I’ve garnered more criticism than I thought I would for this decision, so I thought I would attempt to coherently express my position here to avoid fumbling about for words when people ask me in person.
People have confused my decision not to protest with not supporting the protesters’ cause. On the contrary, I was appalled by the brutality exhibited by the police on Friday. Likewise, the massive fee increases expected over the next four years do nothing but make education less accessible. In reality, I’m not protesting because I lack a mandate to protest.
Every time I open my passport, my visa documents remind me that I am a J-1 visitor. I pay no taxes, I pay no university fees. Technically, I am still a student of the University of Adelaide. The UC Regents and the IRS are not taking my money — so, with this in mind, how can I have a say in how they’re run? I don’t pay the salaries of law makers, nor do I have a right to elect them, so why should I shout for them to represent my opinion? To say that I have a right to protest these issues is, to me, to devalue the opinions of my citizen, tax paying, fee paying peers; why should anyone but them have any say in how their country and university is run? This is an issue of sovereignty.
However, I do have a mandate to comment; I do have a mandate to spread text, images and videos of what is happening here. And, perhaps, that is the best role an outsider can ever have in these affairs.
I respect your right to sovereignty over your own affairs; please respect my right to remain on the side lines.
“ … this was the only sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the Fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring… When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. In those days though, the spring always finally came, but it was frightening that it had almost failed.
— Hemingway; A Moveable Feast.
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