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‘Where it becomes toxic is when you're dealing with socialists': Inside student politics, 2025 edition

‘Where it becomes toxic is when you're dealing with socialists': Inside student politics, 2025 edition

The Age2 days ago
It is a sunny winter's day on the sprawling grounds of the University of Sydney, and throngs of students are perusing the dozens of student club stalls jammed along the main campus thoroughfare.
There's the Society for Creative Anachronism, the Chocolate Society and the Taylor Swift Society (USyd's Version).
A young woman with dyed blood-red hair, pigtails and a scruffy faux fur coat peers into the Sydney University Labor Club tent. It is nestled appropriately to the right of the Socialist Alternative Club and just to the left of the more politically conservative ALP Club. She strikes up a conversation with a student sitting behind a desk.
If she joins the Labor Club, she will be the 205th member to sign on this year. The stall, festooned with rainbow flags and posters promising to fight fascism, offers a few clues as to what student politics in 2025 involves.
'I think what's unique about us is we send a very clear message that we're about changing politics, not being changed by politics,' says the current president of the club, William Yang.
But politics is a numbers game, and Yang – armed with a clipboard – does not wait around for students to happen upon the club's tent.
'I would try to go up to as many people, regardless of what they look like,' he says.
This month, the club will celebrate its 100th anniversary inside the hallowed walls of the university's neo-Gothic MacLaurin Hall. The anniversary marks the establishment of the then titled Labor Group, in 1925, founded by H.V. 'Doc' Evatt. In 1931, the Herald reported on the Labor Club's first annual meeting, noting that university management said partisan political meetings were not allowed.
The club has produced some of the biggest names in Labor politics, including Gough Whitlam and John Kerr, while its more recent alumni include prominent NSW MP Rose Jackson.
But one famous living graduate, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, will not attend the centenary celebration.
His office has told organisers he had a prior commitment, though some students speculate it is largely because the faction that has controlled the historic club since 2013 – the Socialist Labor Society (also known as the Ferguson or Soft Left) – is not aligned with Albanese's.
Factions might be a necessary evil of student politics, but in Gen Z parlance, the experience of political involvement is a 'side quest' that fits between study, friends and family, says Yang.
'We want to do more than just vote, and we discover that through collectively fighting or through collectively being active, that's the best way to do it,' he says. 'First and foremost, we become comrades.'
There's another side to student politics: infighting, backstabbing and factional deals – the equivalent of a finishing school for the politically ambitious who dream of a career in the conniving world of politics.
Wang says that experiencing the casual brutality of political machinations at university can discourage some students from pursuing the political scene forever.
'Deals are done or people are destroyed over screenshots of text messages being sent out at midnight. And it's pretty astonishing, like, being able to sit at a table where you just have a couple of people hand over printed emails or printed screenshots to bring someone down because of these personnel disputes,' he says.
'I think most people who are in the Labor Party, and most people who have gone somewhere in the Labor Party … haven't actually been subject or part of that kind of nitty-gritty aspect of it. They've obviously seen that. But I think by seeing it, that's what makes your maturity grow exponentially.'
On the other side of the political spectrum at Sydney University stands the Conservative Club.
Its president last year, Freya Leach, says that joining a right-leaning political club is like finding a refuge for students who might not feel like they fit in with the rest of the university community.
'There's a lot of interest in politics ... particularly in centre-right politics because the campus is so left wing; they're looking for people who are values-aligned,' she says. 'We don't have too many crazy people.
'I always enjoy debates and robust discussion. We did a number of debates against young Labor – it was fun,' Leach says.
'Where it goes too far, and it becomes toxic, is when you're dealing with the socialists.'
Leach has left university and will have her own nightly show on Sky News starting this month.
While you can study political economy in class, and volunteer to campaign for existing party members, perhaps the best way to learn about running a successful campaign or jostling for a party position is doing it at university – where the stakes are low.
'I had a really great experience in Sydney [...] It is really good to practise and experience,' Leach says. 'It does actually prepare you for party politics ... debating issues, forming coalitions, winning votes and doing deals.
'I would say a lot of people get their start in student politics.'
One former student politician, speaking on the condition of anonymity, says more moderate students who possess an interest in politics are increasingly concerned that being associated with some clubs could be more of a liability than a help when it comes to building a career.
'There's social media now, and there can be a stigma around being in the Liberal Party because it is a broad church, including MAGA adherents,' he says.
Last year, two male students tore up copies of a landmark report that exposed a systemic culture of sexual violence and hazing in front of a student meeting that was live-streamed.
Of course, controversies and stunts in student politics are nothing new, and those of today are probably less violent than those of the past.
In 1967, three female students from the Labor Club were tackled by police, arrested and bundled into a police van after protesting against the Vietnam War at a performance by the US Vietnam Headquarters band.
That year, then NSW governor Sir Roden Cutler became collateral damage when he was 'jostled, pelted with fruit and almost tripped over' and others were knocked unconscious in a fracas that erupted between left- and right-wing students.
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But the battle lines on campus have been redrawn in recent years. The Sydney University Liberal Club (whose alumni include John Howard, Tony Abbott and Malcolm Turnbull) appears to be defunct on the student union website.
The Conservative Club's current president, Bryson Constable, says that's because involvement in clubs has shrunk and university students are primarily left wing.
'Student politics from a right-of-centre perspective is quite boring as there is only one group,' Constable says. 'It is a big group of, I think, quite wise and moderate perspectives.
'The emphasis for me has really always been on using it as a learning experience. You get to be in control of things and try a whole range of roles which exist in a student political scene, where you don't have access to anywhere else.'
Compared with the 1960s, political tension between students is now probably more likely to divide students on the left of politics.
Back at Labor's welcome week tent, abuzz with students, club members might cop some flak for ties to the current federal government, even if the club itself is controlled by a faction that self identifies as socialist.
'I've had some side eyes from some people that I've noticed when they see Labor,' Ciara Sietsma says.
'I do give a spiel that, like, we don't like some of what the Labor Party does, and kind of the whole point of our movement is to push for better politics and just kind of, like, advocate for our theory of change because the Labor Party is a very democratic party.
'You know, democracy isn't functional without educated people that know what's going on.'
At its very best, she says, student politics is about 'engaging young people and getting them involved in the issues that affect them'.
'The worst thing is the infighting – I'd say there's just a lot of unnecessary drama.'
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Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there
Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there

Sydney Morning Herald

time2 days ago

  • Sydney Morning Herald

Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there

In the election cycle just past, social media commentator Hannah Ferguson was everywhere. The 27-year-old interviewed the prime minister, found herself at the centre of media storms, went viral multiple times, and delivered an election post-mortem at the National Press Club. I see her multitasking in action when, halfway through our lunch at A.P. Bread & Wine, a waiter stops to clear Ferguson's empty plate. I look down to see my barely touched meal and wonder how this is possible, given that Ferguson has been doing almost all the talking. I hadn't even noticed Ferguson chowing down on her 'leftover bread pasta'. She talks quickly and rarely hesitates, even when I push back on her answers or delve into more controversial topics. Admittedly, 'The All Purpose' platter I ordered is large, and I am known to eat at a leisurely pace, but I'm still bemused by how Ferguson's ability to do it all at once is a pleasing metaphor for her last six months. When we meet in mid-June, Ferguson's finally had some time to breathe after a manic period of work that was bookended by the US election and hosting British author Dolly Alderton at the Sydney Opera House on one end, and the Australian federal election and announcing her plans to run for the Senate on the other. Already beloved among progressive Gen Z women, Ferguson burst into Australia's broader public consciousness this year. While her loyal left-wing fan base expanded, so did her pool of detractors. She's reached the milestone of being well-known enough to be the sole target of hit pieces in The Australian and diatribes on Sky News. 'It's actually shocking to me to look back,' Ferguson tells me. 'I feel like I've cracked through five ceilings in five months.' On October 31, 2022, Ferguson celebrated the second anniversary of her progressive social media platform, Cheek Media, with a message to her followers, posted (of course) to Instagram: 'I won't sleep until I can confirm that Rupert Murdoch knows me and hates me,' it read. Having launched the feminist platform in 2020 with two friends, primarily to call out media reporting of domestic and sexual violence, Ferguson had since taken the project solo. When Cheek hit 50,000 followers in 2023, a book deal emerged that allowed Ferguson to quit her job, move to Sydney and run the platform full-time. The book that resulted is Bite Back, an homage to the promise contained in Cheek's tagline: 'News that bites back.' 'The idea is that we can respond and say, 'No, no, we're cutting through the noise'. Young people see through this, and we want something different,' Ferguson says. It quickly grew into a platform for Ferguson's political commentary, delivered in tweet-sized text snippets or vertical video. (While Cheek is a popular Instagram news source, Ferguson's always insisted she's not a journalist.) Cheek is now nearing the 200,000 follower mark on Instagram, after a huge six months that saw more than 50,000 new followers join to hear Ferguson's commentary in the lead-up to the election. Her podcast, Big Small Talk, co-hosted with Sarah Jane Adams, regularly features in Australia's top 50 on Spotify, and Ferguson has announced a national tour. A little less than three years after her bold Rupert Murdoch claim, it's impossible to say if the media mogul knows Ferguson's name, but she's certainly caught the attention of the mainstream political establishment and the ire of the mastheads and networks Murdoch owns. On June 6, The Australian ran an opinion piece about Ferguson with the headline 'Progressive 'girlboss' preaches diversity – but champions conformity'. Days earlier, Sky News presenter Chris Kenny said her address to the National Press Club included 'plenty of the usual extreme-left bile'. In that May address, Ferguson articulated the same goal she had in 2022: to be an 'antidote' to the 'Murdoch media'. Is it overly ambitious for a 26-year-old in Sydney to take on arguably the world's most powerful media figure (the industry's biggest 'influencer', one might say)? Maybe, but unbridled ambition and barefaced confidence are Ferguson's signatures. Ferguson grew up in a working-class conservative household, moving from Orange to south-west Sydney and back again during her childhood. Her dad is a truck driver, now based in Queensland, and her mum still lives in regional NSW, running a small bra fitting business. Aged 13, Ferguson recalls how her parents' critique of Julia Gillard's 2012 misogyny speech didn't sit right. 'I remember thinking, 'They're not making fun of her policies. They're making fun of the way she speaks, and her haircut'.' As Ferguson grew up, she developed political views that were at odds with her parents', but still credits them with allowing for the robust debate that helped form her point of view. 'The reason I am progressive is that my parents always treated me like a small adult. I was allowed to ask any question.' Ferguson received a scholarship to study law at the University of Queensland, where her political perspective was shaped further by the privilege she observed in the 'stuffy' law school culture. Early work experiences at Queensland's Department of Public Prosecutions and the Electrical Trades Union provided a conviction in those beliefs that rears its head again and again through Ferguson's career. 'I was negotiating with BHP, with Rio, with Qantas. That's a wild thing to be able to say at 23,' Ferguson recalls of her time at the union. 'I think that really reflects what I do now in that I don't really doubt that I'm welcome at these tables and that I can say something.' With Cheek, Ferguson is delivering content for mostly young, mostly female progressives who aren't necessarily highly engaged in the political process but who agree with her worldview and care about the news. One 24-year-old fan I spoke to said she valued how Ferguson broke down big concepts and explained the impact of the news on society at large. 'I came to Hannah because I agree with her, and there aren't many people that I feel represented by in the media in terms of that worldview,' she told me. Cheek has a squarely political focus, but often uses memes and humour to deliver its message, while Big Small Talk is a hybrid pop culture-politics podcast that gives equal airtime to the top political stories and the latest celebrity news. 'The joke is putting the dog's medicine in peanut butter,' Ferguson says, explaining that despite being highly engaged, many Gen Zers are put off by traditional media's approach to politics. There's no doubt that their media habits are changing. Over the past year, the number of Australians accessing news via social media overtook online websites, with Instagram being the primary news source for 40 per cent of people aged 18-24, according to the University of Canberra's latest Digital News Report. Ferguson puts that down to mainstream outlets' failure to connect with young people, and in her typically confident way, she stood up at the National Press Club and said as much to a room full of newspaper and TV journalists. 'The fourth estate has failed us because it's currently wedded to the Coalition,' she claimed in her address. 'These outlets wanted to sow the seeds of doubt. They wanted to invalidate and undermine a group of powerful young women who have developed the ability to communicate with new audiences in ways traditional media cannot fathom because they have eroded the trust of their audiences.' This line alluded to the response of Canberra's press gallery when Labor invited a group of social media personalities, including Ferguson, to the federal budget lock-up. Ferguson became the face of the biggest story of the pre-election budget that no one wanted to have. The Australian Financial Review called the group of largely female commentators 'self-obsessed and self-promoting', and Ferguson criticised The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald when a report on Labor paying for some influencers' travel costs included her image, even though she paid her own way. Loading The budget uproar was the start of what would be dubbed the 'influencer election', spawning countless think pieces, many of which took a condescending tone, accusing the diverse group of personalities of 'chasing clout' and delivering 'light-weight' political coverage. 'It was naive of me not to think that I would become the story in some way,' Ferguson says, adding that the budget prepared her for what was to come during the election campaign. 'This idea of shitting on us in the first instance, instead of actually getting a microphone out themselves and explaining politics to people, it's this elitist view of what news is meant to be,' Ferguson says. Ferguson has a degree of sympathy for those who are reluctant to accept the disruption of anarchic, inexperienced social media commentators on hierarchical newsroom structures. 'I can talk about vibrators the day after covering the budget, and that would, fairly, be so painful [for political journalists] because I'm not providing the sophisticated take they are.' In some ways, what Ferguson and her peers are doing is not all that new. She's drawn a parallel between her work and talkback radio. Even veteran tailback radio broadcaster Ray Hadley has recently embraced vertical video, and there's very little that distinguishes what he does from Ferguson's work, except their age and experience, and of course, their gender. Ferguson thinks the other element at play when the mainstream media sneers at her is a 'fundamental belief that young women are silly, stupid, self-obsessed and doing it for the wrong reasons'. 'And that's from the left and the right,' she adds. Social media success is not Ferguson's end goal. 'I think it's amazing to have the following I do, but social media has killed me,' she says, listing off the bullying and threats she's faced online. 'There are so many parts of my spirit that have been broken that cannot be repaired.' Ferguson is hiring Cheek's second full-time employee, and opening up the platform to freelance writers for the first time. She hopes that no longer running the platform solo will give her the time she needs to mount her campaign to enter politics as an independent senator at the next election. While remaining realistic about the unlikely odds of being elected, Ferguson is dogged in her conviction, telling me she is prepared to try and fail 'a hundred times'. 'I think there's something so important about showing people how to fail and that it's not embarrassing to give it a go.' And Ferguson's not in the business of being coy about the extent of her ambition, revealing that her ultimate goal is to create a new political party that fills an ideological gap she sees on the left, between Labor and the Greens. Loading 'We are so used to the two-party system that asking Labor to do anything feels like begging for a crumb,' Ferguson says, mentioning climate action, gender inequality and the cost of living, while the Greens' 'baggage and branding' has allowed it to be framed as radical and obstructionist. 'What I would be looking to do is create a kind of framework for how we can make policy with respect, not designed to inflame, and focus on issues that matter to Middle Australians,' she says, citing David Pocock as the kind of politician she would aspire to be. 'This is a bigger dream. This is a lifetime dream. I want to create a new major party.' Ferguson delivers this statement with the same confidence that propelled her to the centre of Australian politics in her mid-twenties. And while it's tempting to dismiss her goals as too lofty, you wouldn't dare write her off.

Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there
Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there

The Age

time2 days ago

  • The Age

Hannah Ferguson wants Rupert Murdoch to know her (and hate her). Her ambition doesn't end there

In the election cycle just past, social media commentator Hannah Ferguson was everywhere. The 27-year-old interviewed the prime minister, found herself at the centre of media storms, went viral multiple times, and delivered an election post-mortem at the National Press Club. I see her multitasking in action when, halfway through our lunch at A.P. Bread & Wine, a waiter stops to clear Ferguson's empty plate. I look down to see my barely touched meal and wonder how this is possible, given that Ferguson has been doing almost all the talking. I hadn't even noticed Ferguson chowing down on her 'leftover bread pasta'. She talks quickly and rarely hesitates, even when I push back on her answers or delve into more controversial topics. Admittedly, 'The All Purpose' platter I ordered is large, and I am known to eat at a leisurely pace, but I'm still bemused by how Ferguson's ability to do it all at once is a pleasing metaphor for her last six months. When we meet in mid-June, Ferguson's finally had some time to breathe after a manic period of work that was bookended by the US election and hosting British author Dolly Alderton at the Sydney Opera House on one end, and the Australian federal election and announcing her plans to run for the Senate on the other. Already beloved among progressive Gen Z women, Ferguson burst into Australia's broader public consciousness this year. While her loyal left-wing fan base expanded, so did her pool of detractors. She's reached the milestone of being well-known enough to be the sole target of hit pieces in The Australian and diatribes on Sky News. 'It's actually shocking to me to look back,' Ferguson tells me. 'I feel like I've cracked through five ceilings in five months.' On October 31, 2022, Ferguson celebrated the second anniversary of her progressive social media platform, Cheek Media, with a message to her followers, posted (of course) to Instagram: 'I won't sleep until I can confirm that Rupert Murdoch knows me and hates me,' it read. Having launched the feminist platform in 2020 with two friends, primarily to call out media reporting of domestic and sexual violence, Ferguson had since taken the project solo. When Cheek hit 50,000 followers in 2023, a book deal emerged that allowed Ferguson to quit her job, move to Sydney and run the platform full-time. The book that resulted is Bite Back, an homage to the promise contained in Cheek's tagline: 'News that bites back.' 'The idea is that we can respond and say, 'No, no, we're cutting through the noise'. Young people see through this, and we want something different,' Ferguson says. It quickly grew into a platform for Ferguson's political commentary, delivered in tweet-sized text snippets or vertical video. (While Cheek is a popular Instagram news source, Ferguson's always insisted she's not a journalist.) Cheek is now nearing the 200,000 follower mark on Instagram, after a huge six months that saw more than 50,000 new followers join to hear Ferguson's commentary in the lead-up to the election. Her podcast, Big Small Talk, co-hosted with Sarah Jane Adams, regularly features in Australia's top 50 on Spotify, and Ferguson has announced a national tour. A little less than three years after her bold Rupert Murdoch claim, it's impossible to say if the media mogul knows Ferguson's name, but she's certainly caught the attention of the mainstream political establishment and the ire of the mastheads and networks Murdoch owns. On June 6, The Australian ran an opinion piece about Ferguson with the headline 'Progressive 'girlboss' preaches diversity – but champions conformity'. Days earlier, Sky News presenter Chris Kenny said her address to the National Press Club included 'plenty of the usual extreme-left bile'. In that May address, Ferguson articulated the same goal she had in 2022: to be an 'antidote' to the 'Murdoch media'. Is it overly ambitious for a 26-year-old in Sydney to take on arguably the world's most powerful media figure (the industry's biggest 'influencer', one might say)? Maybe, but unbridled ambition and barefaced confidence are Ferguson's signatures. Ferguson grew up in a working-class conservative household, moving from Orange to south-west Sydney and back again during her childhood. Her dad is a truck driver, now based in Queensland, and her mum still lives in regional NSW, running a small bra fitting business. Aged 13, Ferguson recalls how her parents' critique of Julia Gillard's 2012 misogyny speech didn't sit right. 'I remember thinking, 'They're not making fun of her policies. They're making fun of the way she speaks, and her haircut'.' As Ferguson grew up, she developed political views that were at odds with her parents', but still credits them with allowing for the robust debate that helped form her point of view. 'The reason I am progressive is that my parents always treated me like a small adult. I was allowed to ask any question.' Ferguson received a scholarship to study law at the University of Queensland, where her political perspective was shaped further by the privilege she observed in the 'stuffy' law school culture. Early work experiences at Queensland's Department of Public Prosecutions and the Electrical Trades Union provided a conviction in those beliefs that rears its head again and again through Ferguson's career. 'I was negotiating with BHP, with Rio, with Qantas. That's a wild thing to be able to say at 23,' Ferguson recalls of her time at the union. 'I think that really reflects what I do now in that I don't really doubt that I'm welcome at these tables and that I can say something.' With Cheek, Ferguson is delivering content for mostly young, mostly female progressives who aren't necessarily highly engaged in the political process but who agree with her worldview and care about the news. One 24-year-old fan I spoke to said she valued how Ferguson broke down big concepts and explained the impact of the news on society at large. 'I came to Hannah because I agree with her, and there aren't many people that I feel represented by in the media in terms of that worldview,' she told me. Cheek has a squarely political focus, but often uses memes and humour to deliver its message, while Big Small Talk is a hybrid pop culture-politics podcast that gives equal airtime to the top political stories and the latest celebrity news. 'The joke is putting the dog's medicine in peanut butter,' Ferguson says, explaining that despite being highly engaged, many Gen Zers are put off by traditional media's approach to politics. There's no doubt that their media habits are changing. Over the past year, the number of Australians accessing news via social media overtook online websites, with Instagram being the primary news source for 40 per cent of people aged 18-24, according to the University of Canberra's latest Digital News Report. Ferguson puts that down to mainstream outlets' failure to connect with young people, and in her typically confident way, she stood up at the National Press Club and said as much to a room full of newspaper and TV journalists. 'The fourth estate has failed us because it's currently wedded to the Coalition,' she claimed in her address. 'These outlets wanted to sow the seeds of doubt. They wanted to invalidate and undermine a group of powerful young women who have developed the ability to communicate with new audiences in ways traditional media cannot fathom because they have eroded the trust of their audiences.' This line alluded to the response of Canberra's press gallery when Labor invited a group of social media personalities, including Ferguson, to the federal budget lock-up. Ferguson became the face of the biggest story of the pre-election budget that no one wanted to have. The Australian Financial Review called the group of largely female commentators 'self-obsessed and self-promoting', and Ferguson criticised The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald when a report on Labor paying for some influencers' travel costs included her image, even though she paid her own way. Loading The budget uproar was the start of what would be dubbed the 'influencer election', spawning countless think pieces, many of which took a condescending tone, accusing the diverse group of personalities of 'chasing clout' and delivering 'light-weight' political coverage. 'It was naive of me not to think that I would become the story in some way,' Ferguson says, adding that the budget prepared her for what was to come during the election campaign. 'This idea of shitting on us in the first instance, instead of actually getting a microphone out themselves and explaining politics to people, it's this elitist view of what news is meant to be,' Ferguson says. Ferguson has a degree of sympathy for those who are reluctant to accept the disruption of anarchic, inexperienced social media commentators on hierarchical newsroom structures. 'I can talk about vibrators the day after covering the budget, and that would, fairly, be so painful [for political journalists] because I'm not providing the sophisticated take they are.' In some ways, what Ferguson and her peers are doing is not all that new. She's drawn a parallel between her work and talkback radio. Even veteran tailback radio broadcaster Ray Hadley has recently embraced vertical video, and there's very little that distinguishes what he does from Ferguson's work, except their age and experience, and of course, their gender. Ferguson thinks the other element at play when the mainstream media sneers at her is a 'fundamental belief that young women are silly, stupid, self-obsessed and doing it for the wrong reasons'. 'And that's from the left and the right,' she adds. Social media success is not Ferguson's end goal. 'I think it's amazing to have the following I do, but social media has killed me,' she says, listing off the bullying and threats she's faced online. 'There are so many parts of my spirit that have been broken that cannot be repaired.' Ferguson is hiring Cheek's second full-time employee, and opening up the platform to freelance writers for the first time. She hopes that no longer running the platform solo will give her the time she needs to mount her campaign to enter politics as an independent senator at the next election. While remaining realistic about the unlikely odds of being elected, Ferguson is dogged in her conviction, telling me she is prepared to try and fail 'a hundred times'. 'I think there's something so important about showing people how to fail and that it's not embarrassing to give it a go.' And Ferguson's not in the business of being coy about the extent of her ambition, revealing that her ultimate goal is to create a new political party that fills an ideological gap she sees on the left, between Labor and the Greens. Loading 'We are so used to the two-party system that asking Labor to do anything feels like begging for a crumb,' Ferguson says, mentioning climate action, gender inequality and the cost of living, while the Greens' 'baggage and branding' has allowed it to be framed as radical and obstructionist. 'What I would be looking to do is create a kind of framework for how we can make policy with respect, not designed to inflame, and focus on issues that matter to Middle Australians,' she says, citing David Pocock as the kind of politician she would aspire to be. 'This is a bigger dream. This is a lifetime dream. I want to create a new major party.' Ferguson delivers this statement with the same confidence that propelled her to the centre of Australian politics in her mid-twenties. And while it's tempting to dismiss her goals as too lofty, you wouldn't dare write her off.

‘Where it becomes toxic is when you're dealing with socialists': Inside student politics, 2025 edition
‘Where it becomes toxic is when you're dealing with socialists': Inside student politics, 2025 edition

Sydney Morning Herald

time2 days ago

  • Sydney Morning Herald

‘Where it becomes toxic is when you're dealing with socialists': Inside student politics, 2025 edition

It is a sunny winter's day on the sprawling grounds of the University of Sydney, and throngs of students are perusing the dozens of student club stalls jammed along the main campus thoroughfare. There's the Society for Creative Anachronism, the Chocolate Society and the Taylor Swift Society (USyd's Version). A young woman with dyed blood-red hair, pigtails and a scruffy faux fur coat peers into the Sydney University Labor Club tent. It is nestled appropriately to the right of the Socialist Alternative Club and just to the left of the more politically conservative ALP Club. She strikes up a conversation with a student sitting behind a desk. If she joins the Labor Club, she will be the 205th member to sign on this year. The stall, festooned with rainbow flags and posters promising to fight fascism, offers a few clues as to what student politics in 2025 involves. 'I think what's unique about us is we send a very clear message that we're about changing politics, not being changed by politics,' says the current president of the club, William Yang. But politics is a numbers game, and Yang – armed with a clipboard – does not wait around for students to happen upon the club's tent. 'I would try to go up to as many people, regardless of what they look like,' he says. This month, the club will celebrate its 100th anniversary inside the hallowed walls of the university's neo-Gothic MacLaurin Hall. The anniversary marks the establishment of the then titled Labor Group, in 1925, founded by H.V. 'Doc' Evatt. In 1931, the Herald reported on the Labor Club's first annual meeting, noting that university management said partisan political meetings were not allowed. The club has produced some of the biggest names in Labor politics, including Gough Whitlam and John Kerr, while its more recent alumni include prominent NSW MP Rose Jackson. But one famous living graduate, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, will not attend the centenary celebration. His office has told organisers he had a prior commitment, though some students speculate it is largely because the faction that has controlled the historic club since 2013 – the Socialist Labor Society (also known as the Ferguson or Soft Left) – is not aligned with Albanese's. Factions might be a necessary evil of student politics, but in Gen Z parlance, the experience of political involvement is a 'side quest' that fits between study, friends and family, says Yang. 'We want to do more than just vote, and we discover that through collectively fighting or through collectively being active, that's the best way to do it,' he says. 'First and foremost, we become comrades.' There's another side to student politics: infighting, backstabbing and factional deals – the equivalent of a finishing school for the politically ambitious who dream of a career in the conniving world of politics. Wang says that experiencing the casual brutality of political machinations at university can discourage some students from pursuing the political scene forever. 'Deals are done or people are destroyed over screenshots of text messages being sent out at midnight. And it's pretty astonishing, like, being able to sit at a table where you just have a couple of people hand over printed emails or printed screenshots to bring someone down because of these personnel disputes,' he says. 'I think most people who are in the Labor Party, and most people who have gone somewhere in the Labor Party … haven't actually been subject or part of that kind of nitty-gritty aspect of it. They've obviously seen that. But I think by seeing it, that's what makes your maturity grow exponentially.' On the other side of the political spectrum at Sydney University stands the Conservative Club. Its president last year, Freya Leach, says that joining a right-leaning political club is like finding a refuge for students who might not feel like they fit in with the rest of the university community. 'There's a lot of interest in politics ... particularly in centre-right politics because the campus is so left wing; they're looking for people who are values-aligned,' she says. 'We don't have too many crazy people. 'I always enjoy debates and robust discussion. We did a number of debates against young Labor – it was fun,' Leach says. 'Where it goes too far, and it becomes toxic, is when you're dealing with the socialists.' Leach has left university and will have her own nightly show on Sky News starting this month. While you can study political economy in class, and volunteer to campaign for existing party members, perhaps the best way to learn about running a successful campaign or jostling for a party position is doing it at university – where the stakes are low. 'I had a really great experience in Sydney [...] It is really good to practise and experience,' Leach says. 'It does actually prepare you for party politics ... debating issues, forming coalitions, winning votes and doing deals. 'I would say a lot of people get their start in student politics.' One former student politician, speaking on the condition of anonymity, says more moderate students who possess an interest in politics are increasingly concerned that being associated with some clubs could be more of a liability than a help when it comes to building a career. 'There's social media now, and there can be a stigma around being in the Liberal Party because it is a broad church, including MAGA adherents,' he says. Last year, two male students tore up copies of a landmark report that exposed a systemic culture of sexual violence and hazing in front of a student meeting that was live-streamed. Of course, controversies and stunts in student politics are nothing new, and those of today are probably less violent than those of the past. In 1967, three female students from the Labor Club were tackled by police, arrested and bundled into a police van after protesting against the Vietnam War at a performance by the US Vietnam Headquarters band. That year, then NSW governor Sir Roden Cutler became collateral damage when he was 'jostled, pelted with fruit and almost tripped over' and others were knocked unconscious in a fracas that erupted between left- and right-wing students. Loading But the battle lines on campus have been redrawn in recent years. The Sydney University Liberal Club (whose alumni include John Howard, Tony Abbott and Malcolm Turnbull) appears to be defunct on the student union website. The Conservative Club's current president, Bryson Constable, says that's because involvement in clubs has shrunk and university students are primarily left wing. 'Student politics from a right-of-centre perspective is quite boring as there is only one group,' Constable says. 'It is a big group of, I think, quite wise and moderate perspectives. 'The emphasis for me has really always been on using it as a learning experience. You get to be in control of things and try a whole range of roles which exist in a student political scene, where you don't have access to anywhere else.' Compared with the 1960s, political tension between students is now probably more likely to divide students on the left of politics. Back at Labor's welcome week tent, abuzz with students, club members might cop some flak for ties to the current federal government, even if the club itself is controlled by a faction that self identifies as socialist. 'I've had some side eyes from some people that I've noticed when they see Labor,' Ciara Sietsma says. 'I do give a spiel that, like, we don't like some of what the Labor Party does, and kind of the whole point of our movement is to push for better politics and just kind of, like, advocate for our theory of change because the Labor Party is a very democratic party. 'You know, democracy isn't functional without educated people that know what's going on.' At its very best, she says, student politics is about 'engaging young people and getting them involved in the issues that affect them'. 'The worst thing is the infighting – I'd say there's just a lot of unnecessary drama.'

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