A young woman representing the trade union climbed onto the stage and everyone clapped and shouted. Then she launched into an angry and impassioned speech about abuse of power, workers’ rights and the necessity for the humanities. As she finished by declaring that an attack on the humanities was an attack on thinking that threatened the very core of learning and education, a cry of support went up and the crowd erupted in cheers. These were quickly replaced by loud booing as the pro-vice-chancellor took the stage. He looked as arrogant as I remembered, and as he spoke about the university’s commitment to the arts the booing grew in strength and a chant of ‘Shame, shame, shame!’ drowned him out. In one brief lull, I heard him sputter, ‘The changes we make now will save the arts in the future’, but his words were met with ‘Liar, liar, liar!’ and soon that was all I could hear.

It began to rain, warm, heavy drops falling straight down, saturating us within minutes. Umbrellas appeared, giving the crowd a colourful, festive appearance, and I found myself being pushed closer towards the stage as those around me adjusted their positions, moving to find shelter under awnings and trees. I found a spot beneath a group of gums. Their long strips of bark had been raked and heaped into an untidy mound, and I reached down and absent-mindedly picked up a handful of gumnuts.

The mood darkened as the vice-chancellor herself reached the stage. Facing straight ahead, her feet slightly apart, she waited a moment, scanning the crowd before speaking. Her voice was clear and calm and the protesters fell quiet. ‘Understand,’ she said, ‘this university loves the arts. We stand by the humanities and all our staff.’ Around me people began jostling and again I was shoved forward, so now I was to the side of the platform, close to the steps leading up to the stage. A voice from the crowd challenged her, and the vice-chancellor immediately swung to face the source of the interruption. ‘I say it again. These cuts are necessary to save the future of the arts.’

‘Bullshit!’ said another protester, and people joined in, ‘Bullshit’ and ‘Liar, liar, arts on fire!’ rebounding around the quadrangle. I saw the vice-chancellor look around. The dean of the humanities stepped towards her but she motioned him away. Still scanning the faces in front of her, her eyes settled on me and I saw the flicker of recognition.

‘Save our staff!’ another voice called, and again the chant was taken up. ‘Save our staff. Honour learning!’

The vice-chancellor shook her head, and tried to speak again but couldn’t make herself heard over the racket. ‘One minute!’ she ordered. The crowd fell quiet. ‘We have the best interests of the university and all our staff at heart …’