In an emergency, information is as vital as water. The official advice is clear: “leave early.” But how do you act on that advice when the power is out, the mobile network is congested to the point of failure, and the emergency broadcaster’s tower has been consumed by the very fire you’re trying to flee?

This isn’t a hypothetical. As Fiannuala Morgan chillingly documented in her article, “No power, no phone, no radio: why comms dropped out during the Central Victorian fires”, this is the reality for communities across Australia. The wholesale replacement of resilient copper landlines with power-dependent NBN connections, coupled with the shutdown of the 3G network, has created a communications infrastructure that is dangerously brittle in the face of climate-fuelled disasters.

We live in an era where a reliable connection to the digital world is not a luxury, but a lifeline. It’s how we work, learn, access essential services, and connect with our communities. Yet for many in regional and rural Australia, this lifeline is frayed, unreliable, or simply non-existent. We’ve been told to accept a digital landscape dominated by a handful of corporate giants, a landscape where postcodes dictate the quality of our connection to the modern world. But what if there’s another way?

In the first two posts of this series, we explored the risks of corporate-controlled IoT, from devices being turned into ‘bricks’ to the sustainability challenges facing ‘open-source alternatives’. But what if the bigger danger isn’t just that your smart device will stop working, but that it’s working all too well, just not for you? This post dives into the pervasive, built-in surveillance that has become a standard feature in so-called ‘smart’ devices.

In the last post, I explored the graveyard of ‘bricked’ devices, hardware rendered useless by corporate decisions. It’s a stark reminder that when you don’t control the software, you don’t truly own the hardware. The clear alternative is Open Source, but that path has its own critical vulnerability: sustainability.

But this is where the journey gets complicated. We flee to platforms like Home Assistant and embrace open-hardware projects, expecting a haven of stability and privacy. And while we find it, we often forget a crucial truth: “free and open source” does not mean free to create.

The promise of the “smart home” was a future of convenience, efficiency, and seamless automation. We bought into the vision of light bulbs that dim with a voice command, thermostats that learn our habits, and security systems we can monitor from halfway across the world. But for a growing number of consumers, that dream is turning into a nightmare of expensive, useless hardware. The culprit? A business model built on centralised control and proprietary systems.

As a new year begins, it’s a natural time for reflection. Looking back at the history of this blog, it started during my years working in online education. I was fortunate to be surrounded by inspiring colleagues who lived by the principles of “working out loud” and developing ideas “out in the open”. It was a vibrant, collaborative time.

A lot of water has flowed down the rivers Murray and Drau since then, and I’ll be the first to admit that my practice of sharing my work has become sporadic at best. I’m extremely keen to change that.

I’ve been living and working in Australia for a good while now, having moved from Europe with a healthy dose of open-source enthusiasm. Over the years, however, I can’t help but notice a stark difference between the two continents: the politically engaged, almost rebellious, hacker culture that is so vibrant in Europe seems to be missing its pulse here Down Under.

This has really hit home for me while watching the live streams from the 39th annual Chaos Computer Club Congress (39C3) in Hamburg. It’s one of Europe’s largest gatherings of hackers, activists, and creatives who don’t just write code, but actively question and shape the world it runs on. It’s a cultural phenomenon, not just a tech conference.