Written by Leonora Risse RMIT University, and Angela Jackson Equity Economics, of NFAW's Social Policy Committee, this paper documents the impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic on the Australian workforce, analysed through a gender lens.
A suite of labour market indicators, disaggregated by gender, is examined to identify the ways in which men and women were affected differently by the economic impacts of the pandemic as well as by government policy. Using ABS Labour Force Survey data, the paper develops a cumulative measure of workforce losses over the course of the pandemic, calculated comparatively for men and women, and assessed relative to the workforce’s prepandemic composition.
This measure finds that women experienced the bulk of the cumulative losses in employment throughout the first twelve months of the pandemic from March 2020 to February 2021 – equivalent to a 55 per cent share of total months of lost employment – despite comprising only 47 per cent of total employment prior to the pandemic. Younger women, especially, experienced a disproportionately higher share of employment losses. The Victorian workforce, where lockdowns were implemented for a longer period than in other states and territories, is highlighted as a case study of the disproportionate impact of the pandemic on women’s employment.
Applying a gender lens to this analysis can inform the application of gender responsive budgeting in the government’s future policy-making processes. We also highlight the need to further disaggregate data through an intersectional lens to more fully understand the impacts of the pandemic on particular demographic cohorts of the workforce.
NFAW is pleased to endorse the Good Shepherd Australia New Zealand's (GSANZ) submission to the Royal Commission into Victoria's mental health system. The submission focusses on gender differences in the prevalence, treatment and prevention of mental health conditions and suicidality.
Executive summary
We welcome the Royal Commission into Victoria’s Mental Health System. The Royal Commission offers a unique opportunity to consider the range of factors which contribute to both poor mental health and good mental health.
We note that there are multiple challenges within the mental health service system including responding to high demand, funding shortfalls, lack of access, poor integration with intersecting service systems, and related areas for policy development and service improvement. Genuine reform will not be possible without significant investment and redesign to place the person at the centre of service delivery.
This submission focuses on gender differences in the prevalence, presentation, treatment, and prevention of mental health conditions and suicidality. It explores bias and gaps in knowledge, including a range policy and practice issues in response to Questions 1, 4, 5, and 9 as posed in the Royal Commission’s ‘Outline of questions’ guide. We also draw on case studies and the practice wisdom of Good Shepherd Australia New Zealand staff, including their reflections on working with children, young people and families. Applying a gender lens enables a deep understanding of the complex economic and social drivers for mental health conditions, which can in turn inform the development of effective prevention and intervention initiatives.
Ten recommendations are made to inform improved prevention, intervention, response and recovery initiatives with a focus on women, girls and their families. We welcome the opportunity to provide oral evidence in relation to any of the matters raised in this submission.
Comprising 33 photos and supported by the National Foundation for Australian Women, Ruth Maddison's Women at work in the 21st century collection is available online at the National Library of Australia.
Labor has announced it will change the Fair Work Act to make it clear that the Commission must consider pay equity a central objective of the workplace relations system, as well as give the Commission greater capacity and funding to conduct Pay Equity Reviews.
Summary
LABOR’S FAIR GO PLAN TO HELP CLOSE THE GENDER PAY GAP
Labor will deliver a fair go for Australian women by strengthening the ability of the Fair Work Commission to order pay increases for workers in female dominated industries such as early childhood, aged care, and disability services.
Labor will change the Fair Work Act to make it clear that the Commission must consider pay equity a central objective of the workplace relations system.
Labor will give the Commission greater capacity and funding to conduct Pay Equity Reviews and order pay increases in undervalued feminised industries. Low paid workers should not have to rely on fighting complex, expensive legal cases to secure a decent wage rise.
Pay Equity Reviews will be conducted by a new Presidential member of the Commission, supported by an expert Pay Equity Panel.
We don’t need to compare female dominated jobs with male dominated jobs to know that female dominated industries are often poorly paid – that’s just a fact. So we will change the Fair Work Act to make it clear that establishing undervaluation of female dominated industries does not require a male comparator.
These reforms are an important part of Labor’s plan to close the gender pay gap. A fair go for all Australians means fair pay and conditions for Australian women.
National Economies and Commitments to Benefit from Gender Responsive Budgeting
Wednesday 14 June 2017 (Pacific) – Decision-makers around the region are being urged to match commitments on gender equality with increased and better targeted funding.
Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat Director for Policy, Sione Tekiteki made the call at a regional training workshop aimed at improving understanding of the financial benefits and impacts of spending on women and men, and planning gender responsive budgets.
“Generally in the Pacific region, targeted government spending on women is very low at around just one per cent of national budgets. This is not enough,” said Mr Tekiteki.
“Political and policy commitments for gender equality can only be achieved if sufficient funds are allocated for their implementation.”
The need for improved gender responsive budgeting was reiterated at the official opening of the workshop by UN Women’s Multi-Country Office Representative, Aleta Miller.
“We can only achieve an equal society if the needs of both women and men are reflected in our key policies such as budgets,” Ms Miller said.
“The workshop equips the participants with the important tools to start analysing, tracking and ensuring gender equality becomes everyone’s business.”
Supported by the Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, UNESCAP and UN Women, the Regional Gender Responsive Budget Workshop highlighted how improved budgeting benefits the growth of economies and the achievement of key commitments, such as the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).
The regional workshop, held in Suva from 12-13 June, will assist participants to take a more systematic and structured approach to integrating gender into central planning and finance processes, and to identify good practice and useful methodologies to track allocation of resources for gender equality.
“It is quite an eye opener for me!” said Jacob Manase, Assistant Secretary for Policy and Planning – PNG Department for Community Development, adding that: “you can have the best gender policy but if you cannot fund it you’ll make no impact.”
Pauline Soaki, Director of the Women’s Development Division – Solomon Islands Ministry of Women, Youth, Children and Family Affairs emphasized the responsibility for ministries to close the gender gap.
“Gender responsive budgeting is important because we must meet community needs, but communities have men and women, and they have different needs. We need to bring the financial controllers into the gender equality conversation immediately, to ensure the proportionate allocation of funding for resources.”
Participants from across the Pacific attended the workshop including civil society organisations, development partners, UN agencies, regional organisations, and senior government officials from 13 forum countries.
By asserting my identity in a way that challenges my ‘place in the world’, I inadvertently challenge those who feel entitled to their privilege and status.
Yassmin Abdel-Magied: ‘Look at this face, hey? How could I possibly be intimidating?’
Photograph: Simon Hewson/courtesy of Yassmin Abdel-Magied
Given that I am now the most publicly hated Muslim in Australia, people have been asking me how I am. What do I say? That life has been great and I can’t wait to start my new adventure in London? That I’ve been overwhelmed with messages of support? Or do I tell them that it’s been thoroughly rubbish? That it is humiliating to have almost 90,000 twisted words written about me in the three months since Anzac Day, words that are largely laced with hate.
Do I reveal that it’s infuriatingly frustrating to have worked for years as an engineer, only to have that erased from my public narrative? That it is surreal to be discussed in parliamentary question time and Senate estimates for volunteering to promote Australia through public diplomacy programs? That I get death threats on a daily basis, and I have to reassure my parents that I will be fine, when maybe I won’t be? That I’ve resorted to moving house, changing my phone number, deleting my social media apps. That journalists sneak into my events with schoolchildren to sensationally report on what I share. That I’ve been sent videos of beheadings, slayings and rapes from people suggesting the same should happen to me.
Do I reassure my parents or do I tell them the truth? I have yet to decide.
I wrote the essay below at the beginning of the year, post Q&A but pre-Anzac. Even that statement is a reflection of the sad reality that my life seems to simply exist in reference to the various outrages my voice has caused.
Whether or not one agrees with me isn’t really the point. The reality is the visceral nature of the fury – almost every time I share a perspective or make a statement in any forum – is more about who I am than about what is said. We should be beyond that but we are not. Many, post-Anzac, said the response wasn’t about me but about what I represent. Whether or not that is true, it has affected my life, deeply and personally.
***
"Ah, the worst that can happen is someone sending you an angry email. Just don’t read it, you will be fine. Don’t forget to take your vitamins. Have you checked your iron levels? You know your anaemia makes you tired."
Modern-day activism does not garner much sympathy from my migrant parents. Looking at it objectively it’s something I can understand: in Sudan the kinds of fights they were involved in had much higher risks. Their friends were jailed, tortured, killed. My mother faced off an army who wanted to storm her university’s dormitory during Colonel Omar al-Bashir’s coup of 1989. My father would regularly tell my younger brother and me stories of what kind of dangers people faced as they fought for their political ideals.
“One of our friends was taken by police during a protest, for no apparent reason,” Dad recounted one evening at the dinner table. “We all knew that if we did not get him back in time, he would be killed. So we kicked up a huge fuss to get him back, stormed the police stations, got in the media … We did not hear anything back by the evening, and thought that all was lost. The next morning, the man’s mother heard a knock on the door. Someone had dumped a body at the foot of the gate, bloody and beaten beyond recognition. It was our friend, so badly tortured that his own mother did not recognise him.Subhanallahthough, he was still alive.”
Such stories are not uncommon for anyone who has lived in a nation cursed by conflict. In fact, violence can become so normalised that it can be an expected consequence of pushing for social or political change, and there are no systems of protection in place to guarantee a person’s physical safety. It’s no wonder, then, that the battles of a young “keyboard warrior” in Australia do not seem quite so serious to my war-weary parents. Compared with what they moved away from, the 140-character threats of “Twitter trolls” seem almost quaint.
There is one major difference, however. Although the ideas we are fighting for – human rights, social justice, equality – have not necessarily changed, the ways those battles are fought certainly have. My parents’ activism was localised, talking to issues that at most would affect the surrounding region and segment of Sudanese society. Theirs was a fight for just governance within a single country, rather than an ideological battle across nations. It was also an analogue challenge. The nature of communication meant that individual reach was limited and therefore individual exposure appropriately throttled. This lent itself to a collective front, buffering individuals somewhat from personal criticism and opposition.
Today a public advocate’s platform is digital and greatly magnified. An issue or debate unfolding in one place can be amplified through a video or tweet to gain international support or condemnation – sometimes both – simultaneously. News travels almost instantly, and the feedback is equally as swift. Individuals can be rewarded with incredible highs – a following that spans the globe, the ability to easily create content that reaches millions, membership of an online community that “gets it” – but also with floods of criticism and personal, pointed abuse.
The way this feedback is delivered is also incredibly isolating – abuse appears in an individual’s inbox, Twitter feed, Facebook page. And while the inverse to this – retweets, likes, positive comments and messages – does give some sense of solidarity and a collective front, that front as a number on a screen rather than the physical presence of others can only go so far towards steeling your resolve. There is little shared experience to commiserate upon. Even among those who identify with each other, it is difficult to convey a sense of such personal attacks. We might all be fighting the same fight but we have our own demons that divide us for easy picking.
Furthermore, an individual’s online presence creates a safety concern that is different from those experienced by previous generations. Whereas my parents would have feared government retribution in the form of being detained, disappeared or killed, the threats faced by activists and advocates today are not nearly as organised. They are amorphous, overwhelming and seemingly impossible to defend against. Imagine every single piece of information about you, which you have inadvertently made available online somehow, in the hands of someone who does not know you, does not like you and does not care what happens to you – either a teenage hacker or a national broadsheet – and few rules or consequences if that information is used against you. It is almost enough to terrify an activist into silence. Almost.
“You should just get offline!” I am regularly advised, after explaining what it is like to be a commentator in the public space, advocating for ludicrous concepts such as the right to be heard or the seemingly radical ideal of equality. Asking us to go offline is like asking us to leave the streets. Sure, it’s the safe thing to do, but it ignores the importance of the online in any struggle today. The online and offline worlds are inextricably linked; in 2017 they are simply different dimensions of the same reality.
***
I learnt these realities in a baptism of fire in September 2016 after I walked out of a speech and accidentally picked an ideological fight with a US woman who is an important literary figure. What I did not realise at the time was that this is something a young, brown Muslim woman simply must not do, particularly if the conflict is even vaguely connected to the nebulous concept dubbed “identity politics” – a phrase coined, seemingly, to dismiss or disregard anyone asking for their oppression, historical context or personal reality to be recognised and respected.
How silly of me to miss the memo. Respect is so passé.
I shall spare you the details; googling “Lionel Shriver Yassmin Abdel-Magied” should be enough to keep you entertained for hours. Put simply, I had flown a little too close to the sun. I’d been given my wings, told I could fly with the flock and contribute to the discussion as an equal, told I could be a part of “us”. No one mentioned the feathers were fixed in place with wax, and the sun wouldn’t hesitate to strip them away.
Walking out, and then writing an (admittedly) emotionally charged piece about my reasoning, led to an unexpected – and global – ideological hammering. Criticism and ad hominem attacks were levelled from all over the world, starting with Australia’s national broadsheet and stretching all the way to the New York Times.
Not only was the outcry deafening but the commentary it unleashed was merciless. Breitbart, the (fake?) news site and platform of the “alt-right” – formerly chaired by Steve Bannon, now Donald Trump’s chief strategist – featured an article on the encounter. It was not as cruel as it could have been, if I’m honest. But it was certainly deeply convinced of its own righteousness:
"‘Everyone’s entitled to their opinion’ … But if that opinion happens to be so ill thought-through, poorly argued, whiny, needy, constrictive, selfish, ugly, ignorant, flat out wrong and probably quite dangerous too, then they deserve to be called on it and relentlessly, mercilessly mocked till they never spout such unutterable bollocks ever again in their special snowflake lives."
I had messages from friends in India, Italy and Indonesia whose friends and family had been discussing the affair. For a brief moment it became the topic of dinner-table conversation. The result of that spotlight though meant that for the next three or four weeks my life was overwhelmed by this story. I had hundreds of emails a day, to the point where I began to automatically delete them and avoided my multiple inboxes completely, to the chagrin of those who were trying to connect for non Shriver-related business. I deleted Twitter from my phone, deactivated Facebook and wrote almost nothing online for an entire month. Which, for me, is a pretty long time.
But because the online is not truly separate from the offline in our lives, it wasn’t truly an online coma. The modern-day equivalent of a pack of citizen paparazzi, perhaps, were still on the front lawn, constantly slipping notes under the door, knocking on the windows, yelling obscenities. While I couldn’t hear or see them, I knew they were there.
For a modern-day “social justice warrior”, as we are often pejoratively named, being attacked online comes with a sense of being desperately alone. It was me and a glowing screen, the dings of messages, tweets, emails sent by strangers reminding me of my place in the world.
Drip by drip, message by message, it’s the Chinese water torture of the online age.
***
The weeks rolled by. The influx of messages eventually slowed and a semblance of normality was restored. It seemed the storm had passed.
Months later, at the Jaipur literature festival, I bumped into another important literary figure. Tall, imposing and very British, he was the type of high-level agent who wouldn’t normally bother with someone like me – save for the fact that I too am tall, and our eyes met briefly as he crossed the lawn. He slowed as he approached me, then stopped as his face brightened.
“Oh, I know you,” he said. “You’re the girl they’re all talking about!” I assumed he was referring to the elite group of global literary stars gathered at the writers’ party that evening.
“Good things, I hope?” I said, glibly.
His response was emphatic and, in a typical English fashion, faintly apologetic.
“Oh, no, no, I’m afraid not. They all disagree with you, really.”
“Oh!” I feigned shock, though of course I was very well aware. The next line was much more genuine: “I do wish they would disagree to my face! I would love to have a conversation with them.”
The agent shook his head. It was late and he looked slightly intoxicated, which was probably why he was more forthright than Englishmen usually seem to be.
“Oh, no, no one would do that. You’re very intimidating! We’re all a little frightened of you.”
I flashed my biggest, pearliest smile and pointed at my teeth. “Look at this face, hey? How could I possibly be intimidating?”
But it seems there is something incredibly intimidating about a young, brown Muslim woman who is unafraid to speak her mind. This became clear again in February 2017 when I was invited to join a panel discussion on the ABC’s Q&A.
You may have seen the video – after all, it took only a week for the clip to reach 12 million views on Facebook. In essence, I challenged Senator Jacqui Lambie’s views on sharia and Islam, loudly and passionately. The immediate response online was incredibly positive, bolstering my confidence – but that was short-lived. My head above the parapet, I then became the subject of a strange and unnecessary character assassination by the national broadsheet. “This is it,” I thought. “I’m never going to get a corporate job again. Who will employ me after the things that have been said?”
But this time around, I would be pleasantly surprised. Within a week, voices of support made themselves heard: radio presenters challenged the criticisms levied against me, breakfast show hosts defended my reputation, and much ink was spilled in calling out the bullying and canvassing for a more considered and egalitarian response. I could not believe it, to be honest: the articles and columns laced with hatred I had come to expect – but others putting themselves on the line to offer their support? It was a humbling and fascinating experience. Perhaps, on reflection, I was not in this alone after all.
***
The irony in all this, of course, is that I am no one very important. I do not hold an elected office, I do not officially represent any racial or cultural group, and I have never been part of a political party, union or even political student organisation. I am a 25-year-old Muslim engineering chick, born in the Sahara desert, whose words occasionally find themselves in the public arena. And if a few words that I put together are enough to terrify institutions into attacking me, stumbling over themselves to demonstrate why “people like her” are wrong and why we should not be listened to because our words are oppressive, then one has to ask, what are they so afraid of? Why are they so afraid? For if the argument was truly as irrelevant as so many claim it to be, then surely it wouldn’t be worth all this energy.
Today’s identity politics are about power – but not “real” or “traditional” power. The reality is, real power – that which lies in financial resources, the mainstream media and politics – is held by hands similar to those of 50 or 100 years ago: white, male hands. Not much has changed. Sure, there are several women and people of colour fighting the fight, and many more making their way up the ranks, but look at the true hallmarks of power. Who owns the media companies, controls the big corporates, runs the countries? If the real, hard stations of power are still in the hands of those who have always had it, why are they so worried?
Part of me suspects that the reason these attacks are so vitriolic, swift and all-encompassing is because they are about identity. Identity politics is personal, and that’s why people take it so personally. By asserting my identity in a way that challenges my “place in the world”, I inadvertently challenge the place of those who feel entitled to their privilege and status. That feels not only wrong to such people, but deeply, personally offensive – because what is at stake is who they are in the world. And so they fight viciously, because if privilege and status and wealth and whiteness define who they are, what else could be more valuable?
Those who lack a definitive “place” in society have little to lose by calling out injustices and structural inequalities, and much to gain by disrupting the status quo. For those with something to lose in that disruption, this can be a terrifying prospect. For everybody else, it is a reminder of the strength and conviction that is needed to fight for a more just world. On that, my parents and I agree.
• This is an edited extract from Griffith Review 56: Millennials Strike Back
… we have a small favour to ask. More people are reading the Guardian than ever but advertising revenues across the media are falling fast. And unlike many news organisations, we haven’t put up a paywall – we want to keep our journalism as open as we can. So you can see why we need to ask for your help. The Guardian’s independent, investigative journalism takes a lot of time, money and hard work to produce. But we do it because we believe our perspective matters – because it might well be your perspective, too.
I appreciate there not being a paywall: it is more democratic for the media to be available for all and not a commodity to be purchased by a few. I’m happy to make a contribution so others with less means still have access to information.Thomasine F-R.
If everyone who reads our reporting, who likes it, helps to support it, our future would be much more secure.
INTRODUCTION
Following the release of Australia's future tax system1 (the Henry Report) the Commonwealth Office for Women had discussed with the National Foundation for Australian Women (NFAW) and the Equality Rights Alliance (ERA, formerly WomenSpeak) the possibility of further follow up work. (These organisations had previously been commissioned by the Office for Women to make a submission on gender issues to the review of the tax system2 )
The NFAW and WomenSpeak/ERA, with valuable input from Professor Patricia Apps, independently held meetings to discuss the Henry Report at the University of Sydney through the Women and Work Research group, and at the University of Melbourne (Taxation Studies, Law School). We are indebted to Professor Marian Baird and Professor Miranda Stewart for their professional and financial support, and to Helen Hodgson (ATAX, University of New South Wales) for her inputs to these meetings.
Subsequently, the Office for Women approved a project proposal by NFAW and ERA for community consultation on factors impacting women’s decisions regarding work-force participation. This would involve consultations with women, with particular attention to younger women, an initial plain English report on these and a further technical report.
Deliverables included these two reports, to be made available to the Office as drafts by 31 August 2011 and 30 September 2011 respectively 3. After discussion with the Minister for Women, and the Office for Women, these have been combined into this single comprehensive report. The short time-frame available for organising consultations has been an issue for the project, limiting the time available for local preparatory work to satisfactorily engage women and their organisations.
INTRODUCTION
The consultation on the Australia Institute (TAI) report The Impact of the Recession on Women1 was facilitated in Broken Hill, New South Wales, on 29 September 2009, by Darriea Turley, Chair of the National Rural Women's Coalition2 , The Broken Hill Enterprise Development Centre3 (BHEDC), Women on Boards4 , and the National Foundation for Australian Women5 (NFAW). The event was held in the rooms of the BHEDC between 6.00 and 8.00 pm.
Invitations were issued through the mailing list of the BHEDC, the local contacts of Ms Turley, and through advance media statements which were carried in both the Barrier Daily Truth, and on the local ABC radio station, welcoming all comers. (A list of those attending is at Attachment 1; a copy of the invitation is at Attachment 2; and the media release and newspaper coverage is at Attachment 3)
The purpose of the consultation was explained as being to learn from Broken Hill women about their experiences in relation to achieving workforce attachment, to identify their responses to the findings of the TAI report, and thus assist in the production of a report to Commonwealth and state governments which would highlight the experiences of women facing local barriers to workforce participation. An undertaking of feedback to the participants was given.
Introduction
This paper examines the experience of Australian women during recent recessions in order to construct a framework within which the policy response to the current recession can be assessed and improved. The recessions of the early 1980s and the early 1990s are examined and compared with the brief experience so far of the present recession.
The paper considers the important issue of the extent to which the stimulus policy emphasises infrastructure and other construction projects, areas that tend to be biased towards the employment of males. The concern here is that women may miss out on job opportunities.
A second issue is the fact that women fare differently in recessions from men. Their experience is not necessarily more adverse but the concern is that policies designed to address the hardship of people in the recession need also to take account of women’s unique circumstances. That is, policies should be sensitive to gender differences and appropriately targeted.
In this paper, the recent state of the economy is considered as being in recession. This term is used loosely and the paper sidesteps discussion of the existence or otherwise of a technical recession. The fact is there has been a serious downturn in the Australian economy with a significant decline in employment opportunities and the forecasts suggest it will get worse.