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News.com.au
3 days ago
- General
- News.com.au
Sydney University newspaper uninvites news.com.au Political Editor Samantha Maiden from speaking at event
Thirty years after I enjoyed the honour of editing the student newspaper On Dit at Adelaide University and engaged in all of the traditional undergraduate ratbaggery, perhaps it was only a matter of time before I got cancelled. As it turns out that moment arrived this week, in the form of the politburo running the student newspaper Honi Soit. In March, a lovely person called Imogen kindly invited me to Honi Soit 's student newspaper conference at Sydney University. 'No doubt you are a very busy person, and have lots of fantastic opportunities offered to you. However, I am hoping that you would be willing to speak in an interview for an event at our conference, to talk to a room of young Australian journalists about your work in federal politics and your role as the political editor for she wrote. 'I can say on behalf of the attendees that we would be honoured to hear you speak, and that it would really be a highlight of the conference.' Given my background as a former Adelaide university newspaper editor, where I attended with Penny Wong, Natasha Stott-Despoja, Mark Butler, Adelaide Festival director Jo Dyer and the journalists Annabel Crabb and David Penberthy in their undergraduate heydays, I thought it might be fun, and I could even take my son who is 17, who might enjoy seeing Sydney University. I even dug out some old photographs of myself with my co-editor Vanessa Almeida. As an aside there is a huge missed opportunity here. Honi Soit should have waited to flash mob me at the actual event and scream obscenities at me, which my teenage son may have enjoyed quite a lot. But I digress. Although I had considered doing the conference by zoom, I had proposed to catch the train down to spend time with my son and friends. Naturally, I was doing it for free. Alas, this charming train journey to Sydney will not occur as it turns out I am, unbeknownst to myself, a sleeper radical on the issue of Israel. It all came into sharp focus following a mysterious investigation by the Honi Soit editors. This week, they wrote a solemn email cancelling my attendance at the conference that they had asked me to attend, citing unspecified thought crimes involving Palestine. 'We are reaching out regarding your involvement in the 2025 Student Journalism Conference,'' they wrote. 'We have received community concerns about your political coverage and reporting on the Palestinian genocide. 'As a left-wing newspaper, Honi Soit recognises that Israel is committing an ongoing genocide in Palestine and we do not feel that our values align, or that we can platform your work as a result.' The truly weird aspect of this bizarre cancelling is I don't recall writing anything about Palestine recently at all, let alone anything controversial. I have literally no idea what they are on about, and regardless, even if I had written something or said something controversial that the Honi Soit editors did not agree with, so what? As it turns out, it matters quite a good deal to the editors of Honi Soit who are determined to build themselves a Peter Dutton style echo chamber where they only talk to people who they agree with. 'It is important to us that the speakers at the Student Journalism Conference have views that we can stand by, and in light of the reception to the announcement of your event, we do not feel that we can host you as a speaker at our conference,'' they wrote. 'We apologise for the inconvenience.' At first, I regarded it as some sort of amusing joke. But the more I thought about I reflected on how troubling it is that these sensitive petals at Sydney University, a good proportion of whom come from wealthy families, private schools and the world of mummy and daddy paying for their rent, are in such a froth about people that they think may think differently to them. Another panellist, the ABC broadcaster David Marr, kindly wrote a letter in support of free speech in solidarity. He's deplatforming himself from the conference. 'Imogen, I've just learned that you've deplatformed Sam Maiden because of 'concerns' about her 'political coverage','' he wrote. 'That's not my idea of how a good newspaper – let alone a student paper – should behave. Isn't the point of Honi Soit and a conference of this kind to examine different – and perhaps uncomfortable views – about the big issues of the day? I'm out.' And I didn't have to dig far into the archives of Honi Soit to find writer Robbie Mason, a self-described 'anarchist' with a very hot take on all of this in an article titled: Cancel culture is a dumb, toxic, liberal phenomenon antithetical to leftist organising. 'Cancel culture is an evangelical headhunting mission centred on public humiliation, ostracism and guilt by association,'' he wrote. 'When I think of cancel culture in its current form, I think of micro-transgressions and microaggressions. Rumours. Fight versus flight. Tears on bedroom carpets, downward glances in corridors and Twitter warriors emboldened by the poisonous sting of a keyboard. 'This encampment – this safe space – has transformed into a towering fortress. It is built upon the smeared reputations and social corpses of the most vulnerable in society – young activists, people of colour and non-university educated workers, for instance. 'As an anarchist, I am distrustful of a technocratic elite replicating the behaviour of ruling classes. 'Academic writing leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Forcing readers to continually decode the meaning of research and jargon ensures an intellectual elite remains in control of society and dominates public discourse – albeit an intellectual elite often with their hearts in the right place. This is nonetheless a form of power and hierarchy. 'As an anarchist, I am inclined to distrust hegemonic leftist arguments and mob rule.' Me too, Robbie Mason, Me too. In fact, the whole affair reminded me of Milan Kundera's first novel, The Joke, which describes how a student's private joke derails his life. Naturally, the author was my special study in Year 12 English. The novel opens with Ludvik back in his hometown in Moravia, where he is shocked to realise he recognises the woman cutting his hair, though neither acknowledges the other. In the novel, he reflects on the joke that changed his life in the early 1950s, when he was a supporter of the Communist regime. A girl in his class wrote to him about 'optimistic young people filled through and through with the healthy spirit' of Marxism; he replied caustically, 'Optimism is the opium of mankind! A healthy spirit stinks of stupidity! Long live Trotsky!' Pressured to share the contents of the letter with others in the Communist Party at school, Ludvik is unanimously expelled from the Party and from the college. Having lost his student exemption, he is drafted into the Czech military where alleged subversives formed work brigades, and spent the next few years working in the mines at a labor camp in Ostrava. I shall report back how it goes for me in Ostrava. Wish me luck.
Yahoo
27-02-2025
- Climate
- Yahoo
Residents urged to act now as 'millions' of pests threaten to take over parts of Australia
Aussies have been warned to be on high alert now there is a heightened risk of "millions" of pests hitting parts of the country, with one entomologist telling Yahoo News experiencing it firsthand is "remarkable, yet disturbing". Environment authorities have flagged the high chance of a locust outbreak in parts of New South Wales, with the pests gaining an infamous reputation for how large and rapid a swarm can develop. Residents situated in the state's central west including Ivanhoe, Tottenham, Warren, Quambone, Goorianawa and Coonamble are being warned to do their bit to prevent the situation from getting out of control. "Bare, compact soil" and "hard, well-drained ground along contour banks or open areas" is where the Central West Local Land Services are urging the public to check. If any eggs are found, Aussies are being urged to alert authorities. "Females lay eggs into the ground and when they emerge they're in the nymphal stage — they look like little grasshoppers, but they don't have functional wings," entomologist Andy Austin from Adelaide University said. "They stay in quite a concentrated area, and the key to controlling them is at this stage. Spraying them now at the beginning of the breeding cycle is best, not part way through." Pesticides are used to kill the pests, with Austin explaining "millions" of locusts can overrun an area if left to their own devices. Locusts' impressive ability to rapidly increase their population size and expand their territory is what makes them such an invasive pest. "When locusts reach the adult stage, they're capable of long-distance dispersal... it could be anything from tens of kilometres to hundreds of kilometres," Austin explained. "They're capable of stripping bushes and grass, and denying livestock of food... locusts in very large numbers have the ability to do really significant damage." 🔥 The quiet catastrophe unfolding in outback Australia after spread of invasive species 🌱 Aussies warned over common garden pest that can 'never be fully removed' 🐜 Property owners called to action over 'world's worst' invasive threat There are three species of pest locusts in Australia, and one is even native — the Australian plague locust. The country has been steadily subject to many locust outbreaks, with eight major plagues since 1930, according to the Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and Forestry. However, there are reports of outbreaks for centuries. "In the biblical context, it was considered the wrath of God because hundreds of thousands of these insects would appear out of the blue and completely destroy a crop... it's a remarkable thing to see a locust swarm, but it's also quite disturbing." Do you have a story tip? Email: newsroomau@ You can also follow us on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and YouTube.
The Guardian
19-02-2025
- General
- The Guardian
‘Teaching to an empty hall': is the changing face of universities eroding standards of learning?
It's easy to picture a university campus. The manicured lawns packed with students reading books in the sun, the commanding academic in a bustling lecture hall, the cheap beer at the student pub after class, debate getting livelier after each glass. We imagine it as the site of multiple awakenings – political, sexual, philosophical, intellectual. But this cliched experience, if it ever existed, has become a thing of the past. With class attendance often not compulsory, academics now speak to empty rows of seats in massive, echoey lecture halls. Students watch their classes later online at a convenient time, if they get around to it. Quadrangles are quiet, save for students walking between classes, or the occasional tourist. When Adelaide University became the first Group of Eight institution in Australia to ditch face-to-face lectures last September. The move was slammed by the National Tertiary Education Union as accelerating the 'death of campus life'. The newly amalgamated university, to open in 2026, intends to roll out 'rich digital learning activities', noting there has been a 'steady decline' in attendance on campuses. Sign up for Guardian Australia's breaking news email 'What is a 'rich digital learning activity'?' the national president of the NTEU, Dr Alison Barnes questioned at the time. 'Removing [the] human in teaching? It completely flies in face of the nature of academic work, the very fabric of the institution.' In reality, Adelaide University was no outlier. In 2020, Curtin University and Murdoch University released plans to move away from face-to-face lectures, even after the pandemic. The next year, the University of the Sunshine Coast did the same, citing a 'gradual shift' from the number of students wanting to attend lectures, as did the University of Tasmania. Darren McKee, then-chief operating officer of Murdoch University, put it bluntly: 'The face-to-face mass lecture is all but dead'. More than a dozen academics who spoke to Guardian Australia on the condition of anonymity say their work has become undervalued and underpaid, with recycled, pre-recorded lectures and Zoom tutorials without attendance requirements leading to a steady decline in the value of tertiary education. More than 900 degrees across almost 30 Australian universities can now be attained entirely online, according to Open Universities Australia, which partners with tertiary institutions to make higher education more accessible. These courses are designed to be taught 100% remotely, providing flexible study options while allowing students to graduate with the same qualification as those on campus. But academics say casualisation of the workforce and budget cuts are also pushing traditional courses away from face-to-face teaching. Many express a sense of hopelessness and resignation, they mourn the days when teaching was more than addressing faceless Zoom screens, when classes were small and intimate, giving tutors time to connect with students and their ideas. Several academics say their role is no longer about fostering learning, it's about money – which means catering to the masses at as low a cost as possible. 'Universities are simply degree factories now,' a casual academic with 20 years experience in the sector says. 'There is no focus on learning – academics aren't encouraged to help people to learn.' Deputy vice-chancellor of student experience at Monash University, prof Sarah McDonald, says as campuses have increasingly diversified and expanded, so have student expectations. Students are enrolling at a greater rate from low socioeconomic backgrounds, are mature age, from diverse backgrounds or studying with a disability. Flexible learning has become increasingly important in enabling equitable access to a more heterogenous cohort. 'There's a real recognition that students now face a multiplicity of pressures – jobs, family commitments,' McDonald says. 'It's not that learning isn't happening in person, it's happening in a way it wasn't 10 years ago. [Decades ago] few students didn't come from an affluent background. It was a different beast. Now students also need flexibility.' Studies show a sense of belonging among young people has been consistently declining in higher education settings and at school from even before the pandemic turbo-charged the shift to remote learning. McDonald's role was established late last year to focus on campus life outside the classroom – including academic and disability support and health and wellbeing. In 2025, that means free yoga and mindfulness sessions, the expansion of quiet spaces and silent discos, a world away from raucous beer-skolling marathons and heated university politics. In a previous era, organic social connection supported wellbeing. Now, universities are dedicating significant resources to programs and spaces that help students find a sense of place. Sign up to Breaking News Australia Get the most important news as it breaks after newsletter promotion McDonald isn't worried about the drift online. 'It can be engaging in the online space,' she says. 'Tutorials, workshops, labs, seminars, these are the things students really value and are prepared to make time for [on campus]. 'We're beholden to meet students where they are.' The argument put by universities is when learning is specifically catered to the online space – it can be interactive and provide the teacher with a great degree of freedom, that is supplemented by smaller, face-to-face classes. But while online learning can provide greater accessibility and functionality, others say the digitisation of education is being adopted for financial incentives without consideration of the student experience. A sessional academic at a Victorian university says the learning standard has become 'below average', with course materials and case studies often 'older than the students' themselves. 'Slides are rarely updated,' she says. 'Lectures are mostly recorded and recycled each semester. Hardly any of the students listen to them and the tutors then have to do the lecturing as well, so a somewhat meaningful discussion can take place in class.' Professor of higher education at The University of Melbourne, Chi Baik, says the idea of the university experience being based on campus is now only true for older 'sandstone' institutions. 'For previous generations there was a social aspect, they would come to campus to hang. Now the majority of first year students only intend to come to campus when they have to. If it's not compulsory, they don't,' she says. 'It was a trend happening before Covid, but Covid gave it a huge injection. Numbers [of students] have increased so much, for many, it's not a personal experience any more, it's transactional. (In 1990 tertiary institutions had, on average, one staff member for every 14 students. In 2023, the figure had almost doubled to 22.) 'It's always going to be challenging when there's so many students to staff. You're one in thousands.' Baik says this is 'demotivating' for academics who put in hours of preparation and are 'lecturing or teaching to an empty hall'. But other than mandating participation, she says 'the ship has sailed'. 'Flexible learning, the online hybrid model, is just getting bigger,' she says. 'It offers opportunities and access previous generations may have not had, but we won't return to a time where you'll see students of their own volition coming on to campus for the majority of study hours.' As students shift off campuses, it's also harder to determine who's engaging with course content, and how much. Coupled with the pursuit of profit, academics interviewed say good teaching becomes 'completely determined' by pass rates, instead of the student experience. One academic who has worked at three Victorian universities says the standard of work has 'never been so low'. It has reached the point he is considering moving to the private sector. 'I have been repeatedly asked to un-fail students,' he says. 'People are graduating with little knowledge or applicable skills.' The sessional tutor says around half of the class is absent at every tutorial. Some don't attend all semester. When he initially reaches out – he's muted, fatigued. He doesn't think anything he has to say is new, nor, in all likelihood, will it change things. 'I used to want to lecture, but now I think, 'who would I be lecturing to?'' he says.
