The much awaited Semester 2 2025 edition of The Gavel is here Firstly, we want to thank you for picking up a copy or following a link to this semester’s publication. The Gavel exists so that students can flex their muscles in a degree that does not always permit the greatest amount of creativity.
This edition consists of a variety of works submitted by the QUT Law student body. The creativity and passion poured into these submissions is duly worth noting. The purpose of our theme, Unravelled, is to explore the layers beneath the surface - of law, of life, and of ourselves. In a profession so often associated with rigidity, rules, and structure, Unravelled invites us to pull at the threads, to expose the hidden textures, and to embrace imperfection as part of growth
We understand that some content in this edition may be particularly distressing for some individuals. In particular, some pieces may reference or discuss violence, sexual assault, and mental illness. Please read with caution and seek help where necessary. The QUTLS would also like to note that all views expressed are of the authors and not the QUTLS itself.
We hope this edition encourages you to pause, reflect, and connect with the perspectives shared within Thank you once again to everyone who contributed and to you, our reader, for joining us on this journey. May The Gavel: Unravelled spark conversation, inspire creativity, and remind us that even in complexity, there is beauty.
Layla-Jayne Smith Director of Publications
Julia Welch and Amy Jones Publications Officers
UNRAVELLING INDIA
By Kathryn Knoll
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
India is not an easy place to love. It’s hot, loud, polluted, and a full assault on the senses. My first week there, I was plagued with a terrible illness; unsure if it was from the food, water, or simply contracted through the air, I spent my days either in bed or on the toilet, drinking salt water, and chewing through packets of antibiotics. This, coupled with being thrown into a brand-new place, with people I had never met before, made it for a difficult first week. India was not only foreign, it was an entirely different planet.
My first impressions of India were troubling. Everywhere I looked, I saw rivers filled with rubbish, or piled in the streets for burning, and beggars who held sleeping babies in their arms, wandering the streets asking for rupees. I’ve done a lot of travelling in my time, particularly through South-East Asia, but this was the first time I had truly encountered cultural shocks.
I couldn’t understand how our nations were so different. Australia has a sense of national pride in keeping our country clean; we berate those who litter and celebrate Clean Up Australia Day. Those in Australia who are suffering from homelessness or poverty can generally access government resources and welfare; we pride ourselves on mateship and community. These values are engrained in us from a young age, and I struggled to discern my own experiences, from what I saw.
Despite all of this, I knew that India was the home of my own-step father; who grew up wandering the streets of Mumbai, surrounded by the sounds and
smells of Indian streets; and I was determined to look past my own freshly recognised biases, and see India for what it really is. Not the rubbish or the begging, not the smells and pollution; but the people. The individual people, who create so much colour throughout their lives, with beautiful artwork and painted houses, bright sarees and jewellery, in music and dance, and hope.
On the first full day (and before I got sick), we attended a tour of a company called OYO. It is, in essence, a success story; founded by Ritesh Agarwal, who started the business when he was on his last few rupees, and grew it into an incredibly effective business.
I found it difficult, however, to appreciate the success story of one man, as we drove past dozens of people living under bridges and tarps, suffering in the heat and humidity. This, coupled with our next visit to Cyber-hub mall – a clean and westernised cyber city filled with food and retail outlets, made me that much more cognizant of the class divide.
Later in the day I reflected on this with the group I was travelling with. I discussed the ethical implications of how a nation, with the third largest economy in the world, could fall short for so much of their population.
There were two comments in this discussion that left me thinking. The first, is that India is still a relatively new country, in the modern sense. Having only been declared independent from the British in 1947, less than eighty years ago, India has done a tremendous job in securing their place on the international stage as a serious and professional nation in business.
But I still have my doubts for the 40 per-cent in agriculture or poverty, who may not be able to continue their education, or move to urban areas, or join the rising workforces in business and technology. Will they just get left behind?
The second comment that offered a fresh, and perhaps more positive perspective, was from my new friend Lucy. While she agreed with me that the clear social divide was shocking, she reflected on the resilience and resourcefulness the communities have. With this comment, I considered what I had seen, and began to look past the initial impressions. I saw shacks that are built from cardboard, bamboo and plastic sheeting become homes. I saw small areas where groups live become communities, with areas to gather under the shade of trees for the women to talk, the men to play cards, and the children to play together.
With these new outlooks, I began to lean into the full experience of India. Soon, I didn’t notice the rubbish as much, and the new smells didn’t bother me, and the incessant honking became white noise. Not long after that, I noticed the people. Their bright eyes and grins; a mother brushing her daughter’s hair on the back of a wagon, two men chatting over an apple stall in the middle of a road, excited children in rickshaws laughing on the way to school. And suddenly, it didn’t seem so foreign to me at all.
TRADITIONS, CULTURE AND HERITAGE
We travelled along the bumpy highways to new and exciting places. The ancient forts of Jaipur whose stones had seen the feet of elephants, Kings, and millions of tourists held history and culture I found difficult to comprehend. What I found most captivating was the presence, and perhaps more importantly, the preservation of tradition and heritage. In Rishikesh, by the waters of the Ganges, we experienced a Parmath Ganga Aarti, a prayer ceremony led by Vedic Priests, a Havan Fire Ritual, and a Kirtan. Throughout all these experiences there was music and singing – it was interactive and, for the most part, equitable.
It was fascinating, both academically and personally, to be a part of something that has existed for thousands of years. Heritage and tradition are not revered in the western world, especially by the young, nor is it considered in our day-to-
day lives. In India, however, I saw evidence of traditions, whether religious or not, every day. Take, for instance, the making and selling of Mala – flower garlands – in every market, or the lighting of incense outside shops, or feeding the thousands of birds that fly above.
These traditions are founded in an array of religious beliefs but have become further entrenched in daily life. Despite the rise of India globally and their futurist businesses, India continues to hold on to its history and heritage. It does not reject the ancient traditions, simply because it can’t – it is what makes India, India.
Before my trip to India, I did not foresee so much difference between India and Australia, but nearly everything was different: from history and culture to the class divide, to politics, to religion and tradition. These differences should not be ignored for the sake of experience, instead, they should be reflected upon; to unravel the mystery that is India.
The ultimate truth and reality of India is complicated and practically impossible to unravel. It changes with every way that you look at it. It makes sense that the philosophy of Anekantavada was born there, because India is full of paradoxes, and inconsistences. You cannot begin to understand India if you only see one part; rather, you must consider a variety of views and perspectives. From this, the colour and strength of India will shine through.
It is true, India is not an easy place to love. But boy, do I love it.
UNRAVELLED?
It is true, the world and reality we live in is complex. I am impressed by the economic waves India has made, but I am concerned for the dignity and prosperity of those who cannot yet access it. I am over-joyed by the access and reverence of traditions, but I am bothered by the divide ideologies such as ultranationalism may bring to already marginalised communities.
The Inner Struggle
By Khushi Jindal
The unravelling doesn’t just happen in textbooks. It happens inside of you too.
It’s the first time you’re asked to think like a lawyer, to spot issues, to challenge assumptions, to argue for a side you don’t personally agree with. It’s a moment of transformation, but it’s also one of disillusionment. Your identity, your values, your sense of self, they start to shift. You start questioning who you are and what you stand for. How do you reconcile your moral compass with the cold logic of law? Is it possible to be true to your principles and still excel in this highstakes game?
The pressure builds. The deadlines close in. You’re sleep-deprived, surrounded by people who seem to have it all together. The grades come back, and you think: “Am I even cut out for this?” The doubt creeps in, a thread you can’t ignore.
The carefully woven idea of yourself as a confident, capable student starts to fray at the edges. The unravelling continues…
Dignity in All Suffering
The case for Mental Health inclusion in VAD
By Jessie Heathwood (LLB student)
Imagine living with an illness that relentlessly consumes every part of your life. Not cancer that appears on a scan, not a degenerative spinal disease that steadily erodes your independence, but a mental illness –one so persistent and untreatable that years of medication, therapy and hospitalisations, and in some cases, alternative and extreme treatments make no difference. Each day is endured, not lived.
THE CASE FOR CHANGE
That is the reality for Queenslanders living with chronic treatmentresistant mental illness, such as treatment-resistant depression (TRD). Section 13 of the Voluntary Assisted Dying Act 2021 (Qld) excludes anyone with a mental illness from accessing assisted dying. This blanket prohibition means that no matter how severe the suffering, no matter how many treatments have failed, the law will not consider the matter.
The World Health Organisation (WHO) recognises a dignified death as a fundamental human right, rooted in autonomy and the right to be free of inhumane or degrading treatment.
If we accept the principle for physical illness, why not for mental ones?
Treatment-resistant depression, is, by definition, ‘does not approve with first-, second-, or third-line drugs’, which often have their own side-effect profile, in conjunction with psychotherapies.
To draw a distinction, TRD is not comparable to transient sadness or conventional depression. It is an ongoing and relentless psychological assault, that often lasts decades and often precipitates to suicide attempts. Research suggests that people with TRD are far more likely to die by suicide and those that survive often live with severe physical disability, such as acquired brain injury or paralysis – further compounding their suffering and creating greater demand on the health system.
The exclusion in Queensland’s laws sets a precedent: that physical pain somehow matters more than psychological pain.
LESSONS FROM ABROAD
Other jurisdictions have already confronted this issue. The Netherlands and Belgium both allow access to assisted dying for individuals with a primary complaint of mental health illness, but under strict safeguards. These safeguards require repeated, independent psychiatric review from psychiatrists that have participated in further training. This is to confirm beyond doubt, that the illness is persistent, unbearable, and untreatable.
In Canada, similar debates have occurred around Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) laws. While implementation for psychiatric conditions has been delayed allowing for more research, the principle has been accepted: in some cases, mental illness can cause suffering every bit as intolerable and terminal as a physical illness. These examples show that inclusion does not equate to recklessness. With robust oversight, the system can protect vulnerable people while simultaneously respecting their
autonomy for those who have reached the limits of their endurance.
THE ETHICAL IMPLICATIONS
Autonomy is a cornerstone of modern medical ethics. It is the principle that competent adults have the right to make decisions vis-à-vis their body and lives. Denying this right to those suffering with a chronic mental illness from the nature if their suffering is at best, paternalistic – at worst, discrimination.
Morally, extending VAD access can be understood as an act of compassion. It recognises that psychological pain can be just as debilitating and just as resistant to treatment as physical pain. It also confronts an uncomfortable truth: not all suffering can be fixed, no matter the advances in modern medicine.
Socially, changing the law would reinforce the idea that mental and physical health are two sides of the same coin - thus, deserving equal recognition and respect.
It would reduce stigma, foster open discussions about end-of-life choices, and ensure that mental illness is not silenced in policy debates.
RISK OF ABUSE
Any system that involves ending a human life demands the highest level of scrutiny. The fear that vulnerable people could be pressured, coerced or decide in a moment of crisis is real and it must be met with equally real safeguards.
International experience shows this is possible. In the Netherlands and Belgium, psychiatric assisted dying cases must be reviewed by multiple independent psychiatrists, each confirming the illness is irremediable, the suffering is unbearable, and all reasonable treatments have been exhausted. Requests must be consistent over time, not made during temporary crises, and patients are informed they can withdraw their request at any point.
ADDRESSING THE FEAR
Opponents of expanding VAD often raise fears about impulsive decisions, misdiagnosis, abuse or coercion.
These are serious concerns but they are not reasons to reject reform outright. They are reasons to design reform properly.
Extending eligibility to people with mental illness should be done with additional safeguards, such as multiple independent psychiatric assessments, mandatory time periods between assessments, continued research, multidisciplinary review panels, and continued access to treatment – not just for patients, but family too. These measures directly address the risks while preserving the individual’s right to choose.
THE ECONOMIC AND SOCIETAL DIMENSION
While the ethical case should be enough, there is also a pragmatic one. TRD and other chronic psychiatric conditions carry heavy economic costs. Failed suicide attempts can result in lifelong disabilities requiring extensive medical and social care. Families often bear the emotional, financial and caregiving burdens for years.
Allowing VAD in strictly limited, well-regulated cases could reduce these long-term burdens not by encouraging death, but by offering a dignified, peaceful alternative to repeated traumatic crises. While the primary goal is not to save a quick buck, it is worth mentioning that there could be profound savings in money, time and resources within the healthcare system.
A CALL FOR EVIDENCEBASED COMPASSION
Current legislative caution often stems less from evidence and more from fear fear of public backlash, fear of making a mistake, fear of venturing into difficult moral territory. But fear is not a sound basis to deny policy change. Evidence from the Netherlands, Belgium and emerging Canadian practice, shows that inclusion can be done safely.
There is an opportunity to lead with an approach that is grounded in human rights, informed by evidence and shaped by compassion. It should not wait for decades of debate before acting. Instead, the state can implement reform alongside a commitment to continuous research, transparent reporting and public education.
CONCLUSION
Extending VAD to people with chronic treatment-resistant mental illness is not about giving up on them. It is about recognising that, for a small number of people, medicine has no cure and the suffering is unrelenting. It is about offering the same dignity in death that we already grant to those with incurable physical illness.
The law should not decide whose suffering is “worthy” of relief. That decision belongs to the person living it provided there are strong safeguards to ensure it is informed, consistent, and free from coercion.
Reform will not be easy. It will require courage, empathy and an honest confrontation with the limits of medicine. But it is the right thing to do. And for those enduring the kind of pain most of us can barely imagine, it could mean everything.
This opinion piece is not exhaustive; there are a multitude of other issues that can be raised for and against the inclusion of mental health issues in VAD; including capacity to consent among other things. These may be explored in later issues.
I started a law degree because I hate math
byIvySmith
I recall attending an industry event in my pre-penultimate year at a firm I now work for. A presentation was run by two partners, both women, who spoke with the highest exuberance about the work they did. One of these partners was visibly pregnant and spoke about how she had very recently been promoted to partner only a few months before she was due to go on maternity leave. This solidified; this is the firm I want to work at postgraduation. It was striking to me that hearing her say this shocked me so much – which in turn made me realise that the whole ‘work-life’ illusory balance praised by legal professionals had always registered with me as some kind of a farce. I realised that I had unknowingly expected that success would come at a loss of self, a loss of free time, and a loss of family.
I draw upon the 2017 Tristan Jepson Memorial Foundation Oration by Judge Felicity Hampel SC of the Victorian County Court, entitled ‘Towards Wellbeing: How to be a Human Being and a Lawyer too’, in considering what advocacy means to mental health and equity in the legal profession. Her Honour challenged the fabrication of law as a profession where one is destined to suffer higher levels of depression and anxiety simply because of the job’s nature. Her Honour noted that it is primarily organisational and managerial factors, assisted by external perceptions of a ‘lawyer’, that add to this unreachable perception; autonomy and support from employers have actually been proven to improve performance and longevity through job satisfaction.
I came across this Oration through reading an address by the Chief Justice of Queensland, the Honourable Helen Bowskill, that was presented to the ODPP Crown Prosecutor’s Conference in 2021.
Her Honour is a personal role model to me in the legal profession because of the way Her Honour’s career began, at the same university I now attend: QUT. Her Honour is open about struggling with depression upon leaving high school, working as a secretary and being granted special consideration to study law. Without getting into any particulars, this progression is similar to my own, and it is extremely motivating to see Her Honour using her platform to continuously advocate for awareness of mental health and equity in the legal profession.
This whittling down of the profession as a largely gatekept field is something I have noticed as I enter it, and is why advocacy is so important to mental health and equity in law. I come from a very nonlegal background (I don’t think I’d ever met a lawyer before moving to Brisbane). I completed high-school at a public school on the Gold Coast, where law was not offered as a consideration for academic students. They were instead pushed into medical, engineering or IT pathways. That was affronting, because there was absolutely zero chance I was going to be looking at numbers for the rest of my life.
So – yes. I guess I did want to be in law because I hated math, but I’m going to spin that and say that it was somewhat more than that. It was an acknowledgement that law is shaping to be a more accessible career option for young people who think their skills may lie in the areas of analysis, communication and advocacy, particularly for those who may have been traditionally excluded from considering the profession as a pathway. I hope that light continues to be shone on how advocacy is shaping the profession away from the narrow and chable idea of a ‘lawyer’ to one that can recognise different gths and lived experiences to further the profession for the better.
Unravelled A Villanelle
by Christopher Doust
The
pen once
danced,nowlies
allstill, unravelled. Where minds once forged, now conjured ghosts appear. The loom is warped, the old threads now dishevelled.
No longer do we climb the page, embattled. We prompt, we wait, the answers reappear. The pen once danced, now lies dead, it's unravelled.
The student’s voice, once wild, now neatly saddled, Its edges smoothed, its questions engineered. The loom is warped, my mind's threads now dishevelled.
A craft once taught, now quietly dismantled, Its scaffolds lost to tools we commandeer. My mind once danced, now lies still, it's unravelled.
Yet in this shift, a newer art is handled:
To shape the spark, to craft the prompt, sincere. The loom is warped, the old threads now dishevelled.
So let us weave anew through paths pre-channelled, A different skill, but still the mind is near.
The pen once danced, now lies still, all unravelled. The loom renewed, its threads aloft, retravelled.
T R A V E L
S u i t c a s e s r o l l i n g , c h i l d r e n t a l k i n g
D i f f e r e n t s c h e d u l e s , s o m e r u n n i n g , s o m e w a l k i n g
D i s t a n t c h a t t e r , s o m e l a u g h i n g , s o m e c r y i n g
O u r w o r l d s a r e s o d i f f e r e n t , a s w e p r e p a r e f o r f l y i n g
B r i e f c a s e s , b a c k p a c k s , h a n d b a g s a n d o t h e r s
G i f t s f r o m t h e w o r l d w e ’ l l g i v e t o o u r f r i e n d s a n d o u r m o t h e r s
W e c a r r y d i f f e r e n t t r e a s u r e s , m e m o r i e s w e ’ l l n e v e r f o r g e t
F r o m p l a c e s w e h a v e t r a v e l l e d , a n d t h e p e o p l e w e h a v e m e t
T h e m a n o n m y r i g h t s i t s i n d e e p c o n t e m p l a t i o n
T h e l a d y a c r o s s f r o m m e s m i l e s w i t h o u t h e s i t a t i o n
O n e m a n l i s t e n s t o m u s i c , a n o t h e r r e a d i n g c r i m e
T h e y ’ r e e i t h e r r e l a x e d a n d e x h a u s t e d , o r j u s t k i l l i n g t i m e
W e ’ v e a l l c o m e f r o m d i f f e r e n t p l a c e s
b y L i l y S u t t l e
S o m e c l o s e a n d s o m e f a r
I w o n d e r i f t h e y ’ r e h e r e t o s t a y o r t o g o
B u t o n l y t h e y k n o w
A d i f f e r e n t s t o r y h i d e s b e h i n d e v e r y p e r s o n
M a n y s t o r i e s t o b e s h a r e d a b o u t t h e i r t r a v e l
T h e y ’ r e h e r e t o g r o w a s a p e r s o n
G r o w , a n d u n r a v e l
n heWake of the Tide t
This image captures Casuarina Beach as the sun is setting, with an underlay of the starry night sky. It is supposed to evoke unsteadiness which is depicted through the stable sand but as the waves roll the sand becomes unstable and unsteady. As the waves peel away the sand it begins to reveal more. The beach becomes less about place and more about the experience of watching something you thought was permanent dissolve into something unknowable In that unravelling, it echoes how we hold on to moments in life: never fully intact, always shifting, always revealing more than we expect.
by Isabelle Nicol
Justice System
By Anneliese Roduner
Threads ripped from justice’s seam, not a dream, but a gavel's scream. Whispering “due process, ” the courtroom conceals the truth it refuses to confess.
The suit is sharp, well-pressed, and clean, but stitched with bias, cold and mean. Where silence costs what most cannot pay, and wealth can make the truth decay.
Their voice was raw, and their spirit bled, as they expressed their suffering, each syllable a thread.
The judge scowled, unmoved, austere. The verdict fell; the silence seared.
The legal scales are cracked and torn, a legacy long bruised and worn. It bears the weight of sins gone by, while fresh wounds plead and still run dry.
A misinterpreted name, a skin too dark, a case that was dropped before its spark. Plead guilty to put an end to the fight. The cell is waiting. No justice in sight.
A father’s face, a mother’s cries, an untraceable life that quietly dies.
An alibi lost, ignored in the houra system designed for speed and power.
The law was read, its letters cold.
“Equitable trial,” the fiction told. But justice fled, too swift to stayThin statutes caged the truth away.
They said, “At least I found my voice,” but silence drowned the faintest choice. When hope is fractured, it does not benda verdict passed, no ear to lend.
So now we tug at every thread, unmask the truths left cold or dead.
To shape a rule that bears the flawthrough rage, through cracks, we unravel new law.
Louise Milligan’ s Witness, published in 2020, is an “investigation into the brutal cost of seeking justice” (Milligan, 2020) as a complainant in a sexual abuse trial. The novel utilises a modernistic, intersectional approach to dissect the flawed Australian adversarial legal system—aiming to expose the disparity between legal culture and general masses. Moreover, Witness seeks to “foreground the damaging experiences of marginalised ‘witnesses’” and “reinforce the urgency of reform” (Ferrell, 2021)— focusing on how the legal system can be callous and riddled with power imbalance. This critique will explore Milligan’ s novel as an example of a successful means of protest against Australia’ s flawed adversarial legal system.
At its core, Witness is an extensive reportage of three high-profile sexual abuse cases: that of Saxon Mullins, raped in an alley when she was only eighteen; Cardinal George Pell who faced two charges of child sexual abuse; and Paris Street, who was groomed by his athletics coach at the age of 14 (Whitmore, 2021). Throughout the novel, Milligan interviews high-profile members of the legal profession, including judges, prosecutors, and defence counsel—
exposing “the devastating reality of the Australian legal system where… for victims, justice is often elusive. And even when they get justice, the process is so bruising, they wish they had never tried” (Stella, 2021).
Journalistic nonfiction explores “all intersections of a story, including [its] cultural, historical, social [and] corporate” contexts (Jensen, 2022). Milligan’ s novel conforms to the conventions of this genre—underscoring “the ways in which the criminal law, in its core and its social and cultural penumbra, is failing complainants of sexual crimes” (Ferrell, 2021). Through her examination of several hearings in which the cross-examination of witnesses was crucial to the outcome— Milligan provides insight into the system where the trauma witnesses experienced was “ worse than the sexual assault [itself]” (Milligan, 2020). She advocates that “change which balances these core tenets of the criminal legal system with great fairness and protection for witnesses is needed” (Wotton, 2020).
Having experienced a cross-examination firsthand as the witness of the first complaint in the R v Pell case, Milligan recounts her experience as a witness as “illuminating, traumatic and ultimately, politicising” (Milligan, 2020). Throughout her novel, Milligan’ s “visceral description of the attempted destruction of her own character and credibility in cross-examination testifies to the brutality of many witnesses’ encounters with the criminal trial process ” (Mathews, 2021). She highlights the fact that unlike herself, complainants are not legally prepared and have no knowledge of the system— that they are utterly alone. This draws the great disparity between legal culture and general masses—demonstrating the legal system's “failure to protect the most vulnerable” (Milligan, 2020).
Moreover, Witness exposes the power imbalance between a complainant and the accused—critiquing the fact that the accused is given legal representation in court while the complainant must fend for themselves. Milligan finds flaw within the traditional concept of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ finding that “in order to protect the accused at all costs… the system narrows its eyes in suspicion at the complainant until the bitter end” (Milligan, 2020).
Witness also unearths the fact that defence lawyers still utilise historical methods of cross-examining a witness, such as table thumping—asserting the disparity between legal culture and general masses by demonstrating that legal culture remains fixated in the past. Additionally, thematic resonance lies within the title of the novel—with Witness both alluding to and ridiculing the fact that complainants are classed as “ one of eleven witnesses” , for they “didn’t hover over [their] own body while it was happening. [They] were there” (Milligan, 2020). This further exposes the callousness of the legal system regarding its treatment of complainants. Milligan takes a modernistic approach to the traditional values of the legal system—advocating that it abandons its outdated and dehumanising approach to crossexamining witnesses.
Intersectionality is a theoretical framework and movement promoting equality (Woods et. al, 2021). It works towards eliminating unjust prejudices— advocating for universal equal rights and opportunities. Like other works in the journalistic field, Witness upholds such a concept—with Milligan promoting equality within the courts, protesting that the disparity between legal culture
and general masses cease court transcripts with academically and anecd emotional prose—immer activist intentions. By voices within her novel, credibility and inclines similar viewpoint to that stories of those who sexual abuse trial to empathise and notion that legal culture South Wales Bar Associa reading, “ you feel as if yo by the participants” . Th emotional prose to resona
Louise Milligan’ s Witness successfully achieves the overall intention of the work—to expose the disparity between legal culture and general masses, as a means of protest. She demonstrates the unjust nature of the current approach to cross-examining witnesses by intertwining transcripts with personal experience to engage audiences—spreading awareness and encouraging thoughts and dialogue.
The Guilt Spiral of Doing Nothing
By Millide Evans
The other week, I finished a big assignment that had consumed most of my attention for days. I closed my laptop, sat back on the couch, and felt a rare moment of stillness. I had nothing due the next few days, no unread emails, no urgent tasks clawing for my attention. It was, by all accounts, a moment I should have enjoyed. A moment to relax.
But within minutes, I started to feel it. The guilt. That weird, quiet itch in the back of your mind that whispers, You should be doing something.
I wasn’t procrastinating. I didn’t have a deadline breathing down my neck. And yet, I felt uncomfortable just sitting there, doing nothing. I picked up my phone, put it down, opened my laptop back up, closed it again. The silence that should have felt peaceful suddenly felt wrong. I’d forgotten how to rest.
As a law student, I don’t think I’m alone in this. From the day you enter the world of Legislation and AGLC4 references, you’re told how hard it will be. How competitive, how demanding, how the real world will chew you up if you don’t work twice as hard as everyone else. So we do. We grind, compare, push, and overextend. We glorify exhaustion and joke about burnout like it’s a rite of passage.
And when we do take a break, we often don’t feel relief. We feel lazy. Unproductive.
In my first semester, I used to bring my laptop to cafés under the guise of productivity, even when I had no real work to do. I just couldn’t be seen doing nothing. If I sat still too long, I imagined someone would assume I was falling behind. That I wasn’t trying hard enough. That I didn’t belong here.
Even when I tried to relax, my brain wouldn’t allow it. I remember picking up a novel one weekend and feeling uncomfortable the entire time. I couldn’t stop thinking, Why are you reading fiction when you could be studying? I had turned every moment of rest into a competition I was losing.
It’s strange, because we all know, logically, that no one can work all the time. That rest is necessary. But there’s something about law school that rewires your instincts. You start equating your self-worth with your output. A blank calendar feels like failure. A free weekend feels like a missed opportunity.
Some of this is structural. The workload can be overwhelming, especially when you’re balancing jobs, family, or other responsibilities. But a lot of it is cultural. Somewhere along the line, we’ve started believing that “busy” is a badge of honour. That unless you’re drowning, you’re not doing enough.
The truth is, this mindset doesn’t make us better students. It just makes us tired. It creates a loop where the more burnt out we feel, the more guilty we are for not doing more, and the more guilty we feel, the harder it becomes to actually rest. It’s the guilt spiral of doing nothing.
But here’s what I’m learning: doing nothing is not a moral failure. Rest is not laziness. You don’t earn your right to exist by ticking off tasks on a to-do list. Rest is where your brain resets. It’s where ideas settle, where you process what you’ve learned, where you remember who you are outside your degree.
Now, I try to give myself permission to stop. Not just physically, but mentally. To watch a show without thinking about citations. To walk outside without drafting arguments in my head. To let silence be quiet, instead of letting it guilt-trip me.
Of course, I don’t always succeed. The law student guilt still flares up. But I’m starting to see rest not as the opposite of productivity, but as part of it. The most sustainable kind. Because I’d rather be a student who rests and grows than one who burns out for the sake of looking busy.
So if you’re feeling guilty for doing nothing, for closing your laptop, ignoring your readings for a day, or taking a nap instead of joining another study group, this is your reminder that it’s okay. You’re allowed to stop. You’re allowed to be still.
Sometimes, doing nothing is the most productive thing you can do.
THE UNRAVELLING OF INTERNATIONAL LAW
Problems Associated with Recognising a State of “Palestine”
by Christopher N Haggarty-Weir (Ph.D, MBA)
During 2025, Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has stated that he “will recognise the State of Palestine at the 80th Session of the United Nations General Assembly in September”. However, this brings up many questions and fundamental problems rooted in international law and that is not to mention the optics of what looks to be the Australian PM rewarding Hamas for their brutal terroristic invasion of Israel on October 7th 2023.
The first question that naturally arises is where a so-called “Palestinian” state would actually be? Would it comprise Gaza, the socalled West Bank (Judea & Sumaria), Israel, a mix of parts of all of the above? Not only is there no clarity here, but there is also the obvious issue of encroaching on sovereignty.
Article 80 of the UN charter reserves the rights granted under League of Nations mandates. Any recognition of Palestinian statehood on land assigned to the Jewish people would contravene this article.
We also have the issue of encroaching on the rights of indigenous people as per the U.N. Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007). The Jewish people are recognised as indigenous to Judea, Samaria, and Gaza, making denial of these rights a legal inconsistency.
But let us take a step back; what are the actual requirements for statehood? Well, the Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (1933) outlines that one collectively requires defined territory, effective government, and capacity for international relations.
If we look to the terrorist entity of Hamas in Gaza who even terrorises their own population then this clearly fails the test. Turning our attention to Judea & Sumaria, we have representation of part of this region by the PLO terrorist group and the Palestinian Authority, both of which can hardly be called effective governments.
In fact, regarding the Palestinian Authority, the 1995 Israeli–Palestinian Interim Agreement (Oslo II Accord) prohibits the Palestinian Authority from exercising sovereign functions, including foreign relations. Meanwhile, the PLO’s financial support of terrorism would make recognition a breach of global conventions on combatting terrorism, including U.N. Security Council Resolutions 1373 and 1267.
Recognising a Palestinian state under current conditions not only undermines international legal standards but also disregards historical treaties and Jewish indigenous rights. Worse still, doing so in the wake of Hamas’s campaign of mass murder, kidnappings, and rape during October 7th risks legitimising terrorism of the worst kind—echoing a dangerous precedent of rewarding violence rather than upholding lawful diplomacy.
BurnoutinLawis
NOTA HBADGEOF ONOUR
Unravelling The Law
“How are you?”
“Flat out Busy Surviving ”
These are not just throwaway responses;
In the legal profession, burnout is not treated as a each is a thread in the legal weave. They serve as a badge of honour Specifically, proof that you are committed; proof that you belong warning sign but more as a rite of passage Yet through these normalised responses, exhaustion becomes perpetual and the people within the industry become collateral. So, if we are serious about justice, not just the kind we fight for in court, then we must start within The truth is that the legal industry is not just unravelling its practitioners - it is unravelling itself. So, until this industry stops applauding burnout, it will keep burning out the very people it needs to survive
The Frayed Truth We Avoid
It starts early. Law students brag about how little they slept
By Anneliese Roduner
Yet the signs are undeniable: frayed immune systems, restless nights, before an exam, law clerks normalise working weekends “for exposure ” , and junior lawyers wear their 60-hour weeks like battle scars Each of these people, too afraid to admit they are struggling, in case it is mistaken for weakness We have sustained a profession that rewards stamina over sustainability, one that trains people to ignore their wellbeing for their own survival in a hypercompetitive culture We still act shocked when people begin to unravel, still insisting burnout is a performance issue instead of recognising it as the predictable product of the system itself and a deep tearing of trust in the workplace
Nonetheless “resilience” is a word firms love to use, but in law it too often means self-suppression. Do not break at the extensive workload, do not wince at the exhibits, do not cry in the bathroom when the work cuts too close to home. Our superiors tell us to take care of ourselves, but only after the urgent advice to counsel, the client meeting later today, and the affidavit far beyond our scope, but impossible to refuse for fear of incompetence. The finish line always moves, until another sacrifice becomes reality and slowly, we unravel, forgetting why we came into law in the first place. This exhaustion is still worn as a badge of honour,
and saying “I am not coping ” feels like admitting defeat. We cannot continue to praise this dedication but overlook the fraying edges, because a culture built on overwork and sacrifice is not noble - it isdestructive.
TheNumbersBehind theUnravelling
research revealed that the pattern does not stop at the early stages but rather continues with career growth In 2023 they found that one-third of senior solicitors and one-fifth of barristers reported ongoing stress and burnout, causing early retirement or career changes.
Psychological distress in the legal profession begins alarmingly early. A recent landmark survey conducted in Sydney, Australia, titled Courting the Blues, found that over 60% of graduate lawyers reported moderate to very high levels of psychological distress, within the first three years of their role The study also discovered nearly 68% of law students are more negatively affected by academic performance anxiety than other tertiary students. Additionally, a 2021 University of Melbourne report found that legal professionals face significantly higher rates of mental illness and overall psychological distress than the wider community, with an 11% suicide rate. Further, over half of early-career lawyers showed symptoms of burnout, including emotional exhaustion, depersonalisation, and self-doubt. Finally,Bond University
Per the research above, the causes are clearlyboth structural and cultural,but the problem runs deeper than the workitself. From law school onward, students areimmersedin a culture that undoubtedlyequates struggle with strength. This often means suppressing sleepschedules,limitingsocial lives, and underreportinghours to avoid criticism,just to prove themselves capable. Together, thesefindings highlight not onlythe scale ofdistressinlawbut also the entrenched cultural norms thatdrive and sustainit. Thedata makes clear that the longer weignore the tears, the more we perpetrate the unravellingof each
Stitching the Seams Back Together
Some leading firms in Australia have begun taking meaningful steps to address industry related mental impacts by moving beyond a surface-level and toward integrated structural reform. Clayton Utz led the way by appointing the country’s first full-time mental health manager and psychologist Emma Howard. Ms Howard oversees wellbeing initiatives across the firm, including early-intervention frameworks, graduate transition support, and a network of professionals that provide consistent, informed responses The approach has been credited with reducing psychological injury and embedding support directly into the workplace. Herbert Smith Freehills Kramer has also embedded its culture with Australia’s new “right to disconnect” legislation which commenced in August 2024. This commitment has been backed with manager training and clearer workload boundaries.
Beyond individual firms, professional bodies are also active The Queensland Law Society runs annual wellbeing events, such as its Mental Health Breakfasts, and chairs a Wellness Committee pushing for reform
This initiative was backed by firm Thynne Macartney, who went on to implement an internal wellbeing program within their firm which placed them as a finalist for the ‘Workplace Culture and Health Award’.
The Law Council of Australia also provides centralised resources through its wellbeing portals. However, these initiatives are frequently criticised for focusing too heavily on resilience training which teaches lawyers to cope better, while leaving the structural conditions that drive burnout intact The reality is that while there has been progress, gaps remain, as these workload management programs are often optional. As a result, these initiatives do not change a culture where workloads are crushing, boundaries are ignored, and vulnerability is punished. Justice in the legal profession must begin with how we work That means having a profession where wellbeing initiatives are not optional but fixed, and where the right to disconnect is enforced without penalty. It must start with holding employers and ironically law makers accountable, not just encouraging change but mandating it.
TimetoRestitchtheProfession
Itis time we admit thatburnoutis not abadge ofhonour,itis a warning sign.Andin a professionthat claimstobe aboutjustice,ignoringthatisits own quiet hypocrisy. If we do not start applying those same judicial values to ourselves, then we will all unravel. And those who stay and ignore the warning signs? They will learn to wear the mask, smiling throughthestress,poweringthroughthepanic,presenting ascompetentevenastheyquietlycomeundone.Somewillwalk awayfromtheprofessionentirely,otherswillbreakbeyondrepair,and 11%willnotsurviveitatall.Letusbuildalegalculturewhere askingforhelpisnotshameful,restisnotradical,andyoung lawyersdonothavetoburnthemselvesouttobelong. Itistimewevaluedeachotherjustasmuchasany precedent.Thatmeansre-stitchingaprofession wherepeoplearevalued,notjusttheirbillables, onethreadatatime.
Attend the AGM on Sunday 12 October 2025.
Nominations are currently open and will close 7 October at 5.00pm. You may nominate for up to three positions. More information on the roles available can be found in our By-laws.
After nominations close, all nominations will be posted to our Facebook page and website at least 3 days prior to the election. If a position receives 1 or less nominations, we may be reopening nominations for that position at the election.
All nominees will be required to present an election speech for each position nominated for at the election. For more information, check our socials
To vote, you must attend the election either electronically or in person. To attend electronically, you must email the Secretary (secretary@qutlawsociety.com) no later than 24 hours prior to the event outlining your reasons for attending electronically. Your virtual attendance will need to be approved.
