It’s the atmosphere that’s changed.
Since Baillieu’s 300 million dollar slashes to TAFE, it’s the cultural shift that gets to me most. My colleagues and I have had to invent a little joke to alleviate the palpable fall in morale. “So are you talking before or after Baillieu?” “Did you read that book before or after Baillieu?” “Yeah, she’s started seeing a shrink after Baillieu.” You get the idea.
I’ve taught in a Professional Writing and Editing course for six years. All of us permanents are part-time because before Baillieu it was appreciated that as so-called “practicing experts in our field” we actually needed time outside work to practice what we preach.
These days, and after Baillieu, we are so inundated by the ever-increasing adminsitrivia, accountability paper work and extra preparation (for subjects we have never taught before but now have to, because it’s cheaper than employing expert sessionals), that doing any freelance work to maintain professional credibility is almost impossible.
Before Baillieu, poor people with a dream in their heart and a few bucks and a health care card in their pocket could access our course. Post Baillieu, it aint so easy. Fees have skyrocketed and competition from greedy short-sighted unis with uncapped spaces means our cohort has shrivelled.
Before Baillieu, a 40-year-old who wanted to return to the workforce or change jobs, and needed to retrain or brush up, could. After Baillieu, if this some person had already acquired a qualification higher than a Certificate 4 in anything from floristry to fitness, she will be up for a fortune.
It’s crazy. It’s a travesty. It’s miserable.
Still, it’s the students who keep you going. Even when you’re feeling angry and tired about the compromised course delivery and cuts to staffing, it’s the students who keep you hanging in there. Few of them harbour illusions of grandeur or dreams of being rich and famous. But all of them want to learn how to write well and to a professional standard.
Anywhere you look, there’s been a writer at work. Everything you read on a tram or on a sign, in a brochure or in a real estate window has used a writer. Well, maybe not a real estate window.
We teach people to respond expertly to a job brief — any job brief. What could be more vocationally relevant than that?
Before Baillieu, I looked passable in a swimsuit. After Baillieu, there have been interminable farewell morning teas. Teachers are great cooks too.
