, those issues are unlikely to disappear anytime soon.

I’m pleased to announce that my new novel, No Clean Exit , is now available in both paperback and eBook formats. Set in Australia against the backdrop of the AUKUS alliance between Australia, the United States, and the United Kingdom — created to strengthen security in the Indo-Pacific amid rising geopolitical tension — this slow-burn espionage thriller explores the dangerous intersection of strategy, intelligence, and personal consequence. The short video below introduces the story and the world behind the novel. If you would like to learn more about the book and where to purchase it, click here .

This week marks the 46th anniversary of Zimbabwe’s independence . On 18 April 1980, the country stepped into the sunlight of majority rule amid scenes of celebration and genuine hope. For many Zimbabweans — black and white — independence carried the promise of reconciliation, prosperity, true democracy and a new national beginning. In reflecting on that moment, I am reminded of the motto of the senior school I attended from 1968 to 1973 — Prince Edward School, Harare : Tot facienda, parum factum So much to do, so little done. The words, attributed to Cecil John Rhodes , express a spirit of restless ambition — the belief that there is always more work ahead. Rhodes himself remains a deeply controversial historical figure, and rightly so. Yet the Latin phrase endures because it captures something universal about human endeavour: the sense that progress requires effort, persistence, and honest reflection. Forty-six years after independence, another Latin phrase comes to mind: Multa promissa, parum factum. Much promised, little done. In 1980, Zimbabwe inherited a country with functioning institutions, a strong agricultural, mining, and industrial base, a respected civil service, and one of the most developed economies in Africa. The early years of independence seemed to hold real promise. Yet over time, the policies and governance of ZANU-PF , initially under the leadership of Robert Mugabe  and, since 2017, Emmerson Mnangagwa , steadily eroded much of what had been built. Economic collapse, hyperinflation, political repression, and the flight of millions of Zimbabweans from their homeland tell a sobering story. The gap between the hopes of 1980 and the lived reality of the decades that followed has been profound. History, however, is rarely simple. Rhodes’ legacy remains deeply contested, and the colonial era carried injustices that cannot be ignored. At the same time, the experience of the past four decades exposes profound failures of leadership, governance, and stewardship of the nation’s inheritance. Perhaps the two Latin phrases together tell the story rather well. In the early pioneering decades this idiom was apt: Tot facienda, parum factum. So much to do, so little done. And yet, for many Zimbabweans reflecting on the last four decades and the challenges facing the country today, the sentiment may well now be: Multa promissa, parum factum. Much promised, little done. As Zimbabwe marks forty-six years of independence, the country once again finds itself at an important crossroads. The proposed constitutional amendment currently under discussion raises serious concerns about the further consolidation of political power in the hands of a party that, over decades of governance, has largely failed to deliver the promises made at independence. Constitutional arrangements are meant to safeguard the balance of power and protect democratic institutions. Altering them in ways that weaken those safeguards risks deepening the very problems that have held the country back. Zimbabwe remains a nation of extraordinary resilience and potential. Many of its people, both within the country and across the diaspora, still believe deeply in the promise that independence once represented. The challenge for the future is not simply to remember the hopes of 1980, but to ensure that the structures of governance allow those hopes finally to be realised. If that can be achieved, then perhaps one day the two Latin sentiments may finally converge — Multa promissa, multa fa cta — much promised, much accomplished — while still recognising that there is always more work to be done: T ot facienda, parum factum.

I’m pleased to share that my new novel, No Clean Exit , is now available in paperback and eBook format  on Amazon and other online platforms. This book explores a world where geopolitics, intelligence, and personal consequences collide . At the centre of the story is the strategic landscape of the Indo-Pacific , including the AUKUS alliance, nuclear-powered submarines, and rising tensions surrounding Taiwan. These are issues that regularly appear in news headlines, but behind the language of strategy and deterrence lie real people working within complex institutions — people whose lives can be profoundly affected by decisions made far above them. The novel follows Daniel Mercer , a senior submarine engineer working at the centre of Australia’s most sensitive defence programme. As tensions escalate internationally, Mercer becomes drawn into a series of professional conversations that appear entirely legitimate. No secrets are exchanged. No laws are broken. Yet the margin between influence and espionage  can be dangerously narrow. As scrutiny begins, institutions in Canberra, Washington, and Beijing move quickly to protect themselves — and Mercer discovers that when powerful systems come under pressure, individuals can easily become expendable. No Clean Exit  is a serious contemporary thriller about loyalty, ambition, and the hidden cost of being useful in a world moving steadily toward confrontation. Because when nations embrace brinkmanship, someone always pays . You can find No Clean Exit  here: Published Books - No Clean Exit Thank you to everyone who has followed the journey of this book over the past months. I hope you enjoy the story.