Author’s Note: This isn’t an old man’s ramble. It’s an attempt to make sense of sixty‑five years of learning, unlearning, and imagining better futures. If there’s any wisdom here, it’s only because so many others handed it to me first.
“What’s past is prologue.” — The Tempest
Sixty‑five years is long enough to see patterns repeat and long enough to recognise when they finally break. I don’t think of this birthday as a milestone. It’s a checkpoint, a moment to look at the world I inherited, the work I’ve done, and the future that still needs building.
As I mark another orbit around the Sun, I’m reminded that our journey begins when we first act on the world, and ends only when we can no longer contribute to it.
I was born into a narrow set of expectations: straight stories, straight lines, straight heroes. Those narratives shaped the world around me, even when they had no room for people like me. Humanism taught me to question who those stories served. Queerness taught me to recognise the gaps. Science fiction taught me that the future is not fixed; it’s constructed. Activism helped me translate my ideals into reality. Those threads have shaped every orbit of my life.
Across every orbit, I’ve learned that the future isn’t something we inherit, it’s something we author. And creativity isn’t passive — it’s a decision to step into the future and start shaping it with your own hands.
I didn’t inherit a legacy so much as a set of constraints. The stories available to me as a young person were rigid, moralising, and exclusionary. They told me who mattered and who didn’t. They told me what a life should look like. They told me what futures were possible. I learned early that those stories were incomplete. I didn’t reject them outright; I examined them, kept what was useful, and discarded what wasn’t. That process — assessing, revising, rebuilding — became the foundation of my work.
My first steps toward creative authorship came in stages: raising money for charity at twelve, rejecting homophobic Christianity at twenty‑seven, deepening my activism and community work across the decades that followed, and interrogating the cult of consumerist capitalism in my sixties. Each step was a refusal, a quiet revolution against the stories that tried to shape me.
Those choices enabled me to outgrow the religion I was raised in and find humanism as the position that gave voice and form to my ethics and efforts. The so‑called “Golden Rule” appears across religions and philosophies, a genuinely humanist idea that unites us despite creed or culture. I find comfort in the African concept of Ubuntu — “I am because we are” — a philosophy of shared humanity as old as our origins on that continent.
History is full of people who challenged the systems that harmed them — from medieval critics of religious extremism to modern voices questioning the inequalities produced by consumerist capitalism. As I grow older, I find myself asking whether the stories we’ve been trained to uphold still serve us. That isn’t radical; it’s simply the same humanist instinct that has guided every step of my life.
Life Stories
Australian AIDS Memorial Quilt Project on Display in the Exhibition Building, Melbourne. Photo (c) 1999 Geoff Allshorn.
The stories I’ve written across my life weren’t planned. They emerged from necessity. During the AIDS crisis, activism wasn’t optional. It was survival. We built care networks because the world refused to care for us. Those years taught me that community is not an abstract value; it is a practice. Queer activism reinforced that lesson. We made ourselves visible in systems designed to erase us. We built archives, families, and movements that refused to disappear. Human rights work expanded that frame again, showing me how dignity is contested globally and how easily it can be denied.
My wider human rights activism helped me make a tangible difference: saving lives, rewriting laws, shifting community attitudes. My thirty‑three year involvement with Amnesty International Australia instilled in me the belief that “it is better to light a candle than curse the darkness”. In a world where wars escalate and human rights are being wound back, darkness is encroaching further into our lives. We can lock down into our isolated, insulated little bunkers and ignore the suffering of others, or we can step out into discomfort and join the fight.
Science fiction informed my journey — more than just recognising Captain Kirk’s moral imperative in his dying words, “Have I made a difference?” Science fiction gave me a language for possibility and a framework for imagining alternatives. Fandom, especially, taught me how to construct new architecture and how to rebuild it when it failed. It taught me that futures are not inherited; they are authored.
Now, at sixty‑five, I can see the connections more clearly. The work of activism, humanism, and futurism is the same work: identifying who is excluded, understanding why, and building structures that refuse that exclusion. The future I want is not a single narrative. It is a network of many. Africanfuturist, Indigenous futurist, Asian futurist, queer and trans futurist. Each one expands the map. Each one challenges the idea that there is only one centre or one path forward. Young futurists aren’t waiting for permission; they’re already remixing the world into something new.
I don’t have a long‑term partner or dependent biological children, but I’ve never lacked family. I have students whose lives intersect with mine, friends who walk beside me, activist colleagues who share my passions, and refugees I’ve supported as they rebuild their futures. Astronauts are courageous, activists are resilient, but refugees are the strongest people I know. Their lives remind me that strength is not loud or heroic; it is the quiet, daily work of rebuilding a future after everything familiar has been taken away. These relationships have taught me that family is not defined by blood or lineage. The human family is the one to which we all belong: a network of care, responsibility, and shared becoming. They remind me that the future belongs to those who rebuild it, not those who cling to the past.
The Meaning of Liff
Incomplete artwork from Kelvin Roberts – the Orion Nebula
Douglas Adams and John Lloyd wrote The Meaning of Liff as a playful reminder that meaning is something we invent — we give names to the unnamed, we define the overlooked, we create significance where none was provided. That idea has always resonated with me. I’m mindful of Brian Cox’s reminder that consciousness is the universe becoming aware of itself. It reframes the old question about the meaning of life: meaning isn’t discovered; it’s authored. If humanity disappears, the universe loses the only consciousness we know — and the only maker of meaning we know it contains. There’s something electrifying about realising we’re the universe’s way of drafting its own next chapter.
As I reach sixty‑five (an age that less than one percent of humanity attains) I think of the many friends, heroes, role models, and mentors who have already gone. In my twenties, I literally held the hands of young friends as they died during the AIDS epidemic. In more recent decades, I’ve watched older science fiction friends depart: the people who taught me to look to the future, to imagine alternatives, to build what didn’t yet exist.
And in the present, I sometimes hear of refugee friends dying — a reminder that loss is not only a memory of the past but a reality unfolding now, and that the comfortable world around us still turns away from the suffering of most of humanity.
I mourn my heroes and mentors too: AIDS and human rights activists, Holocaust survivors, authors, astronauts, scientists, refugees. Their lives shaped mine. Their courage, curiosity, and defiance helped me understand that meaning is not bestowed from above; it is created through action, imagination, and solidarity. As we lose our heroes and role models, we inherit an obligation to become those very things for others.
That idea reinforces my belief that our task is not to search for meaning, but to create it.
The Journey From Here
Twenty years ago, I survived two rounds of significant heart surgery. I am alive because two other people donated their heart valves when they died. My life continues their legacy — and this is particularly significant given that neither I nor my surgeon expected me to survive for twenty years. That survival carries an obligation: to make my life count, to honour the meaning their lives made possible.
I don’t feel finished. I don’t feel settled. I am absolutely not retired. I feel engaged. The next orbit is not about legacy; it’s about authorship: the ongoing work of shaping a future where everyone belongs.
I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still building. Still becoming. And for the first time, I can see the shape of the work ahead — not as a burden, but as an invitation.
6th May 1965 (6-5-65) saw the birth of a young Australian man who had stellar aspirations, but who sadly did not live to see the future he envisaged. His life – and his resilience – can teach us things today, including taking a stand against injustice.
Rick graduates with high achievements.
A certificate from the Golden Key International Honour Society certifies that Rick Ransome had achieved outstanding academic success (a double degree in Journalism and Arts, with a university medal) at the University of South Australia in 2000. After earlier years of self-doubt and the derision of some others with limited perspectives, he had proved to himself (and to the world) that he was intelligent, thoughtful, and capable of informed, researched, critical thinking. As a newly-qualified journalist, he was looking forward to making a difference in the world – but happenstance robbed him of that chance.
Today would have seen his sixtieth birthday.
Early Life
Ricky was a country boy, born to Albert and Merle and living in Port Lincoln. He was baptised on 3 October 1965 in St. Thomas’s Church, later being confirmed in the same church on 15 August 1976 at age eleven; religion would later play an important (if somewhat convoluted) part of his life. He finished school at the end of Year 10 and became a butcher. He later recalled losing his father too early in life, but looking up to his older siblings for role models. Family was important to young Ricky – but so was self-discovery and personal fulfilment. To these ends, he had aspirations for writing and humanitarian activism.
It was this desire for betterment, for humanitarian service, that would lead him into a traumatic detour but would ultimately set him on course for a positive life journey that would be cut tragically short. Perhaps we can all learn from his experience – to seize the day and use our opportunities wisely when we have them, because life can be short and uncertain.
The 1980s
Ricky Ransome, 13 May 1985.Ricky Ransome, 7 January 1988.
Ricky left home in 1985 to join a religious group and (hopefully) travel the world undertaking good works in their name. He did travel to PNG, where he caught malaria, but this did not dampen his enthusiasm. Two passport photos from this time testify to his personal growth and change. The first, taken in May 1985 (one week after his 20th birthday) was prepared in anticipation of his time with the religious group and the international travel it might entail. This photo shows a bare-faced lad, appearing to be barely older than a schoolboy, with an air of youthful uncertainty about himself and a hesitant caution about the approaching future. The second photo, taken in January 1988 (barely 2 1/2 years later, and four months after leaving the group) shows a more mature, self-grounded young man, with individualistic spiky hair, playful moustache, and cheeky grin to match his developing autonomous personality and self-confidence; a physically and psychologically more well-rounded individual.
His personal growth during this time took place despite his involvement in the religious group, not because of it. Ricky found its cult-like practices restrictive and oppressive: absolute, unquestioning obedience and subservience to a “divinely-appointed” leadership; restricted diet and heavily regulated contact with the outside world; its rejection of science and its distrust of non-religious expertise; its burning of books and family photos and other items deemed to be “ungodly”; and its strict gender segregation in everyday practices. But worst of all, he was shocked by their blatant homophobia and their insistence that he undertake religious counselling and gay conversion therapy.
Two things probably helped Ricky get through these torturous times: first and foremost, his grace under fire; his resilience and personal tendency to seek the goodness within those around him. Even in the depths of his despair, he would bounce happily into a room and greet others with a natural, happy smile and a twinkle in his eye. Among his friends within the group, he was affectionately nicknamed “Ricky Ramjet” a word play on the name of a cartoon character who often burst into a room with boisterous enthusiasm and a total disregard for the convoluted machinations of others.
Ricky (aged 21) and Geoff, August 1986.
The second thing to help him get through these tough times was the love and support of his friends in the group, including me. I remember one afternoon in mid-1986 when he and I were, as mandated by the group, having a “deep and meaningful” conversation as a way of keeping each other fully transparent and monitored. We ‘came out’ as gay to each other – and then both did a double-take when we realised the implications of what we had just confessed. We ultimately bonded, becoming close friends and partners.
We spent a time growing together and experiencing all the opportunities that life had denied us up until that point: giggling like schoolkids sharing secrets together, becoming comfortable to (discretely) express physical affection in public and private, finding out how joyous it can be to share your life with another. But our learning also had its serious moments: confronting the internalised homophobia from our religious indoctrination which had created ongoing trauma and cognitive dissonance for both of us. But through this all he tried to remain encouraging: having been born with a heart condition, I once recall feeling melancholy about my own long-term medical situation, and Ricky consoled me with a confident throw-away line that I would probably outlive him by decades. How unfair for him that this would prove to be true because of his own (undiagnosed) heart condition.
At that time, he wrote me a poem “To A Special Friend” which I subsequently rededicated to a refugee who died too young, but Rick’s words take on a universal application for all who knew him:
“For even though my life has been
Occasionally a haze,
I can say I’m happier now
That you have shared my days.”
Geoff and Ricky, August 1987.
Ironically, following the religious group’s instruction to “love one another” drew their zealous fury and mistrust. The group itself has a long record of abusive treatment of its young volunteers. Its ignorant and unqualified leaders smugly tried to ‘cure’ us by gay conversion therapy; by repeated and increasingly frenetic “Christian” (ie. unqualified) counselling; by strict monitoring (spying) upon our daily activities to ensure we did not express affection or worse; and by everything from demanding our personal repentance to yielding to exorcisms. All these efforts failed because they are all fraudulent, and because homosexuality does not need to be “cured”. Furious, the group’s leaders gaslit and blamed us for being insincere, slandering us to their entire community and ghosting us from their social networks. I still recall our ignominious departure one bleak Tuesday night (12 September 1987) being forced to catch the overnight bus to Melbourne; a small and sad contingent of our young friends glumly bidding us farewell while clearly sharing our frustrated sense of injustice. I never saw most of them again.
Rick and Geoff at their last get together, Adelaide, 1991.
At the time, this left us both feeling very traumatised; and gave us both a sense of the imperative towards atheism fuelling our LGBT+ and human rights activism. In my case, my resulting humanism gave me consolation and self-respect; in Ricky’s case, his sense of anger about the lack of natural justice stayed with him all the days of his life. I later pondered the fate of that religious group, who ultimately abandoned their Goulburn base which subsequently burnt down – symbolic of lives abandoned and desolated. But life goes on… and we rebuild…
Two of his friends from that group – the only two friends with whom I am still in contact – recall him on this birthday:
“I was privileged to have been Ricky’s friend during his rough years. I found him to be a friend who could be relied upon in the midst of adversity. He chuckled when I playfully sang out the tune, ‘Ricky don’t lose that number’. My guess is Rick liked it as I certainly enjoyed singing it. On Rick’s birthday milestone, when he would have been 60, I ask all of you to sing, “Ricky don’t lose that number,” in a voice that is out of tune but full of love. Please also plant a dahlia next season, as that flower honours gays.” – Tim.
“When I think of Ricky I remember a friendly man with kind eyes, a cheeky smile & the spiky fringe… He was well liked which wasn’t a common thing with so many people living all together in a small space of different ages, nationalities and personalities. Most remember him and sum him up as kind – which I think is an undervalued attribute, but not to those who experienced it…” – Jenny.
with Rick in mid-1987
The Era of AIDS
Rick’s courage and resilience are reflected in the reality that he lived through two life-threatening and socially disempowering epidemics: the first being legalised and religiously/legally mandated homophobia which justified discrimination, family/workplace rejection, and condemnation of individuals from pulpit to Parliament. The second one was worse…
These times were the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic that devastated the gay community in the western world (and many others across the developing world). Our mentors, friends, and community were dying by the thousands. I have previously recalled and noted the times we lived through:
Any LGBT person in Australia over a certain age will undoubtedly recall incidents and events of that era which hark back to times of stigma, homophobia and discrimination. I recall certain politicians calling for the quarantining of all gay men on an otherwise unoccupied island and leaving them there to die, while others called for homosexuality to be outlawed in order to protect children or ‘normal’ people. I recall workers refusing to work with people they suspected of being gay, and hairdressers or ambulance attendants similarly refusing to attend to such clients. Restaurants smashed crockery that may have been used by gay people, and funeral directors refused to bury those suspected to have died of AIDS. Public walls were decorated with slogans like “GAY = Got AIDS Yet?” or “AIDS = Anally Inserted Death Sentence”; one newspaper targeted a front-page headline to a dying gay man: “Die, You Deviate!” Religions proclaimed that “God hates gays” and that homosexuality was unnatural; and they called for laws to reflect their heterosexist morality because of the presumed superiority of their religious views. Families, schools, churches and communities rejected their LGBT children, teachers, clergy, and community members. Families even lied at funerals and proclaimed that their ‘lifelong bachelor’ son (even those who had been in long-term gay relationships) had actually died of cancer or car accidents.
This was the era of AIDS, when public toilets… became one focal point for roaming gangs of “poofter bashers” (I even recall reading in the newspaper about a young father who was bashed to death on a nearby train just for allegedly looking gay). Despite a number of prominent Australians speaking up for tolerance, acceptance, and in opposition to homophobia and AIDSphobia, other prominent Australians spoke of gay men (and other disempowered cohorts) as being ‘radical deviants’,,, or purveyors of ‘brazen indulgences… to spread AIDS in Australia”…
The gay community had rallied and successfully conducted “safe sex” campaigns to reduce the spread of HIV, but this had remained largely within their own or related affected communities – all of them stigmatised and marginalised…
The Grim Reaper, an infamous campaign by NACAIDS in 1986. (Photo supplied by Phil Carswell).
The devastation of the 1980s ultimately evolved into the emerging LGBT+/HIV activism of the 1990s. This was no small, incidental side note: our lives, and millions of others, were directly impacted by this epidemic. To paraphrase a popular comment within the HIV/AIDS activist community: although we were not infected with AIDS, we were affected by it – everything from our social or sexual behaviours to our sharing of cutlery or toilets (or breathing the same air) was tempered by popular fears of possible infection. Such stigma and fear contributed to Ricky’s own inner conflict that was compounded by his religious beliefs.
I remember our conversation about the Grim Reaper campaign in 1986, a TV public service advertisement about HIV/AIDS which terrified millions of Australians. I had not seen the advertisement at that time, but Ricky had – and he told me that it was “enough to put you off having sex for life”.
A pink triangle against a black backdrop with the words ‘Silence=Death’ representing an advertisement for the Silence=Death Project used by permission by ACT-UP, The AIDS Coalition To Unleash Power. Colour lithograph, 1987. Source: Wellcome Collection.
His poetry reflected this conflict between his lingering religious guilt and his personal gay pride. One poem (“Victim of Control”) was written to reflect the fear and depression of a gay man dying of AIDS. He wrote it as an attempt to empathise with those in that situation, and to encourage readers to share that empathy. He later told me that a religious magazine published his poem while mistakenly reporting that the poet was a gay man who was dying of AIDS. The poem was full of despair and nihilism:
“Life, why do you hate me?
Why do you seemingly despise?
Life, you have laid a trap for me…
“You’re a bastard, life,
And I hate you.”
A second poem (“Ballad of the Bedpan”) spoke of a similar situation (being sick and hospitalised) but began to include tongue-in-cheek humour as a way of fighting the stigma and minimising the trauma:
“It was then I knew this bedpan would be my closest friend.
It would be with me all the hours while my stomach wouldn’t mend
Waiting by my bedside I gave it all I had to give
Without my trusted bedpan I really couldn’t live.”
His poetry reflected his developing confidence to confront the fear and stigma of the times. This mirrored what was happening around him in the gay community; as we struggled to fight an epidemic and save lives, the educational and confronting AIDS Memorial Quilt became colloquially known as the “doona of death”; activists confrontationally suggested that: “If life gives you lemons, make lemonAIDS”. This was a form of individual and community empowerment by trying to remove the harshest sting from the situation. Nevertheless, the desire to be ‘out and proud’ included the compulsion to tell the stories and this was something that Ricky would work towards for the rest of this life.
The 1990s: Journalism
Rick and his beloved dogs, Keeley and Lochie.
Ricky’s growth and change were reflected in an action he took shortly after leaving the religious group. He changed his name from Ricky to Rick, declaring that “Ricky” was too childish and that it was time for him to grow up.
He explored a number of jobs in a number of locations – ranging from Melbourne to Uluru to Adelaide – and travelling to San Francisco in 1990 to absorb the gay aesthetic that had previously been denied him by life and circumstances. He settled down in Adelaide, met a longtime companion, Nicol, who stayed with him for much of his remaining lifetime; and began to work on developing his life ambition of journalism to tell the stories and give voice to those who could not speak for themselves.
Rick later wrote of his involvement with the local gay community press:
“I started writing for Adelaide GT Newspaper in May 1994 when I was relatively new to Adelaide. I was studying at Adelaide Institute of TAFE and I noticed advertising within Adelaide GT calling for community writing submissions. My first published writing of this paper was a short story titled Coffee Shop Conversation… and this was followed with several pieces of poetry.
“Later that same year, I was ‘inspired’ (call it what you will) to start an advice column of sorts…”
Many of Rick’s articles for the gay press involved stories that reflected his desire to fight injustice or discrimination:
CHURCH LEADERS OPPOSE FESTIVAL
“Some leaders from Adelaide’s Christian churches have expressed their disapproval of a gay and lesbian festival being held here.”
– ADELAIDE GT #88, 10 May 1996, p. 1.
GAY DE FACTOS NOT RECOGNISED
“An amendment to the defacto relationship Bill, passed two weeks ago in the Legislative Council to effectively allow gay couples the same legal recognition of their defacto status in property settlements as heterosexual couples, has been defeated in the Lower House.”
– ADELAIDE GT #91, 21 June 1996, p. 1.
BENDS IN THE STRAIGHT ROAD
“Ex ‘Ex Gays’ Tell Their Story.”
– ADELAIDE GT #92, 5 July 1996, p. 7.
CHRISTIAN GROUPS DEMAND LEGALISED DISCRIMINATION
“A Senate inquiry into sexuality discrimination, put forward by the Australian Democrats to the Senate Legal and Constitutional Reference Committee has heard from several Christian groups strongly opposed to the proposed changes.”
– ADELAIDE GT #95, 16 August, pp. 1 & 2.
GAY REFUGEE CASE NOT UNUSUAL
“The case of a Polish man allowed to stay in Australia on the basis of his homosexuality is not unusual, according to the Refugee Review Tribunal.”
– ADELAIDE GT #97, 13 September 1996, page unknown.
Rick wrote news articles; profiles of prominent community people; reviews of literature, movies, theatre and videos; and a “Dear Racquel” column as a tongue-in-cheek LGBT+ satire of advice columns. He also wrote letters to the editor, poetry, and a short story; and undertook rewriting of other work at the editor’s request.
He also expanded his efforts to include journalism for the Education Department, and ultimately became involved with the ABC. This combines with his studies ensured that he was establishing himself as a credible and qualified journalist.
The 2000s
Rick and I kept in contact as pen pals and by telephone for many years. My last phone conversation with him included his response to life’s current challenges and he spoke of plans to redouble his activist efforts in both his personal life and the LGBT+ community. We agreed that we should catch up again sometime soon – but we never got the chance.
Rick died, suddenly and peacefully, of a previously unknown and undiagnosed condition. He was aged 36, visiting his mother and sipping sherry, when he suddenly slumped, and could not be revived. The day of his funeral (12 September 2001, still 11 September in the USA), took place on a day when the world was reeling from arguably the greatest single news story of our generation – and journalist Rick missed his opportunity to research and explore this news from his own perspective.
His mother Merle kept all the sympathy letters and cards she received, and the first in her scrapbook is handwritten by a Board member of ABC News, expressing his sympathy and recalling Rick as a young and enthusiastic journalist:
“He struck me as a very sincere and thoughtful young man who had achieved a great deal in his life. He made a real difference in the newsroom when he worked here, by always putting his head down and doing the best job he possibly could every day.”
Rick with his background computer showing an Okudagram – a display panel from Star Trek.
The photo that was used on the order of service for his funeral happened to be a reworked photo that originally showed Rick smirking while in the background, we can see his computer displaying an Okudagram (Star Trek display) that hinted at his love of Star Trek – a guilty pleasure to which I had introduced him. We had chatted often about the hope for the future provided by the franchise – that even after the anticipated tribulations of the coming 21st century, humanity would mature into a world without war and poverty and injustice (he even wrote a university paper featuring me in cosplay as a Star Trek alien as part of its context). In between our camp phone chats joking about Captain Janeway’s pecan pie, we speculated that Harry Kim or Seven of Nine or Chakotay might be gay. Imagine a world of equality, where everyone was equal – whether male or female, gay or straight, white or black or green, Israeli or Palestinian or Vulcan… such hope for the future was something that Rick found inspirational. Much of his journalism aimed to empower and support others in their fight against injustice, and for a better future. The theme music from “Star Trek Voyager” was played at his funeral.
Years later, in 2008, I finally got to march in Sydney’s Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. I carried a small photo of Rick in my wallet for the occasion, so we could effectively walk in this event together – something that Rick and I had spoken about for years but had never quite managed to do. We finally did it.
His Legacy
One of his poems (“My Life Slipped Through My Fingers”) envisaged himself in his old age, pondering the value of life and opportunity:
“Time has caught up, I’ve had my share,
I’ve had my life, my jewel,
And as the reaper takes, I ask,
“What happened to it all?”…
“I had wanted age, and to mature,
And now I’m there I know,
To be mature is to live your life
At its best, as you go…”
Although he did not reach that old age, his words and wisdom, borne of trials and tribulations at a younger age, surely speak to us across the years today. His life did indeed slip through his fingers, and he had so much more he wanted to contribute, but his contributions did not stop upon his death.
Despite some life difficulties, he had been a happy young man who was encouraging of others, showing an inner strength and a determination to overcome all obstacles. He was loved by – and he loved – his friends and family. He was also a pioneer who helped to change the world in his small corner, and he would be furious to see the state of LGBT rights in Uganda or the USA today. In his short life, he achieved goals for personal betterment, and he had started to use his skills to help others through education and empowerment. Who knows what activism he could have accomplished had circumstances given more years of life, love and opportunity? Although he did not have HIV, he was a pioneer from those terrible times who helped to light a candle in his corner and shine a light on injustice. Of his generation, I write elsewhere:
People today living in lucky countries might be forgiven for thinking that the human rights they enjoy today are the norm. But such gains were only achieved at great expense. We owe those who suffered and died for the relatively good life we enjoy today. Everything from anti-discrimination legislation to marriage equality, from needle exchange programs to the public sale of condoms, from dying with dignity to inheritance laws, have been shaped by HIV/AIDS activism. It look a lot of sacrifice and suffering, but we ultimately learnt a lot from the tragedy of those heroes and those times…
Happy Rick, date unknown.
Rick’s ongoing legacy extends beyond those who remember him or who read this. Many years after his death, I participated in a university study regarding gay conversion therapy. Rick’s and my experiences were referenced anonymously within the final report – which contributed to my State Government legally banning the practice outright. Rick would have been proud to know that after his years of anger and activism, his personal experiences played a part in outlawing that homophobic cruelty and injustice. After his journalistic efforts to give a voice to the voiceless, his own quietened voice had finally been heard. As it still can be heard every day.
In Memory of Rick Ransome
6th May 1965 to 6 September 2001
Reference Material:
With thanks to Phil Ransome for reference material, including many of the news articles and Rick’s private memorabilia. This includes much of his poetry, excerpts of some of which have been published here.
Author unknown, “Obituary: Rick Ransome”, XPress, Vol 4, No. 16, 20 September 2001.
Scott McGuiness, “Rick Ransome 6/5/65 – 6/9/2001”, Adelaide GT Newspaper, circa. September 2001.
Rick Ransome, “To A Special Friend“, 1986.
– – – – – – – -, “Victim of Control”, date unknown.
– – – – – – – -, “Ballad of the Bedpan”, date unknown.
– – – – – – – -, “My Life Slipped Through My Fingers”, date unknown.
– – – – – – – -, “Portfolio of Writing for Adelaide GT Newspaper“, circa. 1997.
– – – – – – – -, “Television Fans: Production Pleasure and Postmodernism”, University of South Australia, November 1997.
“So I think as a biologist I would like us to focus on this planet and finding solutions to sustaining humanity, to improving people’s lives globally, but doing our absolute utmost to preserve as much biodiversity as we can, knowing that we have already been responsible for the loss of thousands of species.”
– Alice Roberts.
The four characteristics of humanism are curiosity, a free mind, belief in good taste, and belief in the human race.” – EM Forster.
“Humanism is a way of thinking and living that emphasizes the agency of human beings. Humanism stresses the fact that we, human beings, are capable of changing the world.”
– Leo Igwe.
In my younger days, I was proud of my human rights activism and my achievements in that forum. One of my guiding principles came from what was attributed as being an old Chinese proverb: “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness”. Today, as we live through an era of increasing darkness and uncertainty, I believe that it is important to be fully mindful of the candle adage. In my experience, an optimal way of expressing that principle in practical terms cannot be found within an organised religion – which is usually exclusive and elitist – but through a recognition of our common humanity. This, to me, comprises humanism.
A fair definition of humanism – across time and culture – is that it is a philosophy which acknowledges the capacity and responsibility of human beings to think and act in ways that are reasoned, compassionate, humanitarian and responsible – especially in solving the world’s problems that we have caused. Placing humans at the centre of this focus does not, in any way, diminish the inherent value of other life on this planet, but commits us (as individuals and as a species) to respect and protect these other forms of life, and the biosphere upon which we co-exist.
As a collective, humanists have a lot of which they can be proud. From the abolition of slavery to the establishment of human rights; from gender and sexual and racial equality to international conventions on rights for children and refugees and people with disability; from anti-discrimination laws all the way to animal and environmental rights; humanism has changed the world. As a philosophy that has influenced religions across space and time, it has engendered “The Golden Rule” into cultures everywhere with such confidence that religious adherents often believe their dogmas are responsible for inculcating this principle of universal human fraternity.
It might also be noted that secular humanism is currently under attack. With the decline of mainstream religions and cultural adherence to conformity, we have seen the widespread rise and acceptance of a multitude of alternatives to address the adage that nature abhors a vacuum. We now see an epidemic of fringe individualism, religious fundamentalism, conspiracy theories, science denialism, sovereign citizenship, political populism and dog whistling, social media celebrity, and a return to ideas that were long discarded: flat earthism, racism, Nazism, warmongering, rejection of refugees, the ‘othering’ of foreigners and immigrants and those from other races and cultures. Anyone who subscribes to universal human rights and the philosophy that all people are equal in worth and dignity, must take battle against such attacks upon human egalitarianism, knowledge and dignity.
In order to most strongly advocate for a universal philosophy of equitability and social justice, we must have the courage and honesty to explore humanism’s current weaknesses in practice, as well as its strengths in principle. Please come with me as we go on a journey to explore this nuanced and multifaceted human adventure.
The History of Humanism
“Humanism is about the world, not about humanism.” – Harold Blackham
Humanism is often presented as a historical, academic and philosophical phenomenon that was inspired by writings from ancient Greece and Rome, reborn in Renaissance Europe, achieving its modern context late in the nineteenth century. Despite the reality that modern humanism is a more grassroots and less academic phenomenon, its practice is rooted in this Eurocentric perspective, which highlights western culture (from academia to entertainment) instead of nurturing and sponsoring local African or Asian or Latin American expressions of culture and perspective.
Humanist ideas were discussed in Ancient Greece, from Thales to Anaxagoras and Protagoras. The teachings of Zarathushtra and Lao Tzu had strong elements of humanism, and there are many other examples.
The writings of the ancient Greeks were studied in the 1400s during the Renaissance. However, in this period the term “humanism” came to mean educated in the humanities, a rather different kind of idea. Petrarch is often cited as the first modern humanist, but he pointed backwards to classical authors. The modern meaning of humanism is more to do with using science to make the world a better place. – Kiddle Encyclopedia
(Remembering LGBT+ refugees in Africa, whose voices are often silenced)
However, the history of humanism extends further back than that, and its reach is broader. Humanity emerged from Africa, so although much evidence of those past times has long been lost, our humanism clearly also emerged from that same source. Like humanity itself, humanism has spread across the globe, and its rudimentary philosophy can be found in cultures from long ago.
Chirag Patel and Rishabh Prasad clarify the protracted history regarding the origins of humanism:
The principle origins of humanist thinking are in India, Iran and China. In India around the 8th Century BCE, there was the emergence of Lokayata philosophy, which was itself a development of ideas in the Vedas, the core Hindu holy texts, written in around 1000 BCE. Lokayata philosophy is a system that is explicitly materialist, rejecting the concept of the soul and taking on philosophical scepticism…
Earlier still are the Gathas of Zoroaster, or Zarathustra, between 1000 and 600 BCE. The Gathas focus on the notion of individual choice and agency (Schmid, 1979). In China, there is the Tao Te Ching in the 6th century BCE, which combines elements of spiritualist abstraction with a clear focus on the mutable world and away from metaphysical rules and authoritarian approaches. This is contemporaneous with Buddhism, which begins with a rejection of the Gods while retaining the valuable aspects of religious behaviour within a human-centred frame.
In each of these cases, models of thought and behaviour are developed that focus around the human self and supreme wisdom as an ideal, rather than authoritarian theologies. In each case, there is also a vision of the ideal person, such as the enlightened Buddha (‘awakened one’), and the defining characteristic of this person is their focus upon the human and personal rather than metaphysical and hierarchical. (Patel and Prasad, n.d., 7)
Humanism is documented as contributing to a medieval renaissance within Islam as well as Christianity:
“It was during the Renaissance of Islam that humanism unfolded in its luxuriant expression. This branch of humanism was essentially the offspring of the humanitas ideal which germinated in the period of Hellenism and Graeco-Roman antiquity. The primary features of this humanism are: a conception of the common kinship and unity of mankind; the adoption of the ancient classics as an educational and cultural ideal in the formation of mind and character (paideia); and humaneness, or love of mankind (philanthrōpia).” – Kraemer, pp. 135 & 136.
The Confucians tried to replace traditional religious beliefs with an ethical system focused on responsibility to family and society. Confucianism emphasizes benevolence, respect for others, and reciprocity as the foundations of social order. An early expression of the Golden Rule of ethics is found in The Analects (the collected sayings) of Confucius: “Do not do to others what you would not like for yourself.”
Morimichi Kato notes that Ogyū Sorai (1666–1728) established a Japanese version of Confucian humanism.
Meanwhile, the African philosophy of Ubuntu epitomises the universal nature of humanist tenets: “Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu”— or “a person is a person through other people.” (see Felix).
Modern Humanism Around the World
Humanism has been used as the basis for exploring socialism and post-colonial politics across Africa, as demonstrated by the experiences of President Kenneth Kaunda from Zambia:
“He developed a left nationalist-socialist ideology, called Zambian Humanism. This was based on a combination of mid-20th-century ideas of central planning/state control and what he considered basic African values: mutual aid, trust, and loyalty to the community. Similar forms of African socialism were introduced inter alia in Ghana by Kwame Nkrumah (“Consciencism”) and Tanzania by Julius Nyerere (“Ujamaa” – Wikipedia).
One modern Humanist in Ghana, writes about human priorities, particularly the universal human need for family:
“Family to me is anyone who loves me almost unconditionally and wants the best for me. I grew up thinking that family is blood and I’m sure a lot of us have as well…
“I broadened my definition of family when life snatched my wig and came for my edges. I was a hot mess. Life said “you’re too cute or whatever, lemme throw in some trauma and spices”.
His biological family being unavailable to offer meaningful support, he found love and help from a friend:
“One day, we were sitting and chatting in a library and I jokingly told him that he’s been adopted as my brother and he smiled and said “you’ve been my brother from the time you opened your heart to me”.
“Since then my adopted family has increased. The most recent adopted members were the humanist family and I’m glad I have. Sometimes I wish we’d stop fighting on how bad religion is and just love humanity as is.” – The Boy Behind the Flowers, Ghana Humanists.
“Black humanism originates from the lived experiences of African Americans in a white hegemonic society. Viewed from this perspective, black humanist cultural expressions are a continuous push to imagine and make room for alternative life options in a racist society.” – Alexandra Hartmann (summary)
Humanism in Latin America has not only influenced Brazilian and Mexican cultures (Mexican humanism, for example, employs the motto: “por el bien de todos, primero los pobres.” “For the good of all; first, the poor”) but also contributed to women’s rights being included in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
Australia’s most significant humanist cultural contribution may be within its long tradition of storytelling from authors including Marcus Clarke, Steele Rudd, Henry Lawson, Katharine Prichard and Patrick White. Given that this literary tradition is based upon the white colonialist perspective, the Australian convict and digger and ANZAC perspectives of egalitarianism and mateship have their challenges in being inclusive of First Australian and more recent immigrant perspectives, but our nation has a strong cultural claim to humanist equality upon which we should build.
Humanism for the Future
Humanism underlies our lives, existence, and commonalities. It therefore has the potential to grow and evolve along with the human species.
However, in a world facing global crisis, I do feel it is time for western humanists to reconsider their opportunities. For example, if humanists were to lead a challenge to the current withdrawal of US overseas aid and lifesaving medicine as an immediate, short-term goal; and if they were to adopt and promote the eradication of global poverty as some of their long-term goals; they could literally help to save millions of lives and lead the world by ethical example. This would also do more than their current local patchwork efforts to confront theism and religiosity, and ultimately achieve the same ends on a more geographically and historically global scale.
Western humanists are among the world’s most affluent people, and are able to spend more personal time in hobbies and study, versus others who spend more time just doing what they need to do in order to survive and who have relatively little time available for self-reflective introspection. Hence the history and practice of modern humanism appears to be encased in a Eurocentric shell of predominantly affluent western philosophical culture that largely excludes other voices and perspectives, attracts adherents predominantly from similar backgrounds, and leans heavily towards introspection rather than encouraging pragmatic activism.
Modern humanism in the western sphere needs to use its influence to literally change the world instead of comprising the ‘Ladies Who Lunch‘ syndrome. By definition, humanists are people who are good at heart, so I challenge them to make the change.
Let’s see the next generation of humanists adopt the life experiences and wisdom of Opeyemi and Zola and Moussa and Feng alongside our current/past mentors Carl and Richard and Christopher and Madalyn.
Secular humanism has the potential – and the opportunity – to adopt a more inclusive, celebratory and pragmatic approach to its own underpinnings. Many younger non-believers are not currently attracted to secular humanism, but to sentientism, which they perceive as being a more broadly inclusive philosophy and the next evolutionary step of humanism as a philosophy. Do we ignore them – or join them?
Where to From Here? As humanist Gene Roddenberry asserted: The Human Adventure is Just Beginning. The journey promises to be exciting, but like Neil Armstrong and the other Apollo Moon walkers who made history, we must have the courage to step out of our safety zone and into the unknown.
Robert Grudin, 2023. “humanism“. Encyclopedia Britannica, 4 December.
Alexandra Hartmann, 2023. “The Black humanist tradition in anti-racist literature: a fragile hope”, summary from University of Southern Indiana, USA.
Harry Heseltine (ed.), Introduction in “The Penguin Book of Australian Short Stories”, Ringwood: Penguin Books Australia, 1976 (reprinted 1981), pp. 9 – 31.
Joel L. Kramer, 1984. “Humanism in the Renaissance of Islam: A Preliminary Study”, Journal of the American Oriental Society, Vol. 104, No. 1, Studies in Islam and the Ancient Near East, Dedicated to Franz Rosenthal (January – March), pp. 135-164.
Chirag Patel & Rishabh B Prasad, n.d. “The Hidden History of Humanism Part 1: The Real History of Humanism”. [Academia.edu].
Originally published: 2 March 2025.
Edited and republished: 3 and 31 March 2025 in order to streamline and rework some material. Final editing on 1 April 2025.
With thanks to a humanist friend for his advice.
“At the inaugural prayer service, the Right Rev. Mariann Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, made a direct appeal to President Donald Trump to have mercy on the LGBTQ+ community and undocumented migrant workers.” – Associated Press reporter Darlene Superville
In response, Trump demanded an apology, “for embarrassing him by … deliver[ing] a rare rebuke to his face”. No apology was offered.
I am writing from Australia to thank you for your recent appeal to President Trump to show kindness and compassion towards marginalised peoples.
I personally know people in Africa who have been accepted as genuine refugees for resettlement in the USA, and they have now been advised that their resettlement has been cancelled by President Trump.
In the darkness and despair of their current situation, your words have given them hope that there are kind and compassionate people with the courage to stand up for decency and humanity.
I also know LGBT+ people in the USA and elsewhere who are indeed scared, and I want to thank you for acknowledging this reality and challenging those in power to consider the human consequences of their attitudes and actions.
I am an atheist and I share your concern for social justice, compassion and human rights. We both admire the principles of the refugee who is the central character of your religion.
Thank you for speaking up for those who have no voice. Thank you for lighting a candle in the darkness.
