Comments Off on The Kazungula: Africa’s Almost-Forgotten Four Corners
If you thought the United States held the world’s only claim to a “Four Corners” phenomenon—where the states of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah converge at a single point—you’ve only seen part of the picture. Far across the Atlantic, on the lush banks where the Zambezi and Chobe rivers meet, lies Kazungula: a small border town in Southern Africa that captures the imagination of travellers, geographers, and dreamers alike. Here, Zambia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Namibia come tantalizingly close to touching, forming what many have dubbed the “Four Corners of Africa.” It’s the kind of place that sparks instant fascination—an intersection of nations that feels like a geographical miracle. Yet, despite the stories and viral travel blog claims, Kazungula holds a secret: it’s not a true quadripoint.
The Almost-Point That Captures the World
The idea of a quadripoint—a single pinprick on the globe where four distinct countries converge—is rare and magnetic. It represents a kind of spatial harmony, the unlikely coordination of political geography and natural topography. For years, Kazungula was thought to be one such wonder. People journeyed from around the world to stand in one spot and look out into four different countries. It became a pilgrimage site for border geeks and curious wanderers alike.
But look closer—at satellite data, legal treaties, and international demarcations—and the illusion begins to fade. Zambia and Botswana do, indeed, share a border at Kazungula, but it is narrow, only around 150 meters wide. Just enough for them to build a bridge linking the two countries. Namibia and Zimbabwe, however, never quite make contact. Their borders stop just short of each other, separated by that sliver of Zambia-Botswana land.
In strict geopolitical terms, Kazungula is not a quadripoint. And yet, that hasn’t dulled its magic.
When Borders Intrigue, Not Divide
What’s truly compelling about Kazungula isn’t whether or not it ticks a cartographic box. It’s the feeling it gives you—that you are standing at the crossroads of four nations, cultures, and histories. It’s a place that brings people together, not despite borders, but because of them.
In a world where borders are often seen as lines of division—marking what separates us—Kazungula reminds us they can also be lines of curiosity. Something is thrilling about turning in a circle and pointing to four sovereign nations, each with its own language, laws, and landscape, yet sharing this tiny, almost-mythical pocket of Earth.
These rare places challenge the way we think about geography. They blur the edges between countries and invite questions: How did these borders come to be? Why did they stop just short of touching? What does it mean to live in a town defined by “almost”? In Kazungula, fascination becomes a bridge—figuratively and literally—between cultures, travellers, and nations.
The Kazungula Bridge: Engineering Curiosity into Connection
The Kazungula Bridge—an elegant, curved span stretching across the Zambezi River, connecting Zambia and Botswana. Opened in 2021, this 923-meter-long structure wasn’t just a feat of engineering but a delicate diplomatic triumph. Because Namibia and Zimbabwe lie so close—just a stone’s throw away—designing the bridge required years of negotiation, surveying, and compromise. The final arc of the bridge is no accident. It bends precisely to avoid infringing on the neighbouring territories. The result is not just a transport link but a monument to regional cooperation—a testament to how even the most complex border arrangements can lead to shared solutions.
In that sense, Kazungula becomes more than a curiosity. It becomes a metaphor for peaceful coexistence—a place where lines on a map don’t lead to conflict but conversation.
A Meeting Point for the Imagination
Why are we so drawn to points like Kazungula? Perhaps it’s because they remind us of something essential: that we remain connected, despite our borders and histories. Kazungula reminds us that geography doesn’t have to define what separates us—it can shape how we come together.
From this near-quadripoint, you can travel to Chobe National Park in Botswana, watch elephants thunder across the savannah, glide down the Zambezi with Namibia to your west and Zimbabwe to your east, and reach Victoria Falls, one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. But what makes it all the more surreal is knowing that you are standing in a space that defies easy labels—a geopolitical knot that both entangles and unites. In a global era increasingly shaped by boundaries, migration debates, and contested territories, Kazungula invites us to pause, to look, wonder, and marvel at how borders can inspire fascination.
So, no, Kazungula isn’t a quadripoint. But in a world hungry for connection, that makes it even more remarkable.
In September of last year, I had the pleasure of attending the inaugural Australian Student Journalism Conference (affectionately termed StuJoCon). It was three fantastic days of meeting other enthusiastic student journalists, pretending to care about Stupol and watching amazing panel discussions and workshops from current journos at the University of Sydney. While there were many things that I enjoyed and appreciated about the chance for a conglomerate of neurotic and over-stimulated uni students to get together, months later, I have continued to think about one particular panel conversation.
On the afternoon of the second day, we were treated to a Q & A panel with three now eminently successful former student journalists: Investigate journalist and activist Wendy Bacon, public law expert and former Native Title Tribunal member Pat Lane and Woroni’s very own (and former ANUSA president) Cam Wilson, now an Associate Editor at Crikey News. Over the session, the three panellists spoke fondly of their time involved in student journalism, reflecting on experiences, challenges they had overcome, and advice for budding student journalists of today. Indeed, it was with great humour that I heard about Honi Soit’s coverage of Tony Abbott’s time as SRC president at USyd. These little easter eggs served as a reminder that despite its seemingly farcical nature, those involved in student politics and its adjacent arenas can and will ingratiate themselves (in an equally farcical manner) into this country’s systems of power.
Not only were these stories fascinating, but it was wonderful to see that the genuine passion for getting to the heart of issues that impact people’s lives had not dwindled. However, I couldn’t help but absorb the potent nostalgia for a bygone era. Dare I say, an era where young adults didn’t have to worry about LinkedIn profiles, Australia’s reverse burden of proof for defamation actions or whether their critique of minute policy changes on campus would result in a cold call from university staff.
Pat and Wendy spoke of crucial activist movements of the 70s and early 80s, such as abortion rights and anti-censorship campaigns. Covers featuring nudity and obscenity caused polarising responses across the University of Sydney campus, as one would expect at the time. However, throughout their reflections, I noted a crucial difference. These debates were ones of reciprocality. Outrage was not a screaming into the void of ANU Confessions. Instead, those in passionate defence of prudishness or whatever the issue was at hand wrote in and were published. No submission, no matter how backward, offensive or ridiculous, went ignored.
It appears that in a modern environment of enthusiastic self-censorship, we have lost the aspect of student journalism that exists as a conversation. The front cover of Honi Soit’s Issue 21 of 1982 tells a tale as old as time in its cynical depiction of Student Union Governance. Despite its continued relevance, such direct criticism is rare for fear of poking the bear that is the 20 people who actually care about Student Politics. However, this reticence to cause anger indirectly ensures that those 20 people remain the only ones who care and are enabled to manage nearly $4 million with no genuine public accountability.
It is, of course, neglectful to ignore the fact that times have changed. Today, students must consider their digital footprint and how this impacts employment opportunities. Additionally, particularly persistent advocates face the risk of defamation or other retaliatory legal actions from far more powerful parties. It is also prudent to be weary of provocation for provocation’s sake. There is no value in creating chaos without a genuine goal of change in a targeted area.
Additionally, the work of these activist movements means it can be harder to be subversive. Woroni’s 2022 sex magazine entitled “Cum As You Are” hardly appears as controversial in comparison to similarly themed anti-censorship media in the 1970s. However, this serves to emphasise the role of student media in destigmatising emerging movements and its continuing role in identifying new areas that should be put into the spotlight.
The future has to acknowledge the new world in which we operate, but this does not diminish the scope for boundary-pushing and its crucial role in achieving progress. As we saw in 2024, the ANU campus is an environment ripe for generating change, and student media outlets play an invaluable role in allowing a diverse student body to offer their perspectives.
I walked away from that afternoon somewhat disheartened—feeling as though Woroni had been missing some of that spark of defiance in our desire to appear as a professional, polished media outlet for ANU students. In a time where students cannot even put up posters in certain areas without appropriate pre-approval, collectives are gutted overnight, and student well-being is seen as an impediment to financial stability, push-back is not just appropriate but necessary.
As Woroni seeks to offer greater advocacy on behalf of the student population, I propose that this cannot occur without your participation. Tell us what you love, hate or find boring. Send us a letter to the editor, respond to an article you feel strongly about, whatever it is we want to hear it. Our job is to publish and platform student voices, not aid in their extinction.
Comments Off on Sanctuaries of Study: A Love Letter to Libraries, Both Then and Now
I used to have a theory. It was a theory which worked more often than it failed, and appeared to explain a particular phenomenon which I recognised in a great many people. The theory could be stated as follows: however you study in your final year of high school determines how you study in university. Those who prepared for their dreaded final exams in libraries would stick to studying in libraries long after graduation, while those who failed to separate their room from their personal storage of practice papers would continue to study next to their bed well into the deepest darkest hour of the night. Yes, the content of our learning changes, everything else alongside it, but our study habits prove stubbornly consistent. Being an avowed room-studier all throughout high school, I struggle to recall even a single instance of studying in a library last year, a trend which I thought would continue well into the future.
But then, something changed.
This year, my room no longer presented itself as a sanctuary of study. Distractions multiplied, reels were consumed at a level never before thought humanly possible, and my overall productivity was at an all-time low. In a desperate attempt to save my academic career, I did the only thing I could think of. I started — for the first time in my life — studying at libraries and in the process I’ve fallen in love with these brilliant vestiges of human knowledge.
Perhaps a brief history of libraries is in order?
To begin with, in the days before late-night cramming and white Monster energy drinks, libraries were a sacred place not to be desecrated by enough caffeine to kill a small African elephant. In ancient Mesopotamia, clay tablets depicting foundational myths, histories and early legal writs were stored in temple archives — early evidence of our human tendency to preserve and protect knowledge. The Library of Alexandria, mythical in scope and tragic in its demise, was an honest attempt to collect all the world’s wisdom. Centuries later, medieval monasteries created scriptoriums to copy and protect religious texts of the highest importance. The entry of the Renaissance into the canon of history exploded both literacy and learning, expanding the need for libraries too. However, it was only in the 19th century that access to knowledge became a democratic project.
Okay, so now that libraries are democratic, who are the people who actually use them?
What do people who go to the gym and people who go to the library have in common? Neither will shut up about it! Indeed, telling others that you have just, “been to the library,” or alternatively, “are just going to the library,” or perhaps most frightening of all, “have just been to the library but will be going back shortly,” bestows upon you as the speaker a deep feeling of learned wisdom, academic vigour and unfounded superiority.
I said unfounded, but is that actually true? Just how important a role does the place where you study play in how well you study?
We can now turn to a very short and snarky analysis of the different types of study spaces
Your Room: The default. It’s personal, it’s comfy, it’s close to home, but similarly dangerously close to your bed and your fridge. Here, there is a high potential for distractions, particularly with nobody watching you procrastinate.
Café: Good for ambient noise lovers, with studies showing that moderate background noise can actually boost creative thinking. However, can your budget and your bowels sustain four flat whites a day? Probably not.
Outside: If you study outside, you are either insane, an arts student, or more likely, both.
Library: Quiet, structured, and filled with the buzz of collective effort, libraries signal seriousness. On a more personal note, I find the ability to look up from my desk and over to actual books inspiring. While I do consider myself a bibliophile, and so many beautiful books are doubtless a feast for the eyes, I am far more moved by the hard work and effort of the people whose names score the spines. To see and be able to reach out to actual human knowledge, to centuries of work which aims to understand, to inspire and aid, and to see this effort democratised for the next generation to build upon — this fills me with a passionate enthusiasm for my own academic pursuits -– so that even my weekly readings appear doable for once.
So yeah, I now love libraries, but what about the science behind it — what do the studies say?
Beyond these immaculate vibes, the case for library study ruling supreme does have empirical backing. It has been shown that libraries foster deeper learning by minimising distraction and encouraging prolonged engagement, student motivation and academic performance, as they are spaces ultimately designed with comfort, lighting, and acoustics in mind. Here, attention is drawn to the key role which architecture plays in shaping productivity. The best libraries aren’t just rooms with books, but carefully constructed environments for intellectual flourishing.
Now we can turn to the final, more practical dimension: what are the best library study spots at the ANU?
While we cannot boast any centuries old, gothic architecture inspired, ‘Napoleon once rode through this very aisle of books on horseback’ libraries, the buildings and spaces that we have available to us are nonetheless incredible. Please find my definitive (but debatable) ranking of some of my most beloved libraries on campus — some are not necessarily libraries but are rather buildings which I find well suited for study purposes.
1. Law Library
My favourite study space on campus, and by far the quietest of all the libraries. Not as busy as Chifley, but similarly open for 24 hours a day, the warm wooden study booths have been optimally designed to minimise distraction and optimise productivity. Nothing’s more beautiful than the way the sunlight falls through the trees outside and filters past the blinds on an afternoon well spent in this temple of solitude.
2. Menzies Library Main Reading Room
A similar level of quiet as the law library, but far more vast and open, the main reading room on the ground floor of the Menzies Library is marked by its impressively large calligraphy print, which hangs above the long rows of tables like a watchful master or an order of supreme discipline. In my opinion, this is a great space to do readings, the only downside being its limited opening hours.
3. Chifley Level 3 Reading Room
The only part of Chifley that doesn’t fill me with unbelievable sadness and dread, and often the only part of Chifley that isn’t full 100 percent of the time. This space has everything you love about this building that you hate, including the trademark fluoro lights that make you feel like you might be in a hospital.
4. Birch Building
The Birch Building is an excellent place to pull up a chair and study every now and then. Quite possibly the most stylish and futuristic building on campus, feel free to spend your study breaks admiring the brilliant fusion of art and technology decorating the building.
5. Robertson Building
I discovered the majesty of the R.N. Robertson Building only recently, though it is quickly becoming a new favourite of mine. Only one word needs to be used to describe why this building stands out — plants. For those who love to study surrounded by some greenery, but can’t fully commit to the performative nature of studying next to Sully’s, this might just be the next best thing.
A final word for you to loan, know you need not return it:
Whether you’re a lifelong library lover or a café crawler who desperately needs to lock in, consider this a gentle invitation. An invitation to return or to venture out, to experiment with those spaces designed expressly for what we are here at university to do despite the fact that we so often don’t — to study.
“Pronouns matter” and “respect people’s identities” cover the walls of residences and campus facilities at the ANU. As a queer exchange student, I was pleasantly surprised at the treatment of queer students here. The university stopped deadnaming me in most official communications, and they immediately changed my name on Wattle after I pointed out that their system did not reflect the ‘preferred name’ I had given them during my application. None of the lecturers addressed the class with ‘ladies and gentlemen’, which is the norm at my university back home, and most extra-curricular activities seemed to be aware of gender diversity. I was genuinely overjoyed to discover that there was a Queer* Department, and that people could be openly queer on campus. And honestly, I could leave it at that, I could say how much better it is compared to my university back home, and I could say that in the context of the recent political climate, just being allowed to exist, makes me want to cry.
But even though I am so grateful for the community here and how fellow students and staff have accepted me, I’ve come to realise that much of my gratitude stems from very low standards. I’ve been treated really well for a queer person. Over the last couple of months, I’ve helped develop a survey on the experience of queerphobia at the ANU. And, as part of that, I’ve had to carefully think about what queerphobia entails and how often it refers to small things, microaggressions that most likely aren’t even intended to insult or harm me.
Thinking about the instances in which I was not taken seriously or respected, I’ve realised that they are only seen as acceptable because I’m queer. Forgetting my pronouns or referring to me as a woman is only seen as acceptable because I’m queer. A doctor loudly shouting my deadname through the clinic is just a cultural thing. Unfortunate, but there are bigger problems [/sarcasm]. A class on historical gender diversity is only about women, because genderqueer people didn’t exist back then [/sarcasm]. Even the university’s digital infrastructure that still refers to me by my deadname is explained away as simple faults in IT. But all of these examples would be taken seriously if they happened to someone who wasn’t queer. If I weren’t queer, these issues would be insults, instances of disrespect. Not bothering to learn my pronouns after weeks of working together isn’t about language, it’s about whether you take me seriously, it’s about whether you believe my existence as a queer person is legitimate. What are you telling me when you show me that I am not even worth that minor effort?
With global politics repeatedly telling me I have no right to exist or don’t exist in the first place, little unintentional things add up. Little, unintentional, things are part of the same, massive, systems which are causing so much suffering right now. You have no idea how scared we are. And I am so sick of it, so tired of it, so fed up with excuses. How dare you not care?
The ANU Queer* Department recently launched the Experiences of Queerphobia Survey into current and former students’ experiences of queerphobia at the Australian National University. The survey forms part of a broader project by the ANU Queer* Department to publish a Queerphobia Report to raise awareness about students’ experiences of queerphobia at ANU, and advocate for a safer, more inclusive campus.
If you’re an ANU student or alumni who identifies as queer/LGBTQIASB+, you can contribute to the survey via the links on the Queer* Department’s Linktree, or follow the links for the Student survey , Alumni survey, and Accessible survey.
Comments Off on Why I want Albo to win: Surviving the Extinction of the Left
I don’t want Dutton. That’s the only reason anyone can give to justify casting a vote for Labor.
The harbinger of right-wing populism in Australia, Dutton is Trump down under, or so they say. In comparison, the Australian Labor Party stands as the last defender of the old order, the post-war consensus, the Fair Go. And that’s what the Left is about, isn’t it?
Dutton stands for big business and would watch on with glee as companies reached record-high profits. By contrast, as a responsible party of government, Labor has addressed cost-of-living pressures. Last year, they modified the Liberals’ tax cuts to benefit lower-income taxpayers. The wealthy still got a tax cut, of course, but a smaller one.
Setting aside the small detail that income is not the source of most of the wealth of the rich, this is a positive change, right? Labor also provided a $300 energy rebate to every household; how generous! A more ambitious government might have seen public ownership as a response to energy inflation, but that’s not aligned with the Overton Window.
Labor has stimulated wage growth. They supported increasing the minimum wage (the Fair Work Commission, which controls award arbitration, is independent of the federal government and continued to give pay rises under the Liberals). Labor cut billions of student debt, by linking the indexation of HECS-HELP loans to the CPI in 2023. Jason Clare MP, Minister for Education, has also promised to wipe 20% of all student debt if re-elected. It’s strange that a system as good as HECS has needed to be modified twice in half a decade, but this is the best we can do.
It seems harder to buy a house today than ever before. Labor’s response? Increasing supply. A good move! How? Not through a mass construction of housing by the government; that would be too radical (although this approach cemented the post-war boom in property ownership). No, Labor has supported responsible policies, working with state governments and property developers to build 1.2 million homes between 2024 and 2029. So far, we’ve fallen short of the targets needed to reach this goal, but that could change. Pressure from the Greens has secured some concessions around public and social housing, but is pressure all the Left can be? Pressure for a return to progressive capitalism? It seems so—after all, it’s better than the alternative.
Dutton has responded to Labor’s tepid supply-boosting housing reforms in the inverse. While Labor’s economic approach focused on the supply side of the demand-supply equation, Dutton espouses a need to cull demand for housing by cutting immigration. Attacking immigration is a tried-and-true tactic for Australian conservative politicians, and Dutton’s scaremongering is hardly surprising. Labor has appeared to partially give in to this anti-immigrant sentiment by (briefly) cutting the intake of international students and showboating with some tough-on immigration rhetoric. Both parties may agree that, in the short term, immigration needs to be lower, but, in the long term, both parties also agree that high immigration is a great way to shore up a declining population and poor economic growth.
Labor’s recent commitment to strengthen bulk billing pleasantly surprised me, but this was slightly undercut by the Liberals’ immediate agreement to do the same. Nonetheless, if the past three years had included more announcements like this, the Left would be much less hostile toward the Labor Party. But is that not the problem? Have we really regressed so far as to be happy with slight adjustments to a healthcare sector that ultimately remains in the hands of private ownership?
This past year, the issue that has damaged Labor’s left-wing credentials most significantly is undoubtedly Palestine. Labor was in remarkable lockstep with the United States over the course of the war, though it is worth noting the points at which Albanese trod differently. Unlike Biden, Labor did not attack the ICC’s ruling, and Labor has been more generous in providing visas to Palestinians than other Western nations. This might be some comfort for Labor’s progressive-minded members, but for most of the Left, this term of government is permanently tarnished by Labor’s passive support of Netanyahu’s war.
On this issue, Dutton would, of course, have been worse. But a ceasefire has been reached. The future of the Levant now depends on Donald Trump, not on Peter Dutton or Anthony Albanese.
Labor’s decision to completely gut the most powerful blue-collar union in Australia, the Construction, Forestry and Maritime Employees Union (CFMEU), over dubious allegations is dangerous. Labor still claims to be the party of organised labour, but with union membership in Australia being increasingly dominated by white collar unions, and with union organisers being more frequently drawn from the youth of the Labor Party rather than the workplace floor, the continuation of the slow divorce of the union movement and the blue collar working class seems inevitable. Other blue-collar unions such as the Electrical Trades Union have made moves to distance themselves from the ALP, but the long-term consequences remain to be seen.
Of course, Dutton promises to be even tougher on unions, but Labor placed the CFMEU into administration with far less trouble than a Liberal government would have faced. In this respect, Labor is a better manager of class relations than the Liberals are, and that is a fact they are very proud of.
What am I forgetting? Indigenous justice? Labor has shown little interest in this policy area since the failure of their poorly handled referendum in 2023. Abortion? Dutton has repeatedly indicated he is deathly afraid of being seen as a cultural conservative crusader, he has no intentions of taking aim at abortion, and even if he wanted to, abortion is legislated at the state level. The environment? No one wants to hear about that—not when Trump has reset all of Biden’s climate legislation, not when one call from WA Premier Roger Cook was enough to kill years of work from Labor’s environmentalist wing.
Many on the Left are dissatisfied with Labor, including me. I joined Labor in 2022 as Albo ushered in the first non-Liberal government that many my age could really remember. Albo was a breath of fresh air after the turmoil of Morrison: finally, the adults were back in the room, and Albo was even from the party’s Left!
Slowly but surely, however, this optimism turned sour. More “pragmatic” aspiring politicians were slowly ground down by the party, putting their values aside in the short-term in order to secure a better future for Australia in the far-flung future. It’s not clear when that future will come.
Frustration with Labor’s passive liberalism has pushed many on the Left who may have formerly belonged to Labor’s left wing to turn elsewhere for political representation. This has led to a small resurgence of an anti-Labor Left. Either through parliamentary alternatives, such as the Greens or the Victorian Socialists, or for the more radical, smaller activist grounds such as Socialist Alternative. Yet despite all this effort, what do any of these groups do apart from protest and “pressure” Labor? In effect, everyone from the Greens to Socialist Alternative are merely acting as the left wing of the Labor party. The Greens seem committed to a theory of change focused on obtaining balance of power and securing negotiations from that position. This strategy led to some short-term success, but now we are starting to see Labor call this bluff, as exemplified by the fiasco regarding the ‘Help to Buy’ scheme last year.
The Greens will only be a viable vehicle for radical change if they commit to building an authentic mass movement that can truly contest all levels of government. This requires party-building and recruitment. The various scattered socialist sects are currently only capable of student activism and protests, a far cry from historic means of real socialist power, which has only come from organised labour and mass socialist workers’ parties.
Whatever part of the Left you turn to, the situation is the same. The only option in light of the extinction of the Left is to pressure Labor for a more “progressive” form of the status quo.
So, I want Albo to win.
Do you?
Conaugh Dwyer is a member of the Australian Greens and the Platypus Affiliated Society.
Comments Off on Life in Parliament — Insights from Capital Hill you should know before the federal election
An unfortunate fact about the Australian education system is that our civic education is lacking. I personally learnt some vague details about how bills progress through parliament in an Australian Politics elective in year 11. Having missed out on every Australian child’s (except you townies, sorry) infamous trip to Canberra, I was relying purely on the conversations that went on around me while growing up to learn about our political system.
I am lucky to come from a politically engaged family, and by osmosis, I picked up enough general knowledge about domestic politics to never embarrass myself in conversation. However, it was only when I started working in the press gallery at Parliament House for a parliamentary database and when I completed my Australian National Internship Program placement in the office of a Member of Parliament (MP) that I realised how much knowledge I lacked. I quickly learnt a lot about the mechanisms that run this country. I can now not only tell you about the purpose and process of senate estimates, but I can also rant in detail about each committee’s different transcript formatting quirks and exactly how mind-numbing a legislative instrument can be.
But these insights aren’t what’s useful here. We have a federal election in May, and for many of us at this university, it will be the first one we vote in. I’m old enough to have voted in the 2022 federal election, and I will be voting differently this year based on what I’ve since learnt about Parliament and the political game. This article does not aim to get you to vote how I vote. Hopefully, I will write it so you can’t even tell who I’m planning to place my [1] next to on the ballot paper. My aim is to help those who aren’t already in the know understand how politics really works, from someone who has been able to be a fly on the wall for parts of the process.
So here are some things I think you should know in the lead up to this election:
Politics is political, and the work doesn’t happen where you expect it to
The reality of a politician’s day-to-day life during sitting week is that they have to desperately try and do their real work, intermittently running to the House of Representatives or the Senate to sit in Parliament. You might think that the speeches they give are their bread and butter, but often, it’s the case that the first time a politician will read a speech they deliver is while they’re delivering it. I worked for an MP, which means they worked in the House of Representatives so a lot of the following information is specific to it, but probably applies to the Senate too.
The proceedings of Parliament are a well-oiled machine, with bill speeches, Matters of Public Importance speeches, Constituency Statements and other speeches all being scheduled and run at prescribed times and for prescribed lengths as dictated by the standing orders and managed by the clerks who work at Parliament. The order of speakers for these sections of the day goes back and forth between the party that currently forms government and opposition speakers, meaning that all day, every day, someone has to talk, even if no one has much to say. The snippets you see on TV of a full and raucous parliament happen during Question Time, one of the only times a day when all politicians are required to be in the chamber. At other times, only the MPs on duty will be there, and if they’re not speaking, they’ll be going through other paperwork or frantically messaging their staffers on the outside to plan future meetings and interviews.
The Party Whip is the MP in each party whose office is in charge of figuring out who needs to be on duty when, who will speak, and oftentimes, what they will say by distributing appropriate “talking points” for certain types of speech or debate. Constituency Statements and other personal statements don’t include these talking points, but if a debate about a bill or a Matter of Public Importance is occurring, each MP (or more likely their staffers) will have prepared what they say based on the facts, phrases and jabs at the other party provided to them by the Whip. If you watch Parliament closely, sometimes multiple MPs from the same party will repeat the exact line multiple times because there’s no Turnitin in Parliament, so if they don’t paraphrase the talking points well enough, it all comes out the same.
The bill debates themselves don’t matter as much — everyone knows how they will vote on a piece of legislation well before the debates begin. Oftentimes, the Parliament part of Parliament is just a formality. The real work happens not through these speeches but when MPs and Senators meet other politicians, ministers, lobby groups and experts for the rest of the day. These meetings allow politicians to understand the issues facing Australia, advocate for people in their electorate and the issues they care about, and lobby the higher-ups in the party to possibly introduce legislation on an issue. They also discuss legislation and possible amendments. An opposition party may deal with minor parties and independents to prevent a bill from passing, combining forces to vote it down. Deals like this that happen out of the public eye allow parties to collaborate to pass or deny legislation. So when it comes time for them all to vote on passing bills through various stages, these conversations, rather than the debates the public sees, are what matter.
What a politician says in Parliament is thus almost irrelevant; it’s the result of commands from higher up, it’s to make them look good, and most of the time, they don’t care about what they’re saying. The real work happens behind the scenes. The ability for a party to put their vision into action through legislation is often dependent on the makeup of their government and how this enables them to vote on legislation, which is decided at the election. Which brings me to my next point…
Your vote REALLY counts
To give a quick crash course on bill stages, when a minister introduces a bill and explains the reasons behind its existence, this is called the “first reading”. After the first reading, the House will vote on if it should go to a “second reading”— this is almost always a yes. The second reading is where the debates happen, where politicians argue for and against the bill (in an often empty room, as explained above). This is also where each part of it is “considered in detail”, and amendments are passed to change the bill. Anyone can suggest amendments, and often, the party in government needs to try and protect their bill from major amendments that would change the spirit or goal of the proposed legislation. These amendments also get voted on through ‘ayes,’ ‘nos,’ and sometimes divisions (which I’ll explain briefly). Once the second reading debates and amendments are finished, MPs vote on whether it should go to a “third reading”. If voted yes, the bill will go to the Senate, where it will again have a first, second and third reading before being passed into legislation and becoming an Act.
At any point, the bill can also be referred to for public inquiry, which complicates and extends the process. If the party bringing the bill can’t get enough votes to pass it through these stages, or it gets rejected in the Senate, the bill has been “negatived”, meaning it can’t go any further. When Parliament votes on legislation, amendments and other issues that get “moved” in Parliament, the Speaker of the House or President of the Senate hears ayes and nos on the issue. This is why politicians are scheduled to sit in Parliament at certain times of day by the Party Whip, so they can be there to say aye or no as needed. If the sound of it is inconclusive, the Speaker or President will call a “division”. This rings bells throughout the building, and lights flash on all the clocks indicating which house the division is happening in. All members of that house are then required to race to the chamber in mere minutes; the doors are locked, and their vote can officially be counted.
A government with a majority in the lower house will almost always win a division, which is why most legislation in a majority government passes the House of Representatives and goes to the Senate. A majority in the lower house allows them to pass legislation more easily and reject amendments from the other party and independents. This is where minor parties and independents have real power because while the major parties will always vote for or against issues along their party lines, the minor parties and independents, based on the deals they do, can sometimes sway the tide. Julia Gillard had a minority government, which meant that she relied on the support of these groups to pass legislation. It was notoriously difficult for the Labor Party (in this government) to operate because of this fact.
I promised I wouldn’t try to sway your vote, and I won’t. You might want one of the major parties to have a clear majority in the House of Reps so that it’s easier for them to fulfil their elected mandate and pass legislation as they see fit. Or you might want one of the major parties to have a minority government so that the Greens and independents have greater power over the legislation that does and doesn’t get passed and the amendments that affect this legislation. Whatever you desire, remember that we have preferential voting in Australia and that how you vote can impact the type of government that gets in and the type of work they can do. Even if you live in a “safe” seat, the 2022 election showed us that no seat is “safe” and your vote can have a big impact.
Politicians have big personalities; listen to what they do, not what they say
Walking through the halls of Parliament alongside an MP and witnessing first-hand the way Members of Parliament, Senators and Ministers banter is truly a titillating and, in some ways, alarming experience. From what I saw, parliamentarians are charismatic class clowns whose main social currency with one another is off-the-charts banter. They work high-pressure, high-stress jobs; every single person around them works tirelessly to support their public image, and everyone is always watching what they do. This means they’ve got to have bluster and ego to survive it all.
There are talented, interesting, intelligent public servants who work behind the scenes to do as much for Australia as any politician. They are people who would never be comfortable having their face and name printed onto billboards, posters and brochures hundreds of thousands of times to win a political popularity contest. This is not to discount the hard work of politicians or the importance of our democratic process; it is just to remind you of the context around politicians as people and the type of personality they have to have to self-select for this type of role and succeed in it.
When you see them in an interview, talking incredibly seriously about why their policy is the only viable option and the policies of other parties will ruin your life, just remember that in the halls of Parliament, while it’s not universal, friendships run across party lines and the political spectrum. Listening to vitriolic sound bites and interviews from politicians is not the best way to understand what the parties fight for, or what they do on the floor of Parliament. Just like with parliamentary proceedings, the parts the public sees are often for show — the real work happens in the negotiations and social interactions no one gets to see. Even the most idealistic politicians would rather have a public relations win for their party and their election chances or a loss for another party than meaningful change. This sounds cynical, but the nature of politics is that it is political and sometimes public intention and public image are not the most important things to look at.
Many politicians use their big personalities and rely on the fact that most Australians don’t have a deep understanding of parliamentary proceedings to score outrage points. For example, many people don’t know that non-government parties and individuals can’t introduce or propose legislation; this is the mandate of the party in power and them alone. The opposition, minor parties and independents can only introduce “private members bills”, which only happens briefly on Mondays. And broadly, it’s a farce. Every bill, almost invariably (at least in a majority government), gets negatived. If you hear a politician that isn’t part of the party in power say, “Today, Parliament voted down THIS important bill,” know that they’re playing you; they knew when they introduced it that it was impossible for it to pass, that’s just the process.
So think carefully about the outcomes you want for Australia’s future when you go to the polls on 3 May 2025. Don’t think about what a politician promised on a short clip on TikTok; look at their track record and what they voted on in Parliament, who they struck deals with, what outcomes their choices led to and whether or not you like those outcomes. For the major parties, look at their previous governments and what happened in Australia as a result of them being in power. Resources like They Vote For You, ABC’s Vote Compass, Build a Ballot, and this spreadsheet mapping the policies and voting history of the major candidates and parties can help you decipher what MPs and political parties stand for. Remember that a lot of the running of this country happens outside of Parliament in the government departments. However, their funding and ability to fulfil their mandates is affected by the party in power, so when you vote, vote with all that in mind.
Lastly, politics isn’t just about what happens in Canberra or who our PM is
Politicians travel to Canberra for only 18 to 20 weeks out of the year, and the goal of sitting weeks is only the legislative part of the process. But, your federal representative matters more than just what they do during sitting weeks. For the rest of the year, they work from their constituency office in their local electorate (if they’re a good MP and care about their community).
MPs possess a huge amount of power to make changes for their local community. They can lobby federal ministers for funding to help with roads, schools, and other infrastructure. I have personally witnessed the MP I worked for interrogate Michelle Rowland, the Communications Minister, about why one of the only post offices in their electorate was closed, leaving elderly people to walk further to send and receive their post.
MPs can send letters of support to the Immigration Minister on behalf of people in their electorate to support their visa cases and other migration matters. They attend events and listen to the voices in their community on what matters to them so that when they arrive at sitting weeks, they can understand the needs of their electorate better. Not all MPs act like this, nor do all MPs care about what happens when they aren’t in front of a camera or delivering a snappy question to the PM in question time. When you vote at this election, don’t just think about the party that is represented by the name on your ballot paper; think about the individual person you are voting for and whether or not you think they’ll show up for you for all of the 32 non-sitting weeks in a year.
I used to be a skeptic who thought nothing went on in politics, politicians never cared and nothing ever changed. But I have learnt that who you vote for, who represents your community in Parliament, and which party you give the mandate to introduce and pass legislation, matters hugely. We have the privilege of a relatively stable country, where the changes being made take time to show themselves, but boy do they show themselves. You want to make sure that when they do, in housing prices, climate change, cost of living, the quality of education and health services in this country, you’re happy with how they show up. Be engaged, be suspicious, read between the lines and understand what you’re voting for. Happy election season!
Comments Off on Faithless Adaptations: A Critique of Little Women (2019)
Adaptations are a tricky business for any filmmaker. Regardless of the text you are adapting, there will be a dedicated fan base for the original source material who will be both the first in the cinema to watch your creation, as well as the ones most eager to tear it apart. I found myself in this position after reading Louisa May Alcott’s coming-of-age novel Little Women.
In typical bildungsroman fashion, Little Women follows sisters Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy March from childhood to adulthood. Originally published in two volumes in 1868 and 1869, the story was heavily inspired by the author’s own childhood and family. Since its publication, the novel has been well loved by readers for its honest portrayal of sisterhood, love and self-discovery.
In 2019, the novel was once again adapted into a film by renowned director Greta Gerwig. At the 92nd Academy Awards, Gerwig’s film was nominated for several awards, including Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay. Naturally, I was very excited to watch this so-called masterpiece.
However, I was sorely disappointed. Gerwig made considerable changes to the structure of Alcott’s novel and to her characterisation. While changes are inevitable in transplanting hundreds of pages of writing into two hours of screen time, they have to make sense. If a change is nonsensical, it risks undermining the authenticity of the adaptation and calls into question the adaptor’s understanding and interpretation of the text.
One major change in Gerwig’s Little Women was the decision to alter the timeline of the book. Instead of beginning during the sisters’ adolescence and ending during their adulthood, Gerwig’s film flits between two narratives; the childhood sequences serve as flashbacks to the main adult storyline. This, I believe, renders mute the major themes of the novel: family and growth. As readers, we watch the March sisters grow and develop as the eponymous “little women”. Many of the chapters in Part One of the novel involve the sisters learning moral lessons through their mishaps and misjudgments. For instance, in “A Merry Christmas”, the sisters are exposed to the value of sacrifice. In “Amy’s Valley of Humiliation”, Amy faces the consequences of disobedience and conceit, while in “Jo meets Apollyon”, Jo is shown the importance of patience and self-control. This depiction of personal growth is undercut by bringing the adult storyline to the forefront. The girls’ childhood is not meant to be merely fodder for character development; it is integral to who they are as women. Their familial and sororal bonds are the driving forces behind their entire existence.
In a similar vein, Marmee — the mother of the March sisters — is horribly characterised. During the years of the American Civil War, she is the main caregiver of the girls as her husband is serving as a chaplain for the Union Army. Alcott’s Marmee is the guiding light for both her children and the reader; she epitomises all she preaches. She allows her daughters to make mistakes and then helps them learn from the error of their ways. She teaches them what is important and good and right in a way that makes them (and the reader) want to (or at least try to) obey because they know they will be all the better for it.
Gerwig’s script is written in such a way that Marmee, despite being played by the incredibly talented Laura Dern, fades into the background in every scene instead of being the central force that her daughters gravitate towards. Her dialogue is reduced to backhanded quips at her husband for a reason that is difficult to identify. Perhaps this is Gerwig attempting to add comedy or perhaps it’s her not knowing how to subvert a relationship that is already quite subversive. The marriage between Mr and Mrs March is meant to be one of love, devotion, adoration and equality. Alcott’s Marmee is imbued with agency and wisdom; she is respected by all who meet her. The essence of her role in the family is established in the very first chapter as Marmee reads aloud the letter sent by Mr March: “They all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back”. Gerwig seems to believe that Marmee cannot embrace these principles in a film set during the 19th century so she must resort to making sharp retorts to whatever her silly husband says to assert her authority.
The film also makes the mistake of attempting to adapt Little Women in line with contemporary standards of feminism, ignoring the fact that the novel is already subversive for the time period and place in which it was written and set. In one of the film’s early scenes, Jo responds angrily to Friedrich Bhaer, a German professor who is staying at the same boarding house, when he criticises her writing. Jo’s reaction, while stemming from hurt, is illogical. Jo is writing ‘sensationalist’ stories for a newspaper to make money; importantly, she elects for the stories to not be printed under her name. In the novel, she hides this occupation from her mother because “she was doing what she is ashamed to own”. Jo does not need to ask Bhaer his opinion because she shares it already. She eventually quits writing sensationalist stories, musing “I almost wish I hadn’t any conscience, it’s so inconvenient. If I didn’t care about doing right, and didn’t feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally.” The director instead appears to have re-imagined this scene from a “feminist” lens; Jo can write whatever she pleases, Gerwig seems to be saying, and how dare Bhaer judge her when he knows nothing about literature! This representation has no footing when we take into account that in the source text, Jo and Bhaer’s views on the matter are aligned.
Just because Alcott’s novel does not embody that which we perceive as feminism today, does not mean that it is not a subversive representation and examination of womanhood. The sisters were never restricted by their gender, at least not by their parents. They were not forced to conform to societal standards of womanhood. They stayed true to who they were. The novel centres on familial love, it promotes empathy and compassion, it encourages the reader to — like the sisters — to be the best version of themselves. It is very empowering to read a novel about four sisters who love each other dearly and who have a strong maternal figure that cares exclusively for their happiness. Marmee does not need to assert her authority by shaking her head mournfully at her husband’s idiocy, and the “tom-boy” sister does not need to prove her agency by disagreeing with something that she fundamentally agrees with.
Gerwig also struggles to authentically represent the progression of Amy and Laurie’s relationship from childhood friends to two young people in love. In one line, Amy contends that she has always loved Laurie. However, none of the flashbacks in the film even hint at a romantic affection harboured by the young Amy. Similarly, the two seem to be just pushed together and suddenly declare their love for each other. This fails to capture the mutual respect and adoration that develops while the two characters write letters to each other while in Europe. Jo’s rejection of Laurie also fits awkwardly within the narrative, creating an uncomfortable love triangle. After Beth’s death, Jo reveals that if Laurie were to ask her to marry him again she would say yes. She even writes him a letter, but hurriedly removes it from his mailbox after discovering he has married her sister. Here, Gerwig misinterprets the effect Beth’s death has on Jo. The death does not suddenly make Jo realise that she does in fact love Laurie or that she desires to get married. Instead, the loss of her sister opens herself up to experiencing a different kind of love that she has not yet felt.
A novel worthy of an adaptation is naturally loved for what it is, so the question stands: why do filmmakers make these changes? In May, George RR Martin wrote a post on his “Not a Blog” blog, titled “The Adaptation Tango” that appeared to answer this question. He makes excellent observations from the perspective of an author who is no stranger to his work being adapted (and butchered). He states, “Everywhere you look, there are more screenwriters and producers eager to take great stories and ‘make them their own’.” Regardless of who the author is or how great their work is, he says, “there always seems to be someone on hand who thinks he can do better, eager to take the story and ‘improve’ on it.” He finishes with: “They never make it better, though. Nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, they make it worse.”
Gerwig’s Little Women has been enjoyed by audiences, and for that I am glad, especially if they felt the same joy as I did reading the novel. Yet, I cannot help but feel that it is almost disrespectful to mischaracterise an author’s creation for your own monetary gain.
Of course, Gerwig is not alone in this. Adaptations have been criticised, crucified, and torn to pieces for years past, and will be in years to come. Netflix recently announced that they were adapting Oscar Wilde’s masterpiece, The Picture of Dorian Gray, but instead of remaining true to his queer construction of Basil Hallward and the titular protagonist, the characters are instead to be made siblings. This seems particularly troubling as Wilde was imprisoned for homosexuality, with excerpts of the novel used as evidence to convict him. Emerald Fennell is also set to release her own adaptation of Emily Bronte’s Victorian gothic, Wuthering Heights, although no details on that project have yet been revealed. It appears that as long as the written word remains, the adaptation tango will too keep on going.
I, like a lot of people, enjoy breasts — boobs, breasts, tits, hooters, ta-tas, honkers, melons, milkers, chesticles, jugs, knockers. Both my own, and others; what’s not to love?
Love ‘em or loathe ‘em, boobs are implicitly tied to a lot of people’s sexuality and gender, not to mention identity and self-confidence. I am not exempt from this. I draw a lot of my own self-concept and womanhood from my tits, even though I know that link has been forcefully instilled in me. I don’t think it’s shallow to feel this way either. Whilst I am a cis woman, I struggle a lot with feeling ‘woman enough’, like I’m not performing my prewritten role up to the inconsistent and ever-changing standard. But just by having a part of my body fulfil this societal expectation of it helps, even when I don’t present or act particularly feminine and know having them isn’t necessary or inherently tied to womanhood.
So why all this talk of tits? My family, on both my dad’s and mum’s side, have faulty PALB2 genes, as part of BRCA2 genes. The BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes are otherwise known as the breast cancer genes. For me, and all the other women in my family, that means the chance of developing breast cancer increases by 55 percent, and the chance of developing ovarian cancer increases by 5 percent. This isn’t just a women’s issue. It increases both men’s and women’s chances of getting breast and pancreatic cancer, and also increases the chances of prostate cancer in men.
I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know about this genetic defect in the family. I know the treatments, the chances, the tests, without being able to pinpoint when or how I learnt them. As soon as I started to develop breasts, my mother taught me how to do self checks, and reminded me that I would have to get yearly MRIs from 30 years old and mammograms yearly from 40 years old. Whilst risk-reducing mastectomies aren’t as common nowadays, many women in my family opted into it. My grandmother got a hysterectomy before I was even born. None of my family are sure what going through menopause feels like, because we have never quite reached that age without something coming up beforehand.
One of my earliest memories of the healthcare system is going to visit my mother after she had a lump removed from her right breast. It’s hard to say what effect this has had on me, but it’s one of the clearest memories from my childhood. My grandmother on my mother’s side has had breast cancer three times. My aunt on my dad’s has had it twice. Nobody I know intimately has ever died of it, but it’s an ever-present fear. The knowledge that someone close to me, or even myself, could be killed by the very piece of my anatomy that feels most tied to my adult life and gender, haunts me.
So yeah, whilst I love my breasts, they also terrify me. Which is a little bit ironic to me. This part of humanity that’s so necessary to early survival and part of the process that provides life, could be the very thing that does me in. Of all the things, had to be my boobs.
This of course means I have considered the implications of what I would do if I got a diagnosis at some point; it’s better to be resigned than surprised. There are many treatment options, but the one that has preoccupied me the most are mastectomies. This is probably because it’s such a radical, and actually uncommon and not recommended course of treatment nowadays. But still, the idea that I may have to remove such a seemingly useless, but nonetheless important, part of my body and self is alarming. It is an amputation after all.
I know what this procedure has done to strangers and people in my family alike. It’s an incredibly difficult decision to make, even if it’s preventative and not life-preserving. You have to give up a physical piece of yourself, a piece that has been forcefully tied to your womanhood and how you are perceived as one whether you agree with it or not. I don’t know that I have the courage to do that; I admire anyone who does. I’ve seen the aftermath of it; the second-guessing, the loss and the grief. I’ve seen my family get questioning looks at the beach. I’ve seen them try and move on after a tremendously terrifying fight to save themselves at the expense of how they see themselves and how they relate to their gender.
Women should be given the grace to make life-saving changes to their bodies, without fear of judgement and stigma. Women should be allowed to feel loss over those changes, without others telling them that the choice they made was wrong. Women should be allowed to have, not have, replace, augment, enlarge, reduce, remove, pierce, tattoo and even shave their boobs. Women shouldn’t have to give you a reason for a change they have made to their bodies. I want to be able to make difficult decisions about my own body, without having to consider social implications along with everything else. I like having tits, but the judgement I receive for them, no matter what I do to them, taints it a bit. I want to enjoy my tits in peace, please.
Every year I eagerly await the beginning of spring, when the winners of my favourite prize are announced. You may be thinking; September, that’s when the Nobel prizes are awarded, right? You would be correct, but that’s not my favourite prize list. My favourite prize list is the Ig Nobel prizes. It’s an annual prize that has been going since the early 1990s, with ten awards for silly and trivial scientific research. They are mostly for funny scientific studies, but sometimes they are a satirical criticism of the winner. Winners are given a 100 trillion Zimbabwean dollar bank note (worth around $0.60 AUD).
The awards are given out by actual Nobel laureates, originally at MIT, but now at Harvard. Despite this, it never takes itself too seriously. Several running gags occur at the event to keep it more interesting than the usual reveal and then a speech from the winner. For example, a little girl (Miss Sweetie Poo), will start complaining loudly about being bored if your speech is too long. There is also the tradition of throwing paper planes onto the stage, with the Keeper of the Broom, previously Nobel award-winning theoretical physicist Roy Glauber, having to keep the stage clear. The 2024 ceremony was Murphy’s Law themed (a previous Ig Nobel winner) and it featured a mini-opera about it.
It’s hard to explain just what would win an Ig Nobel prize without telling you about some of the winners, so here are some of my favourites. In 1995, three men won the physics prize for figuring out what the optimal composition of a bowl of cereal is to prevent cereal sogginess. In 1996, the higher-ups of two tobacco companies won the medicine prize for testifying to U.S. Congress that nicotine is not addictive. In 1998, Jerald Bain and Kerry Siminoski won the statistics prize for testing the statistical relationship between height, foot size and penis length. The 2004 peace prize was given to the inventor of karaoke. The 2012 neuroscience prize was given to a study that showed you can find brain activity in anything, including a dead salmon. The 2018 nutrition prize was given to James Cole for calculating that a cannibalistic diet is significantly worse than any other meat-based diet. The 2023 mechanical engineering prize was given to the study that figured out how to use dead spiders as mechanical gripping tools.
Yes, these are all a little bit ridiculous and goofy, but I think that’s what makes them so important and beloved. It isn’t like these studies don’t have wide-reaching importance either. Andre Geim, winner of the 2000 Ig Nobel prize in physics for magnetically levitating a frog, later won the actual Nobel Prize in Physics for his research on graphene. Many of the psychology and neuroscience winners have studies that have had immense effects on the field. A study on mosquitos and cheese has helped prevent the spread of malaria.
Trivial research isn’t just trivial, it is something someone was interested in enough to devote time and effort into. The Ig Nobels are a celebration of just that, the curiosity and creativity of the human race, as well as a criticism of those who use status and power to undermine the value of scientific investigation and discovery. Why does all research have to be so serious and purposeful? Sometimes the simplest and silliest of investigations yield the most poignant of results. I highly encourage you to watch the digital webcast of the ceremony that streamed on the 14th of September, just like I have. It’s a good reminder to not take yourself too seriously, and to allow yourself to do the things that interest you, even if they don’t seem to have a higher purpose or value.
Comments Off on 10 other Australian universities have committed to divesting from all or most fossil fuel companies. Why hasn’t the ANU?
If I’m doing my job as ANUSA Environment Officer properly, you should have seen posters, flyers, or social media promoting the ANU Environment Collective’s ‘ANU ZERO’ campaign calling for divestment from fossil fuel companies. But maybe you haven’t heard exactly what the campaign is asking the ANU to do, or why it is necessary. In this article, I want to explain how our campaign is asking for sensible, achievable action from the university, and how student pressure can help bring it about. I also want to illustrate the broader political context behind the divestment movement and its past successes.
The end goal of this campaign is to have the ANU commit to divesting from all companies that substantially produce fossil fuels. This goal has historically been rubbished by ANU leaders like Brian Schmidt, who have contended that specific divestment is possible but divestment from the entire fossil fuel sector, which makes up a substantial portion of the Australian economy, is not fiscally sound. As an activist, I would rather not waste my time pursuing impossible goals, so I put in the research to make sure that the ANU ZERO campaign’s demands are, in fact, feasible.
Conducting that research into each of the 39 Australian public universities and their investment policies and commitments, I found results that shocked me. I expected one or two universities to have committed to divesting from fossil fuel corporations, but it turns out at least ten universities have made commitments to divest from either the vast majority or all of them. Two of these ten — Adelaide University and the University of Queensland — are part of the wealthy and prestigious ‘Group of Eight’ along with the ANU. Another three universities, including two more in the Go8, have committed to not invest in companies that primarily produce fossil fuels, a stance which the ANU also does not take.
The ANU brags about its investment policies being ‘sector-leading’, but in fact, the ANU lags behind one-third of all Australian universities and one-half of the Go8. The universities ahead of us have sensibly recognised that investments in fossil fuel companies are both unethical and financially risky in a world where public opinion is turning against them and reserves are running out. But at least the ANU has its own policies setting carbon targets for its investment portfolio more broadly — which would be worth something if they were followed.
Bad news: the ANU isn’t even necessarily following its own current policies, according to their own most recent Socially Responsible Investments Report. In the report, the ANU discloses that 3.28 percent of their entire Long Term Investment Pool, totalling some $43 million, has been invested in projects that violate their own carbon rules. In addition, the ANU discloses that its domestic investments, if replicated across the entire economy, would be ‘consistent with’ a 2.5 degree rise in global temperatures, a catastrophic outcome for life on this planet. That means, according to the ANU’s own report, that the ANU’s investments are ‘misaligned’ with the goals of the Paris Agreement to limit global warming to 1.5 degrees.
Through the Freedom of Information process, we were also able to find that the ANU remains heavily invested in major fossil fuel companies BHP and Woodside Energy, both among Australia’s largest polluters. More than $32 million alone was invested in BHP and more than $6 million was invested in Woodside, as of June 2024. As well as mining many other minerals, BHP owns the massive Mount Albert thermal coal mine — which burns coal for power generation — as well as 50 percent of four gigantic metallurgical coal mines. Woodside, meanwhile, is mostly focused on fossil fuel extraction, owning the largest oil and gas reserves of any company in Australia, with a history of skirting environmental laws and failing to reduce emissions. Woodside’s record on emissions is so dodgy that its own shareholders voted by a large margin to reject Woodside’s climate plans.
One reason gigantic and socially harmful businesses like these stay profitable and in business is that they spend vast sums buying politicians and public opinion. The point of divestment campaigns is not just about the direct sums of money going towards harmful industries, although the ANU’s investments in fossil fuels are outrageous. By removing funding, we can erode the social license of fossil fuels in each sector of society. We want to toxify the reputation of fossil fuels to the extent that a politician taking fossil fuel money becomes as scandalous as it would be for a politician to affiliate himself with bikies or mobsters. Destroying the reputation of the fossil fuel industry does harm its ability to make profits, which is why these corporations spend absurd sums on media and public relations.
Our ANU Environment Collective alone, essential though it is, cannot achieve anything quite so significant as destroying the reputation of these companies. But we can help rebuild the climate movement among young people. The climate movement is in dire straits in this country, with the important exception of excellent turnout for Rising Tide events every year. Don’t just take my word for it — scrolling through the ACT Conservation Council’s outdated list of members is like scrolling through the movement’s graveyard, with very few of the climate organisations listed having functioned in years.
Our little organisation is one of the very few exceptions, and one of my most important tasks is to let people know that there is still a place where climate-conscious students can congregate on campus. The previous successes of the Collective have very directly inspired climate movements nationwide. For example, when the Collective successfully campaigned for the ANU to divest from some fossil fuel interests, it inspired La Trobe students to launch their own campaign, which led to their university becoming the first in Australia to comprehensively divest from fossil fuels. It’s up to us to convince the ANU to join them and many other universities across Australia in making at least some responsible investment choices.
You can sign the petition supporting the ANU ZERO campaign here. We meet every second Tuesday, on odd weeks of semester, at 5:30pm in the ANUSA Boardroom!
Sarah Strange is the elected Environment Officer of ANUSA, the ANU student union. She is also a member of the ACT Greens and a National Conference Delegate with the Greens.