Author: Castan Centre

  • By Becky Batagol and Jessica Mant

    The Labor government’s Family Law Amendment Bill 2023 is making its way quietly through Australia’s federal parliament. It will become one of the most important laws passed this year.

    It proposes to overhaul the family law system to make it “safer and simpler for separating families to navigate, and ensure the best interests of children are placed at its centre”. 

    We should celebrate the fact this bill is passing through parliament. It shows the government has responded to insistent calls for change to protect families. 

    But here’s why it doesn’t go far enough in addressing family violence.

    What’s the bill for?

    The bill will make important changes to the rules that govern parenting arrangements after separation.

    It will remove the presumption of “equal shared parental responsibility”. Under the current law, this presumption means both parents have a role in making major, long-term decisions about their children.

    However, it’s often misinterpreted. Many people believe it means parents are entitled to equal time with their children, regardless of domestic and family violence or abuse.

    This bill will finally make it clear that equal time isn’t always appropriate or safe for families with a history of abuse.

    The problem of family violence

    The grim reality is that family violence is the norm, not the exception in family law. Recent data shows well over half of cases before the family court involve allegations of family violence against children or one parent.

    Separation often doesn’t mean an end to the violence, but more harm and control, especially at contact changeover times for children or during the court process.

    Helen Politis, a victim-survivor of abuse and veteran of the family law system explains what this meant for her:

    The reign of chaos my children and I experienced prior to separation escalated post separation. Even worse was that this damaging behaviour was inadvertently enabled, legitimised, perpetuated and, I fear, normalised for my children.

    Victim-survivors face a common belief from family law professionals that children need a relationship with their father, no matter the abuse they have suffered. As Helen explains:

    Despite the overwhelming evidence of continued abuse and countless examples of the ways in which my children were being used as pawns, my own lawyers denied my situation. Routinely my desperate pleas to my lawyers were met with dismissive responses such as “it takes two to tango” and “you can’t clap with one hand”.

    This is even worse when the system itself is deliberately used by perpetrators to control and intimidate victim-survivors. Research in Australia and the United Kingdom demonstrates this “legal systems abuse” is common in family law. 

    For Helen, the legal system was a core component of family violence:

    Being caught in the family law system felt very dangerous. I was in an impossible situation, with no way out and no way of protecting my children.

    What needs to be done?

    This bill makes important progress, but there are two main reasons why it doesn’t go far enough.

    It must allow histories of violence

    First, the bill needs to be stronger in recognising where family violence has occurred. 

    In the bill, there will be six principles to help judges, lawyers and parents decide what arrangements would be in children’s best interests. The bill includes reference to “safety” as one of these six principles, but at the same time proposes to remove a reference in the current law to a history of violence in considering the best interests of children. 

    Simplification of the law shouldn’t come at the cost of harm. As family law expert Zoe Rathus from Griffith University explains:

    Talking about safety is talking about the future. Talking about violence is talking about the past – and talking about the past is critical to women and children being able to tell their stories when they have experienced family violence.

    There’s significant evidence that many victim-survivors’allegations of family violence aren’t believed, and their experiences are minimised in the family law system.

    Helen’s own lawyers advised her not to raise her experiences of past family violence in her case, for fear it would be held against her:

    I believed that the family law system would provide my children with the safety and support that they rightfully deserved. What I experienced was an incredibly lengthy, frightening and financially depleting process. Family violence is what led me into the family law system, yet despite the irrefutable evidence, it was routinely ignored.

    As it stands, this bill reinforces this problem. It suggests we should ignore information and evidence about past violence, and pretend it isn’t relevant to the future safety of victim-survivors or the children at the heart of these arrangements. 

    To address this, the bill should retain the provision that allows evidence of any family violence to be considered.

    It must recognise legal systems abuse

    Second, the bill needs to do more to address legal systems abuse

    A major achievement of this bill is it will introduce a new power for judges to make orders that stop people bringing court proceedings where it would cause harm to the other family members involved.

    However, it needs to go further. The bill needs to reflect global evidence and finally recognise “systems abuse” as a form of family violence. 

    Systems abuse could be explicitly listed as an example of family violence in the Family Law Act 1975, as recommended by a recent unpublished study by Lucy Foster from Monash University. 

    We believe the bill could add systems abuse into the existing definition of family violence used in law.

    It’s important parliament takes this opportunity to get our family laws as strong as possible on the issue of family violence. 

    We support Helen in her hope for this new law:

    Although too late for me and my children… I am hopeful this time we have the courage to step up and deliver a Family Law Act that does not further damage the lives of vulnerable people. Simple changes such as recognising past violence can make all the difference. The proposed changes do not seem to go far enough to address the harms inflicted on vulnerable people before the family law system, overwhelmingly women and children.


    The authors would like to acknowledge Helen Politis, who coauthored this article. Helen is a workplace advisor and advocate. She works with organisations, including 1800 Respect and the Judicial College of Victoria towards ending family violence.


    Assoc Profesor Becky Batagol is an Associate Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre.

    Dr Jessica Mant is a Lecturer in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre.

    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons Licence. Read the original article here.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Paula Gerber

    The International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia and Transphobia, celebrated on 17 May each year, is generally a time to reflect on the advances that have been made in increasing respect for the rights of LGBTIQA+ people, as well as think about the work that still needs to be done. However, this year, rather than looking at how we can better protect the rights of the LGBTIQA+ community, it is appropriate to consider how the LGBTIQA+ community can help to secure better protection for the rights of another minority.

    Later this year, all Australians will be required to vote in a referendum that will determine the extent to which we will respect the human rights of Australia’s Indigenous peoples. In particular, we will be voting “yes” or “no” to amending the Constitution to recognise Indigenous peoples and to establish a Voice to Parliament.

    The LGBTIQA+ community is the only other minority group in Australia that has lived through the stress and strain of a campaign in which the majority got to vote on the extent to which the human rights of a minority will be respected. In 2017, Australians were invited to answer the question “Should the law be changed to allow same-sex couples to marry?”. The outcome was a resounding “yes” with 7,817,247 people (61.6% of respondents) supporting the institution of marriage being opened up to same-sex couples. 

    In many ways the marriage equality “vote” is not comparable to a vote on The Voice, because it was a non-compulsory postal survey, rather a mandatory referendum. There was no legal necessity for the marriage equality postal survey; the Marriage Act 1961 could have been amended to allow same-sex couples to marry by the passage of a simple Bill through Parliament. There is, however, a legal necessity for the referendum on the Voice, since that is the only way the Australian Constitution can be amended.

    Indigenous Australians and LGBTIQA+ Australians have a long history of supporting and inspiring each other. As Tasmanian LGBTIQA+ activist Rodney Croome observed,

    Indigenous activists played a greater role in inspiring the Australian LGBTIQA+ movement than is often acknowledged. The Aboriginal civil rights movement that led up to the 1967 referendum showed LGBTIQA+ advocates that change in Australia was possible. It was a forerunner of the early movement to decriminalise homosexuality.

    There is, of course, overlap between the two minority groups with many queer Indigenous people organising “Yes” campaigns for marriage equality, including by setting up groups such as Black Fellas for Marriage Equality.  

    Indigenous Australians and LGBTIQA+ Australians also share similar experiences of discrimination and persecution. A response of bigotry or hatred is common for people identifying as an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person, just as it is for people coming out as gay, bi, trans or queer. And as Professor Dennis Altman observed, there is overlap between those who opposed marriage equality and who are now opposing The Voice, including Peter Dutton, Tony Abbott and David Littleproud.

    LGBTIQA+ people know first hand how toxic a “No” campaign can be. The postal survey emboldened opponents of marriage equality to freely express their bigoted opinions, and it is feared that the lead up to the referendum will see a similar surge in hateful speech, only this time the risk is racist vitriol rather than homophobic and transphobic hatred. However, the trauma that such hate speech inflicts will be similar and the LGBTIQA+ community can play a role in sharing the “ugly learnings” from the postal survey, so that Indigenous Australians can put in place protective strategies to deal with any hatred and fearmongering.

    Change is hard and constitutional change can be particularly scary because it is altering a document that has been the bedrock of our legal system for more than 200 years, However, the Constitution needs to be a living instrument that remains relevant in contemporary society. The drafters of the Constitution recognised this by including provisions that allowed for changes to be made. 

    Opponents of equal rights for LGBTIQA+ people engaged in relentless scaremongering, making unfounded claims that a marriage equality would lead to boys having to wear dresses to school and children receiving radical gay sex education. We are seeing that “The Voice is being demonised in exactly the same way LGBTIQA+ human rights are demonised. Through fear of the unknown, predictions the sky will fall in, claims of ‘special rights’ and vague allusions to ‘unintended consequences”

    More than five years have passed since Australia achieved marriage equality and none of the outrageous assertions about what would happen if same-sex couples were allowed to marry have come to fruition. This recent history can be used as evidence to support the campaign for The Voice and to dismiss fearmongering and scare campaigns that have no basis in fact.

    It has been observed that, 

    all LGBTIQA+ people, Indigenous and not, will benefit from a Voice to Parliament. It will show that Australia can be a fairer and less prejudiced society where the voices of marginalised and disadvantaged communities matter.

    The LGBTIQA+ community can use this IDAHOBIT as an opportunity to add their voice, their experience and their wisdom to another “yes” campaign that as the potential to significantly increase respect for the rights of another vulnerable minority. 


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published on the Monash Lens. You can read the original article here.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Liam Elphick

    The City of Monash last week became the latest Victorian council to cancelan LGBTIQ+ event under the weight of a barrage of abuse, vilification and threats of violence.

    The council will no longer be running a drag story-time event planned for the International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersex discrimination and Transphobia on May 17.

    This is the latest chapter in a worrying trend, imported from the United States and disrupting at least 15 Victorian councils in recent months, of far-right groups intimidating local LGBTIQ+ communities. While the safety of local communities should always be paramount, giving in to the demands of extremists has clearly only emboldened them further.

    Councils have been put in a difficult position and need greater support to address these threats. There needs to be a co-ordinated effort across state government, councils and law enforcement, working with local communities to stop hate in its tracks.

    But they are missing a major tool in their potential arsenal: vilification laws.

    For more than 20 years in Victoria, it has been unlawful to vilify people on the basis of their race or religion. Quite rightly, this means action can be taken against white supremacist speech, or hate speech which targets, for example, the Jewish or Muslim communities.

    But other communities in Victoria have no such protection. It is lawful to vilify people on the basis of their sex, sexual orientation, gender identity or sex characteristics.

    In 2019, then-Victorian MP Fiona Patten put a bill to parliament that would rectify this gap, extending Victoria’s vilification to apply to sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, sex characteristics and disability.

    The state government sent the bill to a parliamentary inquiry, which I gave evidence to in early 2020 and which released its report a year later.

    The report provided bipartisan support for extending Victorian hate speech protections to the LGBTIQ+ community – and to women and people with disability. In September 2021, the government declared in-principle support for 34 of the 36 recommendations.

    Importantly, the government announced it “will also extend the state’s anti-vilification protections beyond race and religion to cover areas such as sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, disability and HIV/AIDS status”.

    Almost two years later, the government has still not produced a bill to legislate that commitment. In response to a question in parliament last week, Attorney-General Jaclyn Symes re-committed to the reforms – but only “within the next 18 months”.

    There is no doubt the attorney-general and her department have a stacked legislative agenda this year. But these delays are unacceptable.

    While we wait, LGBTIQ+ people remain unprotected against an ever-growing barrage of abuse, threats and hate speech.

    Many had hoped that the horrific scenes at the anti-trans rights protest outside state parliament on March 18, where far-right figures made Nazi salutes and held up hateful anti-trans signs, would lead to greater urgency on anti-vilification reform. Instead, the government responded by announcing it would ban the Nazi salute.

    While that is an important step, it does little to stop abuse targeted at the LGBTIQ+ community – or, indeed, at women or people with disability.

    Extending Victoria’s hate speech protections to the LGBTIQ+ community would do far more in helping respond to events like those we saw on March 18, and to the threats being levelled at councils and other LGBTIQ+ community events.

    First, these protections would allow LGBTIQ+ people to bring legal action against individuals engaging in hate speech and, if they are successful, receive damages for the harm caused.

    Second, they would provide criminal offences for “serious” vilification, as we already have for race and religion. This would mean police have stronger powers to investigate, arrest and charge offenders.

    And third, we should not underestimate the societal impact of our parliament publicly marking LGBTIQ+ hate speech as wrong by passing laws to that effect. Our laws have long had a moralising effect in marking certain conduct as wrongful and deterring actions which are against the standards set down by our society.

    Prohibiting LGBTIQ+ hate speech will not stop all vilification overnight. But it will undoubtedly have a chilling effect on those who are abusing the current gap in our hate speech laws.

    This is not about stifling the kind of rigorous debate and free speech we should all expect to see protected in a liberal democracy such as ours. It is about stamping out that which crosses the line into hate speech.

    The parliamentary inquiry into hate speech deemed this to be speech which is likely to incite hatred against, serious contempt for, or revulsion or serious ridicule of a particular person or group – or speech which a reasonable person would consider hateful, seriously contemptuous, or reviling or seriously ridiculing.

    This still sets a high bar to meet. It would not include the sort of everyday raising of concerns or disagreement that has long been a feature of local government meetings.

    In Victoria, we have banned vilification based on race and religion for over two decades without the sky falling in. Many other jurisdictions in Australia go further and protect various other groups.

    Fiona Patten’s bill, which gets the balance right, is still sitting on a shelf and ready to be implemented. So, too, the parliamentary inquiry report into anti-vilification.

    How much longer is the state government going to allow these extremist threats and abuse to continue? It’s well and truly time Victoria protected its LGBTIQ+ community from hate.


    Liam Elphick is an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law and a Lecturer in the Monash University Faculty of Law.

    This article was originally published in The Age 9 May 2023. You can read the original article here.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Paula Gerber

    Australians have many questions about what The Voice to Parliament will look like, how it will work and why it is needed. These are all important questions and it is reasonable that people want to know the answers before they cast their vote in the referendum later this year. This piece explains the principles that will underpin the process of appointment of people to The Voice and how we can have confidence that the chosen representatives are indeed Indigenous.

    Who will make up the Voice and how will they be appointed?

    The Design Principles recommend that The Voice consist of 24 members, made up of two representatives from each state and territory, five from remote communities, two from the Torres Strait, and one representing Torres Strait Islanders living on the mainland. This means that Tasmania is guaranteed to have two representatives who will be part of The Voice.

    It is important that members of The Voice come from a broad geographical spread because Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities are many and varied, each having their own unique culture, identity and often, language. It would not be appropriate for the Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung people who are the traditional owners of Naarm (Melbourne), to represent the Muwinina people from Nipaluna (Hobart) or other Palawa (Tasmanian Aboriginal peoples).

    The design principles, developed by the First Nations’ Referendum Working Group, require that, in addition to having a broad geographical representation, The Voice must also be gender balanced and include youth. This is important to ensuring that The Voice genuinely represents the diverse voices of Australia’s many First Nations communities.

    Who gets to be a member of the Voice is determined by local Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities, not the government. This is appropriate since the whole point of The Voice is that First Nations people have a channel to have their concerns heard by decision makers.  Therefore, they should be the ones who decide who will speak for them. So it is local communities who will determine who they want to represent them on The Voice.

    After the referendum, there will be a process of deep consultation with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities about the fine detail of The Voice, following which, Parliament will enact legislation to establish The Voice. This is in keeping with how our democratic system of government works. For example, section 71 of the Constitution gives the federal government power to establish the High Court and federal courts. Parliament used this constitutional power to pass the Judiciary Act 1903 (Cth) setting out the ‘mechanics’ of our judicial system. It will be the same for The Voice. We, the Australian people, will decide if the Constitution should be amended to include The Voice, and then Parliament – assuming the referendum is successful – will give effect to that vote, by passing legislation setting out the requisite mechanics.

    Determining if a person is Indigenous

    A question that many people have is how do we know if a person is Indigenous. We can take guidance on this issue from the 1998 Tasmanian case of Shaw v Wolf, in which the court noted that “Aboriginality as such is not capable of any single or satisfactory definition”. Rather a three-part test is used. This three-part test provides that a person will be considered Indigenous if:

    1. they are of Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander descent;
    2. they identify as an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander; and
    3. they are accepted as such by the community in which they live.

    What is meant by descent was considered by the High Court in Tasmanian Dams case which held that words which relate to ‘race’, which ‘descent’ does, have a wide and non-technical meaning. Thus, an ‘Aboriginal person’ is a person descended from the inhabitants of Australia prior to European settlement.

    The elements of the three-part test are interwoven and while some degree of descent is necessary, the court in Tasmanian case of Shaw v Wolf noted there are often a lack of written records regarding descent and therefor community recognition may be the best evidence of proof of descent.

    This approach was endorsed by the High Court in the Mabo case and essentially leaves the decision about who is Indigenous in the hands of Indigenous communities. 

    Ultimately, who makes up the 24 members of The Voice will be determined by local communities from all around the country. The precise details of how this will occur will be finalised after the referendum, but what we do know is that it will be a grassroots Indigenous led process that they will culminate in a democratic, representative body that will listen to all Indigenous communities and facilitate their views being heard by Parliament.


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published in print version of The Mercury on 10 May 2023.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Julie Debeljak

    Last month we saw two major advances in the push for a national Charter of Human Rights, namely:

    This is the most progress we have seen on this issue since the National Human Rights Consultation, undertaken nearly 15 years ago.

    The 2009 report that followed the consultation committee’s widespread consultation noted that 87% of people who expressed a view about whether Australia needed a Human Rights Act were in favour, and recommended that “Australia adopt a federal Human Rights Act” (Recommendation 18). However, although the Rudd government did implement a number of the consultation committee’s recommendations, it did not enact human rights legislation.

    In the intervening years, the public’s appetite for a national Charter of Human Rights has remained relatively constant.

    In 2022, Amnesty International found that 73% of Australians support the introduction of a Human Rights Act. These results are not surprising, given the many daily examples of serious human rights problems across Australia, including:

    Australia is an outlier in not having comprehensive human rights legislation. The countries that we like to compare ourselves to – Canada, New Zealand and Britain – have all had human rights legislation for decades.

    Several jurisdictions within Australia have grown impatient with the lack of action by the federal government, and enacted their own Human Rights Acts (ACT, Victoria and Queensland).

    The experience in these three jurisdictions demonstrates that human rights legislation is not a “lawyer’s picnic”, and protecting human rights does not require inordinate amounts of additional government expenditure.

    Australia’s failure to enact national human rights legislation means that we’re not fully implementing our treaty obligations under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), which is a source of significant embarrassment on the international stage.

    When Australia’s human rights record is reviewed by the United Nations Human Rights Council as part of the Universal Periodic Review process, many countries comment on this omission, and strongly recommend that Australia remedy this failure by enacting a Human Rights Act.

    Of course, comprehensive legislation will not fix every human rights problem, but it will go a long way to creating a more rights-respecting culture, and a system of governance that is more responsive to the human rights impacts of its actions.

    A Charter of Rights will ensure that rights concerns will influence the government and parliament as they develop public policy and make laws.

    However, it will not lead to human rights “trumping” other democratic values and concerns. This is because a Charter of Rights allows limits to be placed on rights, provided they’re reasonable and demonstrably justified.

    A Charter of Rights will fill gaps in our current human rights protection, such as the gap in prohibiting discrimination on the basis of religion.

    However, rather than introducing divisive legislation as proposed by the former coalition government, and another piece of anti-discrimination legislation that adds to the problems associated with a patchwork of rights protections, freedom of religion can be protected within an overarching human rights instrument that protects all of the rights enshrined in the ICCPR and the ICESCR.

    A Charter of Rights will require government and the courts to implement human rights principles in their work, but it will not affect parliament’s ability to pursue policy and pass laws that are inconsistent with human rights.

    Some people are worried that human rights legislation will stop parliament from making laws it considers necessary, but we need look no further than the Victorian parliament during the COVID-19 pandemic. With human rights legislation in place, the Victorian garliament was able to pass laws that impinged on human rights, but it had to demonstrate that it had considered the implications of its laws on human rights, and justify why the public health concerns outweighed the human rights concerns.

    Quite simply, human rights legislation forces parliament to be more transparent about the justifications for limiting rights, and this contributes to the democratic accountability of parliament – if Australians dislike parliament making laws that violate rights, they can demonstrate their displeasure at the ballot box.

    Human rights legislation is a normal part of living in a modern democratic country that prides itself on respecting human rights.

    It’s time that Australia joined all other Western nations by creating a comprehensive legal framework that supports and upholds the human rights of everyone living in Australia.

    The federal government might actually find that having a Charter of Rights assists it in deciding how to respond to the many threats we’re facing, ranging from endemic gender-based violence and systemic racism, to massive cyber attacks and climate change.


    Associate Professor Julie Debeljak is an Associate Professor of the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published in the Monash Lens. You can read the original article here.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Paula Gerber and Katie O’Bryan

    Now that we have the wording of the constitutional amendment and the referendum question, it is important to consider what these words actually mean and whether there is anything in the proposed text that we should be worried about.

    The Solicitor-General, Stephen Donaghue, has concluded that the wording of the amendment to the constitution poses no threat to Australia’s democratic system of government

    This is reassuring, and it is still important for everyone who will be voting in the Voice referendum (to be held between October and December this year), to understand these five aspects of the question and the proposed change to our constitution.

    How is the Constitution going to be amended?

    A new, very short chapter (less than 100 words) will be inserted into the Constitution, which says:

    In recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as the First Peoples of Australia:

    1. There shall be a body, to be called the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice;
    2. The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice may make representations to the Parliament and the executive government of the Commonwealth on matters relating to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’
    3. The Parliament shall, subject to this constitution, have power to make laws with respect to matters relating to the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice, including its composition, functions, powers and procedures.

    This amendment does not in any way diminish the powers of Parliament to make laws.

    The Voice simply facilitates First Nations people making representations to Parliament and the executive government, which they are free to accept or reject. Having input directly from our First Nations peoples will help our politicians make better informed decisions.

    Why is the question so brief?

    The referendum question that will be asked of the Australian people is: “A proposed law: to alter the constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice. Do you approve this proposed alteration?”

    It is important to keep the question brief so that it can be easily understood by every Australian who will be voting in the referendum. This is quite normal for referendum questions. The more complicated the question (and associated constitutional amendment) the greater chance of misunderstanding and misinterpretation, and the greater the chance of people voting “no” because they are confused by the wording.

    This is the approach that has been taken in the past. For example, the successful 1967 referendum for Aboriginal people to be counted in the population, and the 2017 marriage equality postal survey asked the following very short and simple questions:

    1967 referendum: Do you approve the proposed law for the alteration of the constitution entitled “An act to alter the constitution so as to omit certain words relating to the people of the Aboriginal race in any state and so that Aboriginals are to be counted in reckoning the population?”

    Marriage equality postal survey: “Should the law be changed to allow same-sex couples to marry?”

    The Voice referendum takes a similar approach. It is worth noting that this this language is also a requirement of the Referendum (Machinery Provisions) Act 1984 which provides the framework for the conduct of referendums.

    What is the significance of the inclusion of executive government?

    The executive government is where government policy and most proposed laws are initially developed.

    It includes cabinet, which is made up of the prime minister and approximately 19 senior ministers, but can be up to 30 ministers. Cabinet is the main decision-making group within executive government.

    The executive also includes the public service. Thus, the Voice would be able to have input into not only the development of laws, but also the work of the public service in the implementation of those laws. The inclusion of “executive government” is not a cause for concern, because the wording explicitly limits the role of the Voice to making representations. 

    There is no compulsion on Parliament or the executive to accept or act on those representations.

    Including the executive arm of government does not open the floodgates to court challenges. As former High Court chief justice Robert French observed, “There is little or no scope for constitutional litigation arising from the words of the proposed amendment. The amendment is facilitative and empowering.”

    Including executive government in the proposed amendment makes clear that the Voice may make representations when a law or policy is being developed, rather than only when it is introduced as a bill into Parliament, which is very late in the process of creating laws and policies.

    Why should Parliament get to decide the composition, functions, powers and procedures of the Voice?

    Parliament is given the power to make laws with respect to the composition, functions, powers and procedures of the Voice because our constitution is about basic structures and principles, not the day-to-day operation of our system of government. The constitution contains many examples of Parliament being given powers to pass laws. For example, section 51 provides that, “Parliament shall, subject to this constitution, have power to make laws … with respect to … ” This wording is very similar to the wording of the Voice amendment.

    It is the role of Parliament to make laws. Thus, giving it the power to enact and amend legislation establishing the Voice is entirely consistent with how our democracy has operated since Federation in 1901.

    There have been calls for further detail about what the legislation will look like, but this should happen after the constitutional amendment has been approved. 

    The people are being asked to vote on amending the constitution to establish a Voice, not on draft legislation that will follow a successful referendum; legislation which is likely to change over time, as circumstances change.

    The government has released a detailed set of design principles that will guide the drafting of the bill to establish the Voice. We should not pre-empt Parliament’s decision regarding what the Voice will look like, given the extensive consultations with Indigenous communities that will be needed with. Indeed, consulting with Indigenous peoples about the laws implementing the Voice, exemplifies the way the Voice can and should operate in practice.

    How much input did Indigenous people have into the final wording?

    The final wording was reached in consultation with the referendum working group, comprising 21 Indigenous people from around Australia. There will be further opportunity for input – from both Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians – now that the referendum bill has been introduced into Parliament, as it has been referred to a parliamentary inquiry. 

    This could result in changes to the wording.

    The result of the 2017 marriage equality postal survey (61.6 per cent said “yes”) should give us confidence that we can come together to better protect the rights of minorities, and that changing laws won’t result in a lawyers’ picnic or the breaking down of society.

    This referendum gives all Australians an opportunity to make a real difference in the lives of Indigenous Australians. The Voice will help Indigenous people be heard in matters that affect them specifically. 

    It will also help address institutionalised inequities, build a stronger, more inclusive democracy and facilitate us working together to build a society that reflects the Australian value of making sure everyone gets a fair go.


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Dr Katie O’Bryan is a Lecturer in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published in The Canberra Times on Sunday, 23 April 2023. You can read the original article here.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Luke Beck

    John Farnham’s 1980s hit You’re the Voice opens with the lines ‘We have the chance to turn the pages over / We can write what we want to write.’ This nicely fits what Australians will do later this year when they vote in a referendum to enshrine an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice in Australia’s Constitution. 

    The referendum will be a chance for all Australians to ‘make a noise and make it clear’ that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians should be recognised in our Constitution and enshrine the idea that Aboriginal and Torres Islander Australians should have a voice on matters that affect them.

    The idea for a Voice to Parliament comes from the Uluru Statement from the Heart. There are two important things to know about the Uluru Statement released in 2017.

    The first is that the Uluru Statement is a grassroots document. It is the outcome of a series of regional dialogues involving ordinary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians and community groups. It is not a statement from Aboriginal elites or self-appointed leaders.

    The second thing to know is that the Uluru Statement is an invitation from ordinary Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians to other ordinary Australians to ‘walk with us in a movement of the Australian people for a better future.’ It is not an angry demand or an attempt to divide Australians.

    Only ordinary Australians can change the Constitution by voting Yes in a referendum. And one group of ordinary Australians is asking all ordinary Australians to do so in the national interest. As John Farnham sings, ‘we know we all can stand together / With the power to be powerful / Believing we can make it better’.

    A Voice to Parliament ‘fits’ the Australian system. The idea affirms and respects the supremacy of the democratically-elected Parliament. 

    The Voice will be an advisory body only. It won’t make decisions. It won’t get to veto government decisions. But it will ensure that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians are heard on matters that affect them.

    New Zealand’s approach of having special Maori seats in Parliament wouldn’t really fit Australia’s system. Australia is quite different to New Zealand on indigenous issues. Maori have a common language and a broadly shared culture. In Australia, there are literally hundreds of distinct Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nations and languages. 

    Our parliamentary systems are also different. Australia is a federation. New Zealand is not. And New Zealand’s modern parliamentary system has had Maori seats since 1867. Australia’s modern parliamentary system has not evolved with that kind of thing in place.

    A Voice to Parliament also ‘fits’ the Australian system in another way. Parliament will decide what the Voice looks like and how it operates.

    Multiple constitutional law experts have pointed out that Australia’s Constitution does not do policy details. The Constitution sets up systems and structures while giving Parliament power to decide the details and to change the details over time. 

    When the Constitution was first written nobody wanted the details about how many courts there would be or the details of what each court would do. Everybody knew that Parliament would decide those details and change them over time. 

    When Australians voted Yes in a referendum in 1946 to give Parliament power to set up a social security payments system nobody wanted the details of each type of payment. Everybody knew that Parliament would decide those details and change social security payments over time.

    It is the same with the Voice. Parliament will decide what the Voice looks like and how it functions. 

    If at some point you don’t like the details of the court system, the social security payments system or the Voice, you can vote out the government and vote in a new one to change the details.

    The only thing the referendum will set in constitutional stone is the idea that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians should have a voice in matters affecting them.

    A third way the Voice proposal ‘fits’ Australia’s constitutional traditions is that other Australians lose nothing from this proposal. Australians have voted Yes to change the Constitution only eight times since Federation. On those eight occasions ordinary Australians had nothing to fear and lost nothing.

    John Farnham sings ‘We’re not gonna sit in silence / We’re not gonna live with fear’. When Australians voted Yes in 1977 to allow territorians to vote in referendums, other Australians didn’t lose anything. There was nothing to fear. It is the same with enshrining an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice to Parliament in the Constitution. Other Australians will not lose anything.

    Community discussion will ramp up this year. Australians will discuss and ask questions about how referendums work. Fair enough given Australia’s last referendum – the republic referendum – was held in 1999, almost a quarter of century ago! 

    Australians will also discuss and ask questions about the Voice to Parliament. 

    Good faith discussions and questions are a good thing. They are civic engagement. Australians take seriously their civic responsibility for changing the Constitution.

    Politicians in Parliament will ultimately decide what a Voice looks like and how it operates. But in deciding whether there should be a constitutionally-enshrined Voice to Parliament, it is not politicians who will make the decision. It’s ordinary Australians. ‘You’re the voice, try and understand it.’


    Professor Luke Beck is an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law and is a Professor of Constitutional Law within the Faculty of Law at Monash University.

    This article was originally published in the print version of the Herald Sun on 10 January 2023.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Paula Gerber and Ronli Sifris

    Transgender people once again find themselves in the middle of a media storm, stemming from a clash between anti-trans groups (including neo-Nazis) and trans and gender-diverse (TGD) people in front of Parliament House in Melbourne on 18 March.

    The initial spark was when British woman Kellie-Jay Keen-Minshull, also known as Posie Parker, brought her anti-trans “Let Women Speak” rally to the steps of Victoria’s parliament.

    Keen-Minshull has held similar rallies in other cities around the world, but this particular event took a violent turn when a group of about 20 neo-Nazis turned up in support of the anti-trans rally.

    Clad in black and performing the Nazi salute, a fire of hatred, intolerance and bigotry was unleashed on the doorstep of the symbol of Victoria’s democracy.

    This isn’t the first time Posie Parker (and her movement) has been linked with white nationalists, but the Melbourne event exposed this unholy alliance to the general public.

    What happened in Melbourne last Saturday, and the anti-trans voices and actions taken by high-profile politicians and political candidates such as Katherine Deves and Mark Latham, take a significant toll on the trans community, particularly young TGD people.

    There’s a significant body of scholarly research showing that TGD people have poorer mental health outcomes than their peers. Stigma, discrimination, exclusion, negative media commentary and hateful public attacks all contribute to psychological harm and poor mental health among vulnerable trans youth.

    A path of transphobic hate

    The anti-trans rallies Keen-Minshull is leading across Australia have fuelled concerns we may be going down the same path of transphobic hate currently evident in the US and UK.

    Thirty-six of the 50 states that comprise the US have introduced bills that seek to marginalise trans people and fundamentally breach their human rights.

    Most of the proposed laws target trans youth – seeking to prevent trans girls and women from playing on female sports teams, banning TGD persons from using bathrooms and locker rooms that align with their gender identity, and denying access to gender-affirming medical care.

    The most recent example of the enactment of such laws is in Kentucky, where earlier this month, a bill was passed that’s has been described as the worst anti-trans law in the country, not only banning gender-affirming healthcare for trans youth, but also requiring doctors to de-transition young trans people, and preventing schools from discussing gender identity or sexual orientation with students of any age.


    Read more: Mark Latham’s controversial anti-trans kids bill hits constitutional roadblock


    In the UK, the rights of trans people have similarly become a highly divisive political issue. In December 2022, Scotland passed the Gender Recognition Reform (Scotland) Bill, which removed barriers for transgender people to legally change their gender. There was overwhelming support for this law reform, with the legislation passing with 86 votes in favour, and 39 against.

    However, in January, the UK government, in an unprecedented move, vetoed the bill. Nancy Kelley, the CEO of the LGBTIQ+ advocacy group Stonewall, said the veto decision “treats trans people as a threat to be contained, not citizens to be respected”

    What can Australia do?

    There are many steps we can – and should – take to ensure that Australia doesn’t go down the anti-trans path the US and UK are pursuing.

    First, we need to strengthen our laws to better-protect the dignity and rights of TGD people. This includes:

    • ensuring nationally consistent laws that allow trans people to change their birth certificate to reflect their gender identity without having to undergo invasive medical or surgical procedures
    • enacting human rights legislation, such as a federal human rights act, to safeguard the fundamental human rights of TGD people (Australia is the only Western nation without a national bill of rights)
    • strengthening legal protections against hate speech and vilification, not only by banning the Nazi salute (as Dan Andrews has proposed), but by enacting broader legislation to cover other forms of vilification.

    In addition to law reform, we need to increase understanding of, and respect for, TGD people.

    This can happen in a number of ways. For example, in schools, in addition to learning about important issues such as consent, and sexual and reproductive health, students should also be learning to respect the rights of all people to be treated with dignity and equality, regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, sex characteristics, religion, race or disability.

    We also need a comprehensive public awareness campaign promoting understanding and acceptance of TGD people.

    This could initially be focused on key dates such as International Women’s Day (8 March), Trans Day of Visibility (31 March), and Transgender Day of Remembrance (20 November), which recognises the many trans people who have been killed in transphobic hate crimes.

    Drawing on existing resources

    Australia doesn’t have to reinvent the wheel when it comes to developing such campaigns. Many resources already exist that Australia can draw upon in developing such campaigns, including the United Nations’ Unbox Me campaign.

    We must be proactive in ensuring that Australia doesn’t mirror the transphobic environment on display in the US and UK.

    We should look to our Pacific neighbours for guidance on how to better-respect and embrace gender diversity.

    The respect that the Faʻafafine community enjoys in Samoa, and the Fakaleitis in Tonga, would be a welcome relief for TGD people in Australia, after the recent violence and poison that they’ve been subjected to here.


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Dr Ronli Sifris is a Senior Lecturer in Monash University’s Faculty of Law and Deputy Director of Education at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published in the Monash Lens. Read the original article.

  • By Paula Gerber and Riki Lane

    Since the early 1900s, women have used International Women’s Day (IWD) to demand equality; fight for equal pay, better workplace conditions, and the right to vote. In 2023, IWD continues to be a platform to advocate for women’s rights, and it is more important than ever to remember that this day is for, and about, ALL women, not just cisgender women.  

    To mark IWD, Hershey, the chocolate company, recently released a video featuring a trans woman calling for a future where every woman can live as their honest, authentic self. Such publicity campaigns can be criticised as tokenistic, if they are not backed up by actual changes in corporate policies and procedures. However, the fierce backlash that followed is a painful illustration of how far we still have to go when it comes to respecting the dignity and worth of all women, regardless of their gender identity. The ad provoked an immediate anti-trans campaign on social media, using the hashtag #BoycottHersheys. This is not altogether surprising given the current conservative-led anti-trans sentiment in the US, and the significant increase in anti-trans laws and policies across many parts of that country.

    Efforts to exclude transwomen from International Women’s Day run contrary to its very essence, which is to unite women and fight for equal rights. IWD has never been about only cisgender women, and was never intended to be a divisive campaign. Rather, IWD is an opportunity to focus on ending discrimination for all women, which requires a focus on working class women; marginalised women; women of different races and religions, women with disabilities, First Nations women, and women with diverse sexual orientations, gender identities, and sex characteristics. The women’s movement is stronger and more relevant when it represents all women, not just middle class, white, cis-gender women. The attainment of reproductive rights reform in Argentina is illustrative of this. Trans activists united with the feminist/women’s movement to successfully campaign for the legalisation of abortion in that country.

    Australia likes to think of itself as a leader when it comes to respecting the human rights of LGBTIQ+ people, pointing to its comprehensive laws that prohibit discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity (with exceptions for faith-based organisations). But scratch the service and Australia still has a long way to go before it can claim to respect the dignity and equality of transgender persons. While we are not seeing the wave of anti-trans laws that are sweeping across America, Australia has not yet embraced equal rights for trans people. This is seen in the social discrimination and hostility that trans people continue to face, often leading to loss of employment, friends, and family connections.

    Across Australia, laws around changing gender markers  – for example on birth certificates – vary greatly.  In Victoria, a person wanting to change the sex on their birth certificate so that it aligns with their gender identity, need only provide a statutory declaration stating that their sex is the one nominated in the application and a supporting statement from a person who has known them for 12 months. This is in stark contrast with Western Australia, where a Gender Reassignment Boardassesses every individual application, and New South Wales, where a person can only change their birth certificate if they have undergone a “sex affirmation procedure,” in other words, surgery. This is often an insurmountable barrier, given that most gender-affirming surgical procedures are not covered by Medicare, and thus can be prohibitively expensive.

    Accessing gender affirming health care can be hard due to the low number of health care professionals who have received appropriate training. Additionally, public health provision is uncommon, and when it is available usually involves long waitlists – currently over 17 months at the Monash Health Gender Clinic.

    Respect for the inherent dignity of transgender persons could be improved by public awareness raising campaigns and education around gender diversity, including in health care settings. There are many excellent programs that Australia could draw on for inspiration, including the Unbox Me campaign that the United Nations launched last year, resources collated by Human Rights Campaign, and empirical research that shares the opinions of trans people about what they think would help increase general awareness and support for their community.

    It’s time to return International Women’s Day to its roots. Let’s have fewer celebratory morning teas and more strident protests about the real issues that women face every day – sexual assault, harassment, domestic violence, and gendered discrimination in workplaces. Let’s talk honestly and openly about the barriers to equality that marginalised women face, including racism, ableism and laws, policies, and attitudes that exclude transwomen from leading lives of dignity and equality. Let’s use this IWD to amplify the voices of the many women whose stories and experiences rarely get told, and let’s use the other 364 days of the year to work towards taking concrete action to achieve equality for ALL women.


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Dr Riki Lane is a researcher in trans health and primary care. They are a Research Fellow at Monash University’s Department of General Practice and is also a Project/Research Worker at the Monash Health Gender Clinic.

    This article is republished from the Australian Outlook, the blog of the Australian Institute of International Affairs under a Creative Commons Licence. Read the original article.

  • By Katie O’Bryan and Paula Gerber

    The Uluru Statement from the Heart is a generous invitation to all Australians from First Nations peoples to walk together towards a better future. Having a referendum on a First Nations Voice to Parliament is the first step on that walk; a chance to change the Constitution to enable First Nations people to be heard in matters that affect them.

    It’s that simple. Yet there are many myths and misconceptions muddying the waters, whether intentional or not. Here, we seek to debunk 10 of them.

    Myth 1

    It will amount to a third chamber of Parliament and therefore impact parliamentary sovereignty, a fundamental element of our constitutional system of government.

    What is proposed is a Voice to Parliament, not a Voice inParliament. It will have no role in passing legislation; that will continue to be left to our elected representatives in the House of Representatives and the Senate, as currently prescribed by the Constitution.

    The proposed Constitutional amendment states that the Voice “may make representations” to Parliament. It will be up to Parliament to decide what it does with those representations. Indeed, the proposed Voice to Parliament is a very conservative change to our Constitution.

    Myth 2

    It will be a lawyers’ picnic, and lead to lots of High Court challenges.

    How Parliament responds (or does not respond) to any representations made by the Voice would be non-justiciable – that is, it could not be subject to any court challenge. This is because the courts have always been reluctant to interfere with the internal workings of Parliament.

    Myth 3

    It will not help to close the gap or have a positive impact on the lives of First Nations peoples.

    The Voice will provide advice to the Parliament on proposed laws affecting First Nations peoples. Accordingly, Parliament will be better-informed about the impact of the proposed laws on First Nations peoples, and can amend where appropriate. A better-informed Parliament is likely to lead to better laws that will have a positive impact on First Nations lives.

    Myth 4

    It will give First Nations peoples special rights.

    The Constitutional Expert Group comprising nine experts (including former High Court judge Kenneth Hayne) and chaired by the Commonwealth Attorney-General has advised that a First Nations Voice will not give First Nations peoples special rights. All Australians have the right to make representations to Parliament, which is guaranteed by the constitutional Implied Freedom of Political Communication. The First Nations Voice is simply a permanent one.

    Myth 5

    Australians should be allowed to see all the proposed legislation establishing the Voice before voting in the referendum.

    Too much detail will lead to confusion, and many people will likely not want to read a lengthy document. There’s already a detailed report that sets out what a legislated Voice could look like: Indigenous Voice Co-design Process Final Report.

    Demanding to see draft legislation ahead of the referendum suggests a lack of trust in Parliament, given that the proposed constitutional amendment gives Parliament the power “to make laws with respect to the composition, powers, functions and procedures” of the Voice.

    It’s sufficient to have a detailed set of principles on which the Voice will be based. The Uluru Statement from the Heart website also contains a set of design principles.

    Myth 6

    There’s no need to enshrine the Voice in the Constitution.

    By enshrining the Voice in the Constitution, it will not be able to be abolished at the whim of Parliament/the government, in contrast to ATSIC (and just about every other Indigenous advisory body set up by the government). It will also not be afraid to give frank and fearless advice. Its composition, powers and procedures will, however, be able to be amended by Parliament to ensure its effectiveness.

    Myth 7

    It will divide the nation

    The Voice to Parliament will unite the nation, because it will be a big step towards reconciliation. A successful referendum on the Voice to Parliament will mean the Australian people have emphatically said that we want Parliament to listen to First Nations people, thereby signalling that we have accepted the invitation in the Uluru Statement from the Heart to walk together for a better future.

    Myth 8

    Indigenous Australians are divided over the Voice, therefore it shouldn’t be supported.

    Although there are some high-profile Indigenous Australians who do not at this point in time support the Voice (such as Jacinta Nampijinpa Price, Warren Mundine and Lidia Thorpe), a significant proportion of First Nations people do support the Voice. An IPSOS poll conducted in late January 2023 found that 80% of First Nations people support the Voice.

    Myth 9

    It offends the notion of equality that underpins the Constitution and our democracy.

    Our Constitution does not protect equality, and actively allows for racially discriminatory laws by virtue of s 51 (xxvi) (the race power). Further, the race power has only ever been used to make laws for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, laws that are not required to be beneficial laws.

    The structure of our Parliament is also not equal – the Constitution requires the Senate to have the same number of senators from each state (12). This means that Tasmania, with a population of approximately 571,500, has the same number of senators as Victoria, which has a population of 6,613,700.

    Amending the Constitution to provide First Nations peoples with a Voice to Parliament does not offend notions of equality; rather, it is acknowledging the finding of the High Court in Mabo v Queensland (No. 2) that “Their dispossession underwrote the development of the nation”.

    Myth 10

    The history of referendums in Australia means that it is likely to fail.

    The most successful referendum in Australia’s history of referendums was in relation to Aboriginal people (1967). More than 90% of Australians voted ‘yes’ to amending two sections of the Constitution to ensure that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples would be counted as part of the population, and that the Commonwealth would be able to make laws for them. This bodes well for a referendum on the Voice.

    Also, social media has changed the landscape; times are different; polling shows relatively consistent support; and approximately 90% of the first 2554 submissions to the Co-design Process were in favour of the Voice being constitutionally enshrined.

    And although bipartisan/multi-party support would be preferable (and has been crucial to the success of previous referendums), it’s arguably no longer a determinative factor due to the changing political and social media landscape. The result of the marriage equality postal survey, where Australians voted “Yes” despite a lack of bipartisan support, is indicative of this. 

    Nothing to be scared of

    We encourage all Australians to read reliable research to make sure we’re well-informed about what the Voice is, and what it is not. Don’t get sucked in by myths like the 10 we’ve debunked above.

    The Voice is nothing to be scared of. On the contrary, it’s something we should be proud of. Amending our constitution to give First Nations peoples a Voice to Parliament would demonstrate we’re a mature nation, one that’s ready to recognise past injustices, and committed to building a better future in which the rights and dignity of all Australians are protected equally.


    Dr Katie O’Bryan is a Lecturer in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This article was originally published in the Monash Lens. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Liam Elphick, Alice Taylor and Robin Banks

    In 2018, Australians were shocked to learn that religious schools still had the right to discriminate against LGBTQ students and staff.

    Politicians called it “utter crap”. Polling found 74% of Australians opposed it.

    Federally, both the then-Coalition government and Labor opposition committed to protect LGBTQ students from discrimination. Yet, almost five years later, laws allowing religious schools to expel LGBTQ students and sack LGBTQ staff remain in place.

    Late last year, Attorney-General Mark Dreyfus asked the Australian Law Reform Commission (ALRC) to inquire into how to end discrimination against LGBTQ students and staff while allowing religious schools to build and maintain their communities of faith.

    Last month, the ALRC released its consultation paper. It recommended the exceptions in federal discrimination law allowing religious schools to discriminate be removed.

    In response, some faith leaders and commentators have argued the ALRC proposals threaten the future of religious education, represent a “fundamental attack” on religious freedom, and would be “catastrophic” for religious schools.

    This is entirely untrue.

    The ALRC proposals are sensible, clear and necessary. They cut through the noise that has surrounded these issues for many years. They appropriately protect both the rights of LGBTQ kids and teachers to be treated with dignity and respect, and of religious schools to maintain their connection to faith.

    There are still some improvements that can be made. But this is our best opportunity to ensure federal discrimination laws finally catch up with contemporary values.

    What are the ALRC proposals?

    At the federal level in Australia, exceptions for religious schools have always existed.

    Currently, the Sex Discrimination Act allows religious schools to discriminate on the basis of sex, sexuality, gender identity, marital status, and pregnancy where the discrimination is in “good faith in order to avoid injury to the religious susceptibilities of adherents of that religion or creed”.

    This sounds like a complicated test, but it is very easy to satisfy. A religious school simply has to prove there are some members of its religion who would want to keep out, or treat differently, particular students or teachers – such as LGBTQ students or unwed teachers.

    The ALRC proposes removing these exceptions. This would, finally, make it unlawful for religious schools to discriminate in this way.

    The ALRC also proposes reforms to ensure religious schools can still build and maintain a community of faith through hiring and termination of staff. These reforms would allow schools to preference staff on the basis of their religion – but not sex, sexuality or gender identity – where religion is a genuine occupational requirement of their role.

    Christian schools could hire Christian teachers, Jewish schools could hire Jewish teachers, and Islamic schools could hire Muslim teachers.

    Several states and territories, including Tasmania and Victoria, already adopt a similar approach. Not only has the sky not fallen, but religious schools in Australia only seem to be growing

    The ALRC has also proposed that religious schools be granted a right to terminate the employment of staff who actively undermine the “ethos” of the school’s religion, where the termination is proportionate in the circumstances.

    How would the proposals affect religious schools?

    The ALRC proposals would stop religious schools from expelling students or subjecting them to different treatment to their peers because they are gay or transgender. These proposals would also stop a religious school from sacking a teacher because, for instance, they are a single mother or in a relationship outside of marriage.

    What the proposals would not do is force religious schools to hire or continue the employment of staff who fail to uphold reasonable and non-discriminatory codes of conduct and behaviour.

    All employers, including religious schools, can adopt non-discriminatory codes of conduct – and the vast majority do. Such codes give employers the right to protect the culture and values of their organisation, including religious values and culture. As long as they are reasonable, nothing in the ALRC proposals affects such codes of conduct.

    These proposals simply mean that religious schools would be in the same position as other schools and employers. They will be able to protect their organisational culture and values through existing discrimination law mechanisms.

    How should the proposals be improved?

    As we set out in the Australian Discrimination Law Experts Group’s submission to this inquiry, there are three ways in which the proposals should be improved.

    First, because of the complex relationship between the Fair Work Act and federal discrimination laws, some of the ALRC’s proposals regarding the Fair Work Act have unintended consequences.

    Certain proposals would actually allow an alternative route – enterprise agreements – through which religious schools could discriminate against LGBTQ staff.

    This should be fixed by amending the Sex Discrimination Act to stop it being overridden by Fair Work Act enterprise agreements, and fixing the legal language in the ALRC’s Fair Work Act proposals.

    Second, the ALRC has proposed that school curriculums should be entirely exempt from the Sex Discrimination Act. This undermines one of the purposes of the inquiry: to stop LGBTQ kids from being discriminated against at religious schools.

    Instead of directly excluding them, schools and teachers could instead use the cloak of the “curriculum” to vilify and discriminate against students on the basis of their sexuality or gender identity.

    It is difficult to see how this proposal is consistent with the duty of care owed by schools to students. It is also unclear how such a proposal would operate in conjunction with the development and implementation of the national curriculum. It should be rejected.

    Third, the terms “ethos” and “religious ethos” are used throughout the ALRC’s proposals. 

    The term “ethos” has never been used in any of Australia’s 13 federal, state or territory discrimination laws. Nor is it found in the international human rights treaties on which those laws rely.

    Importing the concept of an institution having an “ethos” is unnecessary and confounding. References to “ethos” should be removed.

    These three proposals undermine the value of the ALRC’s otherwise sensible proposals. They give rise to confusion and legal complexity. Fixing them will ensure the great promise of the ALRC inquiry is fulfilled.

    School is not just about learning maths and English. It is the place young people learn some of their most important formative lessons about their individual worth and the worth of their peers.

    Religious schools can build and maintain a community of faith without discriminating against LGBTQ students and staff – indeed, many already do. It is well and truly time for the law to reflect that.


    Liam Elphick is a Lecturer in the Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law at Monash University.

    Dr Alice Taylor is an Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Law at Bond University.

    Robin Banks is a PhD Candidate based in the Faculty of Law at the University of Tasmania.

    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons Licence. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Scott Walker

    On 10 December 2022 the world marks Human Rights Day commemorating the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights(UDHR) in 1948.  This year’s theme is dignity, freedom, and justice for all, in anticipation of the 75thanniversary of the UDHR in 2023. It gives us cause to reflect on the mobilising force that the UDHR has become in the struggle for human rights across the world. Yet, there is always more work to be done to truly achieve a world in which dignity, freedom, and justice is a lived reality for all. To do so we must utilise human rights both as a guidepost for advocacy and a tool for concrete, on the ground change to address some of the most pressing and ongoing challenges facing our world; including the immediate and catastrophic impacts of climate change

    Here in Australia, the path to domestic enshrinement of human rights has been a meandering one: only two States (Victoria and Queensland) and one Territory (the Australian Capital Territory) have Human Rights Acts. Yet, the capacity of these Human Rights Acts to achieve real and meaningful change in people’s lives is profound. Increasingly, people on the frontline of the climate crisis are also turning towards human rights to achieve justice. The potential impact of human rights-based climate litigation was recently demonstrated in the decision of the Land Court of Queensland in Warratah Coal Pty Ltd v Youth Verdict Ltd. In this case, the Court recommend against the grant of a mining lease and environmental authority to allow Warratah Coal to mine thermal coal in Queensland’s Gallilee Basin.  This case deserves closer examination to illustrate the way in which human rights enshrined in law can be mobilised in claims for climate justice.  

    The case

    Warratah Coal Pty Ltd, a mining company owned by Clive Palmer, applied to the Queensland Government for a mining lease and an environmental authority to allow it to mine thermal coal in the Galilee Basin. The mining project in question consisted of both open cut and underground thermal coal mines on several properties in Central Queensland, all but one of which had been cleared extensively and are used for graining purposes. One of the properties in question was a protected area known as the Bimblebox Nature Refuge. It was agreed that emissions from combusting coal from the project would result in 1.58 gigatonnes of CO2 being emitted between 2029 and 2051. In April 2020, these applications were referred to the Land Court for consideration and so that recommendations could be made to the Queensland Government as to whether the applications should be approved. 

    The decision

    Climate change was a central issue in this case and it was uncontested that the world is struggling to meet the Paris Agreement’s long-term temperature goal of below 2 °C above pre-industrial levels at 2100 with the ambition being to keep long-term temperature to 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. It was also uncontested that the higher global temperatures rise, the greater the risk of exacerbating the impacts of climate change and limiting responses to mitigate the impacts of climate change. 

    It was, however, in dispute whether the Court could consider emissions generated from combustion of the coal mined in Queensland, notwithstanding that combustion of the goal would occur outside of Queensland within Southeast Asia. The Court dismissed Waratah’s argument that the court could not take generation emission into account, holding instead that ‘granting permission to mine the coal cannot be logically separated from the coal being used to generate electricity’. As the Court further acknowledged, ‘[w]herever the coal is burnt the emissions will contribute to environmental harm, including in Queensland’. 

    Waratah also attempted to argue that approving the mine would make no different to total emissions because it will displace combustion of lower-quality coal which would generate higher greenhouse gas emissions. This submission was also rejected by the Court. Instead, the Court found that the mine’s contribution to global greenhouse gas emissions would be a meaningful contribution to the remaining carbon budget available to meet the long-term temperature goal of the Paris Agreement. 

    As part of the Court’s function in considering the mining licence application and the environmental approval, the Court—as a public authority—was required under the Human Rights Act 2019 (Qld) (HRA) to both act compatibly with human rights and give proper consideration to relevant human rights in making its decision. The Court identified a number of human rights as being engaged by the application, but I here consider only two: the right to life of people in Queensland and the rights of First Nations people. 

    The right to life

    Section 16 of the HRA provides that ‘Every person has the right to life and has the right not to be arbitrarily deprived of life’. The Court held that climate change (and its consequences) can constitute a pressing and serious threat to enjoyment of the right to life. As to whether the climate change impacts flowing from the mining project could be considered an arbitrary deprivation of the right to life, the Court note that mining thermal coal for thermal combustion was not the only way in which Queensland could generate economic benefit and secure the energy needs of electricity customers (wherever they are). While approval of the project would be necessary for Waratah to secure the financial benefit flowing from the project, this must be weighed against the threat to life posed by climate change to the people of Queensland. Ultimately, the project’s ‘material contribution to the life-threatening conditions of climate change (and associated economic and social costs) is not proportionate to the economic benefit and the supply of thermal coal to Southeast Asia … the limit is unreasonable in the sense of being disproportionate because it extends beyond what is reasonably necessary to achieve the purposes’ of the mining project. As the project would contribute to the risk of above 3°C pre-industrial warming being materialised, preserving the right to life outweighed the economic and energy security benefits of the mine.

    The rights of First Nations people

    Section 28 of the HRA deals with the cultural rights of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. It recognises that First Nations people ‘hold distinct cultural rights’ and, among other things, that have the right ‘to maintain and strengthen their distinctive spiritual, material and economic relationship with the land, territories, waters, coastal seas and other resources with which they have a connection’. 

    The Court noted that ‘against the background of systemic dispossession and destruction of culture, [the rights recognised in s 28] are of fundamental importance to First Nations peoples’. The Court also acknowledged that ‘First Nations peoples will be disproportionately affected by climate change impacts’, including through heatwaves and extreme temperatures and sea level rise resulting in frequent severe and damaging coastal flooding and storm surges. Indeed, due to ‘sea level rise alone … the potential changes in the climate system in the next few centuries could well pose an existential threat to Torres Strait Islander peoples’. Evidence obtained from First Nations people on the frontline of climate change also the Court to conclude that ‘climate change impacts will have a profound impact on cultural rights and, for some peoples who will be displaced from their country, it risks the survival of their culture, the very thing s 28 is intended to protect’. In the Court’s view, the scale of the potential destruction posed by the effects of climate change meant that the limitation of s 28 rights for First Nations people counted against approval of the project, especially ‘set against the history of dispossession of First Nations peoples in this country’. 

    The impact of this decision

    This is the first time that the Land Court of Queensland has utilised the HRA to recommend against approval of a coal mine. In that sense alone the case is ground breaking. But the impact of this decision is much wider than this alone: it demonstrates the potential of human rights to achieve climate justice. Elsewhere, I have written about the potential of a human rights-based approach to climate change to drive a rethinking of policy making which places people on the frontline of the climate crisis at the centre of our climate response and treat those people on the frontline as rights-holders rather than victims of a hostile climate. Although it remains to be seen what the Queensland Government will ultimately decide on the project’s fate, this decision demonstrates the potential of human rights enshrined in domestic law to protect against the catastrophic impacts of climate change and deliver climate justice in a meaningful and substantive way.

    Recognising that climate change poses a tremendous risk to the enjoyment of fundamental human rights is not new. In the Urgenda case, it was recognised that the obligations of the Netherlands to protect the right to life and the right to family life under the European Convention of Human Rights required the Netherlands to more greatly reduce its greenhouse gas emissions. In Teitiota, the UN Human Rights Committee also observed the risk pose the rights of asylum seekers and refugees by climate change. In a recent case brought by eight Torres Strait Islanders and six of their children, the same committee found that Australia had failed to adequately adapt to climate change and therefore violated the human rights of Torres Strait Islanders. In particular, the Committee found that Australia violated the Torres Strait Islanders’ right to private life, home and family, and their enjoyment of culture. 

    Yet Australia lags behind in our acknowledgement of the human rights impacts of climate change, mostly because our human rights protection at a Federal level and in the remaining five State and Territory jurisdictions without stand-alone human rights legislation is extremely limited. This is despite the power of human rights law to achieve real and meaningful change in people’s lives being well-documented. The Human Rights Law Centre has compiled 101 cases highlighting the benefits of the human rights legislation that exist in Australia. Meanwhile, the ACT is about to recognise a right to a health environment in its Human Rights Act. Imagine how differently the Sharma case might have turned out if the young people that brought that case were able to ground their case in human rights protected in a Federal Human Rights Act. At a time in which the effects of climate change are already being sharply experienced the world over, let us imagine how a Federal Human Rights Act could deliver climate justice in a meaningful and substantive way to deliver dignity, freedom, and justice for those confronting the immediate impacts of climate change.  


    Scott Walker is a Researcher at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law, a Fellow at Eleos Justice and a Research Assistant within the Faculty of Law, Monash University.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Karin M Frodé, Andrea Olivares Jones and Joanna Kyriakakis

    In a historic decision, the United Nations (UN) Human Rights Committee found on Friday 23 September that Australia’s failure to adequately adapt to climate change violates the human rights of Torres Strait Islanders.   

    The Committee, which oversees the implementation of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) received a complaint by eight Torres Strait Islanders and six of their children in 2019. The group called for the Committee to recognise that the Australian Government had violated their human rights by failing to reduce carbon emissions, and introduce measures to adapt to climate change.

    The Committee’s decision makes clear that inadequate responses to climate change can result in the violation of human rights. It is a landmark victory worth celebrating as part of a broader trend in climate change litigation which has seen human rights arguments put forward to hold both states (ie, the NetherlandsPakistan and Belgium) and corporations (ie, Shell and other Carbon Majors) accountable. It is also an example of a rise in cases where Indigenous actors are central. 

    The decision adds to the pressure mounting against Australia to take climate change seriously. 

    The complaint

    The Torres Strait Islanders’ claimed that Australia has not fulfilled its legal obligations to protect their rights to life (Article 6), private life, family and home (Article 17) and culture (Article 27) under the ICCPR. Additionally, they claimed that Australia has failed to adequately protect the rights of future generations (Article 24(1)). 

    Communities on the Torres Strait Islands are already facing rising sea levels, extreme weather, the erosion of the coastdamaged reefs, and limited availability of freshwater. A tangible example of damage is graves that have been washed away on Sabai Island. Homes and many more cultural sites are at risk of damage. The risks of climate change to Torres Strait Islanders are not new. They were, for example, clearly set out in the 2008 Native Title Report of the Australian Human Rights Commission. 

    Reaction of the Australian Government 

    The former Morrison Government rejected the claims made by the Torres Strait Islanders, arguing that it cannot be held responsible for the effects of climate change due to the global nature of the crisis. It also argued that there was a lack of proof of ‘causation’, meaning the link between the claimed human rights harms and Australia’s actions or inaction ([4.2]). Further, Australia challenged whether there was sufficient evidence of a ‘current or imminent threat’ of any rights violations ([4.2]). 

    The former Federal Minister for the Environment evoked similar lines of argument recently in a domestic tort case when she argued against owing duty of care to children when approving mining.  

    The Committee’s decision

    The Committee found that Australia has violated the Torres Strait Islanders’ rights to private life, home and family and their enjoyment of culture. In doing so, the Committee noted Australia’s efforts to construct a seawall, but found it to be an inadequate response to the alarming threats that had been raised by Torres Strait Islanders since the 1990s, due to its delay initiating the project ([8.12], [8.14]). 

    The Committee did not find a violation of the right to life.  The right to life includes the need to protect against ‘reasonably foreseeable threats…that can result in loss of life’, and this ‘may include adverse climate change impacts’ which amount to ‘some of the most pressing and serious threats to the ability of present and future generations to enjoy the right to life’ ([8.3]). However, in the present case, the Committee did not consider the necessary foreseeability was demonstrated ([8.6]), though not all Committee members agreed on this point. 

    The Committee did not to address child rights because violations of other rights were established. 

    Why is this decision important? 

    While decisions by UN bodies are not automatically binding in Australian law, they are persuasive opinions by independent experts that outline Australia’s international obligations and analyse whether they are complied with. The relationship between climate change impacts and human rights is an emerging area, so the clarity that decisions such as in the present case bring is critical.

    This decision is therefore important not only to the complainants but for other climate justice advocates. 

    The present decision follows other climate related decisions by human rights bodies. In Teitiota, a case brought against New Zealand, the same Committee made important observations about state obligations and climate change in the context of asylum seekers and refugees, though it stopped short of finding a violation. Another complaint brought by young climate activists against five states for climate inaction before the Committee on the Rights of the Child, focused on child-centric impacts of climate change. Although dismissed for technical reasons, that decision made important findings that children fall within the jurisdiction of states where transboundary harm originates, following the approach of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights

    In what might be lamented as a missed opportunity, the Torres Strait Islander decision focuses on Australia’s failure to adapt to climate change in a timely manner. As noted by Committee member Gentian Zyberi, the decision does not make clear connections between the human rights violations and Australia’s failure to mitigate climate impacts by, for example, reducing greenhouse gas emissions. 

    Further, as the Committee members themselves did, it is possible to disagree regarding the application of the law and facts to the right to life. If the right to life includes ‘a life with dignity’, climate impacts upon the enjoyment by First Nations peoples of a way of life which puts central significance upon land would demonstrate a violation. 

    The decision is nonetheless critical on the responsibility of individual states to act to address climate change induced human rights impacts. It is accompanied by other significant developments, such as the 2022 UN General Assembly Resolution which recognised the ‘right to a clean, healthy and sustainable environment’ as a human right. This Resolution was supported by 161 states, including Australia. 

    The expectation now is for Australia to take the ‘measures necessary to secure the communities’ continued safe existence on their respective islands’ and to review those measures for effectiveness over time [11]. It is also expected to compensate the claimants for the violations suffered. Time will tell if Australia does so, but Attorney-General, Mark Dreyfus has indicated openness to engaging with Torres Strait Islanders about climate change and to the findings in this case. 

    More broadly, it is time for Australia to take seriously its climate obligations and act now to avoid further human rights impacts. In that regard, the passage earlier this month of Australia’s first climate change legislation in over a decade is at least a step in the right direction.   


    Karin M Frodé is a PhD candidate at Monash University and a PhD Affiliate of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Andrea Olivares Jones is an advanced LLM Candidate in European and International Human Rights Law at Leiden University, The Netherlands and a former Policy Manager at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    Dr Joanna Kyriakakis is a Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Law at Monash University and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Maria O’Sullivan

    During the present period of mourning for Queen Elizabeth II, public sensitivities in the United Kingdom and Australia are high. There’s strong sentiment in both countries in favour of showing respect for the queen’s death. Some people may wish to do this privately. Others will want to demonstrate their respect publicly by attending commemorations and processions.

    There are also cohorts within both countries that may wish to express discontent and disagreement with the monarchy at this time. For instance, groups such as Indigenous peoples and others who were subject to dispossession and oppression by the British monarchy may wish to express important political views about these significant and continuing injustices.

    This has caused tension across the globe. For instance, a professor from the United States who tweeted a critical comment of the queen has been subject to significant public backlash. Also, an Aboriginal rugby league player is facing a ban and a fine by the NRL for similar negative comments she posted online following the queen’s death.

    This tension has been particularly so in the UK, where police have questioned protestors expressing anti-monarchy sentiments, and in some cases, arrested them.

    But should such concerns about the actions of the queen and monarchy be silenced or limited because a public declaration of mourning has been made by the government?

    This raises some difficult questions as to how the freedom of speech of both those who wish to grieve publicly and those who wish to protest should be balanced.

    What laws in the UK are being used to do this?

    There are various laws that regulate protest in the UK. At a basic level, police can arrest a person for a “breach of the peace”.

    Also, two statutes provide specific offences that allow police to arrest protestors. 

    Section 5 of the Public Order Act 1986 UK provides that a person is guilty of a public order offence if:

    • they use threatening or abusive words or behaviour or disorderly behaviour 
    • or display any writing, sign or other visible representation which is threatening or abusive. 

    The offence provision then provides this must be “within the hearing or sight of a person likely to be caused harassment, alarm or distress” by those acts.

    There’s some protection for speech in the legislation because people arrested under this provision can argue a defence of “reasonable excuse”. However, there’s still a great deal of discretion placed in the hands of the police.

    The other statute that was recently amended is the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act of 2022, which allows police to arrest protestors for “public nuisance”.

    In the context of the period of mourning for Queen Elizabeth II, the wide terms used in this legislation (such as “nuisance” and “distress”) gives a lot of discretion to police to arrest protestors who they perceive to be upsetting others. For instance, a protestor who holds a placard saying “Not my king, abolish the monarchy” may be seen as likely to cause distress to others given the high sensitivities in the community during the period of mourning. 

    Is there a right to protest under UK and Australian law?

    Protest rights are recognised in both the UK and in Australia, but in different ways. 

    In the UK, the right to freedom of expression is recognised in Article 10 of the Human Rights Act.

    In Australia, there’s no equivalent of the right to freedom of expression at the federal level as Australia doesn’t have a national human rights charter. Rather, there’s a constitutional principle called the “implied freedom of political communication”. This isn’t a “right” as such but does provide some acknowledgement of the importance of protest.

    Also, freedom of expression is recognised in the three jurisdictions in Australia that have human rights instruments (Victoria, Queensland and the ACT).

    Can the right to protest be limited in a period of mourning?

    In this period of public mourning, people wishing to assemble in a public place to pay respect to the queen are exercising two primary human rights: the right to assembly and the right to freedom of expression. But these aren’t absolute rights. They cannot override the rights of others to also express their own views. 

    Further, there’s no recognised right to assemble without annoyance or disturbance from others. That is, others in the community are also permitted to gather in a public place during the period of mourning and voice their views (which may be critical of the queen or monarchy).

    It’s important to also note that neither the UK nor Australia protects the monarchy against criticism. This is significant because in some countries (such as Thailand), it’s a criminal offence to insult the monarch. These are called “lèse-majesté” laws – a French term meaning “to do wrong to majesty”.

    The police in the UK and Australia cannot therefore use public order offences (such breach of the peace) to unlawfully limit public criticism of the monarchy.

    It may be uncomfortable or even distressing for those wishing to publicly grieve the queen’s passing to see anti-monarchy placards displayed. But that doesn’t make it a criminal offence that allows protestors to be arrested.

    The ability to voice dissent is vital for a functioning democracy. It’s therefore arguable that people should be able to voice their concerns with the monarchy even in this period of heightened sensitivity. The only way in which anti-monarchy sentiment can lawfully be suppressed is in a state of emergency. A public period of mourning does not meet that standard.


    Dr Maria O’Sullivan is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law and the Deputy Director (Research) of the Castan Centre for Human Rights at Monash University.

    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Professor Paula Gerber

    There are many factors which point to now being the right time to focus on improving human rights in Australia, including,

    1. change of government at the federal level, from one that was largely hostile to human rights to one that has made many commitments to enhancing respect for human rights;
    2. the COVID pandemic which saw far-reaching restrictions on human rights and stimulated greater awareness of, and debate about, human rights generally; 
    3. the US Supreme Court decision in Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization overturning Roe v Wade which has made women in Australia feel vulnerable to similar regressive steps regarding reproductive rights; 
    4. the frequency of floods and fires, and the devasting impact they are having on many communities, has led to an increased interest in climate change as a human rights issue; and
    5. the public’s strong rejection of politicians and political candidates attacking transgender women.

    Given that the Australian landscape appears ripe for increased protection of human rights, the question becomes: What are the human rights priorities in Australia? Professor Paula Gerber and Professor Michael Mintrom discussed this with ABC host Paul Barclay, in a recent episode of Radio National Big Ideas they identified the following reforms of being of critical importance.

    A Federal Charter of Human Rights

    Australia is an outlier when it comes to national protection of human rights, at least within the West. We are the only western democracy that does not have human rights legislation that applies to the whole country. Some Australian states and territories have decided that they are no longer going to wait for the federal government to take the lead, and have enacted their own human rights legislation. The result is that people living in the ACT, Victoria and Queensland enjoy rights protection pursuant to legislation that gives effect to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), while people in New South Wales, the Northern Territory, Western Australia, South Australia and Tasmania have no such protection. This patchwork quilt approach to human rights is unacceptable and the enactment of a federal statutory charter of human rights is long overdue. 

    Human Rights Education

    The absence of a national Human Rights Act, is one of the barriers to comprehensive school based human rights education. Research demonstrates that having a national human rights instrument, increases education and awareness raising about human rights. Currently our national curriculum mandates that students learn about the Constitution, but in the absence of a federal Charter of Rights, they do not learn about human rights. This is in stark contrast with countries like the United States, where all students learn about the American Bill of Rights.

    A key aspect of having a society that respects and protects human rights, is having a population that knows and understands human rights. This requires ensuring that children learn about human rights from an early age, so that they grow up knowing about their rights and the rights of others and understand them as an inherent part of coexisting in a harmonious and peaceful community, both locally and globally. 

    Respecting the rights of LGBTIQA+ People

    There is no denying that the rights of LGBTIQA+ people took a significant battering under previous coalition governments. The postal survey that preceded the attainment of marriage equality in 2017, was unnecessary, divisive and sanctioned homophobic and transphobic hate speech under the guise of “civilised debate”. This was closely followed by further attacks and regression, including the defunding of the Safe Schools program and Scott Morrison’s relentless (unsuccessful) efforts to pass his Religious Discrimination Bills, that were described as a sword rather than a shield, and legislation that would have given people of faith license to be bigots.

    Repairing the harm done to LGBTIQA+ people by this sustained persecution requires the Albanese to implement a variety of reforms including, 

    • amending the Sex Discrimination Act to ensure that religious schools cannot expel LGBTIQA+ students nor dismiss teachers because of their sexual orientation, gender identity or intersex status; 
    • counting LGBTIQApeople in the next census, including same-sex families; and 
    • greater consultation and funding for LGBTIQA+ health services, to address the unique health issues and barriers to accessing health services that LGBTIQA+ Australians face.

    In addition, the Albanese Government would do well to follow the lead of Victoria and the UK, by appointing a Minister for Equality. Having such a Ministry would help the government to focus on promoting equality of opportunity for everyone.

    Conclusion

    The specific human rights reforms outlined above are by no means an exhaustive list and there are many other human rights priorities that also need to be addressed, including, 

    1. giving effect to the Uluru Statement from the Heart and advancing and expanding the Treaty and Truth-Telling process that is taking place in Victoria, to other parts of the country;
    2. raising the minimum age of criminal responsibility to 14-years-old and reducing the youth incarceration rates, particularly the disproportionately high rate of incarceration of First Nations your people;
    3. ending indefinite and arbitrary immigration detention of refugees and asylum seekers; 
    4. achieving gender equality and combatting family violence; and
    5. implementing just transition policies and practices to facilitate the move from fossil fuel to clean energy in a manner that protects the rights of all people impacted by these changes; and 

    Australia’s reputation as a country that respects the rights of all people has taken a significant battering in recent years. The Albanese Government has the opportunity to start repairing that damage by implementing the long overdue reforms highlighted here. Such reforms would benefit individuals, minority groups and society as a whole, as well as businesses and governments who derive economic benefits from respecting human rights.


    You can listen to the episode of Radio National Big Ideas featuring Professors Paula Gerber and Michael Mintrom here, on the ABC Listen app or wherever you get your podcasts.


    Professor Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Monash University Faculty of Law and an Academic Member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. Professor Gerber has expertise in international human rights law generally and has a particular interest in children’s rights and the rights of LGBTQIA+ people.

  • Disturbing footage emerged this week of a chess-playing robot breaking the finger of a seven-year-old child during a tournament in Russia. 

    Public commentary on this event highlights some concern in the community about the increasing use of robots in our society. Some people joked on social media that the robot was a “sore loser” and had a “bad temper”. 

    Of course, robots cannot actually express real human characteristics such as anger (at least, not yet). But these comments do demonstrate increasing concern in the community about the “humanisation” of robots. Others noted that this was the beginning of a robot revolution – evoking images that many have of robots from popular films such as RoboCop and The Terminator

    While these comments may have been made in jest and some images of robots in popular culture are exaggerated, they do highlight uncertainty about what our future with robots will look like. We should ask: are we ready to deal with the moral and legal complexities raised by human-robot interaction?

    Human and robot interaction

    Many of us have basic forms of artificial intelligence in our home. For instance, robotic vacuums are very popular items in houses across Australia, helping us with chores we would rather not do ourselves. 

    But as we increase our interaction with robots, we must consider the dangers and unknown elements in the development of this technology.

    Examining the Russian chess incident, we might ask why the robot acted the way it did? The answer to this is that robots are designed to operate in situations of certainty. They do not deal well with unexpected events. 

    So in the case of the child with the broken finger, Russian chess officials stated the incident occurred because the child “violated” safety rules by taking his turn too quickly. One explanation of the incident was that when the child moved quickly, the robot mistakenly interpreted the child’s finger as a chess piece. 

    Whatever the technical reason for the robot’s action, it demonstrates there are particular dangers in allowing robots to interact directly with humans. Human communication is complex and requires attention to voice and body language. Robots are not yet sophisticated enough to process those cues and act appropriately.

    What does the law say about robots?

    Despite the dangers of human-robot interaction demonstrated by the chess incident, these complexities have not yet been adequately considered in Australian law and policies. 

    One fundamental legal question is who is liable for the acts of a robot. Australian consumer law sets out robust requirements for product safety for goods sold in Australia. These include provisions for safety standards, safety warning notices and manufacturer liability for product defects. Using these laws, the manufacturer of the robot in the chess incident would ordinarily be liable for the damage caused to the child. 

    However, there are no specific provisions in our product laws related to robots. This is problematic because Australian Consumer law provides a defence to liability. This could be used by manufacturers of robots to evade their legal responsibility, as it applies if

    the state of scientific or technical knowledge at the time when the goods were supplied by their manufacturer was not such as to enable that safety defect to be discovered.

    To put it simply, the robot manufacturer could argue that it was not aware of the safety defect and could not have been aware. It could also be argued that the consumer used the product in a way that was not intended. Therefore, I would argue more specific laws directly dealing with robots and other technology are needed in Australia.

    Law reform bodies have done some work to guide our lawmakers in this area. For instance, the Australian Human Rights Commission handed down a landmark Human Rights and Technology Report in 2021. The report recommended the Australian government establish an AI safety commissioner focused on promoting safety and protecting human rights in the development and use of AI in Australia. The government has not yet implemented this recommendation, but it would provide a way for robot manufacturers and suppliers to be held accountable.

    Implications for the future

    The chess robot’s acts this week have demonstrated the need for greater legal regulation of artificial intelligence and robotics in Australia. This is particularly so because robots are increasingly being used in high-risk environments such as aged care and to assist people with a disability. Sex robots are also available in Australia and are very human-like in appearance, raising ethical and legal concerns about the unforeseen consequences of their use.

    Using robots clearly has some benefits for society – they can increase efficiency, fill staff shortages and undertake dangerous work on our behalf.

    But this issue is complex and requires a complex response. While a robot breaking a child’s finger may be seen as a once-off, it should not be ignored. This event should cause our legal regulators to implement more sophisticated laws that directly deal with robots and AI.


    Dr Maria O’Sullivan is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law and the Deputy Director (Research) of the Castan Centre for Human Rights at Monash University.

    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Luke Beck

    New federal Education Minister Jason Clare has announced a change to the National School Chaplaincy Program to allow schools to “choose” between having a religious chaplain and having a professionally qualified well-being worker.

    The opposition has criticised the announcement as effectively meaning “the end of many school chaplains”. So what’s the fuss about?

    The Howard Coalition government started the chaplaincy program in 2006. It has continued, with some variations, ever since.

    A “project agreement” signed by federal, state and territory education ministers governs the chaplaincy program. The states and territories receive federal funding to pay for chaplains in public schools.

    What do school chaplains do?

    Chaplains are not counsellors in the psychologist sense. They are more like youth workers in the social worker sense.

    The project agreement says chaplains are responsible for providing “pastoral care services” and strategies that support the “well-being of the school community”. It gives examples of activities like “co-ordinating volunteering activities and support, breakfast clubs, lunchtime activities, excursions, school incursions, and parent/carer workshops”.

    These activities look non-religious. Any qualified youth worker, regardless of their religion, could deliver them. However, the National School Chaplaincy Association says:

    “While chaplains must have underlying qualifications in youth work, community work or equivalent, school chaplaincy is religious in nature.”

    How are school chaplains hired?

    The project agreement sets two key criteria for the appointment of chaplains:

    1. all chaplains must have minimum qualifications such as a Certificate IV in Youth Work
    2. all chaplains must be “recognised through formal ordination, commissioning, recognised religious qualifications or endorsement by a recognised or accepted religious institution”.

    Rather than being school employees like teachers or front-office staff, chaplains are employed by third-party providers that have contracts with schools. One provider is a Christian organisation called Generate, which says its mission is:

    “To bring God’s love, hope, and good news to children, young people, and families.”

    Job advertisements for school chaplains usually require applicants to be Christians. For example, to apply for school chaplaincy positions advertised through Generate, this organisation says “you need to have a committed Christian faith”.

    Schools working with Generate have effectively decided they will not have Jewish, Muslim, Hindu or atheist youth workers working with students. Generate is currently advertising positions at more than 20 public schools, including schools in highly multicultural areas such as western Sydney.

    There is no public information about the processes public schools use to choose the school’s favoured religion for the purpose of hiring a chaplain.

    Isn’t religious discrimination unlawful?

    You might think refusing to hire someone for a job in a public school simply because that person doesn’t belong to a particular religion sounds like religious discrimination. Religious discrimination in employment is unlawful under anti-discrimination laws in every state and territory, except New South Wales and South Australia.

    A number of state anti-discrimination commissioners have expressed concern about the National Schools Chaplaincy Program.

    In 2020, Victoria’s Human Rights Commission told a Victorian MP: “we agree that the program may be in breach of [Victoria’s] Equal Opportunity Act 2010”.

    In 2021, in response to advocacy by the Rationalist Society of Australia, Western Australia’s Equal Opportunity Commission said it was concerned that restricting youth worker/chaplain positions to religious people was “prima facie religious conviction discrimination” under Western Australia’s Equal Opportunity Act 1984. In 2020, Queensland’s Human Rights Commissioner said the practice involved “potential contraventions of the [Qld Anti-Discrimination] Act”.

    A 2019 religious discrimination case in the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal settled before the tribunal could rule on whether limiting youth worker/chaplain jobs in public schools to Christians breached state anti-discrimination laws.

    What exactly did the minister announce?

    Last Friday, Clare announced:

    “The government will open up the program to give schools the option to choose either a chaplain or a professionally qualified student welfare officer.”

    The fact it was the new minister’s first big decision suggests the issue is important to him. There’s no good reason to force a public school to hire youth workers on the basis of religion. It’s why the ACT pulled out of the school chaplains program in 2019.

    However, there are three key problems with the minister’s announcement.

    First, all chaplains are already required to have professional qualifications. There’s nothing new about that.

    Second, the minister has not explained how a public school – which schools legislation says are secular in character – could ever justify “choosing” that Jewish, Muslim, Hindu and atheist youth workers should not be eligible for a pastoral care job at the school.

    The third and most practical problem is that this announced change won’t actually enable schools to hire youth workers without reference to the person’s religious affiliation.

    Existing third-party providers like Generate are in the business of hiring only Christians. Unless new providers come onto the scene, public schools will have little choice but to continue to engage existing providers who will continue to hire only Christians.

    What’s the solution?

    The minister said he will work with his state and territory counterparts to revise the project agreement so a new system is in place for the 2023 school year.

    If the nation’s education ministers want to make sure school youth workers/chaplains are hired based on merit and not on religion, they could make one simple change: get rid of outsourcing.

    Requiring schools to hire directly rather than through third-party providers will ensure job ads don’t include selection criteria about a person’s religion. Some public schools might well be happy to allow their third-party provider to refuse to hire Jewish, Muslim and atheist youth workers. However, a public school is rather unlikely to itself ever put out an ad like that.

    Getting rid of outsourcing would also mean the public money now used to fund the administration costs of third-party providers can be redirected to putting more youth workers in more schools.


    Luke Beck is an Associate Professor of Constitutional Law and Associate Dean (Education) in the Faculty of Law at Monash University. He is also an academic member at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. He is the author of Religious Freedom and the Australian Constitution: Origins and Future (Routledge, 2018)


    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons licence. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • By Melissa Castan, Kate Galloway and Scott Walker

    Last week the Victorian government demonstrated its commitment to build an equal relationship with First Peoples. A new bill has been tabled in the Victorian parliament to advance the Victorian treaty processes.

    In 2018, legislation was enacted that required the First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria and the Victorian government to work together to establish a Treaty Authority. 

    The new bill further affirms the Assembly and the Victorian government’s agreement and commitment to establish a Treaty Authority and support its operations. 

    The new Treaty Authority will be the first of its kind in Australia, placing First Peoples’ culture at the heart of its practices.

    What is the Treaty Authority and how will it work?

    The significant power difference between the government and First Nations people means there needs to be a way to establish equal footing for treaty negotiations. 

    The Treaty Authority serves that role as an institution independent of parliament and government. 

    Negotiations may well be long and complex. The authority will oversee treaty negotiations and if the parties cannot agree on particular matters or the appropriate process, it will act as an independent umpire to help resolve the issue. 

    The new authority will respect First Peoples’ culture with a focus on dialogue. Talking through problems to achieve agreement, rather using than a combative approach, is at the core of the treaty process. 

    Assembly co-chair and Nira illim bulluk man Marcus Stewartsaid the Treaty Authority

    will be guided by Aboriginal lore, law and cultural authority that has been practised on these lands for countless generations.

    This is a significant development in Australian legal institutions and processes. It addresses well known problems with the adversarial nature of native title determinations, where traditional owners must sue the government to prove their title. 

    This new public law process appropriately recognises the standing of Indigenous cultural approaches.

    In another important development, the Treaty Authority will have guaranteed government funding, which it controls and manages. This will ensure the authority can perform its functions long-term. 

    In the past when governments set up bodies to assist First Nations, there were problems with sustainability, because the body did not have the resources to function. It is encouraging to see the commitment at this early stage, to continuous funding and First Nations’ control.

    The Treaty Authority will be comprised of independent members who are all First Peoples, who will be selected after a public call for nominations.

    The Treaty Authority recognises the right to self-determination

    Indigenous rights expert Professor Megan Davis explained

    before Indigenous Australia can participate in the Australian democratic project on just and equal terms, the unresolved issues of the colonial project and the psychological terra nullius of Australia’s public institutions must be finally dealt with.

    The Treaty Authority will be a public institution that grapples with this problem of “psychological terra nullius” – the exclusion of First Nations peoples in politics and law.

    It forms part of the broader work to provide just and equal participation by First Peoples in our democratic institutions. It complements the First Peoples’ Assembly of Victoria, and the Yoorrook Justice Commission, which address voice and truth respectively.

    All of these institutions are part of the overarching treaty process in Victoria.

    Treaty is one important way of realising Indigenous peoples’ right to self-determination. 

    Self-determination means the right of a people to make decisions about their own governance and way of life. 

    Self-determination for Indigenous peoples is also a requirement of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, and other international human rights law

    By drawing on First Nations’ “law, lore, and cultural authority” in order to support the treaty process, the Victorian Treaty Authority is demonstrating an innovative approach to realising First Peoples’ right to self-determination.

    Navigating a way to treaty

    Victoria is only one Australian jurisdiction currently navigating treaty processes. Queensland, the Northern TerritorySouth Australia, and Tasmania are all embarking on pathways to treaty. 

    And the new Albanese government is working to deliver on its commitment to the Uluru Statement from the Heart’s call for Voice, Treaty, and Truth at the federal level. 

    Each of these processes should properly be informed by respective First Peoples in each area. 

    For all jurisdictions, the Victorian approach demonstrates the potential for transformative institutional reform, in and beyond government. 

    Self-determination must be led by sovereign First Nations people and grounded in Indigenous culture and law. International human rights law requires it. And justice alone demands the state, in all its guises, enters into proper relations with the First Nations of this land.


    Dr Melissa Castan is an Associate Professor and Director of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law, at Monash University Faculty of Law. She teaches, researches and writes on Australian public law, Indigenous legal issues, human rights law, and legal education.

    Dr Kate Galloway is an Associate Professor at Griffith Law School. Kate researches in property law and legal education, with particular interest in legal issues affecting women, Indigenous Australians, and environmental justice.

    Scott Walker is a Researcher at the Castan Centre for Human Rights law, a Researcher and Fellow at Eleos Justice and a Research Assistant within the Faculty of Law, Monash University. Scott’s research interests span international human rights law, health law, and disability rights.


    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

    This post was originally published on Castan Centre for Human Rights Law .

  • Voluntary assisted dying (VAD) has been legal in countries such as Switzerland and the Netherlands for more than a decade.

    In Australia, aside from a brief introduction by the Northern Territory in 1995 that was quickly overruled by conflicting federal legislation, VAD remained illegal in every Australian jurisdiction until 2017.

    In 2017, Victoria took the lead, enacting the Voluntary Assisted Dying Act 2017 (Vic). In 2019, Western Australia followed suit, and in 2021 VAD became legal in TasmaniaSouth Australia and Queensland.

    On 19 May, 2022, the NSW Parliament passed the Voluntary Assisted Dying Bill. In doing so, NSW became the final Australian state to legalise VAD.

    In his second reading speech, Alex Greenwich (the MP who introduced the bill) noted that:

    ‘The bill will create a safe framework for people who are in the final stages of a terminal illness, and who are experiencing cruel suffering that cannot be relieved by treatment or palliative care, to be provided with the choice to die peacefully, with dignity and surrounded by loved ones’.

    As this statement suggests, VAD legislation is also sometimes referred to as dying with dignity legislation, because it enables an unwell person to choose the time and place of their death.

    VAD has been described as involving “a physician prescribing medication to a patient with the explicit intention of causing premature death”.

    Accordingly, across the country, self-administration is the predominant mechanism by which VAD is carried out. Physician-administered VAD is rare, and only occurs where a patient is unable to self-administer.

    Attitudes to VAD among health professionals

    VAD is a polarising issue in the healthcare sector; it’s literally about life and death, and elicits passionate and emotional responses in both the medical community and the general community.

    Some people regard VAD as a human right, inherent in fundamental rights such as the right to dignity, autonomy and self-determination.

    Others express concern that a doctor’s key ethical commitment is to do no harm, and on this basis doctors should not play a role in hastening a person’s death. They also worry about whether the safeguards in place are adequate to prevent undue influence or coercion.

    A high proportion of the Australian population supports VAD. For example, a “recent survey carried out by the NSW Council on the Ageing found that 72% of people over 50 in NSW were in favour of legalising voluntary assisted dying”. That said, many health professionals remain uncomfortable participating in VAD.

    All Australian states allow a health professional with a conscientious objection to refrain from participating in VAD. As in all other states, the NSW law will allow a health practitioner to refuse to participate in VAD.

    This is similar to abortion legislation, which across Australia also includes provision for conscientious objection.

    States’ laws not all the same

    It’s worth noting that while all Australian states allow for conscientious objection, the laws between the states are framed slightly differently.

    For example, both Victoria and Tasmania allow an unmitigated form of conscientious objection, with no requirement to provide information to a patient who raises the question of VAD; Western Australia requires the provision of an information booklet; and Queensland requires doctors to direct the patient to someone without a conscientious objection.

    Attitudes towards VAD among health professionals aren’t binary, but rather tend to sit on a spectrum. Unfortunately, there’s a lack of accurate, comprehensive data capturing the rates of conscientious objection to VAD among health professionals in Australia.

    However, the research that has been conducted suggests rates of conscientious objection to VAD are reasonably high among the cohort of medical practitioners whose patients are most likely to seek access.

    For example, in a survey conducted by the Medical Oncology Group of Australia, out of the 362 respondents, 47% disagreed with voluntary assisted dying. Similarly, in a survey of the Australian and New Zealand Society for Geriatric Medicine, out of the 226 respondents, 53% opposed VAD.

    There’s a range of reasons why practitioners object to participating in VAD. Interestingly, unlike in the abortion context, it seems the majority of health professionals who object to VAD do so for “reasons that could be regarded as secular, humanist or professional” rather than for religious reasons.

    The way forward for VAD legislation

    There’s a global trend towards the legalisation of VAD. For example, the past decade has seen the legalisation of VAD in Canada and New Zealand, two countries culturally similar to Australia.

    It seems, therefore, that VAD is here to stay, but that– as has occurred in the context of the decriminalisation of abortion – there’s likely to be some tinkering with the legislation in the different jurisdictions.

    In time, we may see greater harmonisation between states. Further, it seems that it’s only a matter of time until the federal government repeals its own legislation that prevents the territories from legalising VAD.

    A society is measured by how it treats its most vulnerable, such as those who are sick and approaching the end of their lives – “I’m not interested in whether you’ve stood with the great; I’m interested in whether you’ve sat with the broken”.

    Whether a person does or doesn’t support VAD, I think we can all agree that treating people with respect and dignity at the end of their lives is of paramount importance.

    As a society, we need to strike an appropriate balance between respecting the right to freedom of conscience, and securing the rights of individual patients to dignity, privacy and autonomy.

    This isn’t an easy conversation, but it’s one we must have.


    Dr Ronli Sifris is a Senior Lecturer in Monash University’s Faculty of Law and Deputy Director of Education at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. Her research is predominantly focused on issues at the intersection of women’s reproductive health and the law (at both the domestic and international level) including abortion, surrogacy, assisted reproduction and involuntary sterilisation. Her research also spans other spheres of health law, human rights and gender.


    This article is republished from Monash Lens under a Creative Commons licence. Read the original article.

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  • By Paula Gerber and Melissa Castan

    It’s easy to tell we’re in a federal election campaign – politicians are everywhere, parading around in high-vis vests and kissing babies who just want to be back in their parents’ arms.

    You can also tell politicians are on the campaign trail by what they’re not talking about.

    They’re not talking about human rights – neither major party has a policy to strengthen the protection of human rights in Australia.

    This is shameful, given we’re the only Western country to not have a Bill of Rights. New Zealand, the US, Canada and the UK, for example, have all recognised that human rights are important enough to warrant protection in national legislation.

    Not Australia. Mention a national Bill of Rights, and politicians run for the hills.

    So why does Australia need a federal Human Rights Act? Aren’t human rights here already well-protected?

    A recently published two-volume collection comprises 46 chapters by Australia’s leading human rights experts and documents the many pressing human rights issues facing Australia. It doesn’t make for pretty reading.

    This article considers just two areas where human rights violations are being perpetrated across Australia with impunity – against Indigenous peoples and LGBTIQ+ people.

    These issues need urgent attention, and should be part of the conversations we’re having in the lead-up to a federal election.

    Little progress on Indigenous rights

    We’re not making any progress in overcoming Indigenous inequality. A recent report found that:

    “In the 30 years since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, the NDICP [National Deaths in Custody Program] has recorded 489 Indigenous deaths in custody, including 320 in prison, 165 in police custody or custody-related operations, and four in youth detention.”

    That equates to more than one death in custody every month for three decades. How can we as a country tolerate this?

    The systemic racism and structural inequalities that enable this to happen must be addressed. These include raising the age of criminal responsibility from 10 to 14. This would significantly reduce Indigenous youth incarceration rates.

    Indigenous youth comprise 6% of the 10-17 youth population, but more than half of all the young people in detention. This is because Indigenous youths are jailed at 20 times the rate of non-Indigenous children.

    Australian governments, including state and territory governments, have committed to raising the age of criminal responsibility from 10 to 12, but this isn’t enough. The age at which a child can be held criminally responsible shouldn’t be lower than the age at which they can have a Snapchat or Instagram account (13).

    The entrenched disadvantage Indigenous Australians experience is only possible because of the structural discrimination embedded in our legal system.

    The Uluru Statement from the Heart is an invitation to work together to address this systemic discrimination by establishing a First Nations Voice to Parliament and a commission to explore treaty making and truth-telling.

    The Uluru Statement was developed in 2017. Five years later, there’s no sign our government is ready to accept the invitation and work with Indigenous Australians to build a better, more equal, future.

    Protest marchers, one with a sign with the Aboriginal flag, reading ‘We are still here‘

    No significant improvement LGBTIQ+ rights

    Marriage equality was attained in Australia in December 2017. Although many same-sex couples have tied the knot since then, there’s been no significant improvement regarding the human rights of LGBTIQ+ people. Some of the pressing human rights violations that need to be addressed are:

    Prohibiting gender-normalising surgery on intersex infants

    Approximately 1.7% of infants are born with sex characteristics that don’t reflect the binary medical and social norms of “female” or “male” bodies. Often, “normalising” surgery is performed on these intersex infants to try to make their genitalia conform to cultural and gender norms.

    Such surgeries, which are not medically necessary nor supported by scientific evidence, constitute a breach of human rights, and must be prohibited.

    Removing religious exemptions from anti-discrimination legislation

    While all Australian states and territories prohibit discrimination of the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity, some exempt faith-based organisations from complying with these prohibitions, even if they’re providing services traditionally provided by government, such as healthcare, education and social services.

    The result is that religious schools can fire teachers for being gay, and expel students on the basis of their sexual orientation or gender identity.

    Banning ‘conversion therapy’

    Conversion practices is the name given to pseudoscientific endeavours that involve psychological and physical interventions, often faith-based, to try to change a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity. Such practices are often psychologically damaging and lead to higher risks of psychological stress, poor mental health, self-harm, post-traumatic stress disorder and suicide.

    Conversion practices are inherently humiliating, demeaning and discriminatory. Despite constituting a fundamental breach of human rights, they’ve only been prohibited in three Australian jurisdictions – Victoria, the ACT and Queensland.

    A nationally coordinated response is required to ensure such practices are comprehensively and uniformly banned, and to support survivors of such trauma.

    Protecting the rights of transgender and gender-diverse people

    The tsunami of anti-trans laws being introduced across the United States is truly staggering. A moral panic is fuelling numerous pieces of legislation requiring transgender athletes to compete in sports according to the sex assigned to them at birth, which is completely contradictory to the IOC Framework on Fairness, Inclusion and Non-Discrimination on the Basis of Gender Identity and Sex Variations, which provides that:

    “No athlete should be precluded from competing or excluded from competition on the exclusive ground of an unverified, alleged or perceived unfair competitive advantage due to their sex variation, physical appearance or transgender status.”

    Laws have also been passed in multiple states, prohibiting any discussion of gender identity in classrooms.

    Perhaps most troubling of all are moves to define gender-affirming health treatment as child abuse, turning supportive parents of trans children and medical practitioners into criminals.

    In Australia, the anti-trans views being expressed by politicians such as Mark Latham and candidates such as Katherine Deves suggest we may be heading down a similar path.

    We’ve already seen attempts to wind back the human rights protections LGBTQ+ people fought so hard to achieve. Some of these have failed; for example, neither the Religious Discrimination Bill 2021 (Cth) nor the Education Legislation Amendment (Parental Rights) Bill 2020 (NSW) were passed by parliament.

    However, other attacks on LGBTQ+ people have been more effective, including the defunding of the Safe Schools program.

    Having a national Bill of Rights would not immediately fix all of these problems. But it would be a good start. It would elevate the level of debate about human rights in this country, but would need to be accompanied by improved independence and increased funding for the Australian Human Rights Commission.

    It’s time to ask our politicians the hard questions about what they intend to do to strengthen human rights protections if, on 21 May, the Australian people elect them to form government.


    Paula Gerber is a Professor in the Faculty of Law at Monash University, and a member of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. She specialises in international human rights law, with a particular focus in LGBTI rights and children’s rights.

    Melissa Castan is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law at Monash University, and the Director of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. She teaches, researches and writes on Australian public law, Indigenous legal issues, human rights law, and legal education.

    This article is republished from Monash Lens under a Creative Commons licence. Read the original article.


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  • By Dr Ronli Sifris

    Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is a nightmare for prospective parents engaged in surrogacy arrangements in the country.

    Ukraine has become a popular destination for surrogacy. While exact numbers are difficult to obtain, it’s estimated between 2,000 and 2,500 babies are born each year via surrogacy in Ukraine.

    BioTexCom, one of the largest fertility clinics in Ukraine, is expecting 200 babies to be born via surrogacy by the end of May.

    More than ten Australian families are expecting babies to be born via surrogacy in Ukraine by the first week of May.

    But it’s currently extremely challenging for such parents to cross the border into Ukraine to meet their babies. This is a disaster for the babies, the surrogates and the intended parents.

    The babies are left in limbo, born into a war zone without their parents to look after them. The surrogates have to give birth in a war zone and then aren’t able to hand the babies over to the intended parents.

    As for the intended parents, one can hardly imagine how distressing it must be to know your baby has been born, or is about to be born, but not know how or when you can reach them.

    The situation highlights why Australia must change its surrogacy laws.

    Why are Australians travelling to Ukraine for surrogacy?

    Ukraine is a popular surrogacy destination for several reasons.

    One is financial. Surrogacy in Ukraine is more affordable than in the United States, for example. Surrogacy in Ukraine is estimated to cost approximately USD $40,000 (A$54,000), whereas surrogacy in the United States can cost as much as USD $150,000 (A$202,000).

    Another is legal. Under Ukrainian law, unlike in Australia for example, the intended parents are recognised as the legal parents of a child born through surrogacy at birth.

    Although it’s worth noting only heterosexual married couples are able to access surrogacy in the country.

    For the vast majority of people, surrogacy isn’t their preferred way to have a child, but an option of last resort.

    For example, for one Australian couple, the topic of a recent Sydney Morning Herald article, surrogacy was their only option. They’d lost three pregnancies, and their use of surrogacy in Ukraine was the culmination of an excruciating six-year journey.

    Australian laws encouraging cross-border surrogacy

    The stress involved in cross-border surrogacy highlights this further. The vast majority of Australians who travel overseas to access surrogacy arrangements would prefer to do so back home, but Australian law presents a significant obstacle.

    In Australia, only “altruistic surrogacy” is permitted, where the surrogate mother doesn’t benefit financially from the arrangement.

    But “compensated” or “commercial” surrogacy, where the surrogate does receive a financial benefit, is prohibited.

    The prohibition of compensation is problematic for a number of reasons. From the perspective of the surrogate, it’s inherently exploitative to refuse to allow a woman to be paid for her reproductive labour. And the obsession with “altruism” amplifies problematic stereotypes and expectations of the “self-sacrificing woman”.

    From the perspective of intended parents, the prohibition of compensation has led to a predictable dearth of Australian women willing to become surrogates.

    This has fuelled the popularity of cross-border compensated surrogacy, which is illegal for residents of New South Wales, Queensland and the ACT but widely undertaken.

    What’s the solution?

    All Australian states and territories should amend their laws to allow for compensated surrogacy.

    Regulating behaviour that is already occurring, and to which law enforcement is turning a blind eye, has three key benefits:

    1. regulation ensures the rights of all parties are protected properly. Regulation in Australia can prevent exploitation abroad
    2. in a country like Australia, which has a social safety net in place to protect those who are most vulnerable, the question of compensation can be separated from exploitation
    3. compensation is a matter of justice. It’s unjust to allow many of the people involved in providing surrogacy – clinics, lawyers, counsellors and others – to be compensated for their time and services, but not the person doing the most labour and assuming the greatest risk.

    The anxiety around legalising and regulating compensated surrogacy in Australia does not make sense.

    Australia’s legal system has the capability to do this, and in doing so, would minimise the risk of exploitation.

    This would also likely reduce the number of Australians going overseas for compensated surrogacy, with the risks and stressors that comes with that.

    The most sensible solution, and the solution that best protects the rights of all involved, is for Australia to properly regulate (rather than prohibit) compensated surrogacy arrangements so desperate intended parents aren’t forced overseas.


    Dr Ronli Sifris is a Senior Lecturer in Monash University’s Faculty of Law and Deputy Director of Education at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. Her research is predominantly focused on issues at the intersection of women’s reproductive health and the law (at both the domestic and international level) including abortion, surrogacy, assisted reproduction and involuntary sterilisation. Her research also spans other spheres of health law, human rights and gender. 


    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons licence. Read the original article.

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  • By Dr Monique Cormier

    Last week, it was announced that the International Criminal Court (ICC) prosecutor was opening an investigation into the Russian invasion of Ukraine, examining whether any war crimes had been committed.

    Then this week, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) held a preliminary hearing into the Ukrainian demand that it issue an emergency order that Russia stop its incursion.

    Despite these two international courts having similar acronyms, they’re quite different. So, what are these courts, how do they differ, and what are their roles in the Ukraine-Russia conflict?

    The International Criminal Court

    As the name suggests, the ICC is a court that deals with criminal matters. Specifically, with war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide and aggression. It was established in 1998 by a treaty, and has 123 member states (countries). The ICC has jurisdiction (authority) to investigate and prosecute international crimes if they’re committed on the territory of a member state, or by a national of a member state.

    The ICC can go beyond this and investigate crimes alleged to have been committed on the territory of a non-member state if the United Nations (UN) Security Council has authorised it.

    The ICC has 18 international judges who are elected by the member states. It also has an independent prosecutor whose office is responsible for investigating and prosecuting crimes. Karim Khan, from the UK, is the ICC’s newest prosecutor. The ICC is headquartered in The Hague and, as a criminal court, it prosecutes individuals, not countries. Punishment for anyone convicted is jail time.

    The ICC and Ukraine

    Neither Ukraine nor Russia are member states of the ICC, but Ukraine has previously accepted the ICC’s jurisdiction over any international crimes committed in its territory since 2014. An unprecedented 40 ICC member states (including Australia) referred the current situation in the Ukraine to the prosecutor, who decided to open an official investigation that may lead to prosecutions.

    What crimes might be investigated?

    The ICC will be investigating possible war crimes that Russians are committing in Ukraine. If Ukrainians commit any war crimes, then they may also be investigated by the ICC.

    What the ICC will not have authority over is the crime of aggression. Despite the fact that Russia has clearly committed an act of aggression against Ukraine by invading, the rules on the ICC’s jurisdiction over the crime of aggression are different – if the aggressor state (Russia) is not a member of the ICC, then the ICC cannot exercise its jurisdiction, even if the victim state (Ukraine) has agreed to the court’s jurisdiction. The reasons for this are complex and political.

    Who might be prosecuted?

    The ICC is a “court of last resort”, which means it usually focuses on a small number of people who are considered most responsible for the crimes. Even if high-ranking commanders never actually set foot on the battlefield, they can still be held responsible for the crimes of their subordinates. The ICC can issue arrest warrants, but relies on member states to arrest and transfer any suspects to the court. Anyone wanted by the court might then avoid traveling to countries that are members of the ICC.

    Could the ICC prosecute Putin?

    Under international law, senior state officials such as presidents and prime ministers are immune from any kind of legal action in foreign courts. As an international court, the ICC does not allow immunity for any individuals over whom it has jurisdiction.

    However, because Putin is the head of state of a non-member country, it’s legally more complicated as to whether the ICC can exercise jurisdiction over him. If the UN Security Council had referred the situation to the ICC (as it did with Sudan and Libya), then the court would be able to assert its authority over Putin.

    But without UN Security Council authorisation, it’s uncertain as a matter of legal principle that the ICC will be able to assert jurisdiction over Putin while he remains president.

    The International Court of Justice

    The ICJ is older than the ICC. It was established after World War II as the principal judicial organ of the UN. It has 15 international judges who are elected by the UN General Assembly and Security Council, and it’s also based in The Hague. The ICJ hears legal disputes on a range of issues between countries, but it only has authority to adjudicate if the countries involved have agreed to its jurisdiction.

    Ukraine v Russia

    On 26 February, Ukraine filed an application with the ICJ to institute proceedings against Russia. Because Russia will not simply agree to the ICJ’s jurisdiction in this case, Ukraine has come up with a creative legal argument that may mean that the ICJ can adjudicate the matter.

    Does the ICJ have jurisdiction?

    One of the ways that the ICJ can exercise jurisdiction over a dispute is if the countries involved are parties to a treaty containing a dispute resolution clause that gives the ICJ jurisdiction. In this case, Ukraine is invoking the fact that both Ukraine and Russia are parties to the 1948 Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide, which has such a clause to enable the jurisdiction of the ICJ.

    One of the pretexts Russia has used for the invasion is that Ukraine has committed genocide in its Donbas region, which, if true, would be a violation of the convention. Ukraine is arguing that it has not violated the convention, and is asking the ICJ to exercise its jurisdiction over a dispute arising in relation to it.

    What does Ukraine want from the ICJ?

    If the ICJ decides it does have jurisdiction to hear the matter, Ukraine is seeking a declaration from the court that Russia’s claim of Ukrainian genocide is false. Ukraine is also asking the ICJ to affirm that it’s unlawful for Russia to invade on this pretext, and wants an order of “full reparation for all damage caused by the Russian Federation as a consequence of any actions taken on the basis of Russia’s false claim of genocide”.

    What happens next?

    Proceedings at the ICJ (and ICC) take a long time. So Ukraine has also asked the ICJ for provisional measures in the interim. In the expedited hearing that took place on Monday this week, Ukraine asked the ICJ to order Russia to suspend its military campaign against Ukraine until the broader dispute is resolved before the court.

    In the short term, it’s almost guaranteed that Russia will ignore anything the ICJ has to say. But a ruling from a respected international court will nevertheless have important symbolic significance, and will dispel any doubt that Russia’s invasion is not justifiable under international law.

    Update: On 16 of March, the ICJ ruled in Ukraine’s favour on the provisional measures.


    Dr Monique Cormier is a Senior Lecturer in the Monash University Faculty of Law. Her primary research interests include jurisdiction and immunities in international law and legal issues relating to nuclear non-proliferation. 

    This article is republished from Monash Lens under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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  • By Karin M. Frodé

    Today marks what the United Nations calls International Human Solidarity Day’. The idea of solidarity across borders is appealing, particularly in light of the many global crises that challenge the enjoyment of human rights. But can we conceptualise solidarity in a manner which enables it to go beyond mere rhetoric? Does it (or can it) have work to do, in the realisation of human rights?

    How we conceive of solidarity has become a pressing issue in the 21st century, not least since the COVID-19 outbreak. The pandemic has made it abundantly clear that we simply cannot defeat global challenges along national lines. In response, the international community has made frequent calls for solidarity, often incorporated into mantras such as ‘we are all in this together’. In practice, such calls often go unanswered, particularly by states. Continued vaccine hoarding by wealthier countries and insufficient progress in combating climate change are just two examples which paint a bleak picture.

    STRUCTURAL INEQUALITIES

    The lack of solidarity is particularly detrimental for already marginalised individuals, peoples and states. Structural inequalities within and between countries have, for example, been uncovered and exacerbated during the pandemic. To use the metaphor of the UN Secretary-General, “[w]hile we are all floating on the same sea, it’s clear that some are on superyachts while others are clinging to the drifting debris”. The sea metaphor is not just a figure of speech.  Migrants regularly drown at sea. Last month, over two dozen migrants lost their lives when attempting to cross the English Channel. The current UN Independent Expert on Human Rights and International Solidarity, Professor Obiora Chinedu Okafor, has described refugee protection as “a crisis of international solidarity par excellence”.

    The actions by the US and its allies in Afghanistan, culminating in the disastrous response to the Taliban’s takeover in August 2021 is another example of the detrimental impacts of the lack of solidarity. The withdrawal of foreign forces from the country was not just a withdrawal of troops but the withdrawal of solidarity. Countless numbers of Afghans are still at risk of summary execution by the Taliban due to their support of foreign forces, organisations and liberal values.

    BEYOND STATE (IN)ACTION

    Non-state actors often step in to fill the solidarity gaps generated by state inaction. Indeed, the UN’s focus on international ‘human’ solidarity suggests that we all, as humans, have a role to play. Yet, in doing so, individuals and other non-state actors may face significant barriers, including exposure to criminal liability for so-called ‘crimes of solidarity’. This was the case for Cédric Herrou, a French farmer, who was charged and convicted for assisting the free movement of ‘illegal immigrants’. Interestingly, the French Constitutional Council found that the relevant provisions infringed the principle of ‘fraternité (fraternity) which the Council confirmed to be a principle of constitutional value. Herrou has since been acquitted.

    A HUMAN RIGHT TO INTERNATIONAL SOLIDARITY?

    The Independent Expert on Human Rights and International Solidarity has referred to the Herrou case to counter criticism that solidarity is too vague to be useful. In addition to a fundamental principle, the UN mandate on international solidarity has also conceived of international solidarity as a human right:

    “…by which individuals and peoples are entitled, on the basis of equality and non-discrimination, to participate meaningfully in, contribute to and enjoy a social and international order in which all human rights and fundamental freedoms can be fully realized.”

    This proposed right is reminiscent of other so-called ‘solidarity rights’, such as the rights to self-determination, peace, development and a healthy environment. These rights are often distinguished from ‘traditional’ human rights in that they belong not just to individuals but also to peoples and require collective action for their realisation.

    The Independent Expert on Human Rights and International Solidarity has found that there is no automatic bar on conceiving solidarity as a human right if we accept that human rights are contingent upon historical and social factors rather than a fixed list derived from a higher order.  

    It may be useful to take a step back and consider why it is that scholars debate over whether solidarity is or could be a human right. Solidarity rights depart from the ‘traditional’ understanding of human rights based upon individual rights against the state in which the person resides, and which concern narrow, concrete and justiciable claims. The criticism of claims being too vague and broad to be human rights has been powerfully opposed in theory and practice with regards to economic, social and cultural rights. Solidarity raises additional tensions, however. For example, by pointing towards a social, rather than individualistic ontology of rights.  Further, while states may still play a key role in the fulfilment of solidarity rights, correlative duties of solidarity also appear to fall upon non-state actors, including other individuals.

    In addition to tensions within the human rights framework as traditionally understood, solidarity raises various philosophical conundrums. For example, who are we in solidarity with and for what purpose/aim? The UN celebrates ‘human’ solidarity day. Can we really be in solidarity with the whole world? Is solidarity concerned with the recognition of similarities, acceptance of difference or perhaps something else entirely?

    WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD?

    If the international community continues to proclaim solidarity as the key to solving the world’s most pressing challenges, it is imperative that more efforts are made to engage with the tensions and challenges which solidarity poses to traditional understandings of the international human rights law framework, as well as the international system of which it forms part. Given the elusive nature of a concept like solidarity, this exercise may raise more questions than answers. But perhaps it is precisely the questions which solidarity evokes that may be the key to its potential usefulness in the realisation of human rights.  

    Karin M. Frodé is PhD Candidate and Raydon Scholar at the Faculty of Law, Monash University. She is also a PhD Affiliate at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law and engages in teaching and research in human rights within the Faculty. Her doctoral research considers the role of solidarity in international law, specifically international human rights law. Outside of her studies, she co-founded the Ham Diley Campaign, an initiative to support Afghans at risk together with other human rights lawyers and the Capital Punishment Justice Project (formerly Reprieve Australia).


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  • By AAP FactCheck, expert commentary by Maria O’Sullivan and others

    WHAT WAS CLAIMED

    COVID-19 vaccination mandates are at odds with the 1986 Human Rights Commission Act

    OUR VERDICT

    False. Experts say the legislation in question does not have any relevance to vaccine mandates in Australia.

    Queensland Liberal National Party (LNP) senator Gerard Rennick says there are human rights laws protecting Australians from being coerced into receiving COVID-19 vaccinations under state mandates.

    However, experts have told AAP FactCheck the human rights laws to which Senator Rennick refers have no implications for vaccine-related mandates in Australia.

    Speaking on the Chris Smith Tonight program on Sky News on November 21, Senator Rennick said: “I think there’s a number of federal laws that protect against coercion of vaccinations. In particular there’s the Immunisation Handbook itself, (which) says you can’t give vaccinations without consent. There’s also Section 51 23A of the Constitution that says that doctors and nurses can’t be forced against their will to give a medical procedure. There’s also Schedule 7 of the 1986 Human Rights Act that says people can’t be forced into a medical procedure.” (podcast mark 9min 34sec)

    When contacted by AAP FactCheck, Senator Rennick clarified the legislation to which he referred was the Australian Human Rights Commission Act 1986Schedule 2, Article 7 of that Act states: “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. In particular, no one shall be subjected without his free consent to medical or scientific experimentation.”

    The wording of Article 7 comes from the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), a multilateral United Nations treaty that is formally recognised in Schedule 2 of the Australian Human Rights Commission Act.

    Senator Rennick told AAP FactCheck his focus was on the first sentence of Article 7, regarding cruel and inhuman treatment.

    He says it is “intolerably cruel” to tell someone who has had a bad reaction to a first dose of a COVID vaccine that they have to have a second shot.

    Professor Sarah Joseph, a human rights law expert at Griffith University, told AAP FactCheck the schedules listed at the end of the Australian Human Rights Commission Act give the Australian Human Rights Commissionpowers to perform functions in regard to various treaties and charters, including the ICCPR.

    However, the ICCPR is not an enforceable part of Australian law and Article 7 has no direct relevance to COVID-19 vaccines, Prof Joseph said.

    “Article 7 is designed to combat the most extreme of bad treatment, with the worst form of banned treatment being ‘torture’,” she said in an email.

    “In any case, no one is being ‘forced’ to have a vaccine. People are being excluded from certain jobs or scenarios (e.g. restaurants) if they refuse to get vaccinated. That is a level of coercion, arguably, but it is not nearly enough to constitute a breach of Article 7 in terms of a breach of the right to be free from torture, inhuman and degrading treatment.”

    Prof Joseph said overall the senator’s claim was “completely inaccurate”.

    “I don’t believe that Article 7, which is not a part of Australian law anyway, is relevant to vaccine mandates and lockouts in Australia.”

    Associate Professor Maria O’Sullivan, a deputy director at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law at Monash University, agreed the “very high” thresholds of the ICCPR mean Article 7 would be unlikely to apply to Australian vaccine mandates.

    “The sorts of actions which have been recognised as meeting this threshold are things like forced sterilisation,” Dr O’Sullivan told AAP FactCheck in an email.

    “I would contrast that to a workplace or public place vaccine requirement which does not reach that high coercive threshold.”

    Dr O’Sullivan added that, in the context of vaccines and mental distress, it is important to differentiate between people who have a genuine medical reason for not getting a COVID vaccine and those who feel anxious or have a mild reaction.

    “Those with a genuine, recognised medical reason will be exempt,” she said.

    “Those with a mild reaction or some anxiety about it, or (who) feel coerced into getting the vaccine, may feel mental distress but I do not believe that this would be sufficiently severe in order to meet the threshold of mental harm that has been established by case law on this issue.”

    Senator Rennick’s reference to the Immunisation Handbook as being “federal law” is also misplaced, according to Associate Professor Fiona McDonald, the co-director of the Australian Centre for Health Law Research at QUT.

    “The Immunisation Handbook is, as it states in the introduction, focused on providing clinical guidelines for the provision of immunisations in Australia,” Dr McDonald told AAP FactCheck in an email.

    “Clinical guidelines may be used as evidence of best practice in a legal proceeding but to date the courts in Australia have not considered them determinative of best practice in and of themselves.”

    The handbook says that for a person to legally consent to receive a vaccine, consent “must be given voluntarily in the absence of undue pressure, coercion or manipulation”.

    Dr McDonald says it is possible vaccine mandates could mean a person feels coerced into receiving a jab but that would be “unlikely” to meet the legal threshold for coercion given they retain the ability to refuse to be vaccinated.

    AAP FactCheck has previously investigated the claim the Australian Constitution prevents healthcare workers from being “forced” to give a medical procedure. The claim relies on Section 51 (xxiiiA) of the Commonwealth of Australia Constitution Act, which says the government has the power to make laws about medical and dental services but “not so as to authorise any form of civil conscription”.

    Luke Beck, an associate professor of constitutional law at Monash University, told AAP FactCheck in July that section 51 (xxiiiA) was added to the constitution in 1946 to allow the Commonwealth to fund various social services schemes such as Medicare and the pharmaceutical benefits scheme but has no relevance to vaccine mandates.

    “There’s nothing in the constitution that would prevent a law making COVID vaccination mandatory. We have had mandatory vaccination rules for some professions for a long time in respect of other vaccines,” Dr Beck said.

    Claims that Australians are protected from vaccine mandates by the Nuremberg Code have also been debunked by AAP FactCheck.

    THE VERDICT

    The claim that Schedule 2, Article 7 of the Human Rights Commission Act 1986 offers protection to people who feel covered into received COVID-19 vaccinations is false. Multiple experts told AAP Fact Check that Article 7 was not an enforceable part of Australian law and had no direct relevance to vaccine mandates.

    False – The claim is inaccurate.


    Dr Maria O’Sullivan is an Associate Professor and the Deputy Director (Research) of the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law at Monash University.


    This article is republished with permission from AAP FACTCHECK. Read the original article.

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  • By Scott Walker

    The Supreme Court of Queensland recently delivered a landmark judgment (the Owen-D’Arcy judgment) on the operation of the Human Rights Act 2019 (Qld) (HRA).[1] The HRA is Australia’s most recently enacted human rights statute joining those already in force in Victoria[2] and the Australian Capital Territory.[3] These human rights statutes mark a change from the traditional reliance on representative arms of government for the ‘protection and promotion of human rights’ in Australia.[4] Although the HRA has been previously considered by Queensland courts and tribunals,[5] the Owen-D’Arcy judgment is the first opportunity that the Queensland Supreme Court has had to substantively consider the HRA’s operation.

    The Owen-D’Arcy judgment brings to mind observations made by the Castan Centre’s Executive Director, Professor the Hon Kevin H Bell AM QC earlier this year at the Castan Centre Human Rights Conference. In his presentation on the Victorian Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities (Victorian Charter), Bell argued that the Victorian Charter has developed to operate ‘with certainty and coherence’, ‘but not always optimally’.[6]  It is the certainty and coherence of the Victorian Charter that I seek to here address.

    The Facts

    Michael Owen-D’Arcy (applicant) committed murder in July 2007 and was subsequently convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment.[7] On approximately 29 January 2013, a Maximum Security Order (MSO) was issued with respect to the applicant and was thereafter renewed every six months.[8] The MSO was issued ‘on the basis that [the applicant] posed a high risk of killing or seriously injuring other prisoners or other persons with whom he may come into contact’.[9] The MSO required that the applicant be accommodated within a single cell,[10] be permitted two telephone calls of 10 minutes duration each week,[11] be permitted the opportunity of at least two hours exercise in fresh air in daylight,[12] and be entitled one non-contact visit per week for one hour.[13] The decision to issue the MSO (MSO Decision) was made on 17 June 2020 and was effective from 18 June 2020 to 16 December 2020.[14]  A ‘no association direction’ (No Association Decision) was made together with the MSO Decision.[15] The No Association Decision provided that the applicant was ‘not permitted contact associations with other prisoners … without approval’.[16]

    The applicant sought judicial review of the MSO Decision and the No Association Decision alleging that, in making the decision, the decision-maker failed (inter alia) to afford to the applicant natural justice and breached a number of the applicant’s human rights under the HRA.[17] In the alternative, the applicant also sought relief under s 59 of the HRA which provides that a person may seek remedy or relief in relation to an act or decision of a public entity if the decision was unlawful for a reason other than under the HRA.[18]

    The Court’s Decision on Judicial Review and the Obligation to Give Proper Consideration

    The applicant succeeded, in part, on his application for judicial review in so far as Martin J held that the decision-maker failed to take into account the effect of the No Association Decision on the applicant’s human rights, which was a relevant consideration.[19] Martin J identified that s 58(1) of the HRA,[20] which concerns the obligations of public entities to act compatibly with human rights (substantive limb) and to give proper consideration to relevant human rights in the making of a decision (procedural limb),[21] required the decision-maker to consider whether the decision was compatible with the applicant’s human rights.

    In reaching this conclusion, Martin J held that it was not sufficient for the decision-maker to refer broadly and imprecisely to ‘prisoner Owen-D’Arcy’s human rights’.[22] In particular, the decision-maker did not turn their mind to the applicant’s right not to be treated or punished in a cruel, inhuman or degrading way or his right to be treated with humanity and respect for the inherent dignity of the human person when deprived of liberty.[23] As the attention given to the applicant’s human rights was ‘was superficial at best’,[24] the decision-maker failed to take into account a relevant consideration in the making of the No Association Decision. [25]

    The Court’s Decision on the Human Rights Act Claim

    The Applicant’s Claim

    The applicant argued that the MSO Decision and the No Association Decision breached his human rights, namely he argued that:

    • the decisions resulted in cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment contrary to HRA s 17(b);
    • the decisions resulted in the applicant not having liberty or security contrary to s 29;
    • the decisions resulted in the applicant, who was deprived of his liberty, not being treated with humanity and respect for his inherent dignity contrary to s 30.[26]

    Interpreting the HRA

    As this was the first substantive opportunity for the Court to consider the HRA’s operation, Martin J was required to determine the issues that arise when a breach of human rights recognised in the HRA are alleged. Acknowledging that ‘[s]ome situations will call for more intensive examination of some issues’, Martin J identified the following steps in determining such a claim:

    • identification of the decision and the reasons for making it;
    • identification of the human rights engaged by the decision;
    • determining whether the applicant has shown whether the decision limits the human rights engaged, and, if so, whether the respondent has justified the limits as reasonable;[27]
    • whether the respondent has made a decision not compatible with human rights;[28]and
    • whether the respondent, in making their decision, has failed to give proper consideration of relevant human rights.[29]

    The human rights recognised in the HRA ‘are not absolute’ and, as with the Victorian Charter,[30] the HRA has a general limitations provision.[31]This limitations provision ‘emobod[ies] a proportionality test’. [32] Relying on Victorian Charter jurisprudence, Martin J held that in determining whether a limitation had been justified

    • the onus of demonstrably justifying a limitation rests on the party seeking to rely on the limitation;
    • the standard of proof is ‘high’, such that it requires ‘a degree of probability commensurate with the occasion’ on ‘cogent and persuasive’ evidence; and
    • the  court’s role is here to ‘balance the competing interests of society, including the public interest, and to determine what is required for a person to obtain or retain the benefit of the rights recognised or bestowed by the statute.[33]

    In interpreting the HRA, international law and the judgment of international courts and tribunals may be drawn upon.[34] Such interpretive assistance may also be drawn upon in Victoria[35] and has been done so extensively.[36] The HRA should be given a broad construction as the HRA is beneficial legislation.[37]

    The Court’s Consideration of the Applicant’s Solitary Confinement

    The evidence presented by the applicant was that, aside from contact with prison officers, he was without physical contact with any other individual since January 2013.[38] His cell is small and bare, he is permitted a three minute shower, is only permitted to flush the toilet in his cell six times in a day and his cell is searched daily.[39]He is allowed two hours of time outside his cell per day.[40]

    The applicant’s evidence engaged s 30 of the HRA (the right to humane treatment when deprived of liberty).[41] The respondent did not justify the limitation placed upon the applicant’s s 30 right arising from the conditions of his detention. In particular, the decision-maker in their reasons does not disclose any basis for the view expressed that there was no alternative available to adequately manage the risk posed by the applicant than making a further consecutive MSO. As Martin J notes, this burden ‘is a heavy one and cannot be discharged simply by the decision-maker reciting that he or she held a particular belief without providing any basis for that belief’.[42]This respondent did not attempt to call any evidence in support of justification.[43] Further, the decision-maker failed to adequately (or at all) appreciate that the MSO was ‘for a further six months – on to of more than seven years of MSOs’.[44]As such, the cumulative effect of the applicant’s solitary confinement as a burden on his right ought to be considered.[45] The No Association Decision also went to the solitary confinement of the applicant as much as the MSO, as it worked ‘to prevent the applicant from engaging in any meaningful conversations or exchanges’, thus placing ‘him in a cocoon of isolation from all but the slightest interaction with other human beings’.[46]

    In upholding the applicant’s claim for breach of his HRA rights (in part), Martin J held that the MSO Decision was unlawful because it was not compatible with human rights,[47] and the decision-maker also failed to adequately consider the decision’s burden on the applicant’s rights.[48]In relation to the No Association Decision, while the decision-maker considered the applicant’s right to peaceful assembly and freedom of assembly as relevant, the decision-maker did not turn their mind to the right to be treated humanely when deprived of liberty.[49] Having not sufficiently identified the human rights thereby engaged, the decision-maker could not have given proper consideration to the human rights relevant to that decision.[50]Accordingly, the No Association Decision was also unlawful.[51]

    The Impact of Victorian Charter Jurisprudence

    The Owen-D’Arcy judgment draws heavily upon Victorian Charter jurisprudence in interpreting the HRA and ascertaining how it ought to be administered. In this way, it illustrates the certainty and coherence of Victorian Charter jurisprudence as the leading body of human rights jurisprudence in Australia, which itself has been developed alongside the jurisprudence of other leading human rights instruments.[52] Nevertheless, there is a key point of distinction between the HRA and the Victorian Charter: the obligation on public authorities under both the substantive and procedural limbs.

    The Procedural Limb

    The obligation on public authorities to give proper consideration to relevant human rights in making decisions[53] has been the subject of much consideration by Victorian courts. In Castles v Secretary, Department of Justice, Emerton J recognised that there was no ‘strict formula’, but that the decision-maker must perform a number of steps in order to be found to have given proper consideration, including ‘understanding in general terms which of the rights of the person affected by the decision may be relevant and whether, and if so, how, those rights will be interfered with by the decision that is made.[54] However, the decision-maker need not identify the specific or correct rights which are engaged.[55]

    Under the HRA, a decision maker is required to specify the rights engaged by a decision, ‘in a common sense and practical manner’, [56] because of s 58(5) which defines ‘proper consideration’ non-exhaustively as including:

    • identifying the human rights potentially affected by the decision; and
    • considering whether the decision would be compatible with human rights.

    This is a preferable situation because it explicitly prevents a cursory or general assessment of a person’s human rights by requiring a decision-maker to give a higher degree of attention to the specific rights engaged.

    The Substantive Limb

    The HRA has also remedied one of the less effective parts of the Victorian Charter which has seen divided opinion in the High Court in Momcilovic,[57] and an imperfect workaround adopted thereafter. This is in the interpretation of human rights and the relationship with the proportionality analysis (ie, the relationship between ss 23(1) and 7(2) of the Victorian Charter).[58] For its part, the HRA does away with any such confusion by adopting a single definition of ‘compatible with human rights’[59] which applies wherever that expression is used within the HRA.[60] This definition is consistent with early judgments under the Victorian Charter which adopted a proportionality analysis at the interpretation stage.[61] Recommendations for a similar provision have been made in Victoria to remedy this inconsistency, but such an amendment has not been made to date.[62]

    This position renders the Charter as less than ‘optimum’, such that it impedes ‘the fulfilment of its purpose of promoting and protecting human rights of individual Victorians’.[63] Indeed, of the most important factors of human rights compliance is the promotion and embedding of a culture which respects human rights.[64] In the context of the mental health system, for example, this requires that human rights are embedded in service delivery and embedded within law, policy, and practice of the mental health workforce.[65] It requires everyone within systems to respect, protect, and fulfil human rights, not merely through recourse to lawyers and the courts with their understanding of the law’s intricacies. This requires an understanding of human rights, which is generally considered to be lacking in Australia, [66] as a necessary step for ensuring human rights compliance. The Victorian Charter, and its operation, should therefore be readily comprehensible. This comprehensibility is risked and human rights compliance worse off because of this interpretive anomaly which ought to be rectified now that the HRA has demonstrated a clear path forward.


    References

    [1] Owen-D’Arcy v Chief Executive, Queensland Corrective Services [2021] QSC 273 (‘Owen-D’Arcy’).

    [2] Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006 (Vic) (‘Victorian Charter’).

    [3] Human Rights Act 2004 (ACT).

    [4] Julie Debeljak and Laure Grenfell, ‘Diverse Australian Landscapes of Law-Making and Human Rights: Contextualising Law-Making and Human Rights’ in Julie Debeljak and Laura Grenfell, Law Making and Human Rights (Lawbook Co, 2020) 1, 2.

    [5] Prior to Owen-D’Arcy, the most extensive consideration was by Ryan J sitting in the Court of Disputed Returns in Innes v Electoral Commission of Queensland (No 2) (2020) 5 QR 632 (‘Innes’). While the underlying cause of action was dismissed such that it was ultimately not necessary to consider the applicant’s arguments under the HRA, Ryan J ultimately considered it appropriate to make a number of observations about the operation of the HRA and to consider, in obiter, the arguments put by the applicant. Of particular relevance is her Honour’s endorsement of the Attorney-General of Queensland’s submission that the HRA should be approached consistently with the Victorian Charter, which Ryan J considered to be a ‘reasonable’ approach: 668 [202] (Ryan J).

    [6] Kevin Bell, ‘Certainty and Coherence in the Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006 (Vic)’ (Conference Paper, Castan Centre Human Rights Law Conference, 23 July 2021) 3. This paper is available at SSRN: < https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3899704&gt;.

    [7] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [1].

    [8] Ibid [4], [18].

    [9] Ibid [18]. The MSO Decision was made pursuant to s 60 of the Corrective Services Act 2006 (Qld) (‘CSA’).

    [10] Ibid [21(a)].

    [11] Ibid [21(c)].

    [12] Ibid [21(d)].

    [13] Ibid [21(e)].

    [14] Ibid [19].

    [15] Ibid [20].The No Association Decision was made pursuant to s 62(1)(a) of the CSA.

    [16] Ibid.

    [17] Ibid [3].

    [18] Human Rights Act 2019 (Qld) s 59(1) (‘HRA’). This is analogous to s 39 of the Victorian Charter.

    [19] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [81].

    [20] Section 58 of the HRA is drafted in substantially similar terms to s 38 of the Victorian Charter and deals with the conduct of public authorities.

    [21] It was accepted by the parties as uncontroversial that the decision-maker, exercising decision-making authority vested in them by the respondent was a public entity for the purposes of s 58 of the HRA.

    [22] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [79] (Martin J).

    [23] HRA (n 22) ss 17(b), 30.

    [24] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [80] (Martin J).

    [25] HRA (n 22) s 58(1)(b).

    [26] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [124].

    [27] HRA (n 22) s 13.

    [28] Ibid s 58(1)(a).

    [29] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [95] (Martin J).

    [30] Victorian Charter (n 2) s 7(2).

    [31] HRA (n 22) s 13.

    [32] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [104], citing Momcilovic v The Queen (2011) 245 CLR 1, 39-40 [22], 44-5 [34[ ( French CJ), 172 [432] (Heydon J), 213-4 [555]0[557] (Crennan and Kiefel JJ).

    [33] Ibid [108]-[109] (Martin J), quoting Re Application under the Major Crimes (Investigative Powers Act 2004 (2009) 24 VR 415, 448-9 [147] (Warren CJ).

    [34] Ibid [112]-[117] (Martin J); HRA (n 22) s 48(3).

    [35] Victorian Charter (n 2) s 32(2).  

    [36] See, eg, PBU & NJE v Mental Health Tribunal (2018) 56 VR 141 (Bell J); Loielo v Giles (2020) 63 VR 1 (Ginnane J).

    [37] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [118] (Martin J).

    [38] Ibid [151].

    [39] Ibid.

    [40] Ibid [152].

    [41] Ibid [240].

    [42] Ibid [250].

    [43] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [175].

    [44] Ibid [253].

    [45] Ibid.

    [46] Ibid [264].

    [47] Ibid [261] (Martin J).

    [48] Ibid [262] (Martin J).

    [49] Ibid [265] (Martin J).

    [50] Ibid [266] (Martin J).

    [51] Ibid.

    [52] These include the Bill of Rights Act 1990 (NZ), the Human Rights Act 1998 (UK), the Canadian Constitution 1982 pt 1 (‘Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms) and the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa.

    [53] Victorian Charter (n 2) s 38(1)(b).

    [54] Ibid 184 [185] (Emerton J).

    [55] Castles (n 51) 184 [185]-[186].

    [56] Owen-D’Arcy (n 1) [136], endorsing Castles (n 51) 185 [185]-[186]. For a recent discussion of these principles in a similar context see Minogue v Thompson [2021] VSC 56 (Richards J).

    [57] A majority of the High Court in Momcilovic v The Queen held that s 7(2) (proportionality analysis) did not have a role in interpreting a provision in accordance with s 32(2):(2011) 254 CLR 1, 44 [35] (French CJ), 219 [572]-[574] (Crennan and Kiefel JJ), 92 [168] (Gummow J), 132 [168] (Hayne J), 247-9 [678]-[682] (Bell J). For a summary of the effect of the High Court in Momcilovic see DPP v Kaba (2014) 44 VR 526, 587 [211] (Bell J).

    [58] Bell (n 6) 10.

    [59] HRA (n 22) s 8.

    [60] Bell (n 6) 11.

    [61] See Re Kracke and Mental Health Review Board (2009) 29 VAR 1, 31 [88], 33 [96]-[97] (Bell J).

    [62] Michael Brett-Young, From Commitment to Culture: 2015 Review of the Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006 (Report, 2015) 146 (recommendation 28).

    [63] Bell (n 6) 12.

    [64] Melissa Castan and Paula Gerber, ‘Taking the Temperature of Human Rights in Australia’ in Paula Gerber and Melissa Castan (eds), Critical Perspectives on Human Rights Law in Australia (Lawbook Co, 2021) vol 1, 1, 9.

    [65] See, eg, Simon Katterl and Chris Maylea, ‘Keeping Human Rights in Mind: Embedding the Victorian Charter of Human Rights into the Public Health System’ (2021) Australian Journal of Human Rights 10.1080:1-21.

    [66] See Kevin M Dunn and Rachel Sharples, ‘Do Australians Care about Human Rights? Awareness, Hierarchies of Sympathy and Universality’ in Paula Gerber and Melissa Castan (eds), Critical Perspectives on Human Rights Law in Australia (Lawbook Co, 2021) vol 1, 589.


    Scott Walker is a final year LLB (Hons) student at Monash University. He is a Researcher at the Castan Centre for Human Rights Law and Eleos Justice and a Research Assistant to Professor the Hon Kevin H Bell AM QC. Scott’s Honours thesis was on the implementation of art 12 of the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities.

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  • By Sarah Hellyer

    Women’s Rights as Rhetoric

    Concerns for the rights of Afghan women and girls were used to leverage support for the war in Afghanistan from start to finish. In her famous radio address at the beginning of the war, Laura Bush urged Western governments and the international community to amplify and protect the voice of Afghan women. Throughout the duration of the war, this sentiment was captured in the development of foreign policies which were notionally designed to facilitate women’s empowerment and prevent further curtailment of their rights.

    Yet much of the political support and resourcing behind these nominal policies began to dwindle as the war continued, resulting in a failure to secure meaningful change for Afghan women following the withdrawal of US and allied forces. Now, Afghan women and girls wait to see whether the international community is serious about promoting and securing their rights, or if concerns for their wellbeing were simply optics all along. 

    The frustration that Afghan women feel towards the ineffective, optics-driven policy response of the international community is summarised in the following quote from an Afghan human rights defender who spoke recently at a seminar on women and peace negotiations organised by the Castan Centre and Monash Centre for Gender Peace and Security:

    “…the other side of the story is the unfair position of the international community. While in statements and press releases and their tweets they talk about women’s rights, they think that women’s rights is a priority for them, that women are half of the society in Afghanistan; in reality they have not done much in terms of protection of especially women human rights defenders in Afghanistan.”  

    [Speaker’s identity withheld for security reasons]

    Feminist Foreign Policy – A New Framework for Securing Women’s Rights?

    In contrast to foreign policies which address the rights of women and gender equality as an isolated policy concern, such as those relied on by the US and other western countries throughout the war in Afghanistan, Feminist Foreign Policy takes a structural approach to securing the rights of women. Feminist foreign policy draws on critical feminist and race scholarship to create a policy framework that addresses and interrogates the global systems of patriarchal power which facilitate the military-industrial complex and perpetuate harms against women. It is also a framework which steps away from traditional forms of foreign policy which focus on military force and coercion, opting instead for policies which holistically address the human needs of the most vulnerable. Under a feminist foreign policy, the needs of women are central to all policy considerations and their engagement is required in all aspects of political and policy decision making.

    Feminist Foreign Policy is achieving groundswell amongst certain governments, as indicated by the establishment of a Global Partner Network for Feminist Foreign Policy which was formalised at the Generation Equality Forum in Paris in June this year.  While gender equality and the rights of women are playing an increasingly significant role within international foreign policy, only 8 countries, including Sweden and Canada have formally adopted a feminist foreign policy. Notably, Australia, the UK and the US are yet to implement a formal Feminist Foreign Policy. 

    Importantly, research has shown that when women are placed at the centre of foreign policy concerns, meaningful outcomes can be achieved which go beyond optics or gestures. In particular, the Council on Foreign Relations reports that peace agreements which engage civil society and women’s organisations are 64% less likely to fail.[1] Further, studies indicate that when women participate in peace processes, the agreement reached is likely to be better implemented and more durable.[2] Moreover, it has also been found that societies with higher levels of gender equality are less prone to conflict both between and within states.[3] Addressing the need for women engagement in peace talks in the Afghan context, a joint brief from UN Women and the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission notes that: 

    “….in a context where conflict recidivism remains high around the world, the inclusion of women in peace processes, and ceasefires negotiations in particular, may result in the long-term sustainability of the agreement—and of peace itself.”

    Yet despite the evidence that women’s engagement in peace talks leads to better foreign policy outcomes, there were only four women in the Afghan government’s 21-person negotiation team at the Doha negotiations, and no women delegates representing the Taliban.

    The following quote from an Afghan human rights defender at the Women and Peace seminar highlights the need for women to be meaningfully engaged in foreign policy as opposed to symbolic inclusion:

    “I think what the major problem is, is giving a symbolic role to Afghan women. Even if it’s a ministerial position, whether it’s an ambassador position, whether you are holding a senior position, whether you are in the negotiation team … women are mostly given symbolic roles. It’s more about numbers, not about meaningful participation of women, it’s not about women making decisions, it’s not about women influencing the decisions.”

    [Speaker’s identity withheld for security reasons]

    Similarly, this Afghan commentator at the same seminar addresses a key concern of feminist foreign policy, namely that peace-negotiation frameworks should holistically incorporate women instead of being limited to the realm of military and combat, which is primarily the ambit of men:

    “The belief in Afghanistan is that men fought, so they have to also bring peace. Because men have been leading the war in Afghanistan, they believe that they … have the responsibility to discuss peace in Afghanistan. I have witnessed different forums where, you know, men have said ‘why should we bring in women? What woman has to do [here]? We know the war, so we will know the peace also.”  

    [Speaker’s identity withheld for security reasons]

    Feminist Foreign Policy in the Wake of the Withdrawal

    Canada and Sweden are two countries that fought in Afghanistan whilst having a feminist foreign policy framework in place. Sweden was the first country to introduce a feminist foreign policy back in 2014. Ann Bernes, Director and Special Advisor on Women, Peace and Security at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, has said that Sweden’s feminist foreign policy is about moving gender equality from being an issue that competes amongst other priorities to being “the absolute core and DNA of… everything we do.”  The rights and resources of women in Afghanistan has been a key focus of Swedish feminist foreign policy, with Afghanistan being the largest recipient country of Swedish development assistance since 2013.

    Canada’s Feminist International Assistance Policy, which was introduced in 2017, takes a holistic approach to the aims of feminist foreign policy, addressing not just issues of equality and rights recognition but also women’s engagement with and disruption of existing power structures. An example of a project instituted under Canada’s Feminist International Assistance Policy in Afghanistan was the Amplify Change: Supporting Women’s Rights project aimed at promoting women’s and girls’ rights by increasing awareness of existing rights under the law and by enhancing women’s and girls’ access to services and support.”                                              

    Yet while both Canada and Sweden have established feminist foreign policy programming efforts during the occupation of Afghanistan, there has been little indication from either country about how these efforts will continue following the withdrawal of allied forces that has occurred this year. In a statement following their withdrawal from Afghanistan, the Swedish government has said:

    “Under the development assistance strategy, Sweden was due to contribute almost SEK 3.3 billion between 2021 and 2024. Following the Taliban takeover, Sweden will have to redirect parts of this assistance.”

    This raises the question of how countries such as Sweden and Canada will continue to proceed with their feminist foreign policy approach following withdrawal. It also raises questions as to whether the current iterations of these country’s feminist policies can effectively address the needs of Afghan women. Importantly, a growing number of feminist foreign policy advocates argue that any form of military intervention is incommensurate with the goal of furthering women’s rights, given the violent patriarchal structures which are imbedded within the military.

    Where to from here?

    For many advocates, the withdrawal of troops provides an opportunity for the US and allied countries to instigate a total paradigm shift within their foreign policies that facilitates a non-military solution to the situation in Afghanistan through a commitment to peace building. For Lara Kiswani, the executive director of the Arab Resource & Organizing Centre (a member of Grassroots Global Justice Alliance), this involves adopting the principles of ‘feminist democracy’ whereby intersectionality and self-determination are pioneered, and economic and political power is redistributed.

    In any case, the international community waits to see whether the withdrawal of the US and its NATO allies truly signifies the end of (albeit perfunctory) efforts to empower women in Afghanistan, or whether this juncture presents an opportunity to revise current foreign policies and adopt a substantive feminist framework.


    References

    [1] Desirée Nilsson (2012) Anchoring the Peace: Civil Society Actors in Peace Accords and Durable  Peace, International Interactions, 38:2, 243-266, DOI: 10.1080/03050629.2012.659139.

    [2] Jana Krause, Werner Krause & Piia Bränfors (2018) Women’s Participation in Peace Negotiations and the Durability of Peace, International Interactions, 44:6, 985-1016, DOI: 10.1080/03050629.2018.1492386.

    [3] Hudson, Valerie M., Mary Caprioli, Bonnie Ballif-Spanvill, Rose McDermott, and Chad F. Emmett. “The Heart of the Matter: The Security of Women and the Security of States.” Quarterly Journal: International Security, vol. 33. no. 3. (Winter 2008/09): 7-45.


    Sarah Hellyer is completing a double degree in a Bachelor of Laws (Honours) and a Bachelor of Arts at Monash University.  She is currently undertaking the Monash Afghanistan Support Clinic set up by the Monash Faculty of Law’s Clinical Education Program to support the Ham diley Campaign. The Campaign is an initiative started byPhD students Azadah Raz Mohammad (Melbourne University) and Karin Frodé (Monash University, Castan Centre Affiliate) and CEO of the Capital Punishment Justice Project, Simone Abel, that seeks to support Afghans at risk by providing research and advocacy support, as well as by leveraging trusted contacts to make referrals for evacuation.


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  • By Yohannes Ayalew

    No right has preoccupied as many conversations in the digital age than the right to privacy. This is mainly owing to the fact that an individual’s privacy is being subjected to constant intrusion by States and non-state actors, thereby leaving the individual’s lives in a ‘goldfish bowl’ situation. At global and regional levels, countries are grappling to withstand these threats in the digital era by employing a number of legal and institutional mechanisms.

    This blog post seeks to examine possible treaty-based mechanisms towards realising the right to privacy on the internet in Africa. These are: applying international law through the Charter’s flexibility clause and through developments under African human rights law as a result of subsequent agreements and practice.

    Tellingly, the content of the right to privacy under international human rights law is broad-ranging, and includes: private life (or solitude), autonomy (or self-determination), identity (e.g., biometric data), integrity, sexuality, intimacy (e.g., data protection, freedom from surveillance, confidentiality etc) and communications on the internet. (see here, here and here) Nonetheless, defining the right to privacy intuitively is an elusive undertaking as the concept itself is sweeping. Some authors even go beyond to explain the difficulty of defining the concept of the right to privacy through the metaphor of ‘Chameleon’—which underscores that the notion of privacy is under frequent changes.

    The right to privacy in the digital age is recognised under the 2015 UN Human Rights Council landmark resolution, which affirms that ‘the same rights that people have offline must also be protected online, including the right to privacy.’ (See UN Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) reports in 2014, 2018 and 2021). Recently, while interpreting the right to privacy under article 16 of the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC), the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child in its General Comment No.25 (2021) has clarified that the gamut of the right to privacy includes additional layers in the digital ecosystem.

    When it comes to the African human rights system, in order to realise the right to privacy in digital era robustly, States are required to align their use or development of AI, robotics or other digital technologies with African human rights law. While the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (African Charter) doesn’t expressly provide for the right to privacy, the early draft of the African Charter, which was drafted by Kéba Mbaye in 1979, contained an express provision on the right to privacy. In particular, article 24(2) of Mbaye draft guarantees individuals’ privacy from arbitrary or abusive interferences in their private life, family, home or correspondence.

    Recent debates have asked whether, and to what extent, African human rights law, and in particular African Charter protects the right to privacy on the digital ecosystem.

    On the one hand, there is a view that the African Charter doesn’t expressly protect the right to privacy, which gives rise to the debate of lex imperfecta (an imperfect treaty).  To put this another way, the omission of the right to privacy under the African Charter makes Africa’s foremost human rights instrument inadequate to safeguard this right (see here and here). As such, proponents of this view offer claim that accordingly the African Charter could be overhauled through amendment,  although it should be noted that amending the Charter by itself requires considerable effort as provided under article 68 of the African Charter.

    On the other hand, there is an argument that it is possible to read the right to privacy into the African Charter, notwithstanding this lack of an express provision. Proponents of this view have offered distinct opinions as to how the right to privacy exists under African human rights law (see for example here, and here). The right to privacy may therefore be implicit in some provisions in the African Charter, including the rights to integrity, dignity, liberty and security and the right to health, and accordingly impliedly read into the African Charter.

    Flexibility clause

    The flexibility clause or complementarity principle within the African Charter provides a mechanism to read the right to privacy into the African Charter through drawing inspiration from international law or the corpus of international human rights relating to the right to privacy in the digital age.  Article 60 of the African Charter states that:

    The [African] Commission shall draw inspiration from international law on human and peoples’ rights, particularly from the provisions of various African instruments on Human and Peoples’ Rights, the Charter of the United Nations, the Charter of the Organisation of African Unity, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, other instruments adopted by the United Nations and by African countries in the field of Human and Peoples’ Rights, as well as from the provisions of various instruments adopted within the Specialised Agencies of the United Nations of which the Parties to the present Charter are members.

    The presence of the flexibility clause can be seen as a bulwark for the protection of the right to privacy because it reinforces international human rights law in Africa and brings the regional and international system into harmony. Nevertheless, an overbroad formulation of the flexibility clause may cast doubt on the determinacy of treaty obligations.

    Subsequent agreements and practice

    Subsequent agreements and practice that have developed African human rights law since the Charter came into force are the second way to read the right to privacy into the African Charter.

    The 2018 Draft Conclusions of the International Law Commission (ILC) on the interpretation of treaties helps us understand the meaning and effect of subsequent agreements and practice. Pursuant to Draft Conclusion 6(2), subsequent agreements and subsequent practice under article 31(3) of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (VCLT) may take a variety of forms. They include not only externally oriented conduct, such as official acts, statements and voting at the international level, but also internal legislative, executive and judicial acts, and may even include conduct by non-State actors on behalf of one or more States parties and that falls within the scope of what the treaty conceives as forms of its application. The ILC Draft Conclusion further clarifies that a pronouncement of expert treaty bodies (such as the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights (ACmHPR)) may give rise a subsequent agreement or subsequent practice by states under articles 31(3) of the VCLT, although such pronouncement on its own cannot constitute a subsequent agreement or practice.

    When we extrapolate the ILC Draft Conclusions in line with subsequent agreements or practice in the African human rights system, it can be said that African states had not envisaged all human rights, including the right to privacy at the time when the African Charter was adopted. However, African states have since adopted various treaties and protocols that serve to interpret (and arguably widen) the scope of the African Charter. For example, despite being applied on specific themes, the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (ACRWC) – which inter alia spells out the right to privacy – was adopted by States in 1990. The ACRWC may be considered as a subsequent treaty which came nine years after the adoption of the African Charter in 1981.

    Importantly, the African Commission adopted copious subsequent Declarations (see 2002, 2016, and 2019), Resolutions (see here), Press releases (see here and here), and Guidelines (see here) that seek to fully guarantee the right to privacy in Africa. For example, following the adoption of Principle 40 of the 2019 African Declaration of Principles on Freedom of Expression and Access to Information, the right to privacy in Africa has now clearly been thought to include the protection of personal information, anonymity and confidentiality of communications in digital environment. The African Declaration provides:

    Principle 40. Privacy and the protection of personal information

    1. Everyone has the right to privacy, including the confidentiality of their communications and the protection of their personal information.

    2. Everyone has the right to communicate anonymously or use pseudonyms on the internet and to secure the confidentiality of their communications and personal information from access by third parties through the aid of digital technologies.

    The African Declaration explicitly guarantees protection of personal information, anonymity and confidentiality of communications. This further assures individuals of the right to enjoy freedom from any form of surveillance or interception. This further elaborates the right to privacy in the digital ecosystem.

    States assent, however, continue to be the Achilles heel of subsequent agreements and practice. Simply put, unless states agree and take notice of the existence of the right to privacy under the African Charter through jus dispositivum (a law adopted by consent), it will be unlikely for this approach to become effective (see here, and here)

    Additional barriers to the right to privacy

    Thus far, there is no well-developed jurisprudence developed by the African human rights mechanisms, such as African Court on Human and Peoples’ Rights (ACtHPR), African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights (ACmHPR) and African Committee of Experts on the Rights and Welfare of the Child (ACERWC), on the right to privacy in the digital era in Africa.

    In the absence of well-established jurisprudence, the African regional human rights system could draw inspiration from other avenues such as domestic systems. In 2019, for instance, the South African case of Amabhungane Centre for Investigative Journalism NPC and Another v Minister of Justice and Correctional Services and Others, saw the High Court hold that the practice of bulk surveillance activities and foreign signals interception by the South African Government amounted to interference with individuals’ privacy and was accordingly declared to be unlawful. The South African Constitutional Court upheld this judgement in 2021.  The practice of some domestic courts in Africa will have a ripple effect on the development of jurisprudence at regional level. While the impact of domestic jurisprudence on regional level couldn’t be ignored, yet it will be a slow process for this to influence other judicial attitudes towards privacy.

    Going forward

    The above illustrates that amendment of the Charter is unlikely, and other mechanisms (i.e., jurisprudence) are ineffective.  Ultimately, the African Commission and African Court should seriously consider utilising the flexibility and subsequent agreements and practice mechanism to more effectively protect the right to privacy in the digital age.


    Yohannes Eneyew Ayalew is PhD Candidate at the Faculty of Law, Monash University and was formerly a Lecturer in Media Law and Human Rights at Bahir Dar University, Ethiopia. He is also a PhD Affiliate at Castan Centre for Human Rights. His project is looking at balancing the rights to freedom of expression and to privacy on the Internet under the African human rights system.


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  • By Neerav Srivastava. I am grateful to Prof. Kevin Bell and Ms Andrea Olivares Jones at the Castan Centre for their advice and feedback. 

    A right to assisted dying is a scary proposition. It means that a State is obliged to help someone die. Such a right challenges traditions, values, and beliefs. Societies are living organisms, built on continuity, and the sanctity of human life.

    There are circumstances, however, where an assisted dying preserves the dignity and autonomy of an individual. This piece argues, first, that there is a limited right to die (the right) as an aspect of the right to privacy at section 13(a) of the Charter of Human Rights And Responsibilities Act 2006 (Vic) (‘Charter’). Second, that the Voluntary Assisted Dying Act 2017 (Vic) (‘VADA’) is inconsistent with the right because it fails to provide for an exceptional residual judicial discretion to permit an assisted dying.

    The need for a right to die

    While it is hoped no one is ever in the position of wanting an assisted death, the reality is that this is not always the case.  

    In a harrowing example, during the 1999 Japanese Tokaimura nuclear accident, Mr Ouchi was exposed to considerable radiation. On arrival at the hospital, he was described as ‘a husk of a man’. He was ‘practically skin-less’, had almost zero white blood cells, organ failures and a destroyed immune system. After a week, Mr Ouchi said that ‘he can’t take it anymore’ and that he was not a guinea pig. He was kept alive for 83 days; allegedly against his will and because his survival was a matter of national pride. To be clear, these are allegations. 

    Closer to home, the Victorian Inquiry that led to the enactment of VADA reported on a number of cases involving spouses who had helped their partner die. One case involved a woman who had large tumours, and was unable to wash, dress or feed herself. She asked her husband to help her end her life. He complied, even though it was unlawful, and was convicted of aiding and abetting a suicide. The sentencing judge observed that the husband’s love for his wife was absolute. Tragic circumstances led to tragic consequences.

    While a right to die is deeply troubling, the absence of such a right is also troubling. There are exceptional circumstances where the desire for assisted dying is explicable. Further, it would be impossible to exhaustively identify every scenario when there is a genuine and understandable desire for an assisted death. 

    The spouse cases suggest that if the State does not permit assisted dying, it will still occur. Illegality amplifies the tragedy. A right to die is also a form of protection against the State keeping us alive for its own purposes as was alleged occurred with Mr Ouchi. 

    Understanding ‘rights’

    The starting point of the argument is understanding the technical meaning of a ‘right’. ‘Rights’ relates to the conduct of another. For human ‘rights’, there is a correlative duty owed by the State. The right to life means that the State owes a duty to protect that right through the laws it passes and its actions. ‘Rights’ can be distinguished from ‘liberties’. A mere ‘liberty’ is not relational and does not impose obligations on anybody else. 

    If there is a ‘right’ to die, the State owes duties in respect of that right. If it was an absolute right to die, then anybody could insist that the State help them die. This piece takes the position that assisted dying should be exceptional. 

    However, if there is a mere liberty to die then the State does not owe individuals any obligations. Legally, the State could ignore do not resuscitate (DNR) instructions, keep us alive for its own purposes, and act contrary to our own wishes, autonomy, and dignity. 

    As for a right to assisted dying in certain circumstances, cases in the US, EU, UK, Canada, and India support a conclusion that it exists as an aspect of privacy, autonomy, and dignity. Similarly, in Victoria, the Minister for Health acknowledged that the right to privacy was engaged by the bill that became VADA.

    Right to die as aspect of right to privacy

    Hence, a mere liberty to die is hard to reconcile with the right to privacy at s 13(a) of the Charter, a right of considerable amplitude. Privacy has been held to include the rights to autonomy, dignity, be free from unwarranted government interference, be secluded, and sexual orientation. Privacy protects the exercise of self-determination. With respect to dying, cases have held that privacy includes the right to:

    So authorities are to the effect that there is a right to die as an aspect of the right to privacy. Having said that, the authorities do not speak with one voice when it comes to defining what is the right. It is submitted that it is the right: the right to die with dignity and autonomy. 

    The right is a principled approach that reconciles existing legal positions: 

    • it is only in exceptional circumstances, when a person’s dignity and autonomy are genuinely compromised, that the right is agitated, and the State owes a duty to assist a person die. 
    • the State is not under a general duty to assist anyone die.
    • the right is consistent with the established rights to choose our own (and refuse) medical treatment, to issue DNR instructions, to die a natural death, and to die in private. An individual’s response to a grievous and irremediable medical condition, or having a say in how they die, is a matter critical to our dignity and autonomy.
    • being principle-based, the right does not draw inconsistent distinctions between passive and active euthanasia.
    • the right is consistent with there being a general liberty right, to die. While, in general, the State does not have to assist dying to stand in the way by recriminalising suicide would agitate the right. Recriminalising suicide would be inconsistent with our autonomy and the individual would suffer the indignity of being branded a criminal. 

    Assisted dying under VADA

    Assuming that the right exists under the Charter, the remaining question is whether the assisted dying regime in VADA is consistent with it. 

    Under s 9 of VADA, the State will only assist a person die if:

    • they are above 18; 
    • they have decision-making capacity; 
    • they have an incurable condition, that is so advanced that they are not expected to live for more than 6 months;
    • the suffering is intolerable; and 
    • cannot be relieved. 

    To assist someone die when they do not meet the VADA criteria is to commit an offence, such as aiding and abetting a suicide. VADA deals with a deeply sensitive matter and insisting on strict criteria is understandable. 

    However, it leads to anomalous consequences:

    Broad ineligibility

    VADA is a 10% solution. If the Victorian Inquiry’s figures as to the demographics of whom commits suicide is indicative of future suicides, then 90% of the people contemplating ending their life will be ineligible under VADA.

    A person who is ineligible confronts a cruel choice. The person can take their own life prematurely, often by violent means, or suffer until they die from natural causes. ‘People do not want to die slowly, piece by piece or be wracked with pain.’  

    As Lord Neuberger observed, ineligibility may lead to an early suicide, rather than prevent it, and so be counterproductive. 

    Suffering

    The 6-month time limit is understandable but produces a curious result. If a person will suffer intolerably for weeks, they are eligible but not if it is for a year.

    Modern medicine can identify when intolerable suffering is inevitable. As a matter of dignity and autonomy some would not choose to wait. This is consistent with the Netherlands’s approach.

    It is not clear if debilitating old age meet the criteria.

    Age limitations

    Likewise, the criteria that the person be at least 18 is understandable. An adolescent may not have sufficient decision-making capacity. However, it is disproportionate. A 17-year-old, suffering intolerably, and for whom death is imminent is ineligible. As has already been done for DNR, procedures can be put in place to assess an adolescent’s capacity.

    Residual discretion

    Hence, VADA in combination with criminal laws limit the right and lead to anomalous and arbitrary consequences. It is right that Victoria has a general ban on assisted dying and that State-sanctioned assisted dying is exceptional. The problem with VADA is that it is so tightly strung that it becomes hard to rationalise. 

    Put simply, the VADA criteria are not the only exceptional circumstances where the right is agitated. In the UK, Baroness Hale asked herself why the UK blanket ban on assisted suicide was unconstitutional. She answered: ‘Not because it contains a general prohibition … [but] because it fails to admit of any exceptions.’If there was an exceptional residual judicial discretion to permit an assisted dying, it may help VADA be consistent with the Charter. It may also help in tragic circumstances and not leave people out in the cold.

    Neerav Srivastava is a PhD student specialising in law and technology. His PhD is on digital matching and the legal responsibilities of a platform, such as Uber, Tinder, and AirBnB, to users. Neerav has published articles in respected journals and books and has been cited in court with approval.

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