It is a pleasure to acknowledge the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation as traditional custodians of these unceded lands and recognise other Aboriginal people with connection to the lands of Sydney and the surrounding region.
We are privileged to be on your country, to benefit from the continuing culture and care you bring to this community.
And thank you to the University of Sydney for the invitation to deliver this oration honouring Denise Bradley.
If we can produce graduates who are well prepared to participate in a global society, to work for and uphold the principles of equality, ethical action and social responsibility ... then we have achieved our role as educators of citizens of the new century.
So said Professor Denise Bradley in 2000.
Denise Bradley is regarded — rightly — as one of Australia’s great educational leaders.
Her career traversed school librarian to university vice chancellor — she was just the third woman to occupy such a position in Australia.
And, of course, in December 2008 she delivered the Review of Australian Higher Education, better known as the Bradley Review.
Denise’s story was recalled with exemplary skill by the two previous Bradley orators, Education Minister Jason Clare and Professor Peter Høj.
Both remarked on her intellect and fearlessness, her drive, her ability to inspire.
Minister Clare observed she was “razor sharp and tough as nails”. For Peter, Denise was “an inspirational and defining leader”.
The Denise Bradley I knew was all this and more: a passionate advocate for the transformative power of education, for individuals and for the nation. Her report opened so many pathways for Australians.
This evening I want to explore just one thread among Denise’s many interests in higher education: her interest in the purpose of a university education.
Why do we invest so much time and care in designing and delivering knowledge?
I’m keen to grapple with this through a perhaps unexpected lens: how a university teaches about politics.
Why teaching politics matters
Now, it might seem unusual for the Secretary of the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet to care about Politics 101 courses.
But the reason, I hope, will become apparent.
The Australian Public Service, of course, is fiercely impartial, serving always the elected government of the day.
But the APS works in a context shaped by ideas and, as a necessity, through people.
And most of those people will be graduates, in a nation in which more than half the population holds some form of post-school qualification.
As Australia grows, so does its public service.
Last year, the APS engaged more than 26,000 new employees. Even the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet, a small central agency, welcomed 171 new public servants.
Many — though by no means all — of those recruits have studied politics at university. So it matters in no small measure what they bring from campus to the public service.
A tertiary education should be a valuable way to develop the deep analytical and problem‑solving skills on which current and future public administration depends.
But do graduates also bring an ideological mindset?
This is not just about public servants.
Research published in the Australian Financial Review shows more than three-quarters of federal politicians hold a graduate qualification.
And within the Australian Parliament, a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Sydney is the single most common degree.
So universities help form both politicians and their advisers, with consequences for our national future.
In my experience, university leaders care deeply about this civic obligation.
Denise Bradley put it this way:
We want [graduates] to be more than personal survivors ... [we want them to be able] to reshape this changing world.
For her, student mastery of subject matter was only the start.
Just as important were skills students developed through the course of their studies, including an ability to think critically about the world, and to understand ethical responsibilities as professionals and citizens.
From the selfish perspective of the public service, we need graduates with these attributes.
As the review of the Australian Public Service — led by the Chancellor of the University of Sydney David Thodey — reported in 2019:
More than any other factor, the quality of the people in the APS will determine how well the APS meets the challenges of the future.
Education or indoctrination?
So what is taught matters. Which is why the culture wars focus so heavily on universities – and more on this shortly.
But first a passing conversation from many years ago.
As a fresh new academic at Griffith University, I taught in an introductory course on Australian politics and public policy.
It was a delight to work with a cohort of committed students who shared our interest in the subject.
Today — more than 25 years later — one of those students is in the Commonwealth Cabinet. Others hold senior roles in politics and public administration.
Some students, though, were sceptical about our teaching.
One student — who was already working in the media while studying part-time — often expressed amusement at what he saw as the inability of academics to understand politics as lived by those involved.
We were, in his view, at best distant observers — detached scholars with no feel for what really mattered.
Nonetheless this student majored in our courses and graduated. Soon after, he secured Liberal pre-selection. As a Member of the House of Representatives, he served in three ministerial roles during the final years of the Howard government.
By chance I was walking through an airport when a familiar voice called out.
It was the-then minister, keen to reminisce about his student years.
“You know that stuff you and the others taught us about the Westminster system and Cabinet and how policies get made?” he asked.
I didn’t have a chance to respond before he said, with genuine astonishment: “It all turned out to be true!”
The feedback was gratifying.
But many today believe universities do not present the truth — and that a university education, particularly an arts degree, is an exercise in indoctrination.
This school of thought paints universities in dark tones.
It suggests universities are no longer places of learning or a search for knowledge, but centres of ideology and agitation.
Such fulminations achieved particular prominence this year, amid the heated debate over pro-Palestinian encampments at universities across the country.
One commentator, writing in The Australian, remarked:
For a long time, Western universities, including Australian universities, have been teaching that our societies are essentially and uniquely evil, that we are colonial, racist, sexist etc.
They went on to suggest:
Many, perhaps most, university humanities and social sciences subjects have been captured by critical theory. Critical theory reduces everything to a shoddy analysis of power structures.
And, finally, that:
Universities in many cases have thus abandoned the substance and truths of the subjects they allegedly teach.
Other commentators picked up the same thread.
One, writing for Quadrant magazine, argued:
…[U]niversities have been fatally poisoned by the epidemic of social justice ideology [to the point that] students are nervous about speaking their minds.
Another — this time in the Australian Financial Review — suggested it has become the very objective of modern academia to remove the concepts of ‘Western civilisation’, ‘liberal democracy’ and ‘freedom of speech’ from public discourse.
I appreciate all media commentators play to their audiences.
But each example echoes a critique which appears frequently, in print and elsewhere.
Such statements offer a very broad claims about a tertiary system which teaches tens of thousands of different subjects to nearly 1.2 million students annually.
Yet repeated often, these claims can become conventional wisdom.
So this assessment gives me pause for thought.
Are the critics right?
What if the critics are on to something?
If the quality of teaching matters for our future leaders, then it would be a serious concern if universities have, to quote, “abandoned the substance and truths of the subjects they allegedly teach”.
Hence I decided to test the proposition – by asking how Sydney University, in 2024, teaches politics to undergraduates new to the subject.
Will I find ubiquitous critical theory, pervasive social justice ideology and students afraid to speak their minds, a hidden agenda amid the weekly lectures?
So I started where a new student might, with an introductory semester-long course on Australian politics.
Thanks to open access, anyone can read the curriculum material online, along with many of the recommended readings, for the prosaically named GOVT1102, Introduction to Australian Politics.
After reading this course guide, I contacted the course convenor, Dr Stewart Jackson, who I did not know, and asked to discuss the curriculum.
I am grateful for his generous response. Dr Jackson proved lively and friendly. He agreed to meet and talk about the course.
Later, here on campus, he convened a meeting with tutor Dr Sian Perry along with some recent GOVT1102 students to discuss their experience, a small sample from the 200 or so undergraduates who sign up for this course each year.
Politics by its nature, is contentious. It goes to fundamental beliefs about how we see ourselves, our society and the world. Everyone — students, lecturers, tutors — comes to the subject with their own views.
Teaching about controversial subjects — even in a course designed principally to introduce institutions and political practices — raises a question of professional ethics.
Some academics work hard to ensure their personal views remain inscrutable to students.
An equally valid approach is to be clear about the perspective which informs the teacher.
As an undergraduate, I spent a memorable semester studying Marxism with Professor Doug McCallum.
He began the course by declaring that, although he was not a Marxist, “many people are, and to make sense of their motivation you must understand this political ideology”.
What followed was months of rigorous study analysing both Marxism and its critiques.
Professor McCallum trusted his students to reach their own — now informed — judgements.
For Introduction to Australian Politics, Dr Jackson is upfront with students about his political engagement with the Greens — a background which informed his 2016 book The Australian Greens: from activism to Australia’s Third Party.
But — an important caveat — Dr Jackson urges students not to focus on what other people think, including him. The important question is why they hold a particular view, and with what consequences.
As he said in our conversation, quote:
I make it clear to [my students that] I don't actually care what your political viewpoint is.
I'm not worried about who they vote for; what I'm worried about is that they ask the right questions of their parliamentarians and of the system.
And here is one test for good teaching — not just to convey knowledge about institutions, history and political practices, but to interrogate the different ways of thinking people bring to the political realm. This requires we engage with opinions we might not share, seeing the world through others’ eyes to test our own views.
F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote:
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.
Or as GOVT1102 tutor, Dr Sian Perry suggested:
This goes to the heart of what political science students must learn to do: to assess a new idea on its own merits.
It is a harder test than it sounds — the temptation to make quick judgements based on our prior opinions, and dismiss unwelcome alternatives, runs deep.
Resisting this instinct is the skill of critical thinking — an ability to defer forming a view until we apply evidence, consider counter-arguments, and seek further information to test our assumptions and inherent biases.
Critical thinking is great training in a university — and an essential attribute for public servants offering policy advice.
Working for the government of the day means putting our own political views aside.
Of course we form judgements, but only after listening, asking questions, weighing evidence — and then provide our assessment as frank and fearless advice.
It can mean disagreeing personally with a policy choice while still faithfully informing and then implementing the decision of the democratically elected executive.
Here too is the underlying assumption of GOVT1102 — that as students learn about a system, they should also learn how to ask questions, test evidence, and form their own views.
So how do Dr Jackson and his colleagues teach both content and critical thinking? To answer that, let’s canter through the course content.
A primer on politics: GOVT1102
As it says on the tin, GOVT1102 is an introduction. It encourages an interest in Australian politics, introduces key concepts, and offers a foundation for further study.
In short, the start of a journey.
To introduce the entirety of Australian politics and political institutions in just 13 teaching weeks is not easy. It calls for tough choices about what to include and what to discard.
The course starts with a reminder there was politics in this land long before 1788.
Every community must find ways to make collective choices. We know less than we should about pre-colonial Australia, but we are each a political animal, said Aristotle, not a bird which flies alone. Politics is inherent in living with others — whether as First Nations people or as later arrivals.
In the second week of the course, attention turns to the political ideas carried to these shores on convict boats, and our understanding of ourselves as a liberal democracy.
Liberalism — in the sense of a political philosophy which encourages self-government, human rights and respect for opinions we do not share — is never simple or linear.
Yet liberal thinking permeates everything about our democracy — an argument made elegantly in Liberalism as a Way of Life, a recent book by Alexandre Lefebvre here at the University of Sydney.
Liberalism is perhaps most easily understood through the lens of democratic values: acceptance that our political system can and must accommodate differing views. Within liberal thought, there is no agreement on the right or wrong way to think or to live, but rather a broad set of rules by which to engage and settle contentious questions.
The Australian journey to liberal democracy was impressively swift by international standards, though not without blemish, setbacks or omissions.
Our parliamentary system remains a curious hybrid of British tradition — those black-robed attendants wearing ruffles and carrying maces — and a Senate based on an American practice, which represents states and territories rather than people.
As a result Australia is a ‘Washminster’ system, argued the late political scientist Elaine Thompson.
And all governed by a constitution written as a deal between colonies at the end of the nineteenth century — and rarely updated since.
In describing any complex system, it can be hard to see how abstract political principles are translated into workable practices.
Making federation work
For example, Australia is a federation, which requires states, territories and the Commonwealth to work together.
But how to do so?
Australia has experienced decades of trial and error.
Initially there were Premiers Conferences. These were replaced by the Council of Australian Governments and, more recently, the National Cabinet.
The more frequent meetings of ministerial councils and federal and state officials remain largely invisible, but they navigate constantly the operational detail of federation.
All must manage the complications which arise from the division of responsibilities listed in section 51 of the Constitution and the unbalanced financial arrangements which follow.
Making sense of the intricate web of power and money that comprise the federation — and the tensions which flow from it — are important concepts to grasp for those aspiring to understand government.
Students reported the week dedicated to federalism helped them make sense of the politics of the COVID years, and how the various layers of the response came together.
An entire semester could be spent on this topic alone.
First among equals
But time means the class must move to the next topic: the roles of the prime minister, ministers and cabinet.
Much has been written about prime ministers, though the office does not rate a mention in the constitution.
All the accoutrements of being prime minister — the impressive office, official residences, and imposing courtyard — convey a sense of status, authority and solidity.
But the reality is that every occupant brings their own style to the position and how it operates. The core executive then forms around the incumbent.
Prime ministers vary greatly in their approach to Cabinet meetings, engagement in policy matters, interactions with other ministers and officials — even how much time they spend in Canberra.
The system adapts quietly to each new prime minister, as some players and priorities come in or fall out of focus.
And, while the media often treats prime ministers like presidents, in reality they do not wield presidential power.
As Dr Jackson teaches, prime ministers do not rule by decree. Their tenure is constrained by Parliament, where prime ministers can be made — and unmade.
Which becomes the next topic in the GOVT1102 curriculum.
Corridors of power
Elected politics is an opaque world — sometimes brutal, often intense, always demanding.
And architecture matters.
The Old Parliament House was small and crowded — ministers, backbenchers, journalists and staffers constantly bumping elbows.
It was all readily accessible. Even a doctoral student at the ANU could show up in the evening, wave at the guards and head to the Non-Members Bar to chat with ministers, staffers and public servants.
By contrast, the new Parliament House is huge, secure, and very effectively segregated.
Ministers and their advisers work in a dedicated guarded wing, while MPs and senators occupy the 22 kilometres of corridors, and 4,500 rooms, inside the building.
Meanwhile, the media observe it all from offices located well away from elected leaders.
Inside the building visitors are confined to the foyer and an upper floor gallery. There is no non-members bar.
The architecture of Canberra profoundly affects the dynamics of our national politics.
And from parliament, the course turns to the mechanics of democracy.
Democracy sausage
Under the independent Australian Electoral Commission, Australia has a reputation for the integrity, robustness and efficiency of its elections.
The AEC is the steward of Australia’s rich history of electoral innovation and inclusion, so skilfully detailed by Judith Brett in her book, From Secret Ballot to Democracy Sausage.
The early embrace of a universal franchise, the national adoption of preferential voting in 1918 and compulsory voting from 1925, make Australia’s electoral system fundamentally different from the inherited British legacy.
We can speculate about the effects of each innovation.
Conventional wisdom suggests universal suffrage and compulsory voting drive political parties toward the centre, while preferential voting entrenched the two-party system in the House of Representatives.
The fact that each state has 12 senators, regardless of population, enables a proliferation of minor parties and independents in the upper house. Governments rarely command a majority there, with significant consequences for the passage of legislation.
The maths tell the story. At the last full Senate election in 2016, it required around 26,000 votes to secure a Senate spot in Tasmania but nearly 350,000 in New South Wales.
Meanwhile, the short terms afforded Australian national governments — barely three years between elections — influence the way budgets are framed, ministries are organised, and the prospects for long-term policy shifts.
There is much more worth saying on electoral arrangements but GOVT1102 must push on.
Animating democracy
Three other institutions find a place on the curriculum.
The first is political parties.
Though not creatures of the state, parties decide who will represent Australians in parliament, and the priorities of a government.
Such choices raise questions about internal democracy, fund-raising and independence from organised interests.
The rules of engagement matter, too — the spate of prime ministers removed by their own party room during the 2010s points to the risk of instability when parties become internally divided.
The second institution discussed is the media.
Journalists are embedded in Parliament House, busy providing detail and commentary on political events. They, hopefully, deliver reliable information. But some also seem players in the political game, seeking to influence electoral outcomes and policy debates.
GOVT1102 urges students not to accept the news and views produced by the media at face value. As Dr Jackson says:
Understanding what you are looking at is the critical thing. You need to go and research when you get a piece of information.
The final institution examined by the course is social movements.
These have been a significant feature of the past half century — in some senses replacing the influence of trade unions, veterans associations, and churches as organisers of community sentiment.
Such movements often coalesce around problems which appear entrenched and intractable, from climate change to gender relations.
The rise of social movements may reflect a loss of confidence in the capacity of political parties to achieve meaningful change.
The era of social media enables almost instant campaigns on any issue, with public sentiment. Yet copying a hashtag is not necessarily commitment.
Will even social movements find themselves outmanoeuvred in the world of mis- and dis- information, foreign interference and global tech?
Indeed how will the existing political system, studied through the semester, respond to the profound challenge of declining party allegiance and the loss of the traditional public square? Here is the cliff-hanger conclusion to GOVT1102 – and an encouragement to further study.
The aim of GOVT1102, as articulated by Dr Jackson, is both simple and profound.
As he told me, quote:
I hope [the students] get out of it that there's a lot more to [the subject] than they ever realised.
I want people to understand how the system is established, how it fits, how it works — and, after that, they can make up their minds what they do.
So, did the students gain a solid grounding of how our political system is established, and how the pieces fit together?
And, most crucially, could they reach their own conclusions?
My sample size was small, but the GOVT1102 students I interviewed were very positive.
They welcomed a course which used historyto explain the origins of our political institutions and ideas.
The student feedback was frankly sceptical about any classroom groupthink.
One said he “never understood the indoctrination line” because the course was full of “very productive, fruitful discussions”.
The teaching did not push definitive answers or particular points of view.
Instead, ideas were presented openly and without judgement, along the lines of: “This is interesting — what do you think?”
Each student said that alongside learning how the parts of our political system fit together, the most valuable aspect of the course was practicing how to ask questions, assess sources and express arguments more clearly and logically.
As for their political views, students typically did not feel these changed throughout their semester with Dr Jackson.
What did change, they suggested, was the sophistication of their thinking: not necessarily what they thought but how they thought.
Such critical thinking skills should continue to serve these students – academically and in life.
GOVT1102, on my reading, is a well-designed introduction to Australian politics. It is unremarkable in a good way – exactly what one might expect from such a course.
It balances the animating ideas of Australian political institutions with the key dynamics of national politics.
The course and its wide range of reading makes clear Australian political institutions build on inherited traditions, modified through practice, carrying assumptions about authority, power and legitimacy.
Students are invited to learn, explore and argue. To reach their own conclusions.
As always in designing a course there are alternatives not taken amid the time constraints of a semester – topics not covered, critiques little explored, other perspectives about the subject.
Yet this course sits firmly within the tradition of liberal education — informing but not preaching; examining the merits of contending analyses; asking questions and arguing about alternatives.
GOVT1102 aims to teach content and ways to think — through readings which challenge preconceptions about a subject, tutorials to argue points, and exams to test students’ ability to construct an argument.
Which returns to the critics. There seems a significant gap — even a yawning gap — between dramatic pronouncements about the contemporary university and this prosaic example of what actually happens in the classroom.
Of course, commentary might be more persuasive if more informed. After all, much course material is online, along with information from student experience surveys.
Commentators might find critical thinking yes, but not much sign of critical theory. Nor suppression of free speech, social justice ideology or attacks on liberal democracy.
Of course, this is a sample of one. But I suspect GOVT1102 is more typical of Australian university education than the caricature offered by some commentators.
I struggle to see much threat to western civilisation lurking in this Introduction to Australian politics.
On the contrary, here are core western intellectual values hard at work, teaching students to probe, analyse, and develop their own skill in critical thinking.
Our nation will need these students.
Aspiring to serve
Each year I meet with the new graduates recruited to the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet.
They are chosen through an extensive process, seeking people who can work with two opposed ideas in their mind, who can compare and assess contending arguments.
We ask public servants to put aside their own beliefs and work with commitment for the elected government of the day.
It is inspiring to hear new recruits express their aspirations for Australia. Many have already developed strong interests — and growing expertise — in their chosen policy area.
Like generations before them, these young people intend to dedicate their careers to serving the public.
I find it hard to reconcile my experience of these impressive products of the contemporary Australian university with the regular denunciations of campus life.
On the contrary, it is gratifying to see graduates bring their knowledge — and their independent judgement — to public life.
This is how liberal democracy thrives.
Conclusion
Denise Bradley believed universities play a critical role in preparing the nation’s future leaders.
Not only equipping them with skills of problem solving and critical thinking, but sharing the qualities she saw as fundamental to the health of the nation.
Such as ethical and social responsibility …
… effective communication …
… international perspectives …
… and a capacity for lifelong learning.
We can speculate what Denise would make of GOVT1102. I suspect she would be uplifted, as I am, by a university course that takes seriously its teaching objectives and respects its students as adults, engaging civilly with issues on which people often disagree.
Far from ushering in the end of western civilisation as we know it, our universities do a difficult job remarkably well — endowing future citizens, future politicians, future public servants with the skills, knowledge and qualities to give them, and us, confidence in the future.
And that, like Denise Bradley and her legacy, is worth celebrating.
Thank you.