The death of student politics

Thanks to the Federal government’s dismantling of compulsory student unionism, I am no longer obliged to pay $136 a semester for the privilege of belonging to my student union. That means I now have an extra $136 to blow on eBay or phone bills or Strokes tickets.

No big deal, I hear you say. But the end of student unions marks a notable shift in Australia’s political landscape. Student unions have long been the core of campus political activity. But with falling voter turnout, a shifting university demographic and viral student apathy, the death knell has sounded for student activism.

Long gone are the days of dissenting students bringing Australian cities to a standstill as they did in 1972 to protest the apartheid-era Springbok rugby tour. The force of those demonstrations was so intense that the premier at the time, Joh Bjelke-Petersen, declared a state of emergency in order for the match to be played. Included in those momentous demonstrations was Queensland’s current premier, Peter Beattie, who described the events as: “A watershed. It was a frightening watershed. It was a bit scary at the time. But out of that came an energy, an energy for change, a good energy.”

A few years prior to the Springbok rallies, George Negus started reporting for The Australian newspaper while still a part-time student at the University of Queensland. As a result, he developed close relations with many lecturers and students and became an integral part of campus life.

When asked to describe UQ’s atmosphere in the early 70s, his response is swift. “It was frantic. If you weren’t drinking or partying, you were shouting each other down in wild ideological debate or attending political rallies.”

At the same time that Negus was writing for The Australian, the conservative faction within the university was led by the infamous Bob Katter who, among other things, was president of the UQ Law Society. It all amounted to what Negus describes as a very exciting time politically. “We thought, in many ways quite rightly, that we were fighting for the future of the planet. It was a time of mass political awakening.”

This point is not lost on Senator Natasha Stott Despoja, herself a past student body president, who strongly opposed the abolition of compulsory student unions. The key for Senator Stott Despoja was that "the determined drive to turn universities into degree factories will be to the detriment of Australian society. As well as academic learning, universities are fundamental in fostering debate, critical thought, and social awareness.”

The biggest awakening most students get these days is the caffeinated one they purchase from Mr Beans coffee carts on the way to class. Students aren’t passionately discussing human rights in Darfur or mass protest in Mexico City. They’re talking about upgrading their Apple laptop, applying for internships with multinational firms or planning where they intend to travel at year’s end.

Speaking with students on campus, the general attitude of political disconnection is easy to spot. I speak to a table of students chatting at Merlo cafe in UQ’s Great Court.

Samantha is a Law and Political Science student with, by her own account, a passion for social justice. Like many others, she intends to work for an NGO when she graduates her law degree. Perfect fodder for student activism you might think? “I don’t tend to support student rallies,” she admits. “I’ve just got a million other things to do. I talk to the people with the petitions at Uni and I sign them, but I don’t really have the time to show up.”

Julia is a physiotherapy student. She wants to work in Aboriginal health when she graduates. In recent years she has marched against the Iraq War and walked across the Bridge in support of saying “Sorry.” But she too, feels a distance. “I don’t go to most rallies because I’m too busy. Between my course and my job I do full time hours and I just don’t have the energy. And, to be honest, I don’t think student rallies really have any impact anyway.”

Stuart, another law student, thinks the same way. “It’s not that it doesn’t interest me. It’s just that I don’t think it’s effective. It’s all about posturing and posing. Student politicians don’t seem to genuinely care.”

Current UQ Union President Lucy Weber, doesn’t see herself as a student politician. She simply cares about the support the UQ Union provides, and the students it represents. But her view, from the centre of the storm, is less political than you might imagine. “It’s a mistake to view the union as simply a political entity or as a means for students to get involved in the political process. If that is the aim of a student I would suggest they get involved with a club or join a political party and do it that way. It is not necessarily a bad thing for students to access the political process outside universities, but that is not what the union exists for, nor is it what we do, other than tangentially.”

The loss of the student voice represents a loss for society. In Negus’ view, “the current de-politicisation of students is a great waste. People aren’t talking about ideas any more. There’s a general acceptance of the status quo. Ideological debate, for the most part, has disappeared.

“Certainly, there’s the current discussion about Islam and that creates a certain amount of dissent, but for the most part the great push for political correctness has stifled our ability for meaningful, heartfelt debate. It’s all arguments about interest rates and economic rationalism.

“The only rational thing about economics is that it’s totally irrational. I live in a society. Not an economy. So as soon as people stop talking about the things that affect our society then inevitably we lose out.”

Student driven reform is still possible. Recall early this year when French students blockaded Paris to protest changes to laws which limited significantly the rights of young people in relations with their employer. After a month of sustained and sometimes violent protest, the laws were scrapped.

But back home, with the Howard Government dropping the most significant industrial relations reforms in almost a century, ending student unions in universities across the country and implementing draconian migration laws, students mustered little more than a whimper to express their opposition to the government’s policies. So what is it that holds Australian students back from total political engagement?

A major factor is the lack of a central, unifying issue in the public spectrum. Apartheid and the Vietnam War galvanised public opinion. Those crises had clear divisions. Either you supported apartheid, or you didn’t. Either you wanted the Vietnam War fought or you didn’t. There was very little grey area.

Compare that with current topical issues: stem-cell research, abortion, single-sex marriage and GM foods. How can students reasonably take sides in the current Israel-Lebanon conflict without simply enflaming partisan tension? Now that the US is so deeply embedded in Iraq, how can students passionately advocate troop withdrawal without simultaneously advocating for Iraqis to be left in the cold?

These are complex, ambiguous, emotionally charged debates. But it’s impossible to locate any issue clear enough to incite sustained revolt. And with the main energy for that kind of protest coming from groups like Socialist Alternative and Resistance whose extreme-left views serve only to alienate the student majority, it’s little wonder that student protestors are so thin on the ground.

The lack of a unifying issue isn’t the only reason that student activism died. Universities, the foundation of student politics, aren’t what they used to be either.

Vice Chancellor of the University of Queensland, John Hay, is no stranger to the undulations of university life. As a student at the University of Western Australia, he was heavily involved with the student guild, establishing a performance festival which continues to this day. By way of his proximity to the debate, he is more accepting of the decline in student politics. “Universities today are far different to what they were, say, 30 years ago. The proportion of the population that now attends university is far greater than it was during the 70s and I think that’s one of the reasons why you don’t see a unified student body in the same way that you used to.”

In 2005, UQ had more than 37,000 students enrolled from 121 countries. That alone is enough to explain the lack of cohesion. Reconciling the political idiosyncrasies of such a diverse group is impossible. Danish students couldn’t care less about changes to Australian Industrial Relations laws. How can you expect business students from Hong Kong to be genuinely affected by Australian troop deployment in Afghanistan?

And let’s not forget that university is no longer free. Students missing lectures to attend political forums and rallies was once par for the course. Now that the cost of degrees is in some cases, above $200,000, students are thinking twice about skipping class.

The university campus, once a home away from home for many students, is now mostly used by students to attend tutorials and lectures. Instead of lying on the grass discussing, analysing and planning for change, students are now speeding between lectures, tutorials, jobs and the multitude of other considerations - gym sessions; salsa classes; club nights; volunteer positions; housework - which make up the typical student existence.

High fees have the flow-on effect of requiring students to take part and often full-time jobs in order to support themselves. In 2001, the Australian Vice-Chancellors' Committee found that on average, full-time students worked 14.4 hours a week, a figure that has increased more than 300 per cent since the early 1980s. Five years on, with a consumer frenzy engulfing Australia, you can bet students are dedicating an even greater portion of their week to paid employment. And you can start to understand why most students wouldn’t run to a protest for fear of dropping their iPod or scuffing their Louis Vuitton handbag.

It all adds up to a student culture which is vastly different from the one we stereotypically envision.

University students in 2006 are all-ages, all manner of socio-economic backgrounds and all over the place politically.

They come from Africa, Asia, The Americas, Europe and the Middle East. They worry about the future, but mostly in terms of themselves, and are materialistic, spending big on non-essentials like fashion, music and drinking. They work almost as much as they study and they don’t just stay in one place. Student exchange and end-of-year travel mean that today’s students are more globally-minded than ever before.

They through the nose for their education but they all trust the investment is one that will pay off when they one day run their own business or work in a law firm or consult on cancer research. As a result, they are intensely career-focused, and if that means their political ideology occasionally falls to the wayside then that’s just the way it has to be.

The loss of the student politics, which for so long provided a robust opposition to the status quo in this country, is an unhealthy modification of our society. The disengagement of student voices from the broader political discussion reduces crucial diversity in public opinion. Australia’s major political parties, who have been reliant on student politics for so long, will have to look beyond universities as breeding grounds for the next crop of Australian politicians.

Gillard, Beazley, Abbott, Costello and Stott Despoja were all presidents of their student unions and acquired, undoubtedly, a great deal of their political nous from their apprenticeships in student politics. Most importantly, students are going to have to look elsewhere for political awakening.

With the government consistently decreasing its support for universities and the increased reliance of universities on research commercialisation and user-pays systems, most students simply won’t have the time, energy or financial freedom to charge down Queen Street screaming fanatically about global warming. Beyond merely abolishing student services, the end of student unions in Australia shifts Australia’s political landscape irreversibly.

Late last semester, in the foyer of UQ’s Law library, the UQ Student Union posted a billboard-sized open letter to the student body, pleading for input into the future shape of the union and its provision of services. Not long after, the words “who cares” appeared across the text in crude, green highlighter. Within a week, the letter had disappeared. Who cares, indeed? Student politics are no more. RIP student politics.