Uploaded April 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
This is Liverpool: a suburb in South-Western Sydney. According to Wikipedia—which has been on a long, steady march toward everything politically “correct” in recent years—Liverpool was the country of the Cabrogal people of the Dharug nation.
And what was this nation famous for? Well, according to the entry, their name “refers to the edible insect larvae found in timber around the region.” Yes, this once great nation was founded on wood-boring grubs—or, more accurately, the grubs were a staple food source and the namesake of the group.
Anyway, the British came along in 1810 and—following their usual tradition—named the area in honour of the Earl of Liverpool; presumably because he was slightly more prestigious than a timber-dwelling shipworm.
Fast forward a couple of hundred years, and this is the new Liverpool City Library—well, it opened just a couple of years ago.
Liverpool Mayor Ned Mannoun—who is a member of the Liberal Party and has Lebanese and Sierra Leonean roots—dedicated the library to children lost at war, specifically Palestinian children in Gaza. However, he failed to acknowledge the Israeli children who had also died, much to the ire of the local Jewish community.
Anyway, here are some photos of the library sent in by a viewer. As you can see, everything has an Aboriginal translation—well, “translation” is a bit of a stretch.
The library is named “Yellamundie,” which apparently means “storyteller” in the local Dharug language—a language which, let’s be honest, pretty much nobody speaks. And the neighbouring Civic Tower is named “Wurrungwuri,” which literally means “this side of the river.”
Obviously, we can’t expect the Dharug language to contain words for “library” or “tower,” as clearly those things never existed in pre-colonial Australia.
Here’s a sign from inside the library. As you can see, we’re currently on Basement Level 1. Aboriginal translation: “Marray Bayinmilyi.”
Now, I don’t believe for a second that the original Cabrogal inhabitants had a word for “Basement Level 1”—not to mention they’ve got translations for each of the six levels. Lower Ground: “Gadalung Djaramada”? I think they’re just having a laugh now.
The whole idea of multi-level buildings clearly didn’t exist in pre-colonial Australia. It would be like aliens landing and building a multidimensional sub-atomic particle accelerator, and Australians insisting on naming it a “Meat Pie”. It wouldn’t make any sense.
This sign explains it all. Indeed, “Yellamundie” means “storyteller” in the Dharug language, which kind of makes a little bit of sense. But, as suspected, the floor levels have been given names that are essentially completely irrelevant to their function.
As the sign notes: “Each level within the Liverpool City Library is named after the six seasons within the Dharug language.”
Now, obviously, there aren’t six seasons in any calendar most people recognise—but even if there were, what on earth has the weather got to do with the six levels of a modern high-rise library?
Now my meat pie analogy is looking pretty grounded.
In places like the Southern United States near the border with Mexico, multilingual signs are in use because they serve a functional necessity. They provide practical information in Spanish that directly translates the intended meaning for people who actually need it.
However, Aboriginal people in Australia had no written language and, therefore, no libraries. Writing Aboriginal names all over a library is not only anachronistic; it’s just plain ridiculous.
It would be like claiming a Japanese Katana is a “traditional Australian mower blade.” Sure, they’re both sharp and made of metal, but claiming one is the other is just plain stupid.
So why are they doing it? Why are they plastering Aboriginal language all over the place?
Well, in the U.S., Spanish translations are a response to a demographic reality. They serve a massive population that speaks the language daily. Here, these terms serve a purely ideological purpose, as there is no significant population using Dharug as a primary means of navigating a library.
Clearly, these Aboriginal signs are a response to a political agenda. In the name of appeasing a minority, we’ve decided to put logic aside and write any old rubbish on the walls in the name of “cultural safety” and reconciliation.
MUSIC
Allégro by Emmit Fenn
This is Liverpool: a suburb in South-Western Sydney. According to Wikipedia—which has been on a long, steady march toward everything politically “correct” in recent years—Liverpool was the country of the Cabrogal people of the Dharug nation.
And what was this nation famous for? Well, according to the entry, their name “refers to the edible insect larvae found in timber around the region.” Yes, this once great nation was founded on wood-boring grubs—or, more accurately, the grubs were a staple food source and the namesake of the group.
Anyway, the British came along in 1810 and—following their usual tradition—named the area in honour of the Earl of Liverpool; presumably because he was slightly more prestigious than a timber-dwelling shipworm.
Fast forward a couple of hundred years, and this is the new Liverpool City Library—well, it opened just a couple of years ago.
Liverpool Mayor Ned Mannoun—who is a member of the Liberal Party and has Lebanese and Sierra Leonean roots—dedicated the library to children lost at war, specifically Palestinian children in Gaza. However, he failed to acknowledge the Israeli children who had also died, much to the ire of the local Jewish community.
Anyway, here are some photos of the library sent in by a viewer. As you can see, everything has an Aboriginal translation—well, “translation” is a bit of a stretch.
The library is named “Yellamundie,” which apparently means “storyteller” in the local Dharug language—a language which, let’s be honest, pretty much nobody speaks. And the neighbouring Civic Tower is named “Wurrungwuri,” which literally means “this side of the river.”
Obviously, we can’t expect the Dharug language to contain words for “library” or “tower,” as clearly those things never existed in pre-colonial Australia.
Here’s a sign from inside the library. As you can see, we’re currently on Basement Level 1. Aboriginal translation: “Marray Bayinmilyi.”
Now, I don’t believe for a second that the original Cabrogal inhabitants had a word for “Basement Level 1”—not to mention they’ve got translations for each of the six levels. Lower Ground: “Gadalung Djaramada”? I think they’re just having a laugh now.
The whole idea of multi-level buildings clearly didn’t exist in pre-colonial Australia. It would be like aliens landing and building a multidimensional sub-atomic particle accelerator, and Australians insisting on naming it a “Meat Pie”. It wouldn’t make any sense.
This sign explains it all. Indeed, “Yellamundie” means “storyteller” in the Dharug language, which kind of makes a little bit of sense. But, as suspected, the floor levels have been given names that are essentially completely irrelevant to their function.
As the sign notes: “Each level within the Liverpool City Library is named after the six seasons within the Dharug language.”
Now, obviously, there aren’t six seasons in any calendar most people recognise—but even if there were, what on earth has the weather got to do with the six levels of a modern high-rise library?
Now my meat pie analogy is looking pretty grounded.
In places like the Southern United States near the border with Mexico, multilingual signs are in use because they serve a functional necessity. They provide practical information in Spanish that directly translates the intended meaning for people who actually need it.
However, Aboriginal people in Australia had no written language and, therefore, no libraries. Writing Aboriginal names all over a library is not only anachronistic; it’s just plain ridiculous.
It would be like claiming a Japanese Katana is a “traditional Australian mower blade.” Sure, they’re both sharp and made of metal, but claiming one is the other is just plain stupid.
So why are they doing it? Why are they plastering Aboriginal language all over the place?
Well, in the U.S., Spanish translations are a response to a demographic reality. They serve a massive population that speaks the language daily. Here, these terms serve a purely ideological purpose, as there is no significant population using Dharug as a primary means of navigating a library.
Clearly, these Aboriginal signs are a response to a political agenda. In the name of appeasing a minority, we’ve decided to put logic aside and write any old rubbish on the walls in the name of “cultural safety” and reconciliation.
MUSIC
Allégro by Emmit Fenn
