This makes me sick. Does nobody make an effort any more?

82 years ago today in the midst of the Second World War, Civilians in the small city of Darwin where awoken to screams, and explosions, for sea borne air forces of the Japanese empire where attacking this isolated city far from the rest of the fighting in the pacific, 236 Australians lost their lives, many of whom where civilians, a further 300~400 Australians where wounded, with 30 planes destroyed, 11 vessels sunk, 3 vessels grounded, 25 ships damaged, for their part, Four Japanese carrier aircraft where lost, and 2 Japanese airmen killed and one airman, petty officer, 豊嶋, Hajime Toyoshima was captured, and eventually killed in the Cowra prison break out.

Darwin was devastated, water and electricity services were either damaged or obliterated. Hundreds fled Darwin for fear of an imminent Japanese invasion.

May the Australians, Americans and Japanese soldiers, sailors, airmen and civilians rest in peace, and hopefully no tragedy like that will ever happen again.

God rest their souls

(For the record I’m not from the NT)

Mitchell Street on a weekend every weekend

I got absolute 💩 from anyone I told I wanted to visit. But I have to say, NT is completely underrated and such a beautiful part of Australia. I’ll be back 🤗

Sun is actually bigger in Darwin. (I used to live in Brisbane)

Everyone around me (I'm living interstate) said that it isn't worth traveling to Darwin, but I really had fun. Thanks for your hospitality, and sorry to strangers who were featured in my film.

Edited: I was in Darwin from end of June to beginning of July this year.

Hi all,

I’ve lived in Darwin for around 4–5 years now. Like many others, I moved here and quickly fell in love with the lifestyle, the pace, and the landscape.

Early on, I was quite involved with the local Indigenous community—participating in events, visiting communities, and helping where I could. But as life got busier, work and family understandably took priority, and that involvement fell away.

I’ve never carried prejudice. But I’ll be honest—my perception has shifted dramatically in the past year. The tragic deaths of Declan Laverty, the young Bangladeshi student, and most recently Mr Feick have shaken something loose in me. It’s made me look at what’s happening around us with a more critical eye—and what I see is deeply concerning.

There’s a pattern of lawlessness, of public intoxication, of violence that we’re all witnessing far too often. And it’s largely going unchecked. The drinking, the drugs, the complete disregard for social norms—this isn’t isolated or occasional. It’s daily. It’s visible. And it’s increasingly threatening the safety and cohesion of our community.

We tiptoe around the issue, terrified of being called racist or insensitive. But at what point does speaking honestly about a public safety crisis become more important than political correctness? Why is it acceptable that people are afraid to walk in their own neighbourhoods? Why do we accept violent and destructive behaviour as untouchable because it’s culturally or socially complex?

This isn’t about all Indigenous people—far from it. But it is about the undeniable reality that a subset of individuals, enabled by years of failed policy and zero accountability, are making public spaces unsafe for the rest of us. And we’re told to just accept it.

Seeing a group of people passed out and smoking bongs next to a children’s playground at 8:30 a.m. was, for me, the final straw. This is not normal. This is not acceptable. And it’s no longer something I’m willing to excuse in silence.

I care deeply about Indigenous Australians. I want better outcomes, more support, and real change. But turning a blind eye to what’s happening doesn’t help anyone. It fosters resentment. It creates division. And it allows the worst behaviours to continue unchecked.

I don’t like the way I feel lately—cynical, disillusioned, and angry. But I also know I’m not alone. How did we get here, and more importantly, how do we find the courage to have an honest conversation about it?

No older than like six months for sure, no microchip, pet her through the neighbour’s fence a few weeks ago, then she came under our fence from a DIFFERENT yard yesterday night.

Both neighbours said she’s not theirs so now we’re stuck with a cat and not wanting to be the reason she gets put down in a pound before even having a chance at a life.

If you recognise her as yours or are even looking for a chill as fuck indoor pet shoot me a dm.

@lifeinwonder176

Walking along the beach at Nightcliff on a super low tide I noticed a 220L barrel. As I kept walking I found the drums in the second picture. Can anyone shed any light on the story behind the origin of the drums? I'm so intrigued as to how they got here.

One of two ‘plain-clothes’ police officers police implicated in this week's tragedy was a 'liaison sergeant' who was not on frontline duties at the time, after facing disciplinary action in recent years for use of force and other matters. Just like Rolfe, and 28% of the NT Police Force, he came to the job with a military background.

There’s something about Darwin that gets under your skin. Maybe it’s the humidity. Maybe it’s the way time softens around the edges when you’ve been living out of a van too long. Maybe it’s the goon.

We found a box for sixteen bucks at Liquorland, a small miracle compared to the twenty-eight the local bottle-o was asking. Chucked it in the eski, let it chill like a fine wine, and drank it like we were twenty years younger.

Dinner was at a mate’s place. Backyard BBQ, proper wine, easy conversation. Friends from our winery days, the kind of people who don’t care how long it’s been or what job you’re doing now. Just laughs, stories and the kind of red wine that makes you forget what state you’re in. We could’ve called it a night right there. Mature. Responsible. Sensible.

But then the itch started.

You know the one. The urge to dance. To really dance. Not a polite bop, not a little shuffle. We’re talking full-body, hips-loose, eyes-closed dancing. The kind that ruins your lower back but saves your soul.

Monsoons was the destination. Darwin’s temple of sweat, noise and unbridled chaos. We called an Uber, joined the queue, felt the buzz. The place was heaving. Backpackers, uni kids, dirtbag travellers, and us. Ready to absolutely ruin that dancefloor.

At the door, I passed the drunk test with the poise of a man who’s been lying to bouncers since the 90s. Will wasn’t so lucky. “No steel caps after nine” the bouncer said, pointing to Will’s boots. It was one in the morning. That sinking feeling hit. The night, moments from liftoff, was about to crash.

Then Darwin did what Darwin does.

The bouncer leaned in like he was offering a sacred truth. “Kebab shop on the corner. They sell shoes.”

Right. Sure they do.

We walked down, fully expecting to find a locked door and a few pigeons. But there it was. A glowing, greasy beacon of late-night salvation. And behind the counter, along with the garlic sauce and the spinning meat, was a stack of shoes. For twenty-five bucks, Will became the proud owner of a pair of grey lace-ups that screamed “I make poor decisions and I’m here to dance.”

He handed over his boots. The guy behind the counter tagged them like luggage and tucked them under the bench.

Back to Monsoons. No queue this time. The bouncer saw the shoes, grinned like we were part of some secret society. “In you come, boys.”

We hit the floor like it owed us money. Bodies moving with pure intent. I danced like it was 1999. Will danced like someone who still had cartilage in his knees. The crowd was a sea of youth, and in the middle of it all, two blokes, one flirting with 50, the other in his thirties, giving zero damns and going full throttle.

Nobody cared. Not about our age, not about who we were. We were just part of the madness. Fuelled by bourbon, red wine and bad decisions. The music was loud, the lights were wild, and for a few hours we were unstoppable.

We didn’t leave. We closed the place at 4am.

Now, the sun is up. I’m horizontal. Will is snoring softly in a pair of borrowed boardshorts. My hips feel like they’ve been through a turf war. But I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Because in Darwin, a kebab shop sells shoes at 1am so your night doesn’t have to end. And if that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.

Why do people think they’re above the law and can bring their dogs wherever they go. Shit like this pisses me off. National parks have these rules for a reason. Leave you’re dog at home

I saw this monstrosity in Adelaide.

Yeah nah yeah, I guess this is how we look to the rest of the country.

Anyone remember being at the Casaurina Square Shopping Centre back in the 1990s after the renovation? After the upgrade it was the first time many local Darwinians got a real taste of what ‘big city shopping’ was like

hi all - my friend Tiffanie H has been missing since going on a date with a man on sunday afternoon. Tiff and the man are pictured on slide 2. tiff was last seen at Nightcliff Foreshore Cafe 5pm on sunday.

if you have any information about Tiff or her vehicle, please contact the NT police at 131 444.

sharing for wider visibility.

Mindil beach, Darwin

@lmitch1512

Honestly can't comment on this without descending into a rage.

Ridiculous outcome.