Drew's News

Category: Opinion

  • The Crucible: Open justice in Australia

    The Crucible: Open justice in Australia

    Marta: Truth and illusion, George; you don’t know the difference.
    George: No, but we must carry on as though we did.

    Edawed Albee, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf

    Edward Albee’s 1962 play, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, rips down a compulsive response in the human psyche: hysteria. What is worth believing? So too did Arthur Miller in The Crucible, where kids crying “witchcraft” became the word of law.

    If you were to search up ‘Beef Wellington Lady’ or ‘Mushroom Case’, you would be inundated with articles surrounding the Murder Trial of Erin Patterson. If you were to search up ‘Dingo Case’ on the internet, you would get a similar story of articles surrounding the ill-fated murder trial and corresponding witch hunt of Lindy Chamberlain in 1982. If you search up ‘Tony Mokbel’, a similar story of media frenzy and a sensationally-public trial.  

    In the case of these people, they have received the double-edged sword that is Australia’s mismanaged concept of ‘open justice.’ 

    Open Justice in some form stems from the Magna Carta, which guaranteed individuals a fair trial. Time has shown a good way to achieve this is by having publicly-viewed trials, where members of the jury – if there is a jury – are the accused’s everyday peers. Another method of open justice is having media reports on the court proceedings and publishing the judgments after the trial. An open-and-shut example of this would be:

    • Channel 9 reports that an individual has been charged with Assault
    • A reporter goes to the Downing Centre to watch the day in court
    • That reporter publishes the verdict that afternoon
    • The judge publishes his reasoning a few days later
    • The general public knows the fate of the accused just as much as they know themselves
    • End of story

    There are complexities to this, however, stemming from times the judiciary has missed the mark and has changed the rules. Examples of this include:

    1. Not everything is public: if the trial involves children, members of the military, protected witnesses, military matters, or matters of national security, there is a ‘closed court/suppression order’, meaning there is less open justice, so as to protect whoever is in the chair. No media coverage, no public viewing, nothing. 
    1. Not everyone gets a jury: if the matter is too complex for the average Australian to understand (such as a technicality of medical malpractice that only a specialist doctor would know), or is of too much public opinion, the court opts for a judge-only trial. The latter of the stipulations is where, in my opinion, the wheels fall off.

    Summarily, open justice is various steps (there are many more I’ve omitted) to prevent the law from becoming this draconian-style kangaroo court popularised in films such as The Dark Knight, where there is no due process and justice is anyone’s guess. It also prevents the politicisation of justice. Episodes of Black Mirror – despite being fictional – actually display brilliant examples of this spectrum. Often, it ends in an ongoing push-and-pull between the interests of the public and the interests of the state.  

    The idea of having a jury is often to understand what a ‘reasonable’ person would do – balancing how the law views someone (the judge) and how society views them (jury) and assessing their criminality from there. For example, a judge may ask a jury if they would have acted in self-defence if in the position of the accused. The nature of juries being randomly selected Australians generally gives a good temperature check to see if someone has morally missed the mark in their actions. For your ‘run-of-the-mill’ crime, this typically works.

    Where things get complex is when the alleged crime falls into the media before the courts, or when the case is just as tragic as it is bizarre. 

    R v Chamberlain was the trial of Lindy Chamberlain and her husband for the murder of their one-year-old baby, Azaria. In tragic essence, whilst camping at Uluru, baby Azaria was taken by a Dingo and killed. However, Lindy herself was being blamed for the murder, in response to a vast array of social concerns at the time (her stoic remorse, their subscription to the Seventh Day Adventist Church, and the uncommon name of their daughter).

    This case has relevance to me personally, as my Mum grew up in a Seventh Day Adventist school, to which Mr Chamberlain was a pastor at the time of the trial. As time went on, the joint trial of Lindy and Mr Chamberlain became the most highly publicised murder trial in history, and every detail of the couple’s lives was spread across the Australian landscape. Where open justice was supposed to find out what happened to baby Azaria, it devolved into a frenzied witch-hunt against a mother who had lost her child. Tabloids painted Lindy as a witch, poorly evidenced by their misunderstanding and potential ignorance of the Seventh-Day Church. A common storyline held that Lindy sacrificed baby Azaria in a religious ritual. ‘Americanised’ tabloids crashed into society, dividing public opinion beyond repair. 

    Australia in 1982 was a very different country from what it is today, hence her branch of Christianity being the primary concern in a comedy of judicial errors.

    History tells us that the jury (Australians we pick off the street) were too easily swayed by the opinion of the media, and largely disregarded the evidence within the trial. In a legal sense, the trial was mismanaged and tragically missed the mark in terms of how to convict someone. I would argue that the jurors in the original trial were led to believe the narrative of Lindy, as opposed to the evidence placed before them at trial. Mob mentality crashes like a fullback into one’s life, especially if their entire society thinks one way

    On Red Scare hysteria, Miller said: 

    And now, as though cornered, they let out a gigantic scream, and Mary, as though infected, opens her mouth and screams with them.

    Lindy Chamberlain was exonerated and acquitted, but it took a long time to pull out the short blade. 

    Let’s jump to 2025. Erin Patterson was found guilty of triple murder after cooking a meal for members of her family laced with death-cap mushrooms, resulting in their tragic deaths. The trial ensued for twelve gruelling weeks, with regiments of media descending on the small Victorian town of Leongatha in the hopes of stirring up some action. The concern, however, is that it more or less got out of hand. Hundreds of media articles, videos, podcasts, satirical run-offs and general commentary swamped the Australian landscape. In my opinion, the media (and therefore the general public) was too quick to throw down the hammer, where lots of what was actually occurring inside the courtroom was unknown. 

    This trial was absolutely everywhere and anywhere. Work conversations. Theories with mates. Filling in time waiting in a bar line somewhere in an inner-Sydney pub post-8 pm.

    The catch is, this was a trial with a jury. The jurors could’ve been the work colleagues. The theorist mate. The dude copping a legal earful waiting for a drink at an inner-sydney-pub-post-8 pm. Were they in a position to just forget?

    Section 68C(1) of the Jury Act 1977 (NSW) strictly prohibits jurors from investigating the workings of the case beyond the courtroom. Jurors must completely switch off from the outside world during deliberations and must not make any attempt to discover more facts (or opinions) of the case. This is seriously enforced, and jury tampering is a serious offence. 

    Where it’s easy for a juror in 1950 to just not open the letterbox, today it is entirely impossible to remain isolated from media coverage and public opinion. If you don’t open the app, the ABC will let you know. Importantly, natural factors such as an increased number of journalists and the ability for anyone to report on the matter via social media do add to the complexity. This places the modern juror in an incredibly difficult situation: how do you switch off when the case you are a part of is literally everywhere? How do you refrain from hearing outside information for three whole months? The cruellest irony of the whole trial is that it seems the only way one can refrain from gathering information is if they were the one in the box, and had been denied bail.

    I believe we place too much pressure on jurors who happen to be selected for cases of national prominence. 

    History will tell us that Erin Patterson was found guilty by a jury of her peers. This is not contested. But, I believe cases that are so high profile are the time to close the doors to opt for a judge-only trial. Further, for a twelve-week trial, the role of juror is gruelling and at times mundane without the pressure of the outside world.

    Going no-jury is a fine line between defence counsel seeking a jury as an acquittal tactic, but also wishing to keep the doors closed to hopefully please a judge only. As the burden of proving everything down to the last atom sits with the Crown, Crown prosecutors are often reluctant to let things play out in the media, as it complicates their task of appealing to a jury.

    I had the jury right here! Right here! And you tell me this now?

    Cleaver Green, Rake

    You never truly know who you’ve picked off the street. 

    In summary, jurors are a vital aspect of the modern Australian justice system. But, I believe in national cases that start to unfold akin to a crucible, it may be time to rethink the whole process. Victoria gets hot in the summer. Heat draws out the impurities. In his closing remarks, Justice Beale, the judge presiding over Erin Patterson’s trial, directed the jury for the last time in the fitting coda: 

    You are the only ones in this court who can make a decision about these facts. 

  • So What?: Deconstructing the common rhetoric and shame surrounding casual harassment

    So What?: Deconstructing the common rhetoric and shame surrounding casual harassment

    I was five years old when a boy took hold of my shoulders behind the water fountain without warning and pressed his lips against mine.

    The common rhetoric I often encounter as an indirect response is that of “so what?”; essentially, how can such a trivial act lead to tangible detriment to the woman? I myself am guilty of this rhetoric, which often manifests as the following: sure, casual harassment is not a positive thing, though women ought to be exaggerating the consequences? Or, alternatively, one may think, I’ll curb my actions, though only when in front of certain people – your principal, your mother, your employer – for it’s all merely ‘political correctness’. 

    The majority of women have encountered subtly nonconsensual experiences throughout their lives, though it appears that the detriment of these experiences must be mechanised in order for any change in attitude towards casual harassment to occur. Otherwise, the “so what?” argument will continue to permeate. Society will continue to remain incomprehensive of the motivations for feminist thought. And I do empathise to an extent with the “so what” view; these acts do seem trivial in the macrocosm.

    The most pertinent but ostensibly ill-discussed aspect of harassment is its high prevalence. Upon emphasising prevalence, the ascribed triviality of harassment is largely disproved. These acts of subtle harassment are not anomalies. It is this prevalence that, in my opinion, turns supposedly trivial acts into a detriment to the female psyche. Speaking on behalf of my experience, these acts occur to women at least a couple of times a week. 

    Once prevalence is highlighted, understanding amongst men and women as to the detriment of harassment seems to follow. The other week, a supposed male ‘friend’, let’s call him Mullet Boy, made three jokes about my body in front of a sizable group of people. It was only at the third joke that another male friend stepped in and asked Mullet Boy to apologise. In this case, prevalence was clearly showcased – three occurrences of female shame occurred consecutively in front of the same group of people, easily identified and critiqued by others in the room. However, this is a rarity – typically, acts of shame or harassment occur across several different times, locations, and people. Though the female herself will be subject to shame a multitude of times, when the aspect of ‘consecutiveness’ is removed and bystanders become unaware of such prevalence, suddenly the illumination of shame and harassment transmutes into ‘censure’, ascribed labels of ‘political correctness’ and ‘exaggeration’.

    Bizarrely, Mullet Boy made a similar joke the following week in front of largely the same group of people. However, it was a singular joke. No one stepped in, including my friend who had intervened previously. Though contributing to the perpetual female feeling of insufficiency and shame, I thank Mullet Boy for pronouncing the lack of awareness around prevalence. When Mullet Boy made three jokes instead of one, suddenly, such was recognised as intruding female agency.

    So what does harassment and shame actually mean for a woman; what do I mean by ‘detriment’? I think the best way to pronounce this meaning is to compare the outlooks of a young girl and a girl exiting her teens. Women typically become the subjects of shame as they develop as teenagers. Thus, when you ask a young girl about their aspirations, I find that they typically have the most inspiring dreams, maybe to become a scientist, an astronaut, or a world-renowned author (borrowing from my own 10-year-old diary). When you ask the nineteen-year-old girl, you’ll find their response often falls flat compared to that of their male counterparts. When you ask a young girl their favourite hobbies and products, they’d typically respond with a variety of toys and learning-based or mind-based games. When you ask the nineteen-year-old girl, you’ll likely find a list of various vogue items of clothing or makeup or other self-improvement tools. Why do I highlight this difference? I find shame often manifests in a perpetual feeling of insufficiency and self-loathing. We can never be sufficient; if a woman is to excel academically or in the workplace, then she will be shamed for her looks. If a woman were comparable to Barbie, she would be ascribed the label of dumb. Dreams thus falter, and women must always focus on aesthetics. Upon editing this piece, even my use of the word ‘girl’, instead of ‘woman’ to describe a nineteen-year-old, is a manifestation of my own feelings of insufficiency, with this inaccurate use of ‘girl’ highlighting the female focus on youth and aesthetics as they age.

    So, next time your friend drops a mere ‘joke’ or indictment on another female, please be cognizant that that female has likely already heard several such jokes that week, maybe that night. It is not okay; it is not a trivial comment in the macrocosm, but rather a contributor to a larger sleuth of constant indictments on the female body.

  • Fascism’s Insidious New Mutation: How gym bro influencers, the alt-right pipeline and Netflix’s viral show ‘Adolescence’ are connected

    Fascism’s Insidious New Mutation: How gym bro influencers, the alt-right pipeline and Netflix’s viral show ‘Adolescence’ are connected

    After watching Donald Trump’s 2024 election victory, the politically astute and the ignorant alike sat up in their seats – it was a final, overwhelming announcement that fascism is back in.

    The EIU’s 2024 Democracy Index resoundingly supported this proposed democratic backsliding, reporting a historical low with 130 of 167 states registering stagnation or decline in their score. The ‘year of elections’ saw far-right and even fascist parties creating governments in seven EU states, and accelerating influence rapidly in countless others. Argentina’s Havier Milei, El Salvador’s Nayyib Bukele, India’s Narendra Modi, Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro and America’s Donald Trump are just a handful of fascist or fascist-like governments recently elected across the globe.

    The Role of Influencers

    We’re all aware, to a certain extent, of the integral role that social media has had in this: more engaging, addictive, and radicalising algorithms, alongside inadequate or downright biased fact-checking (we’re looking at you, Zuckerberg) and algorithms controlled by America’s tech oligarchs.

    All around us, political messaging is becoming increasingly difficult to identify. And arguably, it is most effectively disguising fascist ideologies, a far cry from Mussolini’s sensationalist oration or Hitler’s Swastika-covered posters.

    Social media is seeing the online ‘bro-culture’ influencers syphoning viewers toward the spanning and increasingly extremist web of the ‘alt-right pipeline,’ comprised of ‘red-pill’ content, the ‘manosphere,’ conspiracy theory podcasts, ‘incel’ communities and even Neo-Nazis. Netflix’s recent viral sensation Adolescence outlines the nuanced ways in which these pathways ensnare young men.

    The extreme ‘Andrew Tate’ caricatures and Tenet Media Scandals of this deceptively large movement often see it ridiculed and its threat diminished. Yet enormously popular, seemingly laid-back and fiercely likeable influencers are increasingly proving a gateway to this extremist pathway; when three of the top influencers (amongst young men) Joe Rogan, Nelk Boys and Adin Ross alone have a combined YouTube view count of over nine billion, the global reach of their platforms becomes frighteningly real.

    After garnering millions of devoted ‘followers’ for their laddish, comedic and apolitical content, all three channels hosted Donald Trump for on-brand relaxed conversations with the then- then-presidential candidate. Bizarrely, in his speech at Trump’s Florida victory celebration, UFC CEO Dana White praised “the mighty and powerful Joe Rogan” and others for their role in winning the vote for Trump. Considering Trump’s share of the young male vote increased from forty-one per cent in the 2020 election to forty-nine per cent in 2024, it is highly unlikely that these endorsements had no effect.

    Besider directly promoting right-wing political candidates, these ‘gateway’ influencers have platformed extremists under the guise of casual conversations through the ‘Alternative-Influence Network,’ which sees fan favourites like Adin Ross or Joe Rogan introducing increasingly fascist ideals by interviewing Neo-Nazis, Holocaust Deniers and alleged rapists.

    Never before have fault lines between politics and entertainment been so blurred. This is all the more concerning when considering the parasocial relationships these influencers foster with their viewers through the form of content put out; intimate details of their lives, close-up videos filmed on their phone’s ‘selfie’ camera, and long interactive live-streams with fans.

    Thus, our geopolitical landscape faces a new political actor, disguised as your average Joe (pun very much intended). They are relatable, entertaining and irreverent, borderless and translatable into over one hundred languages. Indeed, ‘the fascist game can be played in many forms.’

    Umberto Eco’s ‘Ur-Fascism’

    Umberto Eco identifies the ‘eternal fascism’ (or ‘Ur-Fascism’) as a collective of fourteen characteristics which, like Wittgenstein’s concept of ‘language-games,’ can be combined in infinitely different ways so that fascism has no one distinct ‘appearance.’ Eco stresses that fascism is not a single ideology but a ‘collage’ of contradictions, illustrating a need to remain vigilant in identifying these characteristics, wherever they present.

    Parallels between the alt-right pipeline’s messaging and Eco’s fourteen characteristics are painfully easy to draw. What proves more insidious, however, is how easily the early stages of the pipeline feed into fascist ideology.

    ‘Gym bro’ culture, ridicule of less traditionally masculine men, and ‘hustle culture’ create inroads for ‘machismo.’ And, this machismo’s concomitant ‘disdain for women’ is created by a perpetual reinforcement of the Whore-Madonna complex. Influencers glorify ‘womaniser’ status through bawdy retellings of sexual encounters and party montages at strip clubs, whilst simultaneously criticising female sexual liberation and deliberating on ‘acceptable body counts’ for women.

    This ‘Cult of Tradition’ and ‘Rejection of Modernity’ also manifests in ‘anti-PC’ humour as racist, homophobic and misogynistic sentiments are trivialised and posited as a protest against ‘woke censorship.’

    Idealisation of a diffuse and unspecific notion of absolute freedom and free speech creates an ‘Obsession with an Enemy,’ of a massive umbrella encompassing ‘the left,’ ‘wokeness,’ and ‘DEI.’

    This villainization finds easy traction with young men through an ‘Appeal to [their] Social Frustration,’ blaming various common struggles on the scourge of ‘wokeness.’ This entire cultural paradigm of traditionalism, separation, prejudice and intolerance which influencers actively promote is leading to radicalisation, extremism and fascist ideology across a range of demographics. While this article focuses on young men and the ‘bro-culture’ influencers, there are seemingly apolitical pipelines toward fascism from all angles (like trad-wife content and the alt-right pipeline for women).

    Implications of this New Political Actor

    State sovereignty is perpetually facing new challenges and modifications. The United Nations’ creation saw conceptions of states’ territorial and cultural integrity evolve, and globalisation saw trans-national corporations evade, and even openly defy, states’ ability to exercise control (evading tax, manipulating media coverage, and flouting laws).

    However, the ability of online influencers to bypass state sovereignty through the invisible and fundamentally intractable internet enables them to stoke not just national but global anti-democratic trends, all while appearing apolitical.

    As Eco warns, “Ur-Fascism can come back under the most innocent of disguises. Our duty is to uncover it and to point our finger at any of its new instances – every day, in every part of the world.”

  • Straight to the Courtroom: Castle Law in Australia

    Straight to the Courtroom: Castle Law in Australia

    It’s the vibe of it. It’s the constitution. It’s Mabo. It’s Justice ….

    Darryl Kerrigan, The Castle

    Growing up, your parent or guardian might have kept a baseball bat, a knife, or some sort of object hidden in the house that they could use as a weapon in the case of a home invasion. The idea behind this is to fend off an attack from an intruder, protect the home and whoever is inside of it.

    This is not new. 

    In my opinion, it is so common that we would all call this measure reasonable. Tribesmen would have warriors stand guard outside their homes. British lords would have a knight stand sentinel at the top of a castle tower. Modern Americans may have a legal right hidden in a safe that can be used to guard themselves in this same manner. However, this age-old idea that someone has the right to protect their home (their castle) and their family has been lost in the infinity of foreign legal systems, wherein its practical application in the modern day is somewhat confusing. For the purpose of this, I will be comparing the American state of Alabama – which advocates for this so-called ‘Castle Doctrine’ – and New South Wales, where we have no such doctrine. 

    The Castle Doctrine forms a part of the great notion of self-defence, which, in some aspects, extends to defending one’s property. In Alabama, they assert the idea that you can ‘stand your ground’ in defending your home, business, or occupied vehicle. That is, if someone were to unlawfully intrude on one’s property, the owner could defend their property to a “reasonable extent”. This is important because, through common law examples and statute, deadly force is permitted so long as the homeowner believed it was necessary. Does this law lead to arbitrary and disproportionate responses to intrusion? Imagine knocking on a neighbour’s door at night for help, being mistaken for a trespasser and looking down at the unfortunate end of a Browning X-Bolt rifle – no Australian can imagine this.

    In New South Wales, we have no such doctrine. Further, it is written in statute that deadly force is NOT permitted in home invasions. Self-defence is, but not of the same deadly calibre. I acknowledge there are obvious differences between these states; comparing someone in Birmingham AB reaching for their protection rifle (Jim Jeffries has a lot to say on this one) to stop a home intruder is different to someone in Narrabeen reaching for the Kookaburra bat when someone is breaking in. 

    In Alabama, the chance of a home intruder carrying a deadly weapon (like a gun) is high, so it can be argued that a homeowner is only matching the strength of the threat. That is a whole new dimension that Australia (thankfully) does not have to deal with, which raises the question:

    Should someone be allowed to defend their property using deadly force, if they see needed?

    Liberalism would point to the argument that in a situation of one’s home and family at stake, any means are necessary to protect both. Further, those who have endured a violent break-in might point to the argument that there is no time to wait for law enforcement, as the situation is rapidly evolving and victims are at further risk of danger. Many of us also cannot fathom the mental state of someone locked in a bedroom listening to an intruder wander around their house. Often, section 418 of the Crimes Act isn’t at the forefront of one’s mind during this time…

    So here we are: lost in the infinity of ‘what ifs’ and hypotheticals. But, what if Australia actually had Castle Law?

    We almost – sort of – did. 

    In July 2024, Queensland State MP Nick Dametto introduced the Criminal Code (Defence of Dwellings and Other Premises – Castle Law) Amendment Bill. This bill would have laid the groundwork for the Castle Law doctrine in modern Australia, allowing people to use lethal force to defend themselves in their home or premises. It also asserted that there is no duty to retreat in one’s own home, the Castle Law, meaning that all lethal force used against an intruder is reasonable if the intruder was unlawfully present. The bill was referred to a legal committee for review, and the Parliament lapsed, in essence killing the bill. For now. 

    Some hold the argument that Australia does need Castle Law, specifically in rural areas and areas with little law enforcement presence. Some argue it is needed as a liberal method to counter the increase in youth and violent crimes across the state, where the frequency of youth break-ins is high in rural areas. If passed, the Queensland Castle Law bill would have interestingly paralleled the new legal principle of “adult crime, adult time” underlying the crackdown on violent youth crime.

    Opponents of Castle Law argue that it allows people to take the law – or the defensive cricket bat – into their own hands, ‘playing’ the job of police. Some argue it is a race-to-the-bottom, leading to increasingly extreme and unjustified uses of force as individuals impose their own idea of justice without legal oversight, and the possible arbitrary danger of the doctrine. 

    Popular culture (such as the movie aptly named ‘The Castle’) leads us down a road of protection. Protection of yourself, your home, and your family. In the words of Machiavelli, nothing is ever so decisive. A failed attempt at introducing this type of law is not the end – in my opinion, it is the start. Queensland is a democratic state, and Nick Dametto is a democratically elected member. If the people want something, in essence, they tend to get it in some form eventually.

    In another time – or another parliament – we may see Queensland actually implement its own brand of Castle Law.  For better or for worse, whichever side of the fence you are on, we all still sit in hypothetical territory. For now.

  • The Case for a Fairer University Admissions Process

    The Case for a Fairer University Admissions Process

    A popular topic for discussion in Year 11 and 12 is the choice of university and degree. After all, students have just completed 13 years of schooling, and now, they face a new challenge: pursuing education in a new environment and adjusting to a different lifestyle. Gone are the regimented high school timetables; in with personalised and unique schedules. But before students can enjoy this newfound ‘freedom’, they must be admitted into a university. In Australia, university admission is based on marks. As a result, the consensus for students is to achieve the highest possible academic results so they can study their preferred degrees. But, for some, this process can be difficult because it fails to account for an individual’s socio-economic background, extracurricular and academic opportunities, and community involvement, all of which can impact their likelihood of getting into their preferred degrees.

    I believe that education, not only primary and high school, should be accessible to individuals of all backgrounds, regardless of their religion, socioeconomic status, age, and gender. While the call for accessible education is not new, it has never been more urgent. In an age marked by political instability, economic volatility, and global uncertainty, we need a generation equipped not just with knowledge but with the skills that tertiary education can cultivate. Now is the time for young people to rise, and higher education can be the platform that empowers them to do so.

    Relying solely on a student’s academic marks often overlooks the external factors that can significantly influence their performance.

    Students from regional areas in New South Wales face an undeniable disadvantage in educational opportunities. Unlike their private school peers, these students typically lack access to specialised learning facilities, subject-specific aids, and fully-resourced educators. Without these foundational supports, their academic performance can suffer — not from a lack of potential, but from a lack of possibility. Often, limited staffing means students go without personalised feedback, one-on-one guidance, or even access to courses that align with their aspirations. For instance, a student passionate about becoming a fashion designer may never study textiles simply because there are no sewing machines or no qualified educator available to teach the subject. Over time, this systemic inequity dampens student enthusiasm, restricts subject choice, and risks pushing students away from completing high school altogether.

    Socioeconomic background and familial experience also play a critical role in shaping a student’s academic trajectory. First-generation students – those whose parents did not attend university – often navigate their educational journey without the benefit of prior knowledge or encouragement from home. The idea of university can feel distant or unrealistic, especially when no one in their immediate circle has gone through the system. In contrast, students whose parents have attended university are more likely to view tertiary education as a natural next step. They not only benefit from academic support but also from informal guidance, emotional reassurance, and insight into the challenges and expectations of university life.

    Peer and financial environments further influence a student’s academic performance, often in ways not reflected in their final scores. In schools where academic ambition is not widely shared, motivated students may struggle to maintain momentum, and scaling systems that rank students relative to their peers may further penalise them despite strong individual efforts. Compounding this, families facing financial hardship may not be able to afford tutoring or extra support for subjects their children struggle with. Without access to these resources, students are less likely to feel confident in their abilities, particularly in essay writing, scientific analysis, or complex problem-solving.

    These gaps are not reflective of a child’s intelligence or ambition, but rather of an education system that fails to meet all students where they are.

    Instead of relying solely on academic marks, the NSW education system should adopt a holistic admissions process, one that considers the broader social, financial, and educational circumstances that shape a student’s academic journey. A student’s school type – public or private – can dramatically influence the opportunities available to them, from extracurricular clubs and elite sports teams to tutoring and academic support. Recognising how students navigate these environments offers a more accurate measure of their determination and potential than a single numerical score.

    While adjustment factors already exist to acknowledge disadvantage, they often fall short in making a meaningful difference, especially when it comes to gaining entry into competitive university degrees. We must do more to level the playing field, particularly for first-generation students, who often lack the guidance and confidence that others may take for granted. Although a university degree can dramatically improve someone’s quality of life, the admissions process itself is often intimidating and exclusionary for those without prior exposure.

    Universities also must offer greater flexibility for students to explore and change their academic pathways. Expecting 18-year-olds to make a life-defining choice before truly understanding their passions or career goals is both unrealistic and unfair. While degree transfers exist, many competitive programs require a high WAM, creating additional barriers that discourage exploration and adjustment. By allowing students to pivot more freely – within structured timeframes – we can foster a culture of curiosity, adaptability, and self-discovery, rather than one of entrapment.

    Some may argue that these changes undermine merit or create unfair advantages, but that argument overlooks the reality that the current system already privileges those from wealthier, more connected backgrounds. Universities are not just institutions of learning; they are gateways to social mobility. Yet the doors often remain closed to those who could benefit from them most. A more equitable admissions system has the potential to reduce long-standing class divides, where one family’s wealth secures elite job prospects while another’s lack of education leads to ongoing financial insecurity.

    Lastly, schools must do more to prepare students for university beyond exam performance. This includes offering practical guidance about university life – how tutorials work, how to build a timetable, or how to navigate enrolment systems. As a first-generation student myself, I found the transition jarring and overwhelming. Had I been offered even a basic introduction to university systems and expectations, I would have been far better equipped to succeed from day one.

    While universities have the power to transform lives, the path to admission is often daunting, especially for those facing systemic barriers. Our current process places disproportionate weight on academic marks, ignoring the complex external factors that shape a student’s performance and aspirations. A more equitable and inclusive approach, such as a holistic admissions process, is not just a suggestion; it’s a necessity.

    Yes, implementing such reforms may take time and effort, but if we truly value education as a public good, we must ensure it is accessible to all students, not just those born into advantage. Failing to act means perpetuating a system that excludes capable minds and reinforces inequality. If we allow that to continue, we risk raising a generation unequipped to challenge the most pertinent problems we face today – from disinformation to corruption, inequality to injustice. Education must be the tool that empowers, not the gate that restricts.

  • Why We Write

    Why We Write

    To write, to put one’s thoughts on paper and place them before an audience, is, in my opinion, a small act of courage. While spoken words can be swallowed and eaten up, eclipsed by a quick clarification or a huffed laugh, there is a permanency to the written word; a solidity that invites scrutiny. Just as a person’s eyes provide a window into their soul, so too does an author’s prose – how they use dashes or semicolons, what imagery they invoke, what antecedents they recall. While one may avert their gaze or hide it beneath a smartly placed boater hat, however, a writer has little defence against the discerning reader. Yet, the urge to put something and anything on the page is an enduring hallmark of humanity, even in an era when privacy is increasingly coveted. So, to usher in this new year, and hopefully inspire a few readers to take up a pen (or keyboard), I asked our editors to untangle what they think drives this compulsion. To explain why we write.

    – Mia

    Atlanta:

    We write to convey our ideas and questions, our passions and proclivities, our aspirations and our fears, we write, as Toni Morrison would say, “to familiarise the strange and mystify the familiar.” We write to create vignettes of moments in space and time – the (apparently) tiny ones like Proust’s Madeleine, massive ones too, the heaviness of heart and smells carrying in the breeze in times of global disaster. We write to immortalise these moments, protect them from the inexorable ravaging of time and space as the present dissolves into history. We write to enliven something we know and we write to subvert that very thing, twist it round and smudge our perfectly painted portraits of ‘understanding.’ We write to give a voice to the silent and silenced, the waterways and the rainforests, the tigers that weave through the trees and the mice that scamper along the forest floor – the oppressed, the downtrodden, the stateless, the confused, the scared. We write because it is beautiful, because stories endure, evoke, and inspire, and because our voices are our most powerful instruments.

    Lucy:

    As simple and as selfish as it may sound, I write in an attempt to create and preserve history. I enjoy challenging perspectives as much as the next writer does, but my ideas are not necessarily original. However, the natural evolution of thought through collective experiences means that there are a few other people out there (hopefully) who think the same way that I do, which is another reason why I write. But as a history major, I’ve also found that writing is my attempt to create and preserve history in my voice by simply recording moments of time and relevance and situating them in our context, but primarily amidst my personal fabric of existence. And it’s not necessarily the topics I like to write about that make me part of history (or anyone else who does any writing whatsoever in their life) but the fact that they came from specifically me, at an exact moment, with all of the experiences I’ve had so far that ultimately shape every word I put down.

    Sam:

    It seems written art nowadays is somewhat sidelined by more common mediums of entertainment, and people may sometimes ask what the point of writing is. Yet this question is usually asked when people are living life well. When people suffer, however, written art provides them an avenue to turn to, allowing them to find in the works of others the emotions that they feel are so unique that no one could understand. This provides solace and comfort in the knowledge that seemingly alienating experiences have happened to others before. Here, I believe Robin Williams’s monologue from Dead Poets Society provides an apt summation, “We do not read and write because it is cute, we read and write because we are members of the human race.”

  • Shades of Red: The fractured identity of an ascendant right

    Shades of Red: The fractured identity of an ascendant right

    With more than eighty countries having held elections, 2024 was the “Year of Democracy”, confronting pluralist politics with its “biggest test” as its already battered ideals were tried over and over. While clear trends emerged – global sentiments of anti-incumbency, the emboldening of election challengers – perhaps the most salient of these was a broad swing to the right. From Nigel Farage securing his first parliamentary seat in the UK (on his eighth attempt) to the reaffirmation of Narendra Modi’s dominance in India, conservative and populist parties consistently won votes and gained popularity.

    America’s elections in November cemented and epitomised this reality. Though Donald Trump’s return to the White House stole headlines, it was the Republican Party’s achievement of majorities in both the House of Representatives and the Senate that marked America’s rightward swing, pointing to not only Trump’s enduring appeal but a genuine want for political change and disillusionment with the left. The recent German elections, where the country’s centre-right bloc and far-right AfD party beat the once-dominant Social Democrats, have indicated that this trend will continue into 2025.

    With our federal elections fast approaching, and Labor’s hold on power increasingly tenuous, whether Australia will similarly move rightward and what form such a swing would take are material questions. Though conservatism and populism are on the rise, the right is not monolithic, as was illuminated earlier this year when MAGA was rattled by a clash between Elon Musk’s ‘Tech Right’ and ‘America First’ Republicans over calls for increased skilled immigration. To understand these emerging divisions, it’s useful to compare two ascendant leaders who embody some of the warring impulses that are sculpting this moment.

    First, take Javier Milei, Argentina’s president since 2023. As a self-described anarcho-capitalist with a quintet of cloned dogs (all named after economists, of course), Milei embodies the modern libertarian spirit. The start of his presidency has focused on resuscitating an Argentine economy plagued by recession, instability and inflation through the introduction of sweeping austerity measures – from the cutting of 20% of government jobs to reductions in state fuel subsidies. Milei has also embarked on a campaign to privatise and deregulate various national sectors and industries. So far, he has enjoyed significant success, ending Argentina’s 123-year-long deficit while bringing inflation to a three-year low.

    However, Milei’s generally laissez-faire approach hasn’t been uncontroversial. Environmental and anti-poverty groups have raised concerns over the consequences of lightening the hand of the state. More recently, Milei has faced impeachment calls for fraud after he endorsed a cryptocurrency on X to “boost” the Argentinian economy which, soon after, collapsed.

    Altogether, Milei upholds established libertarian ideals, such as those of America’s Tea Party Movement, as he champions small government and free markets but his embrace of modernity – from crypto to cloning – aligns him with the likes of Musk, positioning Milei as a torchbearer for the audacious, futurist ‘Techno Right’.

    Alternatively, there’s Viktor Orban, the Prime Minister of Hungary. While Milei is generally set on shrinking the government, Orban, over his fifteen years in office, has sought to expand its presence, using it as a platform to promote “Christian values” through what he has termed “illiberal democracy”.

    Orban’s brand of conservative politics places greater emphasis on identity and society, aligning him with populist figures like Steve Banon and J. D. Vance. Most notably, Orban has championed pro-natalist and ‘Family First’ policies – from student loan forgiveness and tax exemptions to restricting abortion access – while discouraging immigration and, at times, propagating the great replacement theory. Strikingly, he has also exercised authority over the nation’s education system, altering curricula to promote Christian and nationalist sentiments while appointing religious leaders and conservatives to head universities and schools.

    Orban’s illiberalism has been reflected in his broad crackdowns on press and judicial freedoms, staunch opposition to LGBTQ rights, and close ties to Putin’s Russia. On the economy, Orban’s approach starkly contrasts Milei’s as he has repeatedly increased government spending and taxation to boost his own popularity. In 2022, his spending spree – aimed at securing an election victory – when coupled with the Russian invasion of Ukraine saw Hungary suffer the worst surge in inflation within Europe and the nation’s economic growth fall well below government targets.

    Overall, Milei and Orban personify the new factions emerging in conservative politics. Though they occupy the same end of the political horseshoe, their views on the role of government and what it means to be “right-wing” are often at odds, Milei’s freewheeling libertarianism diverging from Orban’s model of an invasive and illiberal state. The conflict between MAGA Republicans earlier this year signalled that tensions are brewing between these blocs as an ascendant global right frames its agenda. The balance it strikes will fundamentally shape our century.

    Looking to Australia’s upcoming elections, it is yet unclear with whom our conservative parties will align; whether they will be emboldened by the successes of other staunch populists or opt for moderate approaches. While the Liberals remain, comparatively, centrist, Clive Palmer’s ‘Trumpet of Patriots’ party is already attempting to weave together a platform of both Musk-ovite “efficiency” and identitarianism. Though neither a Milei nor an Orban is likely to spring up from our uniquely temperate political environment, what shade of red the Australian right chooses to don will have ramifications not only for this election but Australia’s future and its place in a rapidly evolving world.

  • Who Gets to be Smart?

    Who Gets to be Smart?

    Over a year ago, my mum was accepted into Oxford for her Master’s in Global Health Leadership. While this achievement may be a significant personal milestone to some, for our family, it was a generational milestone. My mother was raised in apartheid South Africa by a single mother who could no more imagine studying at Oxford than flying to the moon. After graduating from the University of Natal—which only had a handful of places for Indian students at the time—and immigrating to a new country at the age of 23, my mum worked tirelessly to earn this place. Today, she is pursuing her studies at an institution synonymous with academic excellence. To say we were proud was an understatement.

    But when celebrating my mum’s achievement, a realisation dawned on me. For many families, a place at Oxbridge or any Ivy League institution is not an extraordinary feat—it’s practically a birthright. It became clear that factors such as access to quality primary and secondary schooling, the financial stability to pursue enrichment activities, and the cultural capital to confidently navigate admission processes are often the true gatekeepers of opportunity. In essence, when we applaud the success stories emerging from these elite universities, we are frequently also applauding the quiet privileges that made their entry possible, most importantly the golden ticket of socio-economic status.

    In researching this article, the statistics and metrics seemed to prove this point. In the UK, at the two most elitist universities known as “Oxbridge” (Oxford and Cambridge), 82% of offers from Oxford and 81% from Cambridge went to students in the top two socio-economic groups. In the US, research by economists Raj Chetty, David Deming and John Friedman found that students with wealthy parents enjoy a large advantage in elite college admissions that academic credentials alone cannot explain. While we might expect this from our friends on the other side of the world, it is also happening in our backyard; more than half of the Group of Eight universities have not surpassed the 10 per cent mark for domestic enrolments from a low socio-economic status.

    Beyond these statistics, the conversations I had with my friends also illuminate this problem. It was through my friend, who grew up in rural NSW, that I came to realise the prevalent educational gap that existed, which often goes unnoticed. My friend was one of only four people in her cohort to sit the HSC exams. She didn’t have the privilege of multiple tutors for each subject, study tours, or copious extracurricular activities on offer – for her, even joining the sports team was considered something to “not do.” While some pockets in the rest of the state were being spoon-fed content, she was left to teach herself the curriculum. And even though she has been selected for one of the most competitive degrees in the country, it is important to acknowledge that her spot was earned not on the same level playing field as everyone else.

    In that moment, I had to reassess my own privilege and the opportunities I merely took for granted.

    I have been very privileged to have been born into a family that had the resources to provide me with the best opportunities. At the private all-girls school I attended in Perth, studying overseas was not a lofty goal to aspire to. It was conventional to think about moving interstate or overseas for the best opportunities beyond our small city. Yet, for many people my age, there are opportunities that seem innate to me, and are not even considered on the horizon. Thus, I often ask myself: if a 19-year-old like me grows up in a low socio-economic background, where these opportunities do not exist, how can entry into prestigious institutions like Oxford and Cambridge even seem reachable to them?

    I have always believed learning should not only be available to those with wealth. While the educational sphere is realising the importance of scholarships and financial aid, there is still not enough to give all those deserving a path to receive the education they deserve. Although my mum worked hard for a place at a different stage of her life, in a perfect world, every child should be able to study at these institutions.

    Of course, I understand that merit cannot be the only factor determining who receives a place in the real world. However, the world’s wealthiest institutions should rethink how they assess who gets a spot. After all, I was always taught the saying from Nelson Mandela: “Education is the most powerful weapon that you can use to change the world.”

    One we should not put a monetary limit on.

  • Is the Political Centre Truly Dead?

    Is the Political Centre Truly Dead?

    Discovering your ‘political self’ is yet another challenge of emerging adulthood for university students.

    Differentiating through generational bias, parental influence & programmed thinking, to find at one’s core what they hold as ‘just’.

    Yet, in the chaotic realm of social media and growing partisanship, how are the political views and behaviours of Gen Z influencing the future of the political landscape?

    Gen Z has shown unprecedented levels of political engagement, a trend accredited to the rise of technology & the internet, providing young voters with bounds of accessible information at their fingertips. However, media consumption dangerously floods students daily with what is known as ‘primed media’. This concept describes how companies subtly shape opinions by embedding pre-formed ideas into their audience’s subconscious. This is achieved by using targeted media strategies to connect with specific consumer profiles, aligning with their existing beliefs while adhering to broader societal narratives of right vs wrong. Digital echo chambers within social media epitomise ‘primed media’ by clustering Gen Z users and fostering shared beliefs, such as the widespread political support for Gaza.

    However, this phenomenon raises an important idea that is often overlooked in our strict partisan world –  the radicalisation of Gen Z through the promotion of extremist ideas that challenge the status quo, leading to equally extreme reactions from opposing parties as a form of defense. ‘Progressive’ ideas are uniquely defined by each generation, with the left expanding its scope from racial to sexual and now gender acceptance. In reaction, Gen Z conservative voters, typically aligned with their parents, flee dramatically right. This creates a void.

    ‘The Middle’.

    Centrism, once described as the ‘vital centre’ by Arthur Schlesinger Jr., is now often dismissed as a lack of political passion or conviction. Literature has criticised this moderate ideology for its unethicality, ignorance and flawed rhetoric; however, my growing concern revolves around its amplified rejection as a viable stance by the radicalising Gen Z. Among a ‘politically engaged’ youth, centrism is often seen as morally inverted self-righteousness, a stance taken merely to satisfy civic duties.

    However, I argue the centre is vital to an operable future democracy. The media narratives have a growing appetite for opposing forces to achieve political stability –  left vs right, red vs blue, good vs evil. The political sphere is stratified, as young voters are convinced to flee into corners of the grid and stand on one side of the line. I stay on the fence.

    Communism advocates for total state ownership, while capitalism prioritises individual ownership. Two viable ideologies, two timeless ideas tackled by the greatest thinkers, yet two options I fail to fully subscribe to. In navigating political hurdles, moderate Gen Z voters should not be forced to choose ‘the lesser of two evils’ but instead be represented within the political spectrum.

    In Australian politics, policies and decisions often reflect a moderate and centrist perspective, aiming for pragmatic solutions rather than ideological purity.

    Government decisions are decorated in radical rhetoric and promise but fall within the middle to please the majority. By this understanding, a centrist political self can be a compromise of Gen Z’s political beliefs of tradition and protest. Not only is it a viable option, but it is central to existing in an operative democracy.

    Centrism is not a political excuse, but the viability of the ‘Grey area’ must be assessed for the future of democracy. I find myself among politically engaged youth who understand that while capitalism and communism offer valuable insights, their extremes are deeply flawed and often impractical. Gen Z’s newfound accessibility of information has a dual effect –  it creates greater political awareness and reinforces bias by limiting exposure to diverse perspectives, exacerbating ideological divides. It is alienating for those who don’t fit neatly into these extremes. Social media polarisation and identity tribalism fuels the ideologies of Gen Z to discourage young voters to settle in the middle, rather than find a position that allows one to belong. A fundamental human drive as articulated by Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, predating modern political structures and ideologies.

    The middle’s negative reputation presents danger to future political climates to expand the spectrum in a multilinear way through the displacement of the centre as a voting stance. Thus, repercussions span further from the radicalising the right ‘wing’ and left ‘wing’ to the redefinition of political alignment into new categories. I persist that the middle is a viable stance.

    Embracing diversity is a reoccurring belief within Gen Z, and centrist ideology presents a unique solution. The modern political taxonomy of ‘intersectionality’ – considering interconnected social categorisations such as race, sex and class – understanding aspects that form your political self to form opinions. These factors may conflict with each other, but centrism acknowledges they find a compromise – a centre. The layers of experiences and background inform who we are in varying ways therefore the centrist political approach that embodies such a behaviour is a viable stance.

    I remain at a crossroads in my political identity—too left to be right, too right to be left, and yet the centre doesn’t fully align either. How can Gen Z engage with democracy in a polarised and complex world?

    While the answer is uncertain, our role is to foster dialogue, seek common ground, and pursue pragmatic solutions that respect intersectionality. In doing so, we, as Gen Z, might navigate the complexities of modern democracy with a nuanced approach, embracing the grey areas.

  • The Economics of Naming Rights: Are We Living in a Corporate Naming Dystopia?

    The Economics of Naming Rights: Are We Living in a Corporate Naming Dystopia?

    My first encounter with the bizarre world of corporate sponsorships and naming rights was at the age of 11, during the construction of a new ice hockey arena in Detroit, Michigan. This coincided with the death of professional ice hockey player Gordie Howe. The timing seemed perfect for a posthumous tribute to a beloved Michigan sports hero who had dedicated 25 seasons to the Detroit Red Wings. As it turns out, this wasn’t quite enough motivation for the city of Detroit, which instead opted for the more lucrative offer—somewhere around $125 million per year—from the fast-food chain Little Caesars.

    At the time, I wasn’t much of an ice hockey enthusiast, and my frustration came second-hand from adult dinner party conversations. I’ll admit, it was short-lived. It wasn’t until recently, after watching the new Challengers movie, that I started to think about this more critically. The relentless product placement of moisturisers, clothing brands, tennis rackets, and shoes—not so subtly making their way on screen—got me wondering: If Little Caesars can plaster its name on an arena, and I can’t get through a movie without feeling the need to buy Zendaya’s $300 moisturiser, what else is up for sale? Spoiler alert: just about everything.

    Little Caesars is just the tip of an iceberg—a corporate iceberg, if you will—floating ominously toward the shores of public life. Let’s be honest: The battle for prime naming rights would be fierce. What corporation wouldn’t want to sponsor the Statue of Liberty? (“Brought to you by Liberty Mutual—protecting your freedom and your car insurance!”). In this corporate Hunger Games, even the most iconic landmarks could be fair game. Mount Everest? The highest mountain on Earth, proudly powered by Google Maps.

    Behavioural economics tells us that names and branding affect our perceptions. A study could explore whether people feel differently about using branded public goods. Do they see them as less of a right and more of a consumer good? Would you feel differently about your morning jog in “Nike Park” than in “Victoria Park”? And if so, what does that say about how corporate influence shapes our economy and culture?

    While branding may seem harmless—it’s just a name—the true cost is subtler and deeper. It erodes the sense of ownership and belonging that communities have in their spaces. It turns places that should be public and neutral into parts of the corporate machine, reinforcing the idea that everything has a price and anything can be sold.

    The world of corporate naming rights is undoubtedly absurd but also insidious. It’s stadiums and arenas today, but the future may bring even more invasive sponsorships that permeate every corner of our lives. As we laugh at the idea of a “Doritos Public Library,” we should pause and ask ourselves: How much of our public life are we willing to sell off? At what cost to our sense of shared community and collective identity?

    This may sound ridiculous, but is it so far-fetched? In a world where our private lives are already monetised through social media, where data is the most valuable currency, the commercialisation of everything seems inevitable. Will there come a day when even our very identities are up for grabs?

    The implications of this trend extend beyond inconvenience or mild annoyance. They touch on larger questions about values, ethics, and society. Public spaces and cultural institutions are meant to foster a sense of unity and belonging. Turning them into branded commodities risks fracturing that sense of common ground. It sends a message that nothing is truly sacred or immune to the forces of profit.

    Still, the slippery slope of corporate naming rights feels both surreal and disheartening. It’s easy to joke about landmarks with corporate sponsors—“Amazon’s Grand Canyon Adventure Park” or “The Golden Arches Gate Bridge”—but the reality is far less amusing. Each step down this path normalises the idea that everything is for sale.

    So, where do we draw the line? How do we balance the financial benefits of corporate sponsorship with the intangible value of unbranded, communal spaces? These are questions worth considering before we wake up to find our public parks, libraries, and even our schools sold off to the highest bidder.

    And finally, this article was proudly brought to you by Ikea: even deep thoughts come with assembly instructions.