From top to bottom left: MULS attending the Australian Law Students' Association 2024 Conference, the MULS Competitions Panel, the MULS Social Justice Panel, and the Social Justice Portfolio's Law Reform Speaker Night.
Editor’s Welcome
Welcome back. 2024 has almost passed away. The theme for the third and final issue of The Brief is ‘Ad Aeternitatem’.
Infinity is many things. And no, we’re not talking about wimpy countable infinities, like the space between three and four; we’re talking about proper infinity. Uncountable, unbound, unintelligible infinity. Infinity, in this sense — in the correct sense — is a set that encompasses letters and numbers, algorithms and polyrhythms, cheese and tomatoes, and even you and me.
And yet, our brains get tired of infinity with unparalleled rapidity. A field of grass is not a miracle of a million little lives, but a copy-and-pasted pattern threatening torpidity past the age of twelve. The human body, a joint venture between trillions and trillions of cells, is bemoaned for its susceptibility to colds and unflattering rashes. There is nothing new under the sun; the river flows out to the sea, and the seas fill the rivers in their turn. Life can often feel like a brief and repetitive interlude between two vast chasms of inky black nothingness, ad interim, ad nauseum, ad infinitum.
And yet, things do last. Metaphysical disputes aside, consider the law. It is the fruit of human knowledge, growing and cared for amidst trials and tribulations. It is this
fruit that we receive, that we pass on, and that we face in our time. Nurturing it is our task as apprentices of the law. In the day-to-day grind, during billable hours, the meaning of our work can easily be lost on us. But instead of working ad infinitum, can we work ad aeternitatem and leave a legal legacy for those who will come after us?
Fortunately, the future is still a while off. In the meantime, we’ll be looking at the law from the perspective of eternity and the future.
When we peer past the darkened glass, do we see a lawless land or the gentle fury of eternity? Alas, all I can see are the contents of this edition. What is the end of law (p.12)? How do our wonderful corporate friends help us (p.14)? And can we trust that our information is secure along the way (p.16)? I would also like to thank Judge Michael Doogan of the Maori Land Court and Waitangi Tribunal and the Honourable Mark Speakman of the Legislative Assembly for offering their time to discuss the histories and fates of Maori landholding laws (p.18) and Australian legislation (p.22) respectively. Among these pages are poems, puzzles, and plenty of other pieces for your perusal and pleasure. I hope that you enjoy them.
And with that, my time as Editor-in-Chief comes to a close. To the writers and subeditors, I leave the intoxicating thrill of seeing one’s name printed on a piece of paper. To Nathan Li, designer of these fine pages, I leave 50 emails’ worth of undying gratitude for your willingness to put up with my nitpicks. To Lachlan Cicurel and Serena Olatona, I leave a hastily scribbled apology for all the times when you were forced to edit 20 articles in half a day. To LDC, AHC, MSC, EH, DS, WfC, RL, and GM, I leave the honour of anonymity for helping me in my hours of need with ancient Greek and other delights. To my upperclassmen — Mikaela Mariano, Jordan Lau, and Bradley Cagauan — I leave you 500 back-issues of The Brief as thanks for your guidance, your patience, and your willingness to answer messages in the dark hours of the morning. And to Anya Maclure, newly appointed Editor-in-Chief for 2025, I leave the The Brief in your capable hands.
Finally, thank you to you, the reader. Yes, even if you’ve already been mentioned. I hope that The Brief made 2024 just a little bit better for you, whether you joined us for the thought-provoking articles or the maddeningly oblique crosswords. You’ve certainly made 2024 better for me. Thank you.
Let’s see what awaits us all — ad aeternitatem.
Leo Chang Editor-in-Chief, The Brief
President’s Welcome
Hi everyone, and welcome to the final edition of The Brief for 2024!
It’s hard to believe we’ve reached the end of the year, but I’m so proud to introduce this last issue with our new theme, ‘Ad Aeternitatem’. This theme holds a special place for me, as it challenges us to think about the law — and life — from a completely different perspective. It invites us to look beyond the day-to-day grind, beyond the small details that often consume us, and instead to reflect on how what we do now can create something lasting, even eternal.
This issue introduces another brilliant and insightful theme proposed by the MULS Publication Team. The theme challenges us to elevate our thinking from the finite to the infinite, from the temporary to the eternal, all through the lens of the law. It urges readers to reflect on the law not just in its present form, but with a forward-thinking mindset for the future.
In this issue, the articles encourage us to pause and really think about how our work can have lasting effects. It’s easy to get bogged down in the repetition of daily life — doing the same tasks, seeing the same things — but this theme pushes us to recognise the infinite possibilities in front of us. For me, ‘Ad Aeternitatem’ means realising that our contributions can be more than just for today. They can create ripples that last far into the future. And in the legal world, where our decisions, words, and actions shape the systems we work in, that’s incredibly powerful.
I’d like to extend my heartfelt thanks to everyone who contributed to this publication, no matter how big or small your role! Special thanks go to Leo, Jordan, the Deputy Editors, and the subcommittee, who were instrumental in bringing this publication to life. A special shoutout to Nathan Li, who has been designing this publication for over a decade — your dedication is truly appreciated. I am so grateful to all of you for your hard work, especially while balancing your university and work commitments.
Thank you to everyone who has read The Brief this year. We hope to see you involved in one way or another next year — whether it’s by reading, editing, or contributing a written piece!
Mikaela Mariano President, Macquarie University Law Society
Edition 3, October 2024 (Volume 30)
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Leo Chang
DEPUTY EDITORS Serena Olatona, Lachlan Cicurel DESIGNER Nathan Li
WRITERS
Swatilekha Ahmed, Patrick Bakarchi, Nina Bar, Bradley Cagauan, Leo Chang, Judge Michael Doogan, Boris Duet, Emma Horgan, Rachel Justic, Sarah Li Yee Lien, Anya Maclure, Tamika Mansell, Mikaela Mariano, Serena Olatona, Nicholas Owczarek, Nirvana Prasad, Nerissa Puth, Emma Reading, BS, the Hon Mark Speakman, Brindha Srinivas, Yoong Tran, Emalee Walker, Kieran Wan
SUBEDITORS
LDC, Anya Maclure, Serena Olatona
SPECIAL THANKS
Jordan Lau, Nathan Li, Anya Maclure, Mikaela Mariano, MULS, and you, the reader.
IMAGES
Shuttershock or Wikimedia Commons, unless otherwise stated.
The print edition of The Brief is published triannually by the Macquarie University Law Society, Sydney, Australia.
Visit our website at muls.org
DISCLAIMER
All views expressed herein are those of the individual authors and do not reflect, in any way, the attitude of the Macquarie University Law Society. The Macquarie University Law Society does not accept any responsibility for the losses flowing from the publication of material in The Brief
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
OF PEOPLE AND COUNTRY
The Brief acknowledges and pays respect to the Wattamattagal people of the Darug nation, the traditional custodians of the land where the campus of Macquarie University is located.
The Right to Disconnect in the Fair Work Legislation Amendment (Closing the Loopholes No. 2) Act 2024 (Cth)
Kieran Wan
The Fair Work Legislation Amendment (Closing the Loopholes No. 2) Act 2024 (Cth) (‘Closing the Loopholes Act’) provides that all modern awards must provide for an employee’s ‘Right to Disconnect’. S 97 provides that employees may refuse to read or respond to contact (including attempted contact) from an employer or third party outside of the employee’s working hours unless the refusal is unreasonable. S 97 also provides that in determining whether a refusal is unreasonable, the following factors must be taken into account: the reason for the contact, how the contact is made, extent to which the employee is compensated, the nature of the employee’s roles and responsibilities, and the employee’s personal circumstances (including family or caring responsibilities). The ‘Right to Disconnect’ provisions enter into force on 26 August 2024 for non-small business employers (15 or more employees) and 26 August 2025 for small businesses (less than 15 employees). These provisions are the first of its kind in Australia, and this article will compare Australia’s ‘Right to Disconnect’ laws to overseas jurisdictions such as Canada and Spain.
Canada
Part VII.0.1 of the Employment Standards Act 2000 (Ontario) provides that employers with 25 or more employees must implement a written policy ensuring that all employees can disconnect from work. This includes not engaging in work-related communications such as answering emails or telephone calls. However, this law does not give rise to an enforceable right to disconnect for employees, and reflects a softer approach compared to Australia’s Closing the Loopholes Act, which allows em-
ployers and employees to seek binding orders from the Fair Work Commission for alleged breaches of the right to disconnect provisions.
Spain
Article 88 of the Organic Law 3/2018 of December 5, on Personal Data Protection and Guarantee of Digital Rights provides that employees have the right to digital disconnection outside of legal or conventional working hours to account for rest and privacy. Like Ontario, Spanish law also mandates employers to implement internal policies regarding the right to disconnect. Employers who contravene the right to disconnect may receive fines, as an employer who sent emails outside of working hours was fined 300 EUR (approximately 495 AUD), although it should be noted that in this matter the impugned number of emails was quite low. Accordingly, the Spanish approach is significantly stronger than Australia, as the Closing the Loopholes Act does not vest the power to impose fines on the Fair Work Commission. Rather, the Commission is limited to issuing stop orders to the contravening party.
Conclusion
The Closing the Loopholes Act reflects a major shift in Australia’s industrial relations as the legislation of the employee’s right to disconnect reflects an important step to facilitating work-life balance. However, the limitation of the Fair Work Commission’s powers to merely issue orders (as opposed to Spain’s approach of issuing fines) may inhibit the effective enforcement of such law. Only time will tell.
Industrial Manslaughter in the Work Health and Safety Amendment
(Industrial Manslaughter) Bill 2024 (NSW)
Emma Horgan
The Work Health and Safety Amendment (Industrial Manslaughter) Bill 2024 was passed and received assent on 24 June 2024. It marks a significant milestone in workplace safety legislation in NSW. Although the date of commencement has not yet been set, it is expected soon. New South Wales is the second-tolast Australian state to introduce industrial manslaughter laws, with Queensland and Victoria passing legislation in 2017 and 2022 respectively. The Amendment will establish multiple new sections and amendments in the Work Health and Safety Act and the Crimes Act 1900. Tragically, despite over 300 industrial deaths since 2019, one that received media coverage is the horrific death of Christopher Cassaniti. Christopher was an apprentice construction worker and just four days after his 18th birthday, he died on his worksite in Macquarie Park crushed by 17 metres worth of scaffolding. A subsequent investigation found almost 18,000 kilograms were loaded on the scaffolding when it could only hold 675 kilograms.
The new legislation aims to provide clearer definitions and elements, eliminating ambiguity in the current legal framework. The act will not create any new WHS obligations but shall rather reinforce the importance of complying. Section 34C establishes industrial manslaughter as an offence by declaring a person commits industrial manslaughter if that person has a health and safety duty and the person is a person conducting a business or undertaking and engages in conduct that constitutes a failure to comply with persons health and safety duty, and causes a death of a worker to whom is owed a duty. Previously the WHS Act had a limitation period requiring prosecutions to be commenced within two years of the offence being committed. But under section 34E there will be no limitation period for proceedings to be brought for section 34C.
NSW has set the maximum penalties for industrial manslaughter at 25 years imprisonment and the highest
maximum fine of $20,000,000, the highest in Australia, surpassing Victoria’s maximum fine of $19,200,000. These severe penalties align with existing penalties of manslaughter under the Crimes Act 1900 and are intended to reflect the culpability of the offender and gravity of the offence.
While holding individuals and corporations accountable is critical for workplace safety, the enforcement of industrial laws face significant challenges. Despite the severe penalties, workplace deaths remain devastating, with lasting mental, emotional, physical and financial harm on all people involved. Although the introduction of the Act in NSW is welcomed with open arms, the experience of other Australian states show that successful prosecution of industrial manslaughter has been extremely rare. With Queensland only prosecuting and convicting its first corporation in 2020 and an individual in 2022 despite the laws being passed since 2017. Additionally with Victoria more recently convicting a corporation in 2024 despite the legislation being introduced in 2022. These cases highlight the difficulties in securing convictions as proving gross negligence is required.
The Work Health and Safety Amendment (Industrial Manslaughter) Bill 2024 represents a significant step towards stronger accountability for workplace safety in NSW. As NSW joins other states in adopting these laws there will be many families who are grateful for this new legislation. However, like any new law, there will be challenges for prosecuting individuals and large corporations into the future.
The Homelessness Crisis
Adequate Living Conditions in Australia
Rachel Justic
The International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, article 11 states that every person, by the virtue of their humanity, has a right to adequate living standards. What is considered ‘adequate’ depends on a range of socioeconomic factors, including accessibility, location, and cultural adequacy. It is more than a right to shelter, encompassing security, services, materials, facilities, and infrastructure.
The 2021 Australian census estimated that more than 122,000 people were experiencing homelessness in Australia. The severity of the homelessness crisis is downplayed heavily due to discrete living habits undertaken by those who are without homes. A number of people live in their cars, shower at work,and utilise public amenities. There is a misconception that homelessness requires a person to sleep outside or on the street. Types of homelessness, as reported in the 2021 census, included ‘people living in improvised dwellings, tents, or sleeping out (rough sleepers)’, but also included ‘people in supported accommodation for the homeless’, or ‘people staying temporarily with other households’, known as ‘couch-surfers’. This naïvité perpetuates the narrative that Australians do not undergo homelessness.
Current Framework
There is currently no national framework to reduce homelessness across Australia. Few improvements have been made in the last decade, with the last major government action being the 2008 Government inquiry into homelessness legislation, and consequent release
of a White Paper, The Road Home: A National Approach to Reducing Homelessness. The Australian Human Rights Commission ‘considers that any response to homelessness in Australia must adopt a human rights-based approach if it is to be effective.’
With links to domestic violence, mental illness, drug and substance abuse, and socioeconomic disadvantages contributing to the systemic nature of homelessness, a well-rounded approach is required as frameworks that address homelessness as an isolated issue fail to pay mention to its contributing factors. While programs that raise money to provide physical shelter to homeless individuals result in a positive impact, it fails to reduce incoming homelessness statistics.
Future Proposals
The Australian Human Rights Commission is supporting a private member’s bill that recognises the right to adequate housing as a human right in an effort to improve living standards in Australia. The National Housing and Homelessness Plan Bill answers calls for the right to be enshrined in legislation, and the Parliamentary Joint Committee on Human Rights agrees that the right to housing should be protected under a proposed ‘Human Rights Act’. The rationale for the increased effectiveness this bill would provide is that ‘promote a human rights-based approach to housing policy by requiring the federal government to develop a long-term plan to prevent and end homelessness and improve housing supply and affordability’, claims Commission President Hugh de Kretser.
The Big Tech Monopoly
The Uphill Battle for Antitrust and Competition Law
Nina Batra
Arecent wave of actions under competition laws (or, in the United States, antitrust laws) against tech giants Google, Amazon, and Meta reveal a stark reality: the corporations have amassed unprecedented power and the legal system has not kept pace. In the United States, federal judge Amit P. Mehta ruled in August 2024 that ‘Google is a monopolist, and it has acted as one to maintain its monopoly’ in the high-profile case of United States of America v. Google. The ruling, while significant, also highlights the inadequacies of current antitrust law in effectively curbing the dominance of Big Tech. Judge Mehta’s 277page decision is a step in the right direction. However, it comes after more than a decade of unchecked monopolistic behaviour that reshaped the digital landscape.
The ruling exposes how Google’s practice of paying billions annually to device manufacturers for default search status created an almost insurmountable barrier for competitors. In 2021, Google’s payments totalled over $US26 billion – a staggering sum that dwarfs the resources of potential rivals. While the court found Google sustained a monopoly in general search services and general search text ads markets due to its “supracompetitive” pricing strategy, it stopped short of finding monopoly power in the broader search advertising market. This split decision underscores the complexity of applying traditional antitrust concepts to the digital economy and raises questions about whether current laws are sufficiently equipped to address the nuanced ways tech giants exert their influence.
The case, initiated in 2020, took nearly four years to reach a verdict – an eternity in the fast-moving tech world. During this time, Google continued to solidify its market position and expand into new areas like gen-
erative artificial intelligence, potentially creating new monopolies before old ones are addressed. The case emphasised data as a critical asset, which is an important forward step. However, the value and power derived from vast troves of user data create monopolistic advantages that are difficult to quantify and even harder to remedy through traditional means.
Cases against other tech behemoths – Amazon and Meta – face similar challenges. These corporations have built intricate ecosystems that lock in users and stifle competition in ways not easily addressed through existing legal frameworks. The United States Federal Trade Commission’s (FTC) efforts to curtail both Meta’s suffocating acquisition strategies and Amazon’s marketplace dominance, while commendable, have yet to produce tangible results in dismantling these companies’ overwhelming market power.
It is argued that the glacial pace of antitrust enforcement has allowed tech companies to entrench their positions so deeply that even significant legal victories may have limited impact. The possibility of breaking up these tech giants has been discussed, however, remains a distant and complex proposition. Their immense financial resources also allow them to wage protracted legal battles, potentially outspending and outlasting prosecutorial efforts. Google’s parent company, Alphabet, with its $2 trillion market capitalisation, can easily absorb fines and legal costs that would cripple smaller entities.
Cases against Big Tech companies are important first steps, but they also illuminate the long road ahead. Without significant legal reform and more aggressive enforcement, the digital economy risks remaining under the control of a few powerful entities, stifling innovation and consumer well-being. The challenge for lawmakers and regulators is clear: evolve quickly.
Lawyers do more harm than good
FOR Yoong Tran
Lawyers are supposed to be guardians of the law and protect citizens. However, we as a society have so many laws in place to bring harmony that we have inadver tently made lawyers a necessity who have brought more harm than justice. A lawyer’s job is to solve the legal problems of a client, but they often fail to consider all of the available options and evaluate those options according to what the client is seeking.
There is a saying in the medical field: ‘solve the patient, not the issue’. Despite this, a common legal solution to many problems is litigation. Litigation is not always the solution and should be the last course of action, as it is costly and mentally draining on all parties involved. Yet so many cases go to court. Negotiation, mediation, and arbitration are all forms of alternative dispute resolution one can use to aid a client in their case and more effectively bring about desirable outcomes, without expensive and mental consequences. However, this is not currently the reality.
Lawyers create unrealistic expectations for their clients, using highly misleading gimmicks such as ‘divorce in a day’. However, in Australia, a couple must be separated from each other for 12 months and a further four months for a divorce application to be reviewed. Whether it is through unnecessary litigation or misleading statements, lawyers only create more problems than solutions. But why do lawyers do this?
One possible answer is the profit motive. Lawyers already provide highly expensive services. But there are lawyers who are also paid through billable hours, meaning that the more problems there are, the more hours they can get paid. In this way, lawyers are incentivised to work inefficiently and prolong a legal issue. Even so, surely if a lawyer does their job correctly and wins the case for their client, all is good with the world? No. Because the party that lost not only hates their own lawyer but the lawyer that won on the other side. For
these reasons, lawyers are one of the most despised professions. Even lawyers hate other lawyers. It is clear that they do not have the best reputation.
These points paint a very bleak picture of the legal profession, highlighting flaws and ethical challenges faced by lawyers. As the negative perception of litigation grows, clients increasingly are turning to alternative dispute resolution methods, forcing lawyers to adopt these skills to transform the role of a lawyer from litigator to problem-solver or facilitator.
However, should these measures not be enacted, the public trust and reputation of lawyers will continue to degrade. With the increasing usage of artificial intelligence, lawyers may even be out of the job, as new technology solutions may offer more affordable, efficient, and accessible legal services. Public pressure and the negative perception of lawyers could also lead to calls for stricter regulation and oversight. There may be reforms aimed at preventing unethical practices, ensuring better access to justice, and holding lawyers more accountable for their conduct.
Be it as it may, currently, lawyers bring more harm than good.
When was the last time you heard someone say some about a lawyer? It’s always either a com plaint about how obscene the fees are, or how they’re only in it for their own benefit. Rarely, if ever, do you get to hear someone say: ‘I’m so grateful for my law yer’. That is why I ask you to imagine a world with out lawyers. One where the only remaining option is self-representation.
This is exactly what Silver and Hyman considered when conducting a study of bodily injury claims in Texas. Their research revealed that ‘virtually every paid claimant who filed suit had legal counsel’ – which means that claimants opting for self-representation were far less likely to succeed in receiving payment. Furthermore, they expand on another well-known argument that most cases are settled outside of court.
This brings up a major issue when considering whether lawyers are inherently harmful or beneficial –what exactly is the purpose of a lawyer, and what can they do for you that you cannot do for yourself? In their article on divorce law, Mnookin and Kornhauser outlined the main functions lawyers serve and why they are useful. It is thanks to these that one may argue that despite how expensive lawyers are, they definitely do more good than bad.
Firstly, lawyers are experts in their chosen fields and have spent years studying the material they practise. They know the cases and legislation relevant to client issues, and perhaps most importantly, they know the limitations of the law as it is a common mistake for non-lawyers to consider the law as infallible. In an article about the detrimental effects of self-representation, Sarah Allen highlights how lawyers are necessary for cases to be fought on equal footing, and how without lawyers, the application of law against people who are arguing for themselves without knowing the law becomes very difficult.
This leads to the next function of a lawyer – to be both a confidant and a negotiator. Legal matters are almost always emotionally draining, and the last thing a party wants is to face the other party without any support. Of course, you may know what you want and have ideas as to how to get it, however personal attachments can often make negotiation difficult, which is why lawyers are essential. They can be a client’s strength and can employ various methods that a self-represented party may never have considered.
Lawyers also function as litigators. They are advocates by profession, and when it comes to the daunting idea of court, it is best to pay a lawyer to increase your chances of winning your case, than to temporarily save money in fees, but end up paying more if you lose. Consider the example of a leaking pipe – you could spend your time, effort and money buying a new part and trying to change it, or you could spend a bit more and call a plumber.
Overall, lawyering is a thankless job, because for all the fees a lawyer takes home, no one really sees how much hard work and effort they put into their cases. It is a well-accepted idea that where one’s wages are high, their workload, capabilities, and the expenses they incur are often proportional. However, when no one sees the work that goes on behind the scenes, it is easy to say that lawyers are only there to take your money. But the truth is that lawyers provide a necessary service that does more good than harm.
The End of Law
Liberty and Licence Distinguished
Leo Chang
Ithink, therefore I legislate. We are born, we enact laws, and then we die. Laws are, for better or worse, the essence of humanity. Consider our modern use of the word ‘law’ to mean that which cannot be disputed. The law of gravity would not cease to function, even if it were disputed by a remarkably industrious physicist. Any declaration of independence or assertion of human rights takes the form of a code to assert its views of humankind in legal language. The law is a mysterious beast, and it deserves the respect owed to other mysteria fidei
For What Purpose? To What End?
This respect may be observed by first drawing a parallel between the function of the law and the function of a car. A man who does not understand the mechanical movements powering his motor-vehicle will still trust in its capacity to take him from point A to point B. He will, however, worry about where the vehicle is taking him. It matters little to the passenger as to whether his car has a combustion engine or an electric motor; it matters dearly to him if it is headed to his destination or careening off a cliff.
As it is for a driver, so it is for a lawyer: the intricacies of metaphysical jurisprudential reasoning may not trouble the heart of a practitioner of law, but she should know why murder is illegal, lest she come to support it. Her school of ethics — whether it be ‘Catholic Thomism’, ‘Foucauldian nihilism’, or ‘Beauvoirian existentialism’ — may not necessarily invigorate us, but it would trouble various parts of the population if she were to approve of murder, assault, or littering. We may say that she is free to think as she so desires, but that her actions should reach a minimum moral standard. The resulting dilemma is one that we must also answer: Which standard is the right one?
(It is important to note that this question does not concern the law in a positivist sense — the question is normative, not descriptive, and both Hart and Dworkin
must answer it if our practitioner is to maintain a clean conscience. Translated into both models, the question reads thus: Which laws deserve to be recognised by the Rule of Recognition? or, Which laws are morally good?)
An example may demonstrate the difficulty present in the question. Solicitors in Australia are bound by a ‘duty to the court and the administration of justice.’ Justice is a term so essential to law that its definition may evade us until we give it some thought: it is the constant and perpetual desire to give every person what they are entitled to receive. Entitlements, however, are normative claims. A human entitlement to life is universally recognised, except for when it is not. Should self-defence exonerate a murderer? What if the victim had no intention to cause harm? If we wish to recognise an entitlement to life, we must arrive at this entitlement in a reasonable manner.
An Alternative to Conscience?
A normative claim requires at least one universally binding ideal if it is to be reasonable while operating and making progress. The alternative would be to consider the law as the result of the mere whims of the sovereign, equating justice with base tyranny or popular opinion. This system can serve the needs of differing groups, but it cannot be brought to perfection, because it has no ideal of perfection in itself.
What is the perfect rule of a sovereign? Is it a perfect tyranny, where universal power is invested in one individual? This requires a continuous affirmation of tyranny by the tyrant; the absolute monarch is forbidden from doubting his absolute monarchy. And it would appear to be well beyond the capacity of man to possess such authority. Must he set the sales tax? Must he enforce local fishing edicts? Is he to consent on behalf of the bride and groom in a wedding? By delegating, he divests himself of his absolute power, shoring up his inadequacies through additional personnel. It would appear that a perfect tyranny cannot be upheld by a merely human leader.
And yet, what about the opposite? A perfect democracy, the will of the people — surely, these are fitting for our pluralist society. Here, we can fall into one of two traps. If one maintains that human desires are entirely arbitrary and unjustifiable, justice becomes an impossible ideal — any conflicting desires are equally valid. Likewise, if one argues that popular assent elevates certain values to goodness, we fall back into the Euthyphro dilemma — an idea’s popularity does not necessarily render it morally or ethically sound.
So, our legal practitioner cannot rely on dictators, delusion, or democracy to deliver her from the pangs of conscience. And yet, for the law to be brought closer to perfection, she must understand its purpose. If we are to improve the law; we must know what we are working towards.
It is here that our goal is revealed in a new light: laws are a means to an end. The crankiest judges and the most inspired legislators alike admit that while laws can help us to live a good life, they are not an end in themselves. And so, our legal practitioner is faced with a terrifying reality. She cannot derive the ends of humanity from the laws; she must derive the laws from the ends of humanity. To know what the law should be, to understand how it should function, and to work conscientiously, she must know the purpose of humanity.
In our law, the most visible example of means and ends being separated is the difference between liberty and licence. This distinction dates back to ancient Greece, exemplified in the difference between parrhesia (παρρησία) and isegoria (ἰσηγορία). This was then translated into Latin; licentia took the role of parrhesia and libertas took the role of isegoria. Notably, the original Greek terms were strictly limited to speech, whereas the Latin terminology squished speech together with general freedom.
This division remains to this day. Australia protects the implied constitutional right to political communication, despite condemning other forms of speech. Speech is a means to an end — in this case, responsible government and lawmaking. And so it goes in turn — to understand the end of those laws, we must first approach the purpose of humanity.
The End of the End of Law
Whether we like it or not, lawyers have both an intellect and a conscience. Alongside our intellectual duties to the law, we have a duty of conscience to do what is right: not just by our clients and the courts, but by humanity. This duty of conscience cannot be mere sentimentality or obeisance; it is a serious duty that we undertake both as humans and as legal professionals. Just as we study the consensus of our peers and predecessors, let us discern and reason our way through our own consciences. The conscience may be fickle, unyielding, or even silent; but do not be deterred. We have a job to do — let us see it through to the end.
The Visible Hand of the Market
The Fate of Corporate Social Responsibility
Anya Maclure
In a future where the world is heating, melting, flooding, and otherwise becoming uninhabitable, the ire of regulatory mechanisms has shifted from those who hold paper straws to those legislating the mandates for placing those straws there.
Corporate Social Responsibility (‘CSR’) as a model for corporate governance is no new concept — the idea of the existence of a social contract between organisations and their societies has been around since at least 1953, taking hold in the US in 1971. This contract refers to allowing organisations to have a ‘licence to operate’ meaning that they are required to contribute more to society rather than to simply maximise value for shareholders.
A broader examination of Environmental, Social, and Governance (‘ESG’) policies demonstrates a divide in companies’ approaches to implementing ESG practices — one group reacts to legislation to achieve compliance, whereas the other groups preempts the laws by proactively implementing ESG practices. But with greenwashing and similar scandals increasingly making the front pages of our business and financial publications, one is left to wonder whether CSR is too much for companies to handle and whether its future as a
practical philosophy is set in stone, as regulators expect us to believe.
The Rise and Rise of ESG
“The more laws and orders are made prominent, the more thieves and bandits there will be.”
Lao Tzu
Following social uproar like most law seems to do, the prominence of ESG-related legislation and case law is steadily rising across jurisdictions, demonstrating an emphasis for organisations to respond to regulatory changes and stakeholder pressures rather than proactively integrating ESG considerations into practice. With well over 2000 climate change cases being filed worldwide, several common areas of regulation appear, some of which include disclosure and financial case management, green-washing cases, personal responsibility, enforcing climate standards, contractual disputes, and much more. Aside from the ACCC’s remit regarding consumer and competition law breaches under the ACL, the Corporations Act 2001 (Cth) sets out a variety of such regulations within the Australian federal jurisdiction, with cases against organisations such as the Mercer Superannuation (Australia) Limit-
ed and Vanguard Investments Australia Ltd the first of its kind to be seen in Australia. While ASIC’s prosecution of such cases has put companies on guard for compliance issues, the watchdog’s resourcing issues has called into question the effectiveness of comprehensively prosecuting organisations for failures within their remit. From another angle, private litigation offers an additional avenue for which companies face pressure from strategic litigants, public interest groups and other stakeholders to handle ESG risks. The threat of litigation may encourage organisations to improve their commitments to ESG practices to mitigate legal liability and reputational harm.
Complexities and Concerns
“While one can intentionally seek to develop some habit, the latter is born only once the behaviour, posture or frame of thought underlying it has become so internalised that it takes effort to bring it back to conscious awareness.”
Sylvie Delacroix
On the other side of the coin, proactive CSR action is described as something that goes above and beyond compliance, shifting from risk management to practices
that actively contribute positively to the world in which organisations find themselves in. Stakeholder activism appears to be at the heart of this, with growing pressures for organisations to commit to these measures described as somewhat of a modern-day gold rush due to the scramble to cover all bases. However, companies appear reluctant to continue to go above and beyond in this respect — and for good reason too. One of the most damning criticisms of ESG practices beyond compliance is the idea that boards must choose between ESG and their fiduciary duties to the success of their companies and their clients. In jurisdictions where fiduciary duties are only extended to shareholders, it becomes understandable to set ESG priorities to the side, especially if the investment in ESG takes away significantly from the success of the organisation.
Conclusion
With the world bound to keep spinning, it appears that ESG is here to stay. Nonetheless, it would be naïve to suggest that it can survive unaided in its current state. Significant reform is needed from regulatory, doctrinal and social perspectives.
Proactive Cybercriminals vs Reactive Laws
Digital Permanence and Data Breaches
Emma Reading
Australian data protection laws appear to be enacted entirely in response to data breaches, with very few solutions being established proactively. The only solution that will adequately mitigate risk is to find a sustainable framework that holds corporations holding consumer data and responsible people within them accountable for successful attacks on their systems. This framework must be broad enough to cover all causes of breaches and impose a combination of deterrents and incentives while maintaining its relevance in an ever-advancing environment.
The Breach
A cyber attack on Optus in September 2022 led to almost 10 million people’s data being stolen, including details of their driver’s licences, passports and Medicare cards., 2.8 million people were put at risk of identity theft and exploitation for 100-point ID checks, as are often required for transactions such as bank loans and government-issued identity documents. The breach was enabled by a coding error that facilitated ‘quite a basic hack’ according to the Minister for Cyber Security, the Hon Clare O’Neil MP., O’Neil also stated in an interview about the attack on Optus that ‘we’re about five years behind in cyber protections than where we should be’, highlighting the need for broad-
er regulation. The devastation caused by this and the Medibank attack (which occurred only a month later) undermines the trustworthiness of the law in protecting consumers of companies that are negligent in their cybersecurity practices.
Existing Approach
Legislators were reluctant to tighten security standards for telecommunications providers prior to the attack on Optus. The approach of leaving these companies to regulate themselves with minimal oversight has proven to be ineffective, as evidenced by the easily avoidable nature of the Optus breach. Laws regulating this industry following the breach, namely the Telecommunications Amendment (Disclosure of Information for the Purpose of Cyber Security) Regulations 2022 (‘the Amendment’), were only created as a reaction in support of impacted customers. Enabling such support following a large breach was rightly the short-term priority of legislators, however, that was the only impact that the Amendment had. This sets the standard that should a corporation fail to protect consumer’s data, the government will only enact specific regulations that allow said company to react in the most effective manner possible. While this approach is valid in its own right, it fails to create a sustainable framework that prioritises strong cybersecurity infrastructure and practices that avoid substantial breaches in the first place.
New Approach
The Privacy Legislation Amendment (Enforcement and Other Measures) Act 2022 (‘the Privacy Amendment’) increased the maximum penalty for a contravention of a civil penalty provision to the greater of $50,000,000, three times the value of the benefit gained by the conduct that led to the contravention, or 30% of the adjusted yearly turnover for the period in which the contravention occurred. This was a strong first step as it shifted the main source of deterrence beyond using ongoing cases alone, such as the action currently being taken against Medibank by the Office of the Australian Information Commissioner (OAIC). The lack of legislation holding offending corporations accountable led the Acting Information Commissioner Elizabeth Tydd to use the Medibank action as ‘a wake-up call to Australian organisations to invest in their digital defences’. The separation and division of powers in Australian law makes federal legislation the most sustainable form of deterrence and should thus be prioritised in data protection regulation over making examples out of ongoing cases.
The Accountability Principle
Despite wide acknowledgement of the insufficiency of current data protection laws, there may be little further legal action that would effectively hold corporations accountable. Limited liability poses an obstacle in enacting legislation that has been effective elsewhere as rules
founded in the accountability principle are among the most effective at enforcing data protection laws, as reflected in internal policies. The principle involves delegating responsibility to specific people within a company to hold them accountable should there be a failure, motivating them to act in the consumers’ best interests. This principle has been praised by experts, such as academics from Edinburgh Law School and UCLA, for its effectiveness in encouraging greater emphasis on cyber security within organisations that result in a reduction of breaches., The principle’s foundation in governance would also make it a sustainable solution as it requires internal standards to be set based on the structure of the corporation and what product it provides, reducing the ongoing need for specific regulations to be enacted by the Government.
Internal Cyber Culture
The best application of the accountability principle in Australia can be found in an organisation’s work culture. Companies that establish a strong internal culture of cybersecurity place a social contract on employees to not only avoid breaches caused by human error, but puts pressure on decision-makers to prioritise the privacy of customer data. Individuals within organisations that hold this data are subsequently held accountable by the people sitting at the desk next to them instead of the Australian judiciary, creating clear and direct consequences for negligence. While the law is reluctant to dictate what a corporation’s internal culture should look like, the government may incentivise the establishment and maintenance of such culture. This may take the form of favourable tax treatment for expenditure on cybersecurity education, such as by offering to reduce the amount that a corporation is taxed by the amount spent on such education. While this does involve a decrease in government revenue, studies have found that strong organisational cultures and values show sustainable results.
Australian law is unfortunately ill-equipped to maintain its relevance to a desirable extent in the ever-changing field of data protection. There are opportunities for the government that would complement existing legislation to create a framework that involves a balance of deterrents, incentives and support for victims. Such a framework has the potential to be broad enough to cover a range of cybersecurity attacks without the need to constantly change the law to keep up with technological advances, maintaining its relevance in our ever-changing world.
with Judge Michael Doogan Civilisations Immemorial and the Law of the Land
Ever since the doctrine of terra nullius was overturned in 1992, the relationship between Aboriginal Australians and the Crown has been a complex one. How can our government balance the competing doctrines of parliamentary supremacy and native title? If we look to New Zealand for answers, we’ll find that the Crown struck an agreement with various Māori tribes — the Treaty of Waitangi — which recognised that the land had been formerly inhabited. The Treaty is now considered to be a constitutional document of New Zealand. How much did this help? Who did it affect? What can we learn from this?
To assess the state of our trans-Tasman neighbours, The Brief is proud to present a conversation with Judge Michael Doogan, who serves as a kaiwhakawā (judge) in the Māori Land Court and as a presiding officer on the Waitangi Tribunal.
How would you describe the historical background of the Treaty of Waitangi?
However, this growing trade also introduced a technological imbalance in Māori warfare. With the introduction of muskets, some northern chiefs (including Hongi Hika) wrote to King William around 1831, seeking an alliance and asking for a flag that would protect Māori vessels in international waters. Muskets, among other things, concerned the missionaries, who increasingly called upon the Crown to act and to claim sovereignty over New Zealand to protect Māori and the growing settler population under British laws.
Keen to secure this trading relationship, a New Zealand Declaration of Independence (Māori: He Whakaputanga) was signed by 34 chiefs in 1835 and acknowledged by the Crown in 1836. The text was drafted by the British Resident in New Zealand and stated that all sovereign power and authority in New Zealand was held by the Māori Confederation of Chiefs.
New Zealand’s history is different to Australia’s in a number of respects. A broad-brush historical overview would begin in the 1810s, when British missionaries established relationships with key chiefs of various Māori tribes, particularly in the north of New Zealand.
Around 1820, two of the leading chiefs, Hongi Hika and Waikato, were invited to England. Unusually for those times, they had an audience with the King and were treated like distinguished representatives of a foreign nation. They were introduced to a scholar who undertook a study of Māori language and recorded it in a written form for the first time. Notably, while there are different dialects of Māori language, they are generally mutually intelligible.
The chiefs returned and literacy developed. At that time, European whalers and traders were keen to trade for flax and timber, and so Māori began producing various products, trading, and sailing across the Tasman in their own newly-built schooners.
The Crown was quite reluctant to formally proclaim sovereignty, but by the late 1830s felt compelled to act for a number of reasons. To follow international law, the Crown needed to obtain the free and intelligent consent of Māori before asserting sovereignty. The resulting treaty, the Treaty of Waitangi, was drafted in English and Māori (translated by an English missionary). The Māori text of the Treaty was not a direct translation of the English. In the English preamble it states:
[Queen Victoria], anxious to protect [the] just Rights and Property [of the Native Chiefs and Tribes of New Zealand] and to secure the enjoyment of Peace and Good Order has deemed it necessary… to constitute and appoint a functionary properly authorised… over the whole or any part of those islands.
The following three articles of the Treaty granted the Crown governorship over all of New Zealand, the Crown guaranteed chiefs their authority over their territories and possessions, and Māori were given all the rights and privileges of British subjects.
Over 500 chiefs signed the Treaty in 1840, and nearly all signed the Māori version. However, at Waitangi, the chiefs argued whether they should sign. William Colenso, a missionary who spoke Māori, produced an account of what he heard. A northern chief by the name of Te Kēmara made a strong case against the move:
Were all to be on an equality, then perhaps, Te Kēmara would say ‘Yes’, but for the Governor to be up and Te Kēmara down low, small, a worm, a crawler — No, no, no. Go back.
But then Tāmati Wāka Nene, a chief who supported the idea, would get up and say:
Had you spoken this in the old time, when the traders and grog sellers came — had you turned them away, then you could well say to the Governor, ‘Go back’, and it would have been correct, straight. But now as things are, no, no, no — Do not thou go away from us. Remain for us — a father, a judge, a peacemaker.
The northern chiefs were aware, for example, that the French knew of New Zealand. If Māori didn’t agree to the terms set out by the Crown, there would likely be other nations. The northern chiefs also placed considerable weight on their existing relationship with the Crown, which had begun some twenty years earlier with Hongi Hika and Waikato.
The chiefs debated. Eventually, quite a number signed, but not all. Later, the Crown proclaimed sov-
ereignty. There’s still a debate as to when actual sovereignty was acquired; in 1840, the chiefs still had actual political and military control over all of New Zealand because the settlers were in such small numbers. But after 1840, the number of settlers arriving began to rapidly increase, putting pressure on the Crown to acquire Māori land for settlement.
In 1860, war broke out near Mount Taranaki when the Governor upheld by force a purchase of Māori land from a person who lacked the authority to do so under Māori law, or tikanga. The chief with authority didn’t agree to the sale, and that ultimately led to war.
As a result of land wars in the 1860s and 1870s, large areas of land were confiscated by the Crown. Critically, the Treaty was considered an international treaty which meant that it had no domestic standing unless incorporated into statute. It was a moral obligation on the Crown, but not something that the courts upheld. In 1877, the highest court in New Zealand held that the Treaty was ‘a simple nullity’.
Now, that was the conventional legal position for a very long time, but since about the 1960s, there have been some fundamental shifts in the political and legal recognition of the status of the Treaty. And a lot of that has come about as a response to growing Māori protests about the loss of what little Māori land remained by the 1960s.
How did the Treaty of Waitangi re-emerge in New Zealand’s legal discourse in the 20th century?
In the 1960s, Māori were protesting against the ongoing alienation of land. In 1975, there was a march on Parliament known as the Māori land march. Following these protests, a Māori MP by the name of Matiu Rata helped to pass the Treaty of Waitangi Act 1975 which established the Waitangi Tribunal as a response to this reality. The Tribunal has authoritative power to determine the meaning and interpretation of the two texts of the Treaty and the power to investigate Crown conduct against the principles of the Treaty. It’s a recommendatory power, so it has the power to investigate and report but not to make binding decisions. Initially, it could only work on contemporary policy matters, but that was changed in 1985 to give a historical jurisdiction going back to 1840.
Does the Tribunal fall under the executive or judicial branch of the New Zealand government?
A recent decision has confirmed that the Tribunal doesn’t sit in the executive branch of government. But neither does it sit squarely within the judicial branch,
because its powers are largely recommendatory. There’s a narrow band of jurisdiction over which the Tribunal has adjudicatory powers.
In the 1980s, the Crown was creating state-owned enterprises under the State-Owned Enterprises Act 1986. In a number of cases, these were significant Crown land holding estates that had been acquired from Māori and were going to be transferred to these new enterprises. That policy was challenged on the grounds of the Treaty, as the Act referenced the Treaty in sections 9 and 27. In 1987, the Court of Appeal found that there was a failure on the part of the Crown to act consistently with the principles of the Treaty.
The Treaty Act was then amended to give the Tribunal the power to make binding recommendations for the return to Māori of land that had been transferred from the Crown to state-owned enterprises, and a memorandum was put on all those titles. So for that narrow class of land, the Tribunal has a binding jurisdiction. It’s only been exercised once in the late 1990s, but it didn’t get to final orders because a settlement was negotiated. More recently, there’s been litigation right through to the highest courts confirming the nature of the Tribunal’s jurisdiction. Some recent binding orders have been made that are still the subject of litigation in the higher courts, but generally the Tribunal’s jurisdiction is non-binding, except for that specific type of former Crown land.
How had Maori land been treated prior to the establishment of the Tribunal, and how has that changed since then?
Following the Treaty in 1840 and the establishment of representative government in 1852, one of the major legal mechanisms for Māori land loss was the process established by the setting up of the Native Land Court, now the Māori Land Court. The Crown was initially the sole purchaser of Māori land, but they soon allowed other parties to purchase and lease land. Thus, the Crown sought to convert Māori customary land into title recognised by the Crown. This was the work of the Native Land Court, established under the Native Lands Act 1865
For the greater part of its existence, the primary role of the Native Land Court was to investigate and award Crown recognised titles to Māori that could then be sold or leased. There is still some Māori customary land, or land under native title, but it’s widely understood that these are generally small isolated parcels of land because titles have been issued over the vast majority of New Zealand’s landmass.
Land under customary Māori title goes through this conversion process to be registered under a Torrens title system. The Māori Land Court is responsible for the title records and administration of Māori land. About 6% of New Zealand’s total landmass has Māori land status. The only way that the government or the state has any power to acquire or change the status of this land is through due process. There are powers under acts like the Public Works Act 1981 for compulsory acquisition for major public works, but due process has to be followed, whether it’s under Māori title or general title.
There’s no prerogative right as such, and there’s no residual right vested in the Crown by dint of its territorial sovereignty. There is the legislative power which could pass an act changing the designation of a title, but there’s no inherent power other than exercising some form of either parliamentary or legal process over land.
Do you believe that the proportion of Maori titles in New Zealand will decrease or increase in the future?
The Crown has been negotiating settlements of historic Treaty breaches with Māori for maybe 30 years now. Those settlements typically involve a Crown apology and redress, which is both commercial and cultural. Quite often, lands that the Crown retains are returned to Māori as part of a package of redress. These lands are typically under general or European title, and it’s
rare for Māori who receive those settlements to then convert that land into Māori land status. Māori land is still very restrictive and it’s quite cumbersome to administer; it comes in a legal framework which is fairly complex when compared to general title.
Nonetheless, Māori who receive land back from the crown are typically looking to the long term stewardship of all of their assets. They’re trying to reestablish a collective base for their future and for the future of their descendants. Regardless of title, ownership and longterm stewardship are more important. I don’t think more land will necessarily be converted to Māori title, and neither do I think there’ll be a significant change or reduction from the current land that has Māori land status, simply because the legislation is now designed to try and retain it as Māori land, owned by Māori.
How are Māori concepts of property ownership different to the Crown’s understanding of property ownership?
The Crown’s policy was generally hostile to concepts of communal title or holding. The Native Land Court was flawed for a number of reasons; significant costs were put onto Māori owners to pay for surveys of the land, and if they couldn’t pay, land would be taken in lieu of the survey charges. Names of individuals were put on titles and conflict within Māori communities would develop because the wrong peo -
ple sometimes got put on titles. Once titles were issued, there was pressure to sell. Poverty and urbanisation increased pressure on titleholders, leading to alienation of land. The land now remaining is often in more remote and difficult terrain, and Māori in some places organised in ways to effectively resist the way the court was operating.
Until Te Ture Whenua Māori Act 1993, our legal system wasn’t sympathetic to Māori concepts of ownership or to a different conceptual understanding of property. Since that act, the Māori land court has quite a different focus. Māori land has not lost Māori ownership, but there are often barriers to use due to lack of access or capital.
Ultimately, the emphasis is on the owners’ abilities to retain and use the land, so there are quite strong restrictions on alienation. It’s now difficult to change the status of Māori land to general title. While it remains in Māori title, if a person wishes to alienate their interests, it has to stay within the bloodline. Māori land is still much more complex to administer than other property registered under the Torrens system.
How has the urbanisation of New Zealand impacted the Maori population and Maori land claims?
It’s a little bit hard to generalise. The migration of Māori from rural areas to urban cities increased greatly since the 1950s. Those who have moved try to maintain cultural continuity with their original lands, and Māori who remain in their traditional areas are called the ahi kā: the ones who keep the home fires burning. The ahi kā are often those who look after and live on Māori land.
Some of the regions, such as the east coast of the North Island or the far north of the North Island, have also suffered from underinvestment in terms of good roads and good infrastructure. These places are quite vulnerable in terms of floods, and storms; and they are relatively poorer in terms of employment, health and education outcomes, and opportunities. Sometimes, Māori who have remained in those places may resist relatives who have been away for a generation or two, but nonetheless are shareholders in the land. There may be tensions about how much they should have a say in what’s happening on the land. That is a dynamic that often arises with people who are still connected to ancestral lands, but do not live together on those lands.
Any opinions expressed by Judge Doogan are his own view and are not made on behalf of the Māori Land Court or the Waitangi Tribunal.
with the Honourable Mark Speakman
Eternal Laws for Secular Times
For the time being, NSW is a representative democracy. Since 1856, parliamentarians have sat and debated topics ranging from voting to vaping. With the stories and scandals arising from the 24-hour news cycle, we can sometimes forget that these elected officials on Macquarie Street are responsible for deciding the future of NSW. Statute, more powerful than common law or equity, is written and debated upon by our fellow man.
To consider the role of the Parliament of NSW from a legal point of view, The Brief is proud to present a conversation with the Leader of the Opposition in the Legislative Assembly, the Honourable Mark Speakman.
How would you describe the purpose of the Legislative Assembly, and how would you say that it serves society?
The purpose of the Legislative Assembly is to make laws, but I think politicians and parliamentarians in NSW have a broader purpose. We’re here to be leaders of society in a more general sense. Since we have a system of responsible government here, politicians have a broader policymaking role to lead the state on policy matters, whether they’re in Opposition or in Government, because, we don’t really separate the executive from the legislature, parliamentarians in government also have the additional duty of executing the laws.
Edmund Burke, in his Speech to the Electors of Bristol, held that the duty of a parliamentarian is owed first to the nation and then to his constituents. Which duty do you find most compelling: representing the views of your electorate, representing your personal philosophical views, or representing your party’s views?
I don’t think it’s all one thing or the other. There are some issues where I have to exercise my judgement, because that’s what I was elected for. If people just wanted me to do things with majority support in the electorate, then we should just get rid of politicians and have online referenda or plebiscites on every issue. One of the roles of leaders as well is not just to follow, but
to lead. You can’t be way out in front of the pack, but you should be at the head of the pack, trying to bring people with you.
But still, there are perspectives that wouldn’t have occurred to me without meeting and encountering constituents and hearing their stories. Often, what we think is important is derived from our own experience. It’s only when we go out and see people in any number of desperate circumstances that we come to truly know the difficulties one can face. I suppose we know these things in theory, but until we actually see it face to face and it becomes concrete, it just doesn’t hit us. It’s in keeping with an old bit of advice; that being, it’s always better to lobby a politician in person, to go and meet them face to face, rather than to just write a letter, which can often be passed like a ship in the night.
Have these encounters with constituents actively changed your personal views, or do you hold them alongside your private views?
There are areas where I’ve formed views where hitherto I held no views. For example, the Legislative Assembly recently passed legislation regarding coercive control. If you had asked me ‘What should be considered coercive control?’ five years ago, I wouldn’t even have known what it was. But as the Minister for Prevention of Domestic Violence, I had frequent contact with domestic violence victim survivors. If I hadn’t seen their lived experience, I may not have been as cognizant of the issues. Unless you’re seeing lived experiences in front of you, it’s very easy to just not be concerned about it. It’s human nature — out of sight, out of mind.
How do you order your duties to your party and in representing your own personal philosophical views? When you find yourself at odds with your party’s line, how do you resolve the conflict?
We have very few of what are commonly called ‘conscience votes’ or ‘free votes’, like on abortion or euthanasia, but every vote is at heart a conscience vote. As a minister and as the leader of the Opposition, I can put my opposing views before the shadow cabinet. If they
fail, they fail. I’ve never felt so aggrieved by something that I had to resign, either as a shadow minister or a minister. But that’s the principle of party solidarity; in that sense, every vote is a conscience vote.
In that vein, do you hold your personal views as something subjective and personal, or rather as reflecting inherent moral truths that are valid in different places and across different eras?
There seems to be one common theme in the ethical systems around the world, whether they’re secular or religious — the neighbour principle, that is, to love your neighbour as yourself. It’s the golden rule that underpins just about every major religion and every secular outlook as well. So, to that extent, I hold that the neighbour principle is the fundamental moral underpinning of any legal system. Of course, it’s not always perfectly apparent if something aligns with the rule. There will be some examples where it’s very clear, but most of the time moral conflicts are the results of conflicting human rights. Most of the time, you won’t have a consensus on how those interests reconcile. Let’s not forget that views also change over time. Certain practices that are considered acceptable or appropriate now would have been horrifying or inconceivable to people from 150 years ago, but in 100 years time, our descendants will look back at us and shake their heads at the things we permit. So I think that there is a general moral underpinning, but the only common ground that we can realistically find is the neighbour principle.
Because the Legislative Assembly covers every aspect of life in NSW, how do you find your moral bearings when you have to consider so many circumstances?
Although I’ve mentioned the neighbour principle, I haven’t as a legislator consciously thought ‘How does the neighbour principle apply here?’; that’s just an un-
conscious assumption in everything. Considering the issue of coercive control, for example, we had to define what it was. We articulated that it involves a pattern of systemic abuse that deprives the victim and survivor of their independence and autonomy. So, there are two areas of harm which you want to prevent. Some would say that it’s illiberal for the state to be involved in domestic relationships in this way, but I would actually say our approach embodies the classical liberal approach. This is because abusers are doing harm to victims, we’re emancipating someone from an abusive relationship rather than depriving someone of their freedom to abuse. With this legislation, we’re guaranteeing victims the normal freedoms and independence that we take for granted.
Finally, because the Legislative Assembly functions as a human institution, it’s bound by the limits of time and effort. How do you reconcile the pragmatic operation of the Legislative Assembly with principled decision-making?
Politics inevitably involves compromise. If you’re part of a team and you don’t have unanimity on a policy, you have to work out why you cannot possibly agree with your opponents, and then you resign or cross the floor or something to that effect. Politics is basically constant compromise, and the moral challenge is to make sure that the compromise you make is morally justifiable to yourself.
All views expressed in this interview are the personal views of the Honourable Mark Speakman. They do not represent the positions of Macquarie University Law Society, the Law School, the University, or The Brief. A parallel interview request was made of the Premier of NSW, the Hon Chris Minns. In keeping with the editorial standards of The Brief, we maintain a strict commitment to apolitical and neutral content.
A Brief Crossword
By BS
Crossword
By Exetter
1 Forever concealed in entirety (8)
5 Wet from twisting 12 across (5)
8 Pollute, messy seed trace (9)
10 Timekeeper approximates lock (5)
12 Back pat (3)
15 To understand girl in company (8)
16 Unlocked round enclosure (4)
17 This role calamitous upon innocence I had? Non (3,1,7,4)
22 Dirty drunken nude drama restricted (4)
23 Tech internals inactive, joyful (8)
24 Shotgun seat (3)
25 Series franchise (5)
26 Copper by my final message (3,3,3)
30 Convenient fortune in rugby post yard (5)
31 Composition confused traitor too without T2 (8)
Down
22 Dirty drunken topless drama (4)
23 Tech internals inactive, joyful (8)
24 Shotgun seat (3)
25 Series franchise (5)
26 Copper by my final message (3,3,3)
30 Convenient fortune in rugby post yard (5)
31 Composition confused traitor too without T2 (8)
Down
1 Goal: reverse in old Neon (3)
2 Supplement EPI with what sounds like tree (8)
3 Dope could be on Arctic (8)
4 Short Thaddeus little (3)
6 Disparage strange rat (3)
7 Meet (non-German) King? Vienna's best (10)
9 Hypnotise by a gate (11)
11 Finally! Nuncio on 7 down's arrival (2,4,4)
13 Pale antelope hindquarters go to the dogs (4)
14 Inaccurate neum list (4)
18 I preserve Roman possum (1,3)
19 27 down, Harpy without a sound cause (4)
20 Graph that cord, jumbled (3,5)
21 Adder tripe: VIP, exotic (3,5)
1 Goal: reverse in old Neon (3)
27 Talk on back pay (3)
2 Supplement EPI with what sounds like tree (8)
3 Dope could be on Arctic (8)
4 Short Thaddeus little (3)
6 Disparage strange rat (3)
28 Listeners, hear, aspire not! (3)
29 On first. How? (3)
7 Meet (non-German) King? Vienna’s best (10)
9 Hypnotise by a gate (11)
11 Finally! Nuncio on 7 down’s arrival (2,4,4)
13 Pale antelope hindquarters go to the dogs (4)
14 Inaccurate neum list (4)
18 I preserve Roman possum (1,3)
19 27 down, Harpy without a sound cause (4)
20 Graph that cord, jumbled (3,5)
21 Adder tripe: VIP, exotic (3,5)
27 Talk on back pay (3)
28 Listeners, hear, aspire not! (3)
29 On first. How? (3)
Death of a Subeditor
Boris Duet
Literacy functions as a prison most beautifully when it is unobtrusive and immersive. The beauty with such a place is that it exists perfectly suspended in the ether. It looks like earth, and sounds like earth, but it’s probably Neptune, or Jupiter. This logic falls hard when brand-new-very-clearlyEarth-words enter the written vernacular. See, having COVID referenced as a historical artefact is upsetting because I was sixteen-years-old when it started, and I’m still sixteen-years-and-sixty-months-old now (so really, time hasn’t passed at all).
My distraught is heightened by what appears to be a general scholarly aversion to demotic terms, such as disavowing ‘Airpod’ to refer metonymically to the broader category of ‘wireless Bluetooth earphones’. And yet, the scholars must be in some sadistic competition to bore their readers to death with their own alternative constructions. Serving the false god of elegant variation, members of the academic classes lay down a bed of some multisyllabic prefixes as a foundation of sand, deploy pylons of hyphens and inverted commas to avoid selecting an appropriate word, and then finally deposit a contrived acronym in suffixed parentheses like a corporate flag. The big one, as of the past few years, is ChatGPT (a trademark of OpenAI). Whatever name any given poor journalist or scholar decides to construct or employ, Large Language Model (LLM) or Generative Pre-trained Transformer (GPT) or just plain old Artificial Intelligence (AI) remain zeitgeisty and currently serve as the approved gaudy badges of scholarly objectivity.
The problem we face in our time is one of competition. The construction of plain English is no longer widely practised as a utilitarian task or an artistic endeavour. The written word has given way to the new kings of our era: moving pictures and digital orators. Modern authors, ranging from kindergarteners to the
judiciary, are famed for their soporific qualities, partially owing to wordcount quotas and vainglorious repetition. In the midst of this turbulent upheaval, the GPT generation has come upon us. Is it any wonder that students seek out an explanation from the soulless and friendly computer instead of asking the soulless and friendless professor? During a recent group quiz in one of my units, we found solace in the fact that ChatGPT agreed with our answers, even when the author of the textbook was saying more or less the same thing, just not with ultra-specific certainty. Is it truly surprising that it feels more apt to say that textbooks join a student’s menage à trois alongside AI rather than the converse being true? In the same way that a liberal approach to money develops naturally at any well-endowed university, the writer of written texts acclimatises himself to the alleviation of student difficulties by the developments of comprehension technologies.
This is not a new concern. Waugh likened imprecise writing to a scattered air raid as opposed to a single direct hit. Tailors and bootmakers economise their materials, he wrote, and words are likewise the materials of a writer. The problem with imprecise writing is that there is a nexus between thinking and writing. An idea that cannot be explicated cannot be convincing, and an idea that is not convincing cannot be true. We have gone from lacklustre writing to a postmodern apocalypse, like following a road from Weimar to Nuremberg.
After all the articles and the essays and the textbooks and the years, a writer ends up being worth more dead than alive. The silence that overtakes us is a welcome and eternal respite from the unceasing havel havalim that subsumes our every waking moment. Is there a way to fight this without giving in to the temptation to sacrifice our children on the altar of ChatGPT? Can we learn to love the written word by itself? I’ll check TikTok to find out.
The Brief
(Volumes 21–30)
Editor(s)-in-Chief
The Brief is 30 years old! The premier publication of the Macquarie University Law Society is now older than many of its readers, writers, and subeditors, and it’s showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. Before we move ahead, it’s fitting that we take a look back on the last ten years of The Brief. Who knows how many stories have been told and how much work is now kept within these thirty editions? To help us on this journey, we’ve invited the former Editors-in-Chief of The Brief to tell some stories and pass down some wisdom. Thank you to Patrick Bakarchi, Sarah Li Yee Lien, Nicholas Owczarek, Swatilekha Ahmed, Emalee Walker, Nerissa Puth, Brindha Srinivas, Tamika Mansell, and Bradley Cagauan for graciously agreeing to return!
Volume 21 (2015) Patrick Barkachi
I’m Patrick Barkachi, and I was Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2015. I’m now a commercial litigation Senior Associate at Ashurst LLP based in London. The Law Society always had a strong presence on campus, and the committee members were very helpful to me as a lost first-year law student. Writing for The Brief was a great opportunity to get involved — it overlapped with my personal interests in policy and the development of the law. I began by writing short op-eds, moved into managing the sub-committees, and was later appointed to the Editor-in-Chief role. My time as Editor-in-Chief was eventful. We shifted our focus from only print editions to building The Brief Online. This gave us the ability to quickly publish relevant content to a larger audience and increase engagement. I oversaw the MULS 40th Anniversary Edition (Vol 21, Ed 3) of The Brief, which was a privilege. It provided great insight into the history of MULS, and it was fun to engage with alumni when preparing the edition. We also set up a partnership with the Macquarie University art gallery to use a different
piece of local artwork for each cover of the 2015 editions. If you’ve been involved with The Brief this year, good on you for getting involved. You will learn and develop the invaluable skill of communicating effectively to capture and maintain the interest of a broad audience. Writing or editing for The Brief is a way to gain those skills while maintaining a useful platform for erudite discussion on modern policy and legal issues, which are often overlooked by news media. If I had to recommend anything from my year, I’d recommend reading over the MULS 40th Anniversary Edition (Vol 21, Ed 3) which included a section on historic editions of The Brief. It is a time capsule into the issues that captured the attention of Macquarie law students at the time of each release. My time with The Brief and on the MULS executive was invaluable and I would encourage any student to get involved.
Volume 22 (2016) Sarah Li Yee Lien
I’m Sarah Li Yee Lien, and I was Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2016. I am a solicitor working in the financial services industry at a global law firm. I discovered MULS in my first year of university when I was considering which societies to join. Funnily enough, I only took notice of The Brief in the latter half of my second year. Who knew that volunteering as an occasional subeditor and writer would lead to Deputy Editor, then Editor-in-Chief I recall my time as Editor-in-Chief being — *ahem* — ambitious. We significantly increased readership as a result of growing The Brief Online from the foundations set by my predecessor, moving it to a new website, honing in on social media analytics, and increasing the team of student contributors. As to whether 2016 was interesting, you could say it was. Let’s not forget the US election (Trump v Clinton), Brexit, the publication of the Panama Papers, and Pokémon Go running rampant around campus. If you’re a writer or subeditor, feel free to volunteer topics and ideas to the Editor-in-Chief! Having managed the blog throughout the year, and when the final edition rolls around, your Editor-in-Chief will (likely) appreciate the assistance. The best articles in 2016 are hard to select. There were too many interesting reads, so I’ll just recommend the segments Avenues of Your Law Degree and A Postcard from Abroad (Vol 22, Ed 3) because they were the most fun to source. Thank you for including me in your retrospective edition. My time at The Brief was fun and creative. It’s a joy to see the publication continuing to flourish!
Volume 23 (2017) Nicholas Owczarek
My name is Nick, and I was the Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2017. I completed my Commerce and Law degrees at Macquarie in 2018, and I now work as a lawyer in financial services in-house. In my first Foundations of Law lecture, way back in 2014, I remember the MULS President and a Director enthusiastically introducing the law society to a packed Macquarie Theatre and encouraging us to participate. They were quite compelling. My editorship was a busy time. We’d just come off the 2016 United States presidential election, which inspired the theme for our first 2017 edition: ‘Living in a Post-Truth World’. Law students are naturally an opinionated bunch, so it made for a lot of great content. We’d also won the Australian Law Students’ Association’s ‘Best Online Activity’ award for our online presence in 2017, though that was in no small part due to the efforts of Sarah, my predecessor. I’d recommend two of our 2017 stories, both published as part of the Postcard from Abroad segment, in which we featured law students who’d recently studied abroad. Their stories were very interesting and diverse and I loved reviewing them. We featured students who had completed exchanges in Mexico (Vol 23, Ed 2) and Hong Kong (Vol 23, Ed 3). In terms of getting involved with MULS, The Brief is a good way to do so — particularly for the introverts among us! It’s also a great avenue to write about topics you’re interested in and it allows you to practise articulating your ideas succinctly. Writing well takes practice, and writing well will serve you well in whatever career you choose, whether in the law or otherwise.
Volume 24 (2018) Swatilekha Ahmed
My name is Swatilekha Ahmed, and I was Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2018. As of right now, I’m a Director in the Performance Audit Services Group at the Australian National Audit Office. I manage audits of government agencies to provide Parliament with assurance. When it comes to The Brief, I actually can’t remember how I first became involved! From memory,
I put my hand up for the position of Editor-in-Chief when I saw an EOI on the subcommittee after writing a few articles for The Brief Online. I’ve always had an interest in writing and editing so it was a good fit. I remember it being very enjoyable (and sometimes stressful!) My time as Editor-in-Chief is a bit of a blur. Something that always gave me a bit of a laugh was selecting the images for the articles. One thing I’d recommend to the writers is to be open-minded and think outside of the box when coming up with articles and editions. I loved being creative about my ideas for covers and articles — it brought me so much satisfaction. Tap into the resources around you — your peers, teachers and alumni. I have two interviews to recommend, which were my favourite type of article. I spoke with Judith Preston on her work in environmental law (Vol 24, Ed 2) and with Adrian Coorey about his work in consumer law (Vol 24, Ed 3). I fondly remember my time at university and the people I met. Enjoy your time at uni, make friends, work hard, engage with your tutors and lecturers, pull those all-nighters — it pays off. But don’t forget to have fun, and think creatively about where your experiences can take you.
Volume 25 (2019) Emalee Walker
Dear Readers, going back to 2019 when I was the Editor-In-Chief of The Brief, we didn’t know just how much things would change (as with everything else in 2019). We did, however, tackle some truly interesting topics in the law which remain relevant — for example, one of our authors wrote an article about making pay secrecy clauses in employment agreements illegal (Vol 25, Ed 3), which was brought into the Fair Work Act last year. If you’re looking for a brief overview of what else was happening at that time I’d recommend reading the UN Attempt to Strength Response to Migration in Two New Global Compacts. Looking back. my sense is that there was a lot that the world was looking towards at this time, not expecting the redirection of priorities in 2020. Being part of MULS as the Deputy Editor and then Editor-In-Chief of The Brief was a very rewarding experience for me. I had started my studies in law and journalism and so had initially contributed to Grapeshot before turning to The Brief, to gain as much exposure and experience in journalism, editing, and publishing as I could. When the opportunity then arose for a Deputy Editor position, I jumped at it, even
so far as to delay my exchange until after I had completed the two-year tenure with The Brief. I am now a senior lawyer with Hazelbrook Legal where I work across general corporate and commercial law, and specifically in M&A transactions and financial services. I have also spent some time with Authors Legal, and continue to explore my interests in the law, social issues, and love of language. I am thrilled to see The Brief continuing to engage the incredible law students at Macquarie while being innovative and unique in its approach: the true Macquarie spirit.
Volume 26 (2020) Nerissa Puth
Hi! My name is Nerissa Puth, and I was Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2020. I am an Associate at Slater and Gordon in the Class Actions team. I work on commercial and securities class actions commenced on behalf of group members. I came to the Editor-In-Chief role of The Brief in 2020, which was my penultimate year of uni. I always enjoyed picking up a copy of The Brief on my way to classes, which is why I signed up as a writer and editor. My first article was on transitional justice in the context of genocide in Cambodia. During my time as Editor-In-Chief, COVID-19 had hit us, which presented a lot of distress and novel circumstances to society at large. We released an edition called ‘The State of Survival’ (Vol 26, Ed 2). Looking back at the edition, I can see a number of issues which came to light as a result of COVID-19, which our talented writers explored, still being grappled with today. Those included the interdependency of critical infrastructure, privacy and cybersecurity concerns, and how laws may adapt to ensure consumer protection. I would encourage those with an interest in a broad mix of disciplines (and perhaps those that are unsure of where their interest lies) to explore it by contributing to The Brief.
Affairs and Trade. Like most, I discovered MULS during O-Week in my first year. I was keen on getting involved with an extracurricular that was related to my degree but also would give me a chance to make new friends and MULS seemed like a great option! As for The Brief , I started off as a writer then Deputy Editor and Editor-in-Chief — a full circle moment! My time as EIC was great! Unfortunately, we went into our second COVID lockdown, so much of the coordination and work was done through emails rather than face to face. It also meant people had more time cooped up at home to come up with new ideas for articles. During my time as Editor-in-Chief we published three editions: ‘Resilience’, ‘The Human Influence’, and ‘Sidelined’. Coming up with a theme was always difficult but also fun as it gave parameters for writers and allowed us to have control on what we put out. Being part of The Brief was very fulfilling and I thoroughly enjoyed engaging with writers, lecturers, and MULS more generally. I think it’s a very important and cool piece of work allowing students to take a break from writing formal legal essays and be a bit creative and write about something they are passionate about. It will be great to see the legacy of The Brief continue! Also, a shout out to Nathan Li, the designer for The Brief who always came up with the best designs! Recommending a favourite article is the equivalent to picking a favourite child! I would recommend reading our third and final edition, ‘Sidelined’ (Vol 27, Ed 3). I think it’s my favourite one because we focused on how our laws do and do not adequately protect those most vulnerable in our communities. It really allowed writers to take a step back to analyse and critique pertinent issues in our interconnected global community. My time at Macquarie and MULS was fun and enriching and this exercise served as a good opportunity to reflect and walk down memory lane. I hope students continue to engage with MULS and The Brief — they are fantastic avenues to express yourself, make friends and be part of something beyond textbooks and lectures.
Volume 28 (2022) Tamika Mansell
and work for the Department of Foreign
Hi everyone! I’m Tamika Mansell and I’m (still) a law student, currently in my fourth year. Even now, I can remember learning about The Brief at the MULS O-week stall when I was in my first year. As someone
Volume 27 (2021) Brindha Srinivas Hi, I’m Brindha Srinivas, and I was the Editor-in-Chief of The Brief in 2021. Since finishing uni, I have moved to Canberra
who loves to write, it was the perfect way to integrate my hobbies and the law so I got involved straight away, writing my first article about changes to the parental leave laws. Fast-forward one year to 2022 and I was on the other end of the table, telling everyone at O-week about The Brief and receiving amazing stories as the Editor-in-Chief. I honestly loved this role and all that came along with it — it was definitely my favourite law society position. I don’t know if you remember, but 2022 was the first year since COVID that we didn’t have a lockdown and so it was super exciting to be involved in uni life and MULS when all the campus buzz was just starting up again. One of the many stand-out articles from my time was a feature article written by Bradley Cagauan in the second edition about the rights of adults with language, literacy, numeracy, and digital skills gaps, titled ‘Can you read this for me?’ (Vol 28, Ed 2). Brad’s articles were always so engaging and I recommend his piece to anyone who wants to improve their own storytelling as I personally learnt so much from him — it was to no surprise that he became the 2023 Editor-in-Chief after me (shout-out to Brad and his editions!). Being a great writer, as Stephen King puts it, requires two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. If this isn’t enough reason to continue reading and writing for The Brief, I don’t know what is.
Volume 29 (2023) Bradley Cagauan
Welcome back to The Brief! My name is Bradley Cagauan and I was the 2023 Editor-in-Chief! I am currently in my final year of my law degree and work as a law clerk in the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions. I first found out about MULS on my first day at uni when I was interested in joining their competitions. I didn’t become involved with The Brief until 2022 and the annualemail circulated to all law students calling for writers. For me, The Brief was an opportunity to hone my skills as a creative writing student by editing and publishing other students’ writing. I have learned so much from my fellow writers whose shared passion of law never failed to surprise and inspire me. Getting involved with The Brief was undoubtedly one of the best things I did in uni. I got to write about articles I was passionate about and soon became the Editor-in-Chief. My editorship coincided with the first referendum since 1999 on the question of enshrining an Indigenous Voice to Parliament (Vol 29, Ed
3). When I curated the themes for 2023, I wanted to publish articles focusing on public law and the impact of law and policy on marginalised communities and young people. The writers met my challenge and I am immensely proud of those who have written and edited for the editions I oversaw. My final message is to those who chose the law because they wanted to pursue some moral mission. There’s nothing wrong with choosing law for another reason — money is always a valid reason — but if you did choose the path of light, the challenge is keeping on the path. In those moments you feel discouraged or disillusioned with your work, remember why you picked this field.
Volume 30 (2024) Leo Chang
Hi. I’m Leo Chang. I’m a law student in my fourth year. I’m currently editing this edition, trying to make sure that everything else is (relatively) error-free. This all started when I discovered The Brief in 2022, although I didn’t actually write anything until 2023. At that point, I had been paying my MULS dues for two years and felt like I had to get my money’s worth. I shot an email to Bradley Cagauan, the Editor-in-Chief, and started to write. I improved throughout the year — my writing became positively readable — before I took over The Brief in 2024. This year embodied the new normal by being anything but: the Paris Olympics were predictably unpredictable, Julian Assange was released, the quadrennial US presidential election was (is?) TBD, and wars raged on in Europe, Asia, and Africa. For The Brief, it was business as usual. The themes reflected reflection, and some jurisprudentially-minded writers came out of the woodwork to contribute their thoughts in an attempt to slow the downward spiral. In particular, I recommend Joel Karanikas’ article ‘What’s (not) a Law?’ (Vol 30, Ed 2) as a starting-point to explore your legal and moral qualms in an age where incomplete questions yield inadequate answers. It’s a strange time to be a student. The funk of lockdown hovers over us. The cracks in the military-industrial-financial-everything complex are starting to show. Some people are mad as hell and are not going to take it anymore. Some will. In the meantime, the writers shall write, the presses shall run, my deputy editors shall suffer, and orabo ad maiorem Dei gloriam inque hominum salutem
Let Me Sleep On It
he quality of MQ Law graduates had been slipping, and Dean Jean Montgomery was fed up. Decisive action was needed. ‘All exams will be in-person and invigilated, from now until the end of time. The pass mark will be raised to 70% in all law units. No MQ law students will rest on their law-rels only their written submissions.’
Dean Jean Montgomery went home after a long day and drifted off to sleep with ease. But in the dead of night, she was awoken by a chilling presence — an apparition, pale and ghastly. It was the ghost of a law student.
‘Dean Jean Montgomery,’ the ghost wailed as it whisked her away into the past. There was young Jean, burdened with hundreds of textbooks on her way to university in the pre-jade.io era. Young Jean was physically ladened with weight, but not ladened with debt (as university was free).
The next night, another ghost appeared, this time showing Jean the present. She saw the current law students, burning the midnight oil, chugging coffee like water, and drowning out their stress with the Suits soundtrack. Representatives of Red Bull can be seen frequenting the administrations office negotiating a partnership deal with the law school through the winners of last year’s Allen’s Negotiations moot. It is expected to be the most profitable partnership of the year.
On the third night, yet another ghost visited Jean, this one from the future. It was a student who introduced herself with a grim tone. ‘Dean Montgomery, your name is cursed within the halls of this university. Only a small lecture hall is named after you in the engineering building, and it’s empty most of the time. No lively debates, no animal rights advocates, only students clad in corporate suits, practising their networking skills in front of mirrors. And when someone pulls a ruthless move in a law firm, it’s called a Montgomery.’ The ghost looked at Jean with hollow eyes. ‘Do you wish to withdraw your submission?’
Jean agreed.
She runs her email through ChatGPT to check for spelling mistakes before the email blast.
‘The pass mark is raised to 80% forever!’
Our Immortal Child
Serena Olatona
The yellow of the light stained her dress, She closed her eyes to tune out the press. She wiped her hands along that cotton, And found what had once been forgotten.
In youthful clothes, though now outdated, This life had seemed downright fated.
They asked ‘Who does the child take after’, And fought each other; full of laughter.
It seemed clear now, it must have always. We just missed the child stuck in doorways. We taught them to love us at our worst, But then saw us in them and dispersed.
Hushed voices tsked and long fingers grew.
Yet, see how many point back at you.
The judgement is not just for the child; But for the village; unreconciled.
They used to ask ‘Where was the mother?’
But failed to see the people’s smother.
They asked ‘Who does the child take after?’
Like you. Humanity’s great drafter.
Lawtime Poems
The Boxer
Carpe Canem
Editor’s Welcome
News
Law School Subjects Combined Into Priestley One
MACQUARIE PARK — Macquarie University has unveiled the world’s first single-semester Bachelor of Laws. The new degree, which combines contracts, jurisprudence, and other units into the new ‘Priestley One’, has already received thousands of applications. Early offers come bundled with a $100 textbook voucher and a lifetime Prozac prescription.
Earliest Common Ancestor of Lawyers Discovered in PNG
PORT MORESBY — A mollusc fossil discovered in the Pacific seabed has been identified as the earliest common ancestor of all lawyers. The brainless invertebrate, dubbed ‘Mollawsc’, was analysed at the University of PNG, revealing the limited emotional capacity of the creature’s nervous system. Carbon dating suggests that the species terrestrialised in London, 2011.
More Poor People Below Poverty Line Than Rich People: Study
KENSINGTON — A study from the University of NSW suggests that poor people are twelve times more likely to be below the poverty
line than rich people. The seminal $130 million study was conducted over the course of two years. Sole researcher Dr Richard D’Argent has stated that the topic ‘requires further investigation’ and ‘urgent funding’.
Sydney City Council Condemns Abstract Notion of Death
SYDNEY — The City of Sydney has officially condemned Death. The item, first proposed in 1892, was recently passed by a loose coalition of conscience voters. Since the decision, pro-Death advocates have held a candlelight vigil by the council chambers and the Inner West Council has unanimously voted to endorse Death. In response, Death has temporarily suspended all operations in NSW.
90,000 Way Tie In Australia’s Unfunniest Lawyer Competition
MELBOURNE — 90,742 of Australia’s 90,743 legal professionals were awarded equal first place at the seventeenth annual AULC held in Melbourne. Second place winner Brian Farnet is seeking to appeal the decision, arguing that undue weight was placed on facial structure and appearance.
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SHOCKING DEATH
OF
POPULAR LEGAL BULLETIN EDITOR
, proprietor and Editor-in-Chief of independent news bulletin The Boxer, was found dead in his office around midday on Tuesday. Witnesses were first alerted to the scene by the sound of what was later identified to be an improvised explosive device and an unidentified person fleeing from the scene.
was taken to the Royal North Shore Hospital where he was pronounced dead. Police have yet to state whether the matter is being treated as a homicide. Little is known about ████████’s early life, with his entry to public life being marked by his purchase of The Boxer for $100 million in late 2023. Under the guidance of
, The Boxer was known for its irreverent and frequently controversial approach to journalism, including the organisation of a protest against the Park Trust Amendment (Public Transport) Act and the appropriation of resources and funds intended for The Brief, the student publication of the Macquarie University Law Society. The Brief and The Boxer have both been reached for comment under there.
