When disasters happen in the third decade of the 21st century, nobody can escape, not even spymasters and despots.
If you’re right in the thick of it and your house has disappeared along with your family then reality does indeed bite very painfully.
But even if you are several hundred or 12,000 km away, the pain and suffering is still visible for all to see.
God knows what will happen when the Metaverse arrives.
This week two disasters have played out simultaneously on opposite sides of the world engulfing our screens, radios and newspapers with the human tragedies of Ukraine and — closer to home — Queensland and NSW.
The heartbreak of loss and suffering is always immeasurable to those living through the reality — but to those watching from afar the experience can be very different.
Natural disasters, however cruel and random, can have no blame attached — at least not until the event is over and the clean-up begins. Public inquiries may point to badly managed resources, a lack of preparation, or a failure to adequately fund emergency services, or even the bigger picture of climate change — but at its core a natural disaster is just that — natural.
Perhaps in legal terms the Queensland and NSW floods could be called an Act of God.
Or perhaps not.
The question of whether the Queensland and NSW floods are man-made through the mismanagement of dams can be asked later.
For now, the task at hand is the repair of structures and human lives and the encircling of those affected with love and material support.
Mercifully, Australians have always risen to this task with open hearts and wallets.
We are not a collection of individuals living our lives in silos of self-interest — we are a society of generous and connected souls.
This is something that Australians can now share, albeit on a smaller scale, with the citizens of Ukraine. When disaster strikes, we band together to help each other and fight for survival.
In Ukraine’s case the fight is not against nature, it is very much against the maniacal decisions of men — or in this case, the ugly choices of one man in particular, Vladimir Putin.
The Russian leader is not one to play his cards openly. He has always appeared as a grey, bloodless being with dead eyes on the world stage.
Last week, however, a window opened into his mind when he publicly humiliated his spy chief Sergey Naryshkin on live television.
Putin wanted a straight answer on whether Naryshkin supported the recognition of two breakaway Ukrainian regions.
As Putin told his underling to “speak plainly” the man stammered and said the wrong thing, which annoyed his master even more. Putin’s eyes were amused and alive as he continued to humiliate his spy chief in front of his security council members, sitting stiff-backed in a semi-circle in a grand hall with white pillars and a polished floor.
Why was this exchange televised and released to the world? Because being a despot means continually having to show who is in charge, and who can be counted on in emergencies.
Putin may have won that encounter, but his battle with the Ukrainian people won’t be so easy. He hadn’t counted on their determination to unite and fight against the destruction of their homeland.
In faraway Australia, we must now band together and show that while we look after our own people crushed by nature, we can also reach out to help those being crushed by the violent imperial aspirations of a sociopath and a despot.
John Lewis is a former News journalist.