Comments Off on Law Revue 2025: Comedy Group Found Guilty as Charged
During O-Week, as a bushy-tailed first-year, I auditioned for Law Revue. I made it to the second round before receiving a graciously worded rejection. As I watched this year’s production, titled Pulp Jurisdiction, I couldn’t help but grimace at the thought that I had once believed I had the comedic timing to be a part of such a talented group.
To be transparent, two of the cast members, Oliver Castellan and Zara Clelland, are close friends of mine, and therefore, I came into the show with high expectations and the knowledge that if it was bad, I would be in an awkward position as a reviewer. Luckily for me, it was fantastic.
This year’s Law Revue, a comedy sketch show, was directed by Louis Inwood, Max Martin, and Monqiue Thorp, and produced by Jasmine David and Layla Brady. Contrary to popular belief, legal knowledge is not a prerequisite for the actors nor the audience, and legal humor plays a peripheral role in the show.
The talent in this year’s production was outstanding. Every actor possessed a stellar combination of talent, comedic timing, and charisma — a compliment to the casting directors (and possibly an insult to me). The cast also included some talented singers who were accompanied by a fantastic live band. Their musicality was displayed in sketches like APS 6, where Louis Inwood sang a rendition of Chandelier and dreamt of climbing the ranks of the public service. It was refreshing and exciting to hear satirical sketches that were so uniquely Canberran.
The Historical Figures Dating Show, in which Max Martin and Archie Allen took turns giving excellent and very dirty impressions of Bill Clinton, Julius Caesar, Fidel Castro, and more, was a stand-out sketch from Law Revue’s second half. Other highlights included Harry Potter being sorted into the Waffle House, and the ad breaks performed by Zara Clelland, whose confidence and stage presence filled the theatre. The show’s most creative sketches included one in which Alice Jordan’s limbs were torn from her one by one in a parody of Wicked’s Popular.
The show faltered in its editing, seen in the mini-skits that acted as comedic intervals. In one, which hinged on the double entendre of the police shouting “open up!”, the lack of time between the joke and the punchline meant that it fell flat. The timing of some jokes was off, as to be expected on opening night, but the charisma of the cast outweighed these flaws.
All in all, this year’s law revue was a jam-packed and incredibly funny performance that displayed the best of ANU’s comedic talent. I look forward to sitting in the front row at next year’s performance.
[5/5 stars]
Comments Off on Two Hacks Review: How To Vote! performed by Fenner Hall
The night before Woroni and Observer hosted the ANUSA election debate, we sat down to watch a quite different student politics affair. Julian Lenarch’s How to Vote! is one of the latest entries into the Stupol literary canon, alongside the 2004 UniMelb documentary State of the Union and Chaser alum Dominic Knight’s 2010 USyd headcanon novel Comrades.
The play follows the ingenious plot of Stupol fixer and outgoing student union president Natasha, who opens the play with a relatable (at least for one of these reviewers) monologue of being a public service brat whose introduction to the halls of power far too young set in motion an obsession with Machiavellian politics.
Interspersed amongst sex scandals, satanic rituals resembling a pre-COVID Young Labor AGM, and subterfuge involving a conniving student journalist, is the trial and tribulations of Natasha’s three victims and the candidates of the night’s election.
The first, Giles, is a drunkard, secretly bicurious third-year private school alum who stands for the residential colleges and the “elite” like him. The second, Lizzie, a third-year arts student whose boyfriend cast her in a solo performance of Mao’s Last Dancer and who targets the “persuadable and involved”. The third, Monica, is a bumbly off-campus first-year who runs solely to “fill the hole” on the road outside a bus stop in which she broke her leg.
Giles and Lizzie target their respective demographics of big-names-on-campus (BNOCs), res-hall committees, finance bros, and clubs and societies, while Lizzie targets the hole, the hole, and the hole (none of which were a “sex thing”, as several characters wondered).
The climax of the campaign comes in the first half of the second act with a chaotic debate in which the seasoned hacks Giles and Lizzie yell over each other about drivel and break out into a physical fight, while Monica zones out and rotely repeats “Fill the Hole!” in response to questions in much like Lois Griffin in an early episode of Family Guy.
The play features a unique viewer interaction experience. As viewers step out into Gorman House’s dingy courtyard for the intermission, they are hounded by pamphleteers for the three candidates. (No orange lanyards in this theatre, sorry.) Later, after the debate, viewers are asked to scan a QR code leading to a ballot to vote for which candidate they think should win.
Whether the results actually affect the ending — the crowning of a new campus president — is anyone’s guess, but it kept the audience on the edge of their seats.
The impacts of stupol on “real” life were on full display, with each of the candidates and Natasha’s relationships with their partners thoroughly undermined by the time demands of political headkicking and Gossip Girl-esque scheming.
Ultimately our main characters are forced to reflect on why they even nominated for the election in the first place, given how much they would lose over the campaign. As many hacks can attest to: “because I was asked”, Giles and Lizzie tell each other during the gut wrenching wait for the returning officer to post the final result.
The play was scheduled for four hours (7pm to 11pm), and ran for about three, but at no point did we feel the need to look at our watches.
The performances, particularly from Mia Gottlieb as Natasha, Marcus Young as the scandalously unethical journalist Figaro, and frequent Woroni poet Christian Panetta as headkicker Warren, were excellent and convincing portrayals of the stock BNOC characters they were written to reflect.
Overall, the show was an enjoyable pastiche of the life of overimportant student politics hacks.
[4/5]
Adriano Di Matteo and Joseph Mann are members of the Australian Labor Party. Joseph Mann was assistant secretary of Australian Young Labor (ACT Branch) from 2019 to 2021.
Have you noticed the new artworks hanging around (pun intended) on campus? Artworks by Indigenous artists have been recently displayed in buildings around campus, including in the Marie Reay Teaching Centre, for all to see. While ordinarily I would support the movement of art pieces out of storage and into the community, recent events at ANU concerning the staffing and budget cuts have made me skeptical of their new presence.
The use of art by Indigenous artists from Australia is an intentional choice from the University. On the surface, it embraces Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture, but seemingly does nothing beyond the national standard to support Indigenous education and experience on campus. While the steps they take to ensure success in tertiary education may be framed as being progressive and supportive, they merely align with the standards set in the Indigenous Student Success Program delivered by the Department of Education. This is nothing profound, and the addition of these artworks may just be another attempt at virtue signalling to a progressive student cohort.
Just as acknowledgements of Country have been standardised in order to prevent offence, rather than sincerely acknowledge the rights to Country that First Nations people have, artwork from the same cultures is frequently bought and displayed away from the lands they were created on in order to signal a broad-minded persona. Australians may appreciate Indigenous artwork and even display some in their homes, but our culture lacks the insight necessary to appreciate them appropriately. The display of any artworks by Indigenous artists by predominantly white-Australian organisations (such as our own) often seek to benefit the organisation, not the artist.
The piece Dapar (the universe) — A life beyond: the Brian P Schmidt story, displayed on the second floor of the Marie Reay Teaching Building, shows this quite clearly as it was commissioned by the Office of the Vice-Chancellor as a “puff piece”. The work was completed by Jesse T Martin of the Wagadagama and Yuin/Senpol-Lapa peoples.
As the administration undergoes continuous criticism due to the fierce cuts to staff and courses, it feels that all choices are thoughtfully and manipulatively made. The lack of insight staff and students have into the changes is one such example. It is an attempt to control the image of the University, which has been tailored to appear forward-focused, liberal and excellent. Another example, I believe, is the choice to display art from a culture that the ANU has made minimal strides to support in order to portray an image of cultural progression during a time of financial crisis. More than this, recent cuts to the College of Art and Social Science have impacted Indigenous academic courses and access to support systems for Indigenous students, as evidenced in a letter to Woroni from CASS academics. Propaganda has become more complex and more difficult to recognise, and having insight into the images and stories you are being told (and the biases pushing them) grants essential freedom.
Comments Off on WHEN THE CUTS ARE REVERSED — DO NOT RELAX
The recent cuts at ANU have brought havoc to staff and students alike. Many are not so concerned, with some that say the courses and schools being cut (Middle Eastern studies, linguistics and languages, music, etc.) are pointless and a waste to begin with. The problem at hand, however, is that they are correct in many ways. This university is not an educational institution, it’s a factory. A factory that produces degrees and qualifications, for the purposes of making money. Why, when they are a business, would they waste money on expenditures that don’t provide a profit? This line of profit-motivated argument may lead us to fall into the horrid trap of trying to justify the existence of the Humanities simply on the basis that it actually CAN extract profit.
Do not fall into this! There is a fundamental contradiction between, on the one hand, the staff and student expectation of this place, and, on the other, the expectation of the management and owners. At present, the power rests seemingly in the latter, therefore they are able to dictate the course of the future. This will not be fixed by replacing Bell or Bishop, even with someone who says the right things and convinces those in our ranks that they are on our side. They are NOT on our side, their position prohibits it. It’s not because they’re inherently bad, it’s that they have no other choice but to be our misrepresentatives. The only viable course for the staff and students to have a real future here is by wresting the power out of the hands of the owners and managers. Right now, we teach the classes, we learn in the classes, we pay the (exorbitant) fees. The power is already in our hands, we just don’t know it, we just can’t see it yet.
Waking the student body up isn’t contingent on this or that group selling us the right amount of newspapers, or putting up the nicest posters, or leafleting the best flyers. What it is contingent on, almost entirely, is the consciousness that is developed through the process of this growing precarity and insecurity, and then (really) doing something about it. Desperation brings more fighters into the fray than any amount of social media sharing. They won’t just stop after this round of cuts, they will cut more, even if they reverse a few of them in the meantime to appease us and keep us thinking “maybe they do listen to us”. They cut more than they need to, let public pressure build, then reverse part of their decision. It keeps us calm, keeps us feeling a false sense of power. But that desperation keeps on building, and when it is ready, it will unleash power into our hands.
In the meantime, be wary of the false prophets. Those determined and motivated souls who are backed by established brands of organisations, with parties behind them that put themselves forward as leaders. History has shown us time and time again where these shepherds, these politicians, these professional activists, lead us. The German Revolution thwarted by the Social Democrats and the trade unions, or, the most prescient example, May 68 in France, a revolution similarly thwarted by the Communist Party and the trade unions. May 68 had the formation of workers’ and students’ councils, free of influence from the bureaucracy of university or factory management, of the parties, and of the trade unions, a phenomenon seen previously in Germany, Russia, China, Poland, and about ten years later in Iran, too. Study this period, find inspiration, and more importantly find the lessons. Councils of recallable delegates, elected by the students and workers to convey the groups’ collective demands. This form, this principle, of workers’ and students’ control has worked, and it will work again when the time is right to form it, typically in the heat of a general strike. In May 68 the French founded strike committees in factories and universities. Education, production, administration, their whole lives, all of it in their own hands. And they weren’t isolated to one university or one factory, they built networks of hundreds of factories that gave one another strength and resilience. An astounding general strike of 10 million workers led to the formation of strike committees, on their way to workers’ councils, around the country. And who sold them out? Who gave them up to the government to squash and disperse? The parties and the trade unions. No one else can free our education and our work for us, we have to do it ourselves.
The students and staff do desire escalation, they want it, and are willing to do it. What holds them back? The established groups, the newspaper sellers, the conference ticket peddlers, those that have the time and resources to put themselves forward as the main organisers, without the approval of those workers, those students they claim to represent. By holding an economy on personal time they use ‘common sense’ to insert themselves as leaders of the fight, a proverbial cart before the horse. They call ‘student strikes’ without the consent of the students themselves, fundamentally stripping away the agency of the base they claim to be fighting for. If they can’t be trusted to even put it to a vote in the student base, a campaign which itself doubles as advertisement for the strike, how can we trust them with leading us at all? But why don’t they want to escalate? Because with us in control, the natural outcome of true escalation, who needs a leader like them? They would, as the French Communist Party did in 1968, say that the time isn’t right (they’re not at the front), this isn’t how you do things (our way, not theirs). They would simply, just like a VC replacement, be but another misrepresentative. Don’t replace the Vice Chancellor, ABOLISH THE VICE CHANCELLOR.
The only reasonable long-term demand (of ourselves, not the current management of this institution) is the maximal demand: complete control of the university by the students and staff themselves through direct and accountable student and worker councils. No gradual approach has ever brought any long-term security to the power of the workers. Must we then throw up our hands and let things get worse until someone forms a council? NO! The council is our form of organisation when the times are toughest, but for now there is still work to do.
Are you a student? Talk to your lecturers, your tutors, about your concerns. Ask them about the troubles they’ve been going through with precarity and competition. Talk to your classmates about this, support each other, and support your teachers. Are you staff? Talk to your students about the insecurities of you and your colleagues, ask them what opportunities they’ve missed out on. Consciousness doesn’t grow from desperation alone, but also the propagation of knowledge that such desperation is here. Support your coworkers and students.
Go to those that have lost their jobs, organise to materially support them. Even as simple as getting groceries, walking their dog, cooking them dinner, paying for their lunch, helping them find a job. And our problems are not ours alone, universities across the world, the country, this city, all suffer from lack of accountability to the students and staff. Our efforts must not be limited to our own backyard, we must tear down these dividing fences. Organise these councils with staff and students of other universities. They too will build their own, otherwise we are each discrete and vulnerable. Broadened and united, however, we are strong.
Only through this radical reorganisation of our education and our work can teachers give not a stamp of approval for the assembly line, but a real, quality educational experience. And only through supporting your fellow worker, not competing against them, will we do it. Build networks of support and mutual aid. Our power to support and uplift each other is not restricted to a revolutionary situation, we can take it now. And when that situation comes, carry it out to the end.
On Thursday, 17th of July, an exhibition of the work by students from the Exquisite Corpse — Insight into the Human Body course, which runs in the winter session, opened for the public in the gallery of the School of Art and Design. The work crosses the boundaries between art and science and reveals an inventive peak into the workings of the human condition. Pieces include a focus on anatomy, mental health, chronic health conditions and biological function.
Conversations with course teaching staff Associate Professor Krisztina Valter-Kocsi and Ms Elisa Crossing revealed a culture of satisfaction in imperfection, which is a feeling foreign to many of the STEM-focused students in the course. The challenging nature of the course broadens the horizons of art and science students alike, which is reflected in the exhibition. It works together as a cohesive collection of work, ranging between a representation of the molecular level to the holistic level, and truly gives a glance into the inner- and outer-workings of the human body.
With the wide range of mediums, perspectives and subjects the one consistency is the talent and exceptional work poured into the works, this exhibition is not to be missed. It is open to the public during opening hours of the gallery (10:30am to 3pm Tuesday to Friday) until its closing on the 1st of August. If you have a free hour while on campus head over to the School of Art and Design gallery and participate in keeping art at ANU alive.
Comments Off on 40 Hours of Film — A Celebration of Ingenuity and Cinema
In the beginning, there was Méliès, and from Méliès, magic. That first conjuring of cinema has evolved into something astounding, a democratic art form available to anyone with a camera and a dream. The International Arts Competition, 40 Hours of Film, harnesses that spirit, asking a simple question:
What happens when each year, you give college students three prompts: a prop (an umbrella), a phrase (“Thank God it’s Friday”), and a location (a bench), and then ask them to make something over 40 sleepless hours?
In celebration of this year’s incredible films all being recently uploaded to YouTube – let’s see how this question was answered!
Yukeembruk:
Yukeembruk’s film is a kaleidoscope of ideas all stemming from a satirical talent show: a black-and-white flashback universe, a brawl choreographed like a glorious Blazing Saddles homage, an RM dressed in something best left undescribed. There’s a Red Riding Hood spoof, a Julie-Bishop-is-a-lizard-person joke, and a final beat featuring a beautiful shot of a crispy Badger bev.
But, somewhere between these wild shifts in tone, the film might be said to lose its compass. Perhaps best described as an anthology, the sound was at times frustratingly quiet, and unfortunately, the truth is that the gags didn’t all land. Still, one has to admire both the ambition and the occasional visual poetry. In film, as in life, a swing and a miss is always more memorable than never swinging at all, and Yukeembruk managed to hit the ball at least once or twice.
Glam Bots and Sandwich Shots / 10
Wright Hall:
With “The Benchwarmer”, Wright Hall delivers college comedy that not only winks at its own absurdity but embraces it like an old friend. The film opens with a lovely time-lapse of our titular benchwarmer, sidelined in every sense, until a Thursday night party spirals into surrealist sabotage.
Shot with flair — GoPros, Ferris Bueller style fourth-wall breaks, and slick lighting — the film becomes a loving tribute to sports tropes, campus antics, and hypnotising your friends into thinking they actually do ‘have that dog in them’. While the film is undoubtedly quite funny, the ending brings unexpected emotional weight: maybe sitting out isn’t so bad after all?
Maybe the Real Disc Was the Friends We Made Along the Way / 10
UniLodge:
Ninety-nine per cent of the time, a bench is just a bench. But not in UniLodge’s slasher flick, where the bench is none other than a mutated possessed killer! Think Christine meets IKEA. The film delivers its carnage with campy glee — quick cuts, low-budget stuffed animal gore, and a line destined for cult status among those spoken by genre giants: “It doesn’t have knees, bitch.”
While the Looney Tunes-style umbrella battle maybe overstays its welcome, the concept never outstays its charm. This is a film that knows its genre and plays it off just right.
No Knees / 10
Ursula:
Set in the cramped confines of Ursies, this mockumentary turns the college dining hall into a mafia battleground. The interviews are shot with surprising polish, and the humour — dark, absurd, delightfully self-aware — manages to land more often than not.
A detective in the bath under an umbrella; an intellectual classicist named Shaque Spear; and an arrest for “breaking the risk assessment management plan.” This film is rambunctious and a feast for the eyes, The Office meets Knives Out.
Not Bad From a Small Hole With Too Many Mouths to Feed / 10
Burgmann:
Burgmann’s “Thank God It’s Friday” dazzles with production value. It opens on a heartbeat, bursts into a drumbeat, and lands us inside the best-looking student talk show you’ll ever see. The colour design on set is intentional and beautiful — burnt oranges and moody blues — and the story moves with confidence, transporting us as witnesses to a great weatherman and an even greater duck migration.
There’s satire here: of morning shows, of celebrity drama, of the line between entertainment and truth. An umbrella drag performance set to Rihanna closes the film with such visual gusto that it leaves you grinning. While the plot could be viewed as a little messy at times, in light of the many, many other strengths of this production — the brilliant editing, powerful sound design, and stellar cast performances — it is no wonder that this film scored so highly among the judges.
Cumulonimbus Deserves His Own Show / 10
Wamburun:
In “Hunt for the Canberra People”, Wamburun gives us a protagonist on a pilgrimage, wandering from academic panic to spiritual awakening through interactions with the city and its weirdest inhabitants. Think of a tinfoil-hat-wearing dropout, a pint-sized political candidate, and Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ himself, who turns water into wine in the backseat of a car.
It’s funny, sweet, and surprisingly grounded for such a bizarre premise. The visuals sometimes suffer from inconsistent colour grading, but its heart never wavers, and it never fails to do the road trip genre justice. In the end, we’re reminded that sometimes the best way to survive uni is to leave, to get out of the bubble and breathe.
The Youngest Australian Political Candidate Since Will Roche / 10
Burton and Garran:
Leave it to BNG to get culturally savvy and turn the filmmaking process into both an elaborate joke and a genre exercise. Their entry is a meta-slasher-comedy-documentary hybrid, complete with stereotypes like the tortured editor and the diva actor, countdown tension, and my personal favourite, a very fun Scooby-Doo chase.
There’s a wonderful scene involving a live band, TikTok bench podcasters, and an outrageous final standoff where characters yell film clichés like spells: “Dutch angle! Dolly zoom!” It’s like that episode of Community where the study group attempts to create a commercial for the college, if it were made with all the same passion, but only 40 hours and zero budget. A little rough around the edges, nonetheless, BNG’s film this year is a great watch.
Scooby Doo Chase Scenes Are Never Boring / 10
Griffin:
In “No Time to Dry”, Griffin Hall delivers a spy spoof that’s as self-aware as it is stylish. From its opening tableau — two agents on a bench under an absurdly endearing rain effect — the film establishes itself among that canon of spy spoofs you vaguely remember watching in your childhood but will die by to this very day. The McGuffin of the hour? A humble umbrella, spirited away before our hero even realises its importance. What follows is a feverish scramble involving biometric scanners and an unintentionally spicy confrontation featuring a tie-grab worthy of a soap opera.
The comedy lands with an Uber rejection joke drawing some of the biggest laughs on the screening night, and the showdown amid Inward Bound runners — complete with a gorgeously low-budget blood spurt and a one-liner so outrageous it had me feeling like I was back in Avengers Endgame — is pure cinematic glee. Yes, the plot is maybe a little thin, but that hardly matters when it rains this much charisma.
When The Sun Shines, It Shines Like This Film / 10
Bruce:
Bruce Hall’s entry is a hypnotic, black-and-white dreamscape that marries meticulous cinematography with delicate emotional storytelling. From the first haunting piano notes and drone shots of campus choreographed like a metronome, it’s clear this is not your typical Interhall flick. The umbrellas here go beyond the prop requirement to be metaphors — for routine, for alienation, for the quiet rebellion of human connection.
The film’s lovers — divided by colour-coded umbrellas and rigid societal machinations, united by an unspoken gravitational pull — pass each other like shadows, until at last they meet in a poetic climax underscored by swelling classical music and divine choreography. Their final dance, set simultaneously by the bus stop and by Sully’s, is breathtaking. Some might call it pretentious — but it’s pretension earned. A display of brilliant craftsmanship, intention, and emotional weight — this was my favourite film of the bunch from this year.
David Lynch Would Be Proud / 10
Fenner:
Fenner’s film is all style, all swagger, all neon-drenched, motorbike-revving love story. From the opening Baby-Driver-esque one-take stroll through Fenner, to the most cinematic footage that must have ever been shot inside a Coles — yes, a Coles — this is cinema with a capital C.
The narrative? Murphy is dating Friday. Friday gets kidnapped. Murphy responds by revving up his motorcycle. The shots are stunning, and though there were some issues with the music drowning out the dialogue, when you’re watching a man throw dog food at thugs in a garage showdown choreographed like Oldboy… you tend to forgive everything. The ending, as the couple watches the sunset in warm light, feels earned and restful. Is it fair to say their gear was unfairly better than everyone else’s? Yes. Did it deserve to be crowned the best film of the bunch? In my opinion, probably not. Is it still rad as hell? Absolutely.
Shot on iPhone 16 / 10
Johns:
Disqualified? Maybe. Legendary? Definitely. Though Johns was disqualified for arriving forty minutes late, it becomes clear upon watching the film why. You simply cannot rush perfection. I feel as though I have nothing more to say on this film other than it joins the greats like Casablanca and Star Wars in the pantheon of films which changed cinema forever. The one thing I ask of you is that you go ahead and watch it for yourself.
Martin Scorsese Reaction GIF / 10
Conclusion
In the end, this year’s 40 Hours of Film Competition was an absolute triumph of creativity, technical flair, and genre-bending imagination. From Griffin’s side-splitting spy spoof with its slick shots and killer one-liners, to Bruce’s hauntingly beautiful umbrella ballet through existentialism and romance, each film carved out a distinct voice and vision. These films didn’t just show off the incredible talent bubbling under the surface of the ANU’s colleges — they proved that even with limited budgets and a tight theme, student filmmakers can produce work that is clever, moving, hilarious, and more often than not, genuinely impressive. Whether you were there for the aesthetics, the action, or the absurdity, this year’s films gave us all something to laugh about, cry over, and quote for years to come.
Comments Off on An Essay on the Environment Department
A principled justification for these changes.
ANUSA’s department structure is one of its biggest strengths when it comes to its governance. Departments are fantastic — they give historically marginalised groups autonomy within ANUSA to serve their communities through advocacy and spending money as seen fit by that autonomous group. However, all students should have an equal say on the environment — it’s not autonomous to any group. Students are all equally entitled to have their perspectives and opinions heard.
At last year’s ANUSA election, 3000 students chose their preferred direction for ANUSA. This happens every 12 months. At a general meeting, notice is very widely distributed, and a quorum of 40 ordinary students is needed to pass the budget as prepared by the elected Executive. Comparatively, the Environment Department can choose to spend money if ten ordinary students show up — this is fundamentally and principally undemocratic.
The spending of money — on a non-autonomous issue — should be determined by representatives elected by the students, that is, the Environment Officer and the Executive.
This is why the governance review proposed this change in 2024 — before there was any discussion on the Environment Department’s misconduct. This is a principled change — to ensure that students have a say over the spending of their Student Services and Amenities Fee (SSAF) by their student union. This is a democratic change, and that’s where it comes from.
Why there is an imperative to make this change now.
However, it is imperative that this be done now. The Environment Department report — that I encourage everyone to read — details immense financial mismanagement over two years: $6,000 of student money used for Marxism and Keep Left conferences. This breaches the SSAF agreement we have with the ANU. It breaches our regulations, our Constitution, and our policies. It is severe mismanagement of student money.
I will note here that the 2025 Environment Officer claimed at SRC 1 that some of the SAlt spending happened under the 2023 Officer, who wasn’t a SAlt member. I think this is precisely why the change is so necessary. As I said above — this is a structural problem. Ten students who come to a meeting can spend money in such an egregious way, regardless of the elected Officer’s own views.
To this year’s Officer’s credit, she has and will continue to block spending in order to adhere to the regulations. But, as an association, we cannot guarantee that an officer in future will always, every single time, stand up to the Department and stop this breach. The structural way the Environment Department operates means there is considerable risk this will happen again.
We must have a system that addresses these structural problems and prevents any spending issues in the future.
To do this, the Environment Department must be removed from the department infrastructure. All departments are governed under Section 11, which entrenches and ensures autonomy (as well as explains how the departments are governed). The only way to ensure financial probity is to remove the Environment Department from this section entirely and move it to a different part of our Association. To do nothing, after being presented with clear structural problems and a clear breach of our rules and policies, would be an abrogation of our duty to the Association.
Addressing concerns, ensuring probity, and maintaining safeguards.
People have asked me, “Why can’t you just increase financial oversight?”
I say that this is precisely what we are doing. Our goal is not to change how the Officer and team do activism, but to ensure their spending aligns with the Constitution, regulations, and conflicts of interest policy. The only way to do this is to remove it from the Department governance.
The main change is that the Environment Officer won’t be able to spend autonomously anymore — we are doing this to prevent the risks of unconstitutional spending. This is also a principled change — the students vote for the Executive, who is enfranchised by these students to act in the best interests of the Association.
That is, if proposed spending by the Environment Officer is unconstitutional — they should, rightly, stop it. The Executive is accountable to the SRC and the student body, and that is why they are able to decide what spending is and is not within the Constitution, regulations, etc.
Regarding people’s concerns about the Executive overreaching and stopping activism, allow me to respond clearly and directly. There is absolutely no power for the Executive to influence the work of any officer. Only a general meeting can direct an officer of the Association, and the President cannot tell the Environment Officer what to do or what not to do. There is absolutely zero change in the powers to tell the Environment Officer what to do. I support the Environment Department’s work, and so long as it is in line with the Constitution and regulations — I will always fight to defend its right to activism.
Another concern is, “What if the Environment Officer has bad political views? Shouldn’t the Department be able to overrule them?”
In response, I refer you back to the principle I started with — that to elect the Officer last year, 1,600 students voted, and a majority selected the current Officer. Does anyone here who truly supports principles of democracy believe that ten ordinary people should be able to overrule the will of the election?
If, on principle, you think that ten random students should not be able to overrule 1,600 — then this alone should get you to vote this up at the OGM this week.
The next concern is: “What happens if an Executive gets elected wanting to defund it?”
In our Regulations for the Environment Committee, we have enshrined a minimum budget line of $2,000 — this money is always, every year, to be made accessible to the Environment Officer, and they can spend it on things within the Constitution, Regulations, and Policy — these same guardrails do exist currently, it’s just they are not followed. With the Executive approving spending now, we ensure they are followed. But, I’d also like to quote the answer I got from the 2025 Environment Officer, Sarah, when speaking to her about this issue. She told me that if this happened, then it would be the will of the students to elect the Executive that does this and democratically, that’s fine.
Regarding safeguards, here are all the things enshrined in the regulations we will pass to complement these changes to guide the new Environment Committee. I’ve mentioned a $2,000 minimum budget line to ensure the Environment Committee is funded, but these regulations also:
Provide the ability to elect co-convenors to support the Officer in their actions — this is no change from the current Department model.
Require the Committee to meet regularly — this means the Officer can’t abandon their Committee and not call meetings.
Bind the Officer to put any policies passed by the Committee to the SRC — this gives the committee power to suggest and recommend policy of ANUSA.
Force the Officer to report to the SRC every week on the actions of the Committee — this ensures transparency and accountability to the SRC, as occurs with the current Department.
I ran through these with the 2025 Environment Officer and asked for any further suggestions. The minimum budget selected was the highest point of the range that the Environment Officer recommended. The Environment Officer was happy with these regulations to help resolve her concerns and didn’t have more recommendations to add to develop them further. I am satisfied that this ensures the Committee is democratic, empowered, supportive, and effective in assisting the Environment Officer in continuing their activism.
These Regulations are guardrails to ensure environmental activism continues, while ensuring that it comes within the rules that we all must obey when spending student money.
Conclusions
I think it’s clear that the Environment Department changes make both principled and practical sense. This improves democracy within ANUSA, prevents further risks to ANUSA from unconstitutional spending, and ensures ANUSA will continue Environmental activism.
The Environment Committee will still back the Officer. The Environment Officer can still do activism. More power is in the power of all students and more students than ever before. Importantly, we protect the Association from severe mismanagement and breaches of our Constitution and Regulations.
I believe this change is incredibly positive and only strengthens our union further. I encourage everyone to go to the OGM on Wednesday, either in Marie Reay 2.02 or on Zoom, and vote in favour of these constitutional changes.
This article presents the opinion of its author and not that of Woroni.
Have an opinion you wish to share? Send it to our submissions inbox at write@woroni.com.au.
On the ground floor of the Marie Reay Teaching Building, a mural tracks the history of student activism at ANU from the 1960s to the present. Each of these campaigns or protests (according to the website and mural) had a distinct target but references to how these protests failed or succeeded are often frustratingly vague. Though the university is happy to use the student activism of previous decades to improve its public image as a place of free speech and open debate, it’s unsurprisingly unwilling to go into much detail when free speech is directed at the university itself.
I received dozens of emails last year, particularly when the pro-Palestine encampment was active, proclaiming ANU as proud of its long history of student activism and its long-standing commitment to academic and political freedom of speech. Predictably, none of them responded to the circumstances that had led to the protest in the first place, even though the objections of the encampment and the various other pro-Palestine actions last year were mostly clear: the university has direct financial ties to companies that are facilitating a genocide and continues to cut CASS courses while introducing degrees purpose-built to meet the industry demand created by the AUKUS deal.
The apolitical language the ANU uses to describe student and staff activism frames the relationship between protestors and the institution they are fighting against as mutualistic. The university facilitates the freedom of political expression, and students and staff exercise those freedoms. The university’s ‘commitment’ to free speech enables the protests to take place and is framed as university management upholding their end of the bargain. Never mind why the protestors are there; the protest itself is political enough.
It isn’t surprising that the ANU is reluctant to translate the protest demands of students and staff members into policy or investment changes However, it’s still important that the link between activism and change is clearly drawn. The collective memory of the student body at ANU is relatively brief—an undergraduate degree is only three years, and Canberra isn’t the sort of place where most people settle down after they graduate. If we can’t learn from the campaigns of the past and demonstrate how real change is possible, we can’t be successful in the campaigns we need to fight now.
2017 Sydney College of the Arts
In 2016, the University of Sydney announced that the university’s Visual Arts school, the Sydney College of the Arts (SCA), was in deficit and would be merged with the UNSW School of Art and Design. Students, alumni and faculty rejected this move as damaging the quality of education students would receive, as well as the specific advantages associated with the use of studio spaces at the heritage-listed campus at Callan Park and the major staff and course cuts that would be inevitable should the merger go ahead. At a rally held in August 2016, SCA students announced they would occupy the school administration’s offices at the SCA campus unless student demands were met by the following week. They were ignored.
The ensuing occupation was initially expected to last less than a week, but students ended up staying in the offices of the Callan Park campus for 65 days. Until last year’s pro-Palestine encampments, it was the longest-running student occupation in Australian history.
The campaign resulted in several wins, though the Callan Park campus was closed 12 months later. The merger that would have effectively ended the SCA was quickly abandoned; there was a 50% reduction in job losses attributed to the cuts to the College, and all courses that would have been lost under the original proposal were preserved.
1994 No-Fees Chancelry Occupation
ANU has seen its own share of student protests opposing course cuts, fee increases, and other austerity measures taken by the university. In 1994, emboldened by the ALP’s recent deregulation of postgraduate course fees, the ANU introduced an upfront fee of $9000 for the Legal Workshop course, which was effectively mandatory for law students in order to graduate.
Following the announcement, the law society organised a snap meeting, which rapidly drew broad support from students from other academic disciplines who recognised that the legal clinic fee was the first step towards up-front fees for everyone. On 15 September, around 500 students stormed the Chancelry and occupied it for eight days before the police evicted them in the afternoon of 23 September. Though the short-term outcome of the No-Fees campaign and accompanying occupation was unclear, there was an immediate compromise of a $4000 reduction in the fee for the Legal Workshop course. In the longer term, it led to a significant increase in political mobilisation across the student body, which enabled an effective fight-back against up-front fees when the ANU attempted to introduce them university-wide in 1997.
2022 School of Art and Design Occupation
Campaigns employing similar strategies have also succeeded in more recent years. In 2020, due to COVID-19 staffing and social distancing limitations, Visual Arts students had their studio access hours cut by over 50%. Two years later, despite most other parts of the university returning to in-person teaching, Visual Arts students had yet to see a return to pre-COVID access hours. The delay was such that an entire cohort of Visual Arts students had nearly graduated without ever having full access to the resources they were promised when they commenced their degrees. In response, a year-long student-run campaign culminated in a four-hour occupation of the School of Art and Design Foyer in October 2022. A return to after-hours access was announced by the end of the week.
Teaching Less
Last year, the ANU announced sweeping restructures in the face of a deficit of over $200 million. The plan, optimistically termed ‘Renew ANU’, is to reconcile the deficit by cutting $250 million in operating costs by the start of 2026. $100 million of that will come from ‘salary spending’—in other words, the ANU will cut $100 million worth of staff. The National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) estimates this will amount to around 638 full-time-equivalent staff. Still, since many of the staff hours cut will come from part-time and casual staff, the actual number of staff who will lose their jobs might be much higher. The ANU employs around 4700 staff, many of whom are not full-time; at a minimum, Renew ANU, as it is currently being implemented, will involve the university shedding 1 in 8.
ANU has used the same slogan to justify its austerity measures as a necessary and positive step forward since at least 2022. Leaked slides from discussions on the 2022 degree cuts to the College of Arts and Social Sciences show that the University—trademark symbol included—framed the loss of 10 specialist CASS degrees with the slogan: ‘teach less, better.’ Eerily familiar was the phrase used by the Vice Chancellor last October when formally announcing Renew ANU: ‘We will do less, but we will do it better.’
But for staff and students at a Renewed ANU, what does ‘better’ mean? Not much, for the staff that have and will lose their jobs. Similarly, for students who have to deal with increased tutorial sizes, teacher-to-staff ratios, and cut or infrequently run courses, the mechanism by which the university is going to make good on the ‘better’ is increasingly unclear.
Regardless of who leads the university, ANU’s methods for dealing with its financial problems will be driven by the same corporate logic that has driven higher education for decades, in the wake of plummeting federal higher education funding and increasing reliance on the private sector. Rounds of staff and course cuts predate Genevieve Bell’s tenure as Vice-Chancellor and will almost certainly continue whether or not she continues to occupy the position.
Neither the 1994 occupation nor the 2022 sit-in at the School of Art and Design occurred spontaneously. Both campaigns’ short and long-term successes were backed by open, democratic organising amongst the student body, in alliance with the NTEU and other unions. The concession the ANU council made last year to introduce a negative screen on investments in companies that manufacture ‘controversial weapons’ and civilian small arms—while inadequate, is recent proof that on-campus protest movements can make it more difficult for the university to implement the changes than to abandon them or seek alternatives. When we fight collectively, openly, and democratically, we can win.
Michael Reid is a member of Save Our Studies, Save Our Staff ANU.
Kambri is undoubtedly the hub of campus activity, and in 2025, this will be no different. I will continue to look to Kambri lawns to preempt the fashion trends of the semester and lean on the $5 Barley Griffin from Badger when times get rough. And yet, as much as I value what Kambri means to me in the present day, it is only with a deep appreciation of the area’s history that my relationship with the precinct can really get to the next base.
University Avenue became a pedestrian plaza in 1972. Around the same time, the ANU Union building was developed, most well-known for housing the beloved ANU Bar (and the ANU union, I guess). The bar hosted Cold Chisel in 1979. In 1990, it was Midnight Oil, and in 1992, Nirvana.
This area was more officially developed as a student space in 2001 following the redevelopment of the carpark in front of Chifley Library into a large open courtyard. Union Court was officially born.
Where the Di Riddell Building, Marie Reay, Fenner Hall and Badger currently stand, was once an expansive courtyard supervised dutifully by those watching above from Chifley Library. If you love sitting on Kambri Lawns now, imagine how great it would have been when you didn’t have to compete for a patch of grass.
The university announced the Union Court Redevelopment project in 2016, with the aim of “putting the heart back into campus” and accommodating the growing need for updated student facilities. The redevelopment was expansive and cost the university around $263 million. It included:
Relocating, repurposing, and rebuilding the Union Building (now the Di Riddell Building)
Relocating Fenner Hall from Northbourne Avenue and constructing its new residence in the precinct
Constructing a 6-storey student building with classrooms and study spaces (now, Marie Reay)
Constructing a Health and Wellbeing Centre, including pool and gym facilities, accessible to the general public
Fret not, however, as whilst it appears that next to nothing of old Union Court remains, rest assured there are survivors of the redevelopment — Chifley Library and Sushi Smith.
Demolition of the buildings in the area began in 2017, with construction of the new precinct commencing in mid-2017. The Kambri Precinct officially opened for the start of Semester 1 in 2019. The name “Kambri” was gifted to the ANU by Ngambri, Ngunnawal, and Wiradyuri elder Dr Matilda House following consultation with representatives of four ACT Indigenous groups.
The Kambri Precinct as we know it today is only six years old — but with only a quick glance at its history, it is clear that this area has been the centre of student life on campus for almost as long as the university has existed. What feels like home to us now is unrecognisable to students who graduated not long ago.
Pages and pages of old editions of Woroni hold student love letters to the courtyard that was. The Union Court redevelopment worried students about the potential gentrification of campus. In Edition 2 of Woroni 2019, Vanamali Hermans writes, “As it stands, Kambri represents only the gentrified shell of…possibility, pricing too many of us out.” She expresses concern at the practicalities of Kambri honouring its name and truly serving as a meeting place, given the influx of external businesses announced to have leases in the precinct. These concerns remain all too true in the present day, however it’s hard to really compare how much of an impact this has had on campus activity. Whether fortunately or unfortunately, today’s students will know no difference. I’ll continue to buy my lunch bowls from Urban Tiger and pretend as if the price wasn’t lower last year.
Students of the time also expressed concern that the new buildings in the area would make protests and gatherings on campus far more difficult with the reduced space available. These concerns were and continue to be very real — it’s no wonder that a university campus in the heart of the nation’s capital has a rich history of activism, one which even the ANU itself cites as making our history so unique.
In February 1989, the National Union of Students organised a campaign at the ANU against the introduction of HECS. In 2014, students protested the Liberal Government’s deregulation of university fees. In both instances, students hung banners on the bridge crossing Sullivans Creek onto North Road, then marched to the Chancellery demanding the support of the Vice Chancellor. Protests at ANU continue to follow this pattern, gathering in Kambri before confronting the Chancellery Building.
In 1992, students established “Tent City” outside Chifley Library as part of a student housing protest and against university plans to sell off housing stock. In 2024, the ANU Gaza Solidarity Encampment was established on Kambri Lawn, protesting ANU’s investment in weapons companies arming the genocide in Palestine. It followed similar student movements at universities internationally and was the longest lasting encampment across Australia, lasting for over 100 days.
This is all to say that things are not as different as they may seem — student activism is alive and well in Kambri and in familiar company. Whilst I may never experience the “culture” that students of years past tell me they miss about Union Court, I don’t feel as if I’m missing out, and it has certainly stifled nothing. While Union Court and Kambri differ in almost every regard, student passion and protest have nonetheless endured.
Next time you’re sitting on Kambri Lawns, perhaps instead of merely watching the people around you, think about all that has come before you in that very same spot.
For First-Year ANU students, Kambri may seem intimidating at times. Find solace in knowing that across the last five decades, Kambri has been hundreds of thousands of students’ backyard for but a brief point in their lives. You’re in great company.
Comments Off on ‘THE HOUSE’: ANU’S RESIDENTIAL HALLS AS A MICROCOSM OF PARLIAMENTARY ELITISM
‘Is there much of an upstairs-downstairs feel in Parliament House?’
‘Yeah, we’ve got people upstairs who have probably never been down to the basement… if I wanted people to take note, I’d stop delivering coffee and toilet paper.’
These are the words of Sandy McInerney, Logistics Manager of Parliament House’s underground ‘catacombs’, in conversation with Annabel Crabb in her 2017 docuseries The House. Offhand words in one twenty-second conversation of a three-hour documentary series, which amongst all those exploring the glory and intricacies of Parliament’s ‘upstairs’ rooms, were the ones that lingered in my mind.
Parliament is a living, breathing organism of democracy, of high-level thinking, of the most important people in Australia. But McInerney’s words starkly remind us that no well-pressed suit, nor feet on immaculately steamed red and green carpet, exempt our high-calibre Parliamentarians from their human needs.
It does, however, seemingly exempt them from having to fulfil these needs themselves.
Our most important figures simply float through the halls of Parliament unaffected by such lowly considerations as where to buy their next coffee, or whether the toilet will be clean for them to use. They take blissful baths in the upstairs glory of The House, while a hidden workforce who ‘rarely sees the light of day’ weaves its way through an underground road and tunnel network, ensuring the functionality and comfort of Parliament; it’s just part of the job. The structural hierarchy – the dichotomy between the presentable and the obscured, the up and the down, the fore- and background – is built into the building itself, and subsequently built into parliamentary culture. This culture only works to perpetuate complex notions of ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ that pervade public reality: if the physical manifestation of Australian freedom and justice, representing the views and interests of the Australian people, is so plainly hierarchised, how can we expect society’s culture to reflect or embody anything else?
As I watch the flag fly atop Parliament’s glistening roof from just down the street, I contemplate the people I’m surrounded by, studying at Australia’s National University. I’ve met many a person in my eight months on campus who I could confidently say will sit in Parliament in twenty years. ANU graduates ‘go on to become leaders in government.’ I’m decidedly nestled in a culture that is fostering the minds that will fill the rooms of Parliament soon enough, and who similarly have their day-to-day needs managed in a basement that they will likely never lay eyes on.
My realisation, then, was that these future parliamentarians are, given the immense population of fellow first-year students living on campus, living their day-to-day lives now in much the same dynamic.
When I moved to Canberra, one of the biggest shocks to my system was learning that the kitchens, the bathrooms, the dining areas, and everything short of the individual rooms (unless you’re a Johns resident, if I’m to disseminate frivolous rumours) of my residential hall got cleaned not by those that used it, but by cleaning staff who have nothing to do with the dirtying of these spaces. Clogged sinks filled to the brim with ominous soup turned to sparkling silver overnight. Abandoned pots and pans and knives and forks left strewn across benches after the 7pm rush disappeared eventually. Moulding food was swept away when it got too apparent that its owner was probably not coming back for it.
I couldn’t believe it – I’d gone from being a nineteen-year-old who, despite her freeloading at home, had some semblance of responsibility for cleanliness, to a twenty-year-old who could ultimately leave whatever mess she’d like with very limited real consequences, despite likely dirty looks from others trying to use the stoves.
While having cleaning staff in itself is by no means condemnable, it highlights a crucial element of residential hall existence – that there is a certain, in-built element to this lifestyle that places our education and frankly, in many cases, our exercise of privilege in attending university, above our need to take responsibility for our everyday existence. We are being implicitly told that our intelligence and our ability to pay to live on campus – or, more commonly, to be paid for – places us above the need to engage with the mundane aspects of adult living, particularly for those living in catered residences. In this respect, we are young parliamentarians in more ways than being students of politics and law: living as if we are too important to change a toilet roll.
So many of us wouldn’t know the names of the people who mop our floors for us, and no matter how clean we keep our spaces, we therefore play a part in being the upstairs residents who would take most note of our cleaning staff if they stopped filling the paper towel dispensers and wiping the desks we study on. We can beg the question of whether living in residences, being fed and cleaned for, prepares us for the ‘real world’, but the cold truth is that, for many people, it sure does. Their real world will become the professionalised version: a workplace where they are cushioned by assurance that they need not lift a finger to feel cared for and have not since their first day at college. They will not see the insides of a maintenance cupboard nor the basement of whichever sunlit office they work in and will learn that this is what they worked for: to have the less palatable requirements of comfortable existence offloaded onto someone else.
The wake-up call here is not to drop out of college and start a commune, by any means. This lifestyle gives so many people the opportunities to pursue elements of independent living and study that they otherwise never would have dreamt possible. What lingers in my mind, though, is that this way of living is not as natural or normal as it can begin to feel when immersed in the insularity of it all. Hierarchy does not sit well in houses of any description, yet Australia’s most important House has it coursing through its veins; food for discomforting thought.
The wake-up call is, instead, to thank your cleaners, next time you see them; they are the people who underpin the lifestyle we’re lucky enough to lead, and there will never come a fictitiously constructed hierarchy that changes that.