Australia’s Largest Christian News Site

Taking my employer of 14 years to court has been one of the hardest decisions I have ever made.

As a Professor of Law, I’ve spent years studying legal cases. I know that litigation is no small undertaking. It can cost an extraordinary amount of money, drag on for years and take a devastating emotional toll.

But knowing all of that in theory is very different from facing it yourself.

Last Monday, we had all the court documents ready to file. Yet I hesitated. For an entire week, I sat on them, unable to bring myself to press go.

Because I knew what it meant.

Once we filed in the Federal Court, there would be no turning back.

Bright University Beginnings

Let’s start at the beginning.

When I was summoned to see the Dean of Law last November, I knew it couldn’t be good. Her email, with its ominous subject line, “Meeting Request”, informed me “you are required to attend a meeting with me on Thursday 27 November 2025, 12.30pm, Law School Board Room, Ligertwood Building, to discuss an important human resource matter. A Senior WR Advisor will also be attending this meeting.”

It was strange that the Dean was informing me of the precise location of the Law School Board Room. It’s a few meters from my office and I’d met with her there many times when we served together on the Law School executive.

There was a time when I was fêted at the university. Appointed at the age of 27 from a field of more than 80 applicants to the position of Lecturer, I started at the bottom of the pecking order in January 2012. A bright-eyed, hopeful, young woman ready to embark on the career of her dreams: an opportunity to engage at the intersection of law and policy through my research which, as I proudly told my selection panel, was oriented towards “investigating vulnerability in all its forms.”

At that time, however, I was investigating vulnerability in a way that was compatible with the leftwing orthodoxy of the academy. My doctoral research, undertaken as a Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford, was on the rights of workers to contest their dismissal. It was an area of particular personal relevance to me. Although my father died from a tragic boating accident when I was only five years old, etched onto my brain were memories I now know showed his job was on the line. A recent immigrant with a big mortgage and his growing family to provide for, I remember the stress on my father’s face as I sat on the floor of his carpeted study whilst he attended to work calls.

When I started at the University of Adelaide, I became interested in worker vulnerability in relation to temporary migrants – again an area of personal relevance. My father had come on a permanent visa and we’d made Australia our home. I was interested in Australian employers’ increasing reliance on temporary migrants and whether this really was the “triple win” touted in the migration studies literature.

I went on, over the next decade, to have five babies and reach the top of my career: promoted to Professor of Law, the holder of several prestigious Australian Research Council grants, the recipient of numerous University of Adelaide and Law School research awards and one of the top publishers and research income recipients in my field. I was appointed by successive federal governments to the Ministerial Advisory Council on Skilled migration, regularly published opinion pieces in The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and The Australian, appeared on Four Corners and 7:30, represented Australia at the International Labor Organisation, was invited by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese as one of 100 Australians to attend the Jobs and Skills Summit and was even appointed by then Home Affairs Minister Clare O’Neill to a three-person expert review of the entire Australian migration program.

Everything was going swimmingly. And then, right when I was at the top of my game, I committed career suicide.

A Life-changing Moment

In 2021 my home state of South Australia had introduced abortion up to birth – with no upper gestational limit – through all 40 weeks of pregnancy. I had played a small role in advocating against the laws but ultimately it had proved futile: the power of the pro-abortion media and political establishment was too strong.

At the time I felt a pang of conscience: how could I claim to be concerned with vulnerability in all its forms, if I excluded the unborn?

In many ways, temporary migrant workers had the same characteristics of pre-born children: they had little agency, could not vote, had no voice and were reliant on others for their income and ability to remain in Australia.

But, I had to concede: for the unborn, the situation of precarity is far worse. Migrant workers have little agency and limited voice; children in-utero have zero. What’s more, it’s legal to kill them: they aren’t reliant on others for their immigration status but for their very survival. The power imbalance is so acute that for all 40 weeks of pregnancy, their life could be snatched from them in an instant, without any due process or right of reply.

I knew in my heart that although it would probably mean the end of my scholarly career, I had no other choice but to speak for these babies.

The day I’ve been dreading for the last four years came last November when I walked into the Dean’s office and she handed me a yellow envelope. She told me the University was opening a formal investigation into my pro-life advocacy in response to a complaint that had been made by a Labor politician. She instructed me not to open the envelope until after the meeting and said she would not be available to answer questions or speak to me about this matter. I was now to be HR’s problem.

She also ordered me to not speak about it publicly.

Soon after, another “yellow envelope” arrived. The University had opened a second investigation, this time about my comments on gender ideology and the harm of allowing boys in girls’ bathrooms and sport races.

After that, another investigation was opened, this time on comments I’d made on Islam. A short time after that another was opened. And another and another and another.

At of the time of writing, the number of allegations and sub-allegations exceeds 200.

The legal letters from Adelaide University lawyers, Baker & MacKenzie, have piled up to the point that I’ve lost count.

The University even forced me to take an independent medical examination with a psychiatrist I’d never met, probably in the hope that he would declare me “unfit for work” so they could sack me. (Spoiler: he didn’t.)

Every single allegation relates to something I have said on a controversial topic. Nothing relates to my research. Nothing to my teaching. Not a single claim has been made about anything I’ve ever said or done in the university classroom.

My crime? Contesting the leftwing orthodoxy of the academy on hot-button cultural issues such as abortion, gender and Islam.

Increasingly Hostile Work Environment

Walking into the Adelaide Law School became increasingly challenging. Colleagues who I’d once considered close friends (our kids have even had play dates at each other’s houses) now passed me in the narrow corridors with stony faces. One colleague came out of the bathroom and, bizarrely, literally screamed in my face. Lunch and coffee invites dried up. A few discretely reached to say they supported me, but even with them conversations had to be done in whispers because of the fear of retribution.

Earlier this year, the University contacted me to tell me that they’d received a call. A member of the public had called the phone line and threatened to dox my home address and that of my children’s school if I didn’t take down a video criticising the celebration of trans ideology in a local primary school. They didn’t report the threat to the police. Instead, they told me; “you need to take the video down”.

None of this is unexpected but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been unspeakably hard. I thought about walking away. Resigning quietly and moving onto the next season post academia but here’s the thing: I love academia. I’m good at it. I have more to give as a scholar.

One thing that’s been torturous is the current debate on migration. As one of Australia’s foremost experts, I’ve been unable to publish, unable to advocate, unable to properly contribute to an issue of critical importance to our country because going into work has become untenable.

It has taken an enormous toll on me personally and these past 11 months have been very challenging. I worked so hard to get to the top of my career, only to be on the brink of losing it because I’ve had the “wrong” opinion.

Taking Adelaide University to the Federal Court

This is why I am taking my employer of 14 years, Adelaide University, to the Federal Court. I have filed an application under the Fair Work Act 2009 because universities shouldn’t be a monoculture – a place where only one side of the ideological and political spectrum are able to ventilate their views.

In my enterprise agreement and under federal law, I have a right to academic freedom and free speech. The very idea of a university is predicated on such notions because it is impossible to rigorously pursue the truth without robust and fiercely contested debate. What does academic freedom protect, if it doesn’t inoculate controversial views such as mine from cancel culture, complaints by activists and relentless legal letters, allegations and investigations?

I could have walked away quietly and moved onto the next season of my life, but this fight is too important. Too many conservative students, too many Christians, too many Australians — are oppressed by the leftist monoculture on campus. Many junior staff also experience the oppression. As a Professor of Law, I have a responsibility to them. I also have a responsibility to my fellow Australians – many of whom experience this oppression daily in their workplaces too.

I will fight this all the way to the High Court and I ask you to fight with me too.

I am so grateful to those of you have signed my petition against Adelaide University and who have donated to my Give Send Go. Your generosity towards me has been enormous and it has truly encouraged me during this battle.

If you are in a position to support me in either way, but haven’t done so already, you can do so by signing my petition here, and by supporting my legal and other costs here.

If you are interested in learning more about my case, you can also watch my YouTube video where I explain what this has been like for me personally and our family, and I go through some of the allegations in more depth.

Thank-you so much for your continuing prayers, support and encouragement.

___

Republished with thanks to Dr Joanna Howe.