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Time of India
5 days ago
- Time of India
What is common between Sam Altman and Sundar Pichai? Both of them went to...
One built a chatbot that sounds eerily human. The other turned a web browser into a global tech empire. One dropped out of college. The other stacked degrees like power-ups in a calculated climb to the top. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now And yet, both and ended up in the same place: the summit of the tech world. So what do the CEO of and the CEO of and Alphabet actually have in common? Well, somewhere between the lines of AI ethics, world tours, Chrome tabs, and viral ChatGPT prompts, there's a quiet little academic overlap. That's right — both Altman and spent time at Stanford University, the Hogwarts of Silicon Valley, where tech dreams are brewed with equal parts code and caffeine. But don't let the shared zip code fool you: their paths couldn't be more different. One chose rebellion (read: dropped out). The other chose refinement (read: Stanford and Wharton). One bet on startup chaos. The other steered a tech empire with calm precision. Yet here they are, running the digital universe from opposite ends of the AI spectrum. Let's rewind the tape and meet the men behind the algorithms. Sam Altman: Dropped out, then reprogrammed the future Before he was crisscrossing the globe as the face of OpenAI, Sam Altman was just a kid obsessed with computers and curious about how the world worked. Fast forward a few decades, and he's one of the most influential figures shaping the future of artificial intelligence. From dropping out of Stanford to launching billion-dollar ventures, Altman's career has been anything but traditional — but every move has been calculated, ambitious, and unmistakably bold. Hacking before it was cool Born in 1985 in Chicago and raised in St. Louis, Sam Altman's tech journey began with an Apple Macintosh and a screwdriver. Tired of too many ads? go ad free now At age 8, while most kids were figuring out Mario Kart, Altman was busy pulling apart computers and learning how to code. That early obsession would become the blueprint for a future in high-stakes innovation. Stanford: Brief but pivotal Altman attended John Burroughs School, an elite private school in Missouri, before heading to Stanford University to study computer science. But Stanford couldn't hold him for long. After just two years, he dropped out at age 19 to co-found Loopt, a location-based social networking app. The startup didn't exactly change the world, but it raised over $30 million in funding and sold for $43 million — not bad for a college dropout. The Y combinator era In 2011, Altman joined Y Combinator, Silicon Valley's premier startup accelerator, as a part-time partner. By 2014, he was its president, guiding the next generation of tech disruptors. Under his leadership, YC backed some of today's biggest names, including Airbnb, Dropbox, and Stripe, and expanded its vision to support 'hard tech' innovations like energy and biotech. The OpenAI revolution begins In 2015, Altman co-founded OpenAI with a mission to develop artificial intelligence that would benefit all of humanity. That mission eventually led to the creation of ChatGPT, a chatbot so sophisticated it's now writing essays, poems, speeches — and sometimes even startup pitches. OpenAI has since become a household name in the AI arms race. Crypto experiment with Worldcoin Just when you thought it couldn't get weirder, Altman helped launch Worldcoin, a bold — and controversial — project that scans people's irises to verify identity in exchange for cryptocurrency. The aim? A form of universal basic income and digital authentication. The reality? Global privacy debates and biometric skepticism. Though he never finished at Stanford, Altman doesn't need a diploma to validate his impact. The campus may not have handed him a cap and gown, but it did give him what he needed most: a launchpad to become one of tech's most influential minds. Sundar Pichai: The strategist who engineered Google's future Before he was leading one of the most powerful companies in the world, Sundar Pichai was just a kid in Chennai with a steel-trap memory and a fascination for numbers. While his classmates were scribbling notes, he could recall phone numbers with eerie precision — a nerdy talent that would someday power a career built on information, access, and innovation. Humble beginnings in Chennai Born in 1972 in Madurai, India, Pichai grew up in a middle-class Tamil household in Chennai. His father worked as an electrical engineer, while his mother was a stenographer. The family didn't own a telephone until Sundar was 12, but when they did, he was the one who memorized every number dialed — unknowingly foreshadowing his future in data-driven tech. From Metallurgy to Management Pichai's academic path was a globe-spanning masterclass in intellectual rigor: IIT Kharagpur: He earned a in Metallurgical Engineering, one of India's toughest disciplines at one of its most prestigious institutions. He earned a in Metallurgical Engineering, one of India's toughest disciplines at one of its most prestigious institutions. Stanford University: There, he pursued a Master's in Materials Science and Engineering, walking the same halls that Sam Altman would later briefly attend. There, he pursued a Master's in Materials Science and Engineering, walking the same halls that Sam Altman would later briefly attend. Wharton School of Business: He rounded off his education with an MBA, graduating as both a Siebel Scholar and Palmer Scholar, elite honors awarded to top-performing students. The browser that changed everything Pichai joined Google in 2004, and instead of diving straight into Search or Android, he focused on something overlooked at the time — the web browser. Leading the development of Google Chrome, he helped turn it into the fastest, most user-friendly gateway to the internet. Chrome's success became his calling card. From there, his rise was swift and strategic. He eventually took charge of: Gmail Google Maps Android ChromeOS He also became the go-to tech executive for major product launches and keynote moments. CEO of Google, then Alphabet In 2015, Pichai was named CEO of Google, a quiet but powerful promotion that signaled deep trust from the company's founders. By 2019, he was promoted again — this time to CEO of Alphabet, Google's parent company, overseeing one of the largest and most influential corporate ecosystems on the planet. The calm eye in tech's storm Unlike many Silicon Valley leaders, Pichai isn't known for big swings or fiery speeches. Instead, he brings a calm, thoughtful presence to the chaos — quietly managing billion-dollar products, fielding tough questions from governments, and navigating crises with an engineer's logic. While Sam Altman is busy pitching AGI and Worldcoin, Pichai is managing global platforms, writing ethical AI policies, and trying to keep the internet running (and responsible) for billions. Same campus, different missions So yes, they both went to Stanford. But while Altman saw it as a springboard out, Pichai treated it as a rung up. Altman's journey is a Silicon Valley fever dream — all risk, ambition, and moonshots. Pichai's path is more like a perfectly structured algorithm — optimized, calculated, and globally scalable. Altman is the experimental artist; Pichai, the master engineer. Together, they represent two sides of tech's future: Altman is building the tools to think for us. Pichai is managing the systems that know everything about us. The dropout and the scholar who rewired the world It turns out, there's no single path to becoming a tech icon. You can drop out or graduate with honors, scan eyeballs or launch browsers — as long as you think big, build bold, and maybe, just maybe, spend a little time in Palo Alto. Because whether you're asking ChatGPT to draft your essay or searching Google for how to cook quinoa, you're standing on the shoulders of two Stanford-touched minds who couldn't be more different — and more alike.
Hypebeast
02-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hypebeast
GREEN HOUSE CAFE 推出全新「Lost in Apple」巨型裝置藝術展
延續備受關注的藝術香爐《Lost in Apple》系列，GREEN HOUSE CAFE再次發力，推出一件以 Apple Macintosh 為靈感的巨型裝置藝術作品，試圖以設計與藝術探索科技時代中人類的依賴與精神狀態。這次的展覽不僅是一場懷舊與創新的對話，更是一場沉浸式的體驗之旅，邀請參觀者「走進電腦」，感受 128K 時代的純粹浪漫。 GREEN HOUSE CAFE 作為結合藝術與生活的創意空間，長期以來為蘋果設計迷打造獨特的文化氛圍。主理人 John 擁有對 Apple 設計哲學的深厚研究，過去曾推出多件與蘋果相關的創作，包括將 M0100 第一代滑鼠改裝成藍牙版本「GREEN HOUSE CLICK」、與 XH55 合作打造 Macintosh 地毯等，均引發廣泛討論。這次全新裝置藝術以玻璃鋼為主材，將經典的 Apple Macintosh 放大至可進入的空間裝置，讓觀眾能真切感受科技與記憶交織的情感世界。 裝置內部的設計細節同樣充滿驚喜。現場展示了一套搭載原裝 Mac OS 系統的 1984 年 Macintosh，搭配復古 L 型辦公桌，讓參觀者能親手操作，重溫那個屬於科技純粹的年代。同時，空間內還融入 GREEN HOUSE 的標誌性設計作品，包括 G4 Cube 改裝花盤與 G4 檯燈等，層層鋪陳帶來極具沉浸感的氛圍，讓人彷彿置身於數位與情感交融的時光膠囊。 此次展覽不僅是對 Apple 經典設計的致敬，更是一則關於當代數位焦慮的啟示。過熱、資訊過載，這些現代人的精神投影，透過這件裝置作品被具象化為一種對未來秩序的浪漫想像。展覽傳遞的，是對數位世界過度擾動的反思，亦是一場對 128K 時代的浪漫回望。為配合展覽，GREEN HOUSE CAFE 還推出多款主題周邊，包括 T 恤、帽款與限定禮品，讓「Lost in Apple」的故事不僅停留於展覽空間，更能融入日常穿搭與生活之中，感興趣的朋友切勿錯過。 >McDonald's 香港金鐘站首間全新「Mood-Engine」概念店 >LEGO 正式推出 Nike Dunk 積木模型套組 >Rarify 攜手 Gantri 使用 USM Haller 模組化零件推出可擴展桌燈「Cube One」
Forbes
27-05-2025
- Business
- Forbes
Tiny, Functional Replica Of The Original Apple Mac Fits In Your Hand
The Pico-mac-nano stands 2.4 inches tall and features a 2-inch, 480x640-pixel LCD screen. The original 1984 Apple Macintosh — which stood more than 13 inches high and weighed 16.5 pounds — was anything but portable, at least by today's standards. The same can hardly be said of a teeny new functional replica of the iconic computer. It's about the size of a matchbox, with a 2-inch, 480x640-pixel LCD screen and a USB-C port that supports a keyboard and a mouse. The eensy Mac, called Pico-mac-nano, is an open source project from U.K. creator Nick Gillard. The diminutive gadget stands 2.4 inches tall and contains a custom-designed printed circuit board contained in a 3D-printed replica of a Mac case. Gillard even recreated a tiny version of the iconic 'Picasso' corrugated cardboard box the original 128K Macintosh shipped in, complete with flexible protective inserts and a little 3D-printed white accessory case like the one that came with the OG Mac. Gillard, 59, worked as a systems manager for London-based creative companies, and now sells refurbished Macs and supplies spare parts and accessories for vintage Macs 25 years or older. 'My school had a Commodore PET and I bought an Acorn Atom, so I've lived through this revolution and I'm pretty nostalgic about those early days of computing,' he said in an interview. The tiny cardboard box that holds the Pico-mac-nano looks just like the one the original Macintosh ... More shipped in. The project started when Gillard came upon a super cheap Raspberry Pi Pico and did some research into what others had achieved with the microcontroller widely loved by makers. He stumbled onto the Pico-mac, a functional scale replica of a Mac by fellow tinkerer Matt Evans that runs a Macintosh emulator, and wanted to see if he could craft a far smaller version with the highest-resolution LCD screen available for cheap. 'The Pico-mac project inspired me,' Gillard says in a description of the Pico-mac-nano. 'To me it echoed the early days of computers like the first Macintosh when pioneers achieved remarkable things within the technological limitations of the day.' Evans has helped Gillard overcome the challenges of building the Pico-mac-mini — chief among them was identifying the right LCD panel and modifying the Pico-mac code to drive it. 'I also ended up having to hack the Macintosh ROM file to change the pixel width of the screen image slightly,' Gillard added. The little machine fits internal components into a 3D-printed replica of an early Mac case. The Pico-mac-nano weighs less than an eighth of a pound, a bit more with the optional battery fitted inside. Now that the mini machine's operational, Gillard says he's played a few games on it, but the small screen size doesn't exactly lend itself to writing a screenplay — or really anything that takes more than a few words at a time. 'It's not intended to be used for real tasks, even though you could, and I don't expect anyone would try,' said its creator, who intended it more as a DIY feat and a tribute to computers of yore. He shares the code, 3D-printable case files and component details for the Pico-mac-nano on code-sharing developer platform Github. But for those who don't have the time or inclination to build their own pocket-size Mac from scratch, he's selling a completed version for £78 (around $105). Mac aficionados will appreciate the retro look of the product page, which mimics the style and font that greeted early Mac users. Apple co-founder Steve Jobs introduced the original Mac on January 24, 1984, standing on stage in Cupertino, California as the thrilled audience gasped over its revolutionary design. It went on to become the first successful all-in-one desktop PC with a graphical user interface, built-in screen and mouse. Gillard says he'll make as many as will sell, with far more orders coming in than he expected. Hardware development community featured the project on Monday, leading to a boom in orders, Gillard said. Buyer beware, however. The product doesn't come with MacPaint and MacWrite loaded onto it — or a warranty. 'Pico-mac-nano is an open source project, not a commercial product' Gillard emphasizes. 'If you purchase this item, you are paying for the parts, material, 3D print time and labor time in putting it together.' And, of course, a lot of nostalgia. Surprise! The original 1984 Apple Macintosh computer had a baby in 2025.
ABC News
29-04-2025
- Politics
- ABC News
Simon Holmes à Court lit a fire for independents who say he holds no sway
As a child, Simon Holmes à Court loved to burn things. He and his little brother were "big pyromaniacs" who would start grassfires with magnifying glasses, and fashion flamethrowers from a hose and barbecue gas cylinders, he told his mother's biographer. "We lit everything." Decades later, the 52-year-old has ignited a conflagration scorching Australia's political duopoly. His brainchild, Climate 200, a multimillion-dollar fundraising outfit that began with all the hallmarks of a trolling exercise of the Liberal Party, helped 10 independents win seats in the last federal parliament. Liberal opponents paint it as a smoke-and-mirrors attempt to infiltrate politics and lead Australia down a path to US-style big-dollar democracy. But to supporters, it's a cleansing fire bringing accountability, climate change and gender equity to the forefront of politics, sweeping away decrepit party systems. And with potential for a minority government to be elected this time around, Climate 200 is backing the biggest array yet of independent candidates who could hold the balance of power. As founder of Climate 200, Simon Holmes à Court has helped reshape the make-up of federal parliament. ( AAP: Morgan Hancock ) So-called teal candidates argue that neither Holmes à Court nor Climate 200 dictate policy, or which party they could help form government. But the scenario begs questions about what kind of power Holmes à Court — who declined an interview with the ABC — could wield as the architect of the most disruptive force in Australian politics. From heir to Silicon Valley engineer A scion of British nobility, Holmes à Court grew up in the glare of publicity surrounding his father Robert, a 1980s corporate raider who became Australia's first billionaire. The third of four children, Simon was seen as practical and apt to go his own way. Boarding at the elite Geelong Grammar School, he received a $3-a-week allowance, and was angered by the violent bullying culture he experienced — a fellow boarder whipped him with a bicycle tyre tube tied to a broomstick. He was 18 when his father died in 1990, no longer a billionaire after losing big in a stockmarket crash. Simon Holmes à Court was 18 when his father, Robert, a one-time billionaire, pictured with his wife Janet, died. A share of the family fortune set Holmes à Court up for a life of wealth and philanthropy, albeit without the trappings of a superyacht-rich mogul. The reported value of the sibling stakes in the family conglomerate before it was split up was about $35 million each. The year he lost his father, Holmes à Court was studying arts/law at the University of Western Australia, and running his first business selling hardware for Apple Macintosh computers. He dropped out of university in 1991 and worked for a non-profit international student organisation, then as a systems engineer for a family-owned building company in Malaysia from 1993. He studied cognitive and computer science at US Ivy League school Dartmouth College, graduating near the top of his class in 1997. He moved to San Francisco and worked for Silicon Valley companies during the dotcom boom, including on a computer-based gaming "console" that Sony acquired to kill off a competitor to its PlayStation. On his return to Australia in 2001, Holmes à Court oversaw family cattle stations in the Northern Territory. In 2003, he co-founded a start-up called Observant, which sold remote monitoring technology for livestock and crops, and eventually unloaded its assets for about $2.5 million plus performance bonuses. 'Not just a wealthy person trying to hide away' An ABC estimate, based on latest finance regulatory records of fund raisings, suggests Holmes à Court's small stakes in some unlisted Australian finance and renewable-energy-linked companies could be worth less than $10 million. That includes about a $1.1 million stake in solar equipment supplier 5B Holdings. That's just a part of his wealth, which includes listed company shares and property. His home on a massive block in the inner Melbourne suburb of Hawthorn cost $2.9 million almost 20 years ago. He also owns a rural property near Daylesford in central Victoria, which led to another formative experience — helping to set up It sprang from an encounter with Danish "hippie" Per Bernard, who was spreading the word about how such projects without big business involvement were common in his home country. Simon Holmes à Court, pictured top right, and Per Bernard, left in the brown vest, with fellow members of the Hepburn wind farm co-operative in 2011. "He was obviously touched by what was happening, and he continued to come … eventually he introduced himself, and [his name] didn't mean anything to me, I'm from Europe," Bernard says. "But I understood he had a deep interest in actually becoming involved in the whole process. "Partly because of Simon's great experience in financial matters — which I have zero experience in — he then led the co-operative through the fundraising period, and was obviously successful." Bernard says Holmes à Court can "see the turbine from his house". "He wasn't just a wealthy person trying to hide away up in the hill. He became part of the community," he says. "It's one thing to be told we need renewable energy, another thing to get communities on board and take action and feel that they're part of it. "I think partly, in many ways, that's possibly what inspired Simon." From trolling to political insurgency By 2018, Holmes à Court was a full-blown energy nerd but still a political novice. He was also a donor to Josh Frydenberg through membership of the federal energy minister's fundraising vehicle Kooyong 200. Their relationship set off a chain reaction that Liberal Party figures still rue. Holmes à Court was in China visiting a wind factory when he learned Around the same time, Holmes à Court became the accidental spearhead for a campaign to get children out of immigration detention in Nauru. His cheeky Twitter post offering to pay for a "Kids off Nauru" campaign advertisement to be beamed onto the Sydney Opera House went viral. Simon Holmes à Court and Climate 200 backed the campaign of independent Monique Ryan after falling out with Liberal incumbent Josh Frydenberg. ( AAP: Morgan Hancock ) Holmes à Court received a phone call welcoming him to the campaign and he ended up raising $120,000. In 2019, he was invited to Canberra to witness the passage of the Medevac bill despite opposition from the Morrison government, seeing firsthand how independents could rock political incumbents. Around this time, he was kicked out of a Frydenberg campaign event at a Melbourne polo club, which left him standing with a glass of wine on the footpath — the catalyst for him becoming a full-blown political provocateur. He set up a Climate 200 website mimicking the format of Frydenberg's Kooyong 200. The joke became a deadly serious political insurgency that unseated Frydenberg — and helped elect more independents to parliament in 2022 than in any comparable democracy, according to the Australia Institute. War chests for independents Photo shows A compilation photo of Allegra Spender, Alex Dyson, Kate Chaney and Zoe Daniel. Political funding body Climate 200 is bankrolling up to 75 per cent of campaign costs for several independent candidates this election. Climate 200 styles itself as a financial backer and service provider to independents who already have their own campaign teams, fundraising and a critical mass of community support. Candidates applying online for the group's backing literally tick three boxes: support for action on climate change, gender equity and integrity. There's no grilling over policy specifics. Campaigns can then apply through an online portal for Climate 200 funding for staff and resources like electioneering materials and office rents. Climate 200 has a donations committee that decides — and not every request is met in full. The group channels the bulk of resources towards the most bankable prospects, seats where an incumbent major party MP is in what Holmes à Court has called "the danger zone" — a primary vote below 43 per cent. Alex Dyson, pictured left on the campaign trail in Colac this month with doctor Rob Grenfell, has received more Climate 200 funding as his prospects at the ballot box have improved. Alex Dyson, a former Triple J host running as an independent in the regional Victorian seat of Wannon, is seeing the fruits of making inroads in two previous tilts. With Climate 200 tipping in about half of Dyson's $132,000 in donations in 2022, he whittled Liberal MP Dan Tehan's primary vote down to 44 per cent. This time around Climate 200 has so far donated $485,000. A collection of wealthy donors outside Wannon, including Rupert Murdoch's niece Eve Kantor and her partner, have poured in another $295,000. A campaign spokesman for Tehan said that Dyson "claims to be independent but the truth is 80 per cent of his funding comes from outside Wannon; most of it from Sydney millionaires, and over $450,000 from Climate 200". "These aren't local farmers, tradies or community groups; they're corporate investors and political insiders with their own agenda." Dyson, who unlike Tehan discloses donors on his website in near real-time, says the Liberals are "throwing the kitchen sink at whatever attack line that they can find". "I've tried to ensure that it's matching local donations, and we've had 1,500 local donors plus now," he says. He says this included a woman who "donated $500 and she said, 'I've donated you money so you're not influenced by money'". Backing candidates 'most likely to succeed' There's no question that Climate 200's formidable fundraising machine delivers a war chest that independents could only dream of raising on their own. Atlassian co-founder Scott Farquhar has been a major donor to Climate 200. ( ) Holmes à Court has said Climate 200 is still David to the major parties' Goliath, which has raised half a billion dollars for campaigns since 2019. But almost $24 million for Climate 200 in that time is nothing to sniff at, with big donors including IT billionaires Scott Farquhar and Mike Cannon-Brookes. Holmes à Court himself has contributed about 2 per cent — but he and his networks play a key role bringing in other money. The group attracted the biggest political donor in Australia last financial year, share trader Rob Keldoulis, who gave $1.1 million. He gave $50,000 to Alex Dyson's campaign in December. "I joined a briefing that Simon held about three or four months before the last election … I was initially skeptical because, you know, money and politics only ever means you want something in return," Keldoulis says. He says there's rightly public cynicism about donors seeking "a seat at the table [but] not only don't I have a seat but there isn't even a table to have at with the independents, that's the whole point". "You donate because you want independent candidates free of influence and you donate because you want a candidate who can represent the views of the electorate, not a party position or a lobby group or an influential donor." Another major donor is Fairground, a philanthropic foundation with links to the Barlow family, which grew wealthy from a share of the 7-11 convenience store chain. Fairground has promised to match $1 million in what Climate 200 calls "grassroots donations". Fairground chief executive Deb Barlow says she's met the Climate 200 founder once but "I do not know Simon personally … I do not know any candidates or [am I] interested in influencing any candidates". "We contacted Climate 200 because of the inaction of the major parties on climate change," she says. "They spend too much time fighting with each other and not enough developing the best policies to serve our communities in face of the undeniable climate crisis. " We went via Climate 200 rather than direct funding to the independents because Climate 200 have collected the data and research as to which candidates are most likely to be successful. " Teal MPs, from left, Allegra Spender, Monique Ryan, Sophie Scamps, Kylea Tink, Kate Chaney, Zali Steggall speaking at Parliament House. ( ABC News: Matt Roberts ) Arming candidates with research One of the ways Climate 200 empowers independent candidates is through voter research they couldn't otherwise afford. Erchana Murray-Bartlett, who is running as an independent in the Gold Coast seat of McPherson, says she changed the way she talked to voters about nuclear energy after receiving data showing 60 per cent of the electorate supported it. " So rather than me going, I'm anti-nuclear — you know, that would be detrimental to my strategy in my messaging around the energy transition — it was like, OK, how can we neutralise and educate and change the conversation away from, is nuclear good or bad, [to is it] cost effective? " Independent candidate Erchana Murray-Bartlett says voter research from Climate 200 influenced her public discussion of nuclear energy. ( Supplied ) She's also seen data showing the opposition leader is "relatively popular so I tend to avoid talking about Peter Dutton as a figure and more about the game — the Liberal Party versus Labor policy — and what's on the table". These voter attitudes were picked up through text message polling. Climate 200 has commissioned so much research that its pollsters decided to develop an artificial intelligence chatbot for future surveys. Influencing parliament's makeup but 'no evidence' of calling shots Holmes à Court has repeatedly faced questions about whether he would pull strings from the shadows on policy, or any decisions in Canberra that would benefit his own financial interests in renewable energy. He's repeatedly insisted Climate 200 support comes with "no strings attached" and he never discusses policy with independents. And he's been repeatedly forced to deny a conflict of interest, arguing that only a tiny sliver of his investments are based on renewable energy. The ABC has been told that his biggest investments by far are in global technology stocks such as Apple and Amazon; he also owns shares in listed mining companies — half of them in gold and critical minerals and none of them exclusively involved in fossil fuels. Simon Holmes à Court's contributions to Climate 200 and independents have been eclipsed by other wealthy donors persuaded by his arguments. ( AAP: Lukas Coch ) Evan Moorhead, a lobbyist and former Queensland Labor state secretary, says there is "really no evidence that Holmes à Court or Climate 200 have been directing politicians in the term of the last parliament". "They haven't built the influence of a new political party, but that was never their aim. Judged upon their initial target of building a parliament that supports action on climate change, you've got to say they've been successful," he says. Victorian Liberal senator James Paterson accuses Climate 200 of importing "American-style big money politics to Australia [with] very wealthy people who provide the overall majority of their funding". He says this means so-called community independents are "hand-picked by a tiny group of very wealthy people who want to influence Australian politics". Climate 200 doesn't have to direct independents on policies because they "already have signed up to the agenda", he says. Independent MP Allegra Spender said more investment needed to go into mental health prevention. ( ABC News: luke stephenson ) Last month, at the National Press Club, Holmes à Court insisted he would have no role in conversations about minority government, and independents would have to answer to their voters "on an electorate-by-electorate basis". "It's a matter for those who are elected on the day," he said. His account of exerting no influence on the teal independents was tested by an Australian Financial Review report last year. It suggested he had asked Wentworth MP Allegra Spender to lobby the paper to drop him from its "covert power list". Holmes à Court said last month the story had a "cute hook" but was "false" and he'd sought a retraction. "I can say categorically, I have never asked any MP to ask a question of anything from anyone," he said. Independents rebuff suggestions they dance to Climate 200's tune. Independent candidate Zoe Daniel celebrates her victory in the once-safe Liberal seat of Goldstein in Melbourne's inner-south-east on May 21, 2022. ( AAP: Joel Carrett ) Goldstein MP Zoe Daniel says it "doesn't write my policies, influence my decisions, or set my agenda". "No one from Climate 200, including Simon Holmes à Court, has ever contacted me about policy — and if they did, they'd get the same answer I give anyone: I don't do deals," she says. Dyson says he's met Holmes à Court "a few times" and the Climate 200 convener could never be a powerbroker "if the other independents are anything like me". "Like, just say no," he says. "I would sooner give up the role than be railroaded into something that doesn't benefit the people of Wannon — and that's a superpower". If voters this weekend deny major parties an outright victory, and teals become powerbrokers in a hung parliament, all eyes will be on how they vote. Critics will watch for any sign of behaviour they've accused the major parties of — yielding to the interests of those who helped put them there. Senator Paterson says Holmes à Court will be "obviously a very powerful figure". "I'm not one of these conspiracy theorists who believes that donors direct policy outcomes, and political parties just represent the interests of their donors," he says. "But that hasn't been the teal argument … they believe that [major party] donors do direct political outcomes and do drive policy outcomes. "So I just think it deserves scrutiny, given the tests that they've set for themselves."
