Murdoch political science student Amy Fitzpatrick opens her email to a familiar sight:

“…Thank you for your email and for taking the time to write to me.

“I try to respond to correspondence where I can, but I receive a large number of emails every day and depending on your enquiry it may not be possible to get back to you…”

It’s from Australia’s Foreign Minister Penny Wong, an autoreply to one of the daily emails Fitzpatrick sends her. Each day, Fitzpatrick writes to her calling for action in response to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Fitzpatrick says she always tries to keep the content of her emails up to date. Through social media, she makes all her emails available for others to copy, paste, and send to their own local members. Today she asks for assistance for the Palestinian victims in Rafah, humanitarian aid in Gaza, an end to Australia’s exporting of weapons to the Israeli Defence Force, condemnation for the genocide of the Palestinian people, and an end to the illegal occupation of Palestine.

Fitzpatrick writes this message with little faith the Foreign Minister will read what she has to say. She sends it anyway.

Screen time with a cause

“Every single day, without fail, I contact Senator Wong and the Prime Minister with an up-to-date email outlining my pro-Palestine stance. I’ve received official correspondence from both, it’s always a very standardised response. Other people in my circle that are also frequently emailing are receiving the exact same emails as me,” Fitzpatrick says.

“It’s consistently disappointing. I’ve never been really satisfied with the responses I’ve received.”

Although she’s received minimal reaction from the Government, Fitzpatrick says she’s still determined to advocate for Palestine every day.

“I am always trying to attend rallies and mass events. It’s difficult because sometimes they’re planned when I’m working and I’m not in a position to be able to skip work. I don’t think many people are, due to the cost-of-living crisis,” Fitzpatrick says.

“I try to keep my daily habits achievable and realistic. I never want to be too overwhelmed to do anything at all,” Fitzpatrick says.

“I also try to, if not every day at least every couple of days, post on my socials so that the people in my circle have access to the links and resources that I’ve come across.”

Fitzpatrick’s Instagram account is an oasis of information for any of her followers who want to support Palestine. Here, she encourages her peers to participate and spread the word through social media to reach an even larger audience. Her archived Instagram stories are filled with over 400 slides documenting her efforts, including links to petitions, fundraisers, local Perth events, statistics, and news articles.

Sometimes they’re light-hearted, filled with clown emojis poking fun at automated responses from Government officials. Sometimes they show harrowing videos and images of the destruction in Gaza. Statistics about the displaced, injured, sick, and deceased. Most commonly, they are calls to action. Despite the emotional whiplash, there’s still a sense of hope permeating throughout.

“Do I think about it every day? Absolutely. Does it affect my morale at times? Yeah, it does,” she says.

“I really believe that action is the antidote to despair. You don’t feel so powerless when you’re using your resources to, hopefully, contribute to the change you want to see.”

Pen-pal(estine)

On the night of April 21, 2024, more calls for a free Palestine are poised to be sent to the offices of Wong and Prime Minister Anthony Albanese.

Fitzpatrick and her friends are busy covering a living room table with a layer of chopped Officeworks poster card. At a workshop space in South Hobart, red, green, and black markers are sprawled across a wooden table. There are even more workshops like this in Sydney, Melbourne, and other major Australian cities. Roughly 8000 activists across the country are creating postcards calling for a free Palestine, and they’re planning to send them en masse to the nation’s politicians in the morning.

On the day of April 22, 2024, an estimated 10,950 of these postcards are sent. Flood the Post Australia co-founder Victoria McGinness says these numbers are all self-reported from participants, and the real tally is likely even higher. This is only the second mass-posting event instigated by Flood the Post Australia, with an estimated 30,000 postcards being sent in total.

McGinness says these postcards are all part of a larger artform called ‘craftivism’.

“It’s about using DIY and handmade processes as an accessible form of protest or activism,” she says.

“Unlike a letter, a postcard isn’t covered up and unopened. It’s in your face. It’s an open visual message to absolutely everybody who comes in contact with it. From the folks who we get the cards printed with, to the posties that physically take the letter out of the letterbox, then to the mail handlers. All these people see it before it even arrives at its destination.”

“When you send out an email, it feels like it just goes up into the ether.”

“Creating something tangible can feel more impactful. Even the physical action of putting it in the letterbox can feel motivating.”

McGuinness says she was inspired by the creative tactics of America’s @floodthepost movement.

Workshops for Flood the Post have been held around the nation, fostering a positive space for collective activism. “It’s a really jolly atmosphere,” McGuinness says.

“Our first workshop, we had babies, toddlers, dogs, and people of all ages. Folk brought food to share. We started at around 7 PM on a Tuesday, and we had over 100 people come through the door, which was just fantastic.

“At this time where a lot of people are feeling despair, it’s important to not be isolated. It’s beautiful to be with like-minded folks who all want to make this stop.”

“There were a lot of folks we spoke to who were saying ‘look. It’s hard, you know?’ It’s easy to feel helpless, but just being with other people and feeling like you’re doing something collectively is wonderful.”

Putting the ‘camp’ in campaign

It’s 5pm on a Monday, and the sun is setting over the campus at Curtin University. There’s a football being kicked around by two laughing young men. A few meters next to them are about a dozen students sitting in a circle of chairs, they’re passing around books and chatting casually. It’s an intimate and homely atmosphere, which is good considering this is where most of them will be spending the night; camped outside the University’s Chancellory building.

Classes have finished, and more people are making their way to the campsite for the evening. A few more men have joined in with the footballers, adding two soccer balls into their game of catch. More giggling ensues. There’s going to be a movie playing for the campers tonight, a showing of 1990 documentary Berkeley in the Sixties.

They try to get as comfortable as possible. They’ve been here for 13 days now, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be abandoning their campsite anytime soon.

Curtin Guild president Jasmyne Tweed walks somewhat sluggishly down into the campsite. There are bags under her eyes, probably from several nights of less than adequate sleeping-bag rest. Tweed is tired. She says so herself.

Tweed has just come back from a meeting with Curtin’s chancellory. She says the discussions were somewhat productive, but she suspects this meeting is only one of many more to come.

“There needs to be transparency from the university. Transparency to all of Curtin’s research and field work students about how their programs are funded and where their research can be used,” Tweed says.

“We had some students doing some research in the aerospace program here at Curtin, not realising that Lockheed Martin could also use that research for their defence program.

“Aerospace and astronomy research is often about behind being able to locate a target that can’t be seen by the eye. That is really useful research for defence, just as it is for space.”

For some at the encampment, like Students for Palestine WA organiser Ella Marchionda, transparency alone isn’t enough.

“We want Curtin ultimately to cut ties to weapons companies that give military equipment to the Israeli defence. Companies that are complicit in the current genocide,” Marchionda says.

“Students have always been fighters for social justice and social change. Students were a big part of the fight against the Vietnam War. Students were a big part of the fight against the apartheid regime in South Africa,” she says.

“We need to be on the right side of history today. We can’t just sit on the sidelines; the time is now.”

At noon the next day, there are many familiar faces from the encampment in the crowd at a rally outside Curtin’s library. Speakers stand on the grass, shouting through a megaphone. They scream against death and destruction, against genocide. Against a silent government. Some passers-by peer at the scene with furrowed brows, some softly nod their heads. Most others walk past without looking.

“Free, free Palestine,” the crowd calls out.

“Shame. Shame.”

Postscript

It’s been eight months since the beginning of the Israel-Hamas war. Curtin’s encampment packed away their tents after 30 days on campus, with hopes to return at the beginning of semester two. The Guild-backed section of the encampment left the protest earlier, having come to an agreement with the Curtin chancellory. Despite her dissatisfaction with Australia’s response, Fitzpatrick says it’s not going to deter her from continuing to fight.

“We have not in any way seen enough action to end the genocide. Does that affect my ability to hope? I try to disconnect my activism from outcomes because I think if I’m relying on tangible change to fuel my action, I’m forever going to be unsatisfied,” she says.

“It’s a moral imperative. In my mind it’s the only moral choice. If you have the option to either oppose a genocide, or to not oppose a genocide; you should be opposing a genocide. Whether or not that gets you the outcome you want to see should be irrelevant.”