Jean Hinchliffe - Lead the Way: How to change the world, from a teen activist and school striker

A practical and insightful guide to activism, for activists at all stages of their journey. The future is safe with Jean Hinchliffe as a leader.

Carly Findlay OAM

Jean is the kind of leader that I want to work with ... It is no fluke that Jean is in the engine room of the movement and no accident that shes inviting you to join her.

Yael Stone

Want to take action and fight for whats right, but dont know where to start?

Lead the Way is the ultimate guide to activism and making systemic change, your way. Jean Hinchliffe is one of the key organisers of School Strikes 4 Climate, and in this book she shares her tools, stories and learnings from the movement with you.

From identifying your cause to finding allies, planning a march, nailing your messaging, public speaking and working with the media, to the importance of self-care when youre on your activist journey, Lead the Way will guide you to start changing the world today.

Teenagers are leading the way towards a better future and you can too.

As individuals and as a movement we can start rehabilitating our society, and this planet and Lead the Way will give you the passion, enthusiasm and knowledge to do so.

Montaigne

How to change the world from a teen activist and school striker

JEAN HINCHLIFFE

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

HEY! IM JEAN, AND IM A YOUTH ACTIVIST, WITH CLIMATE justice being my current primary focus. As youve made the decision to pick up this book, I assume you too have a strong desire to make the world a better place. And, honestly, thats all you need to become completely and utterly absorbed into the world of change-making. This universe is, at points, chaotic and daunting, yet its always an invigorating and beautiful space where people from all walks of life band together to fight for whats right. Becoming an activist has been one of the most rewarding aspects of my life, and I hope this guide helps you navigate that same journey. Before we jump in, I thought Id share my activist story how I became so deeply involved in activism so quickly, and why its become such an important part of my life.

Ive always been a pretty political and loud-mouthed kid. I became a passionate debater and public speaker at the ripe old age of eight, thanks to my Year Three teacher, Mr Dodds. There was something thrilling about getting up on stage and attempting to demolish the other teams arguments even on such typically exciting school-mandated topics as Should the canteen be allowed to sell sugary foods? and Should sport be mandatory? However, we also debated some more interesting motions, such as whether we should continue to celebrate Australia Day, or if gambling should be made illegal. These programs are in many ways what first allowed me to raise my voice, teaching me the value of speaking up.

Although my family is quite progressive, theyve never been the sort to join local action groups or become heavily involved in campaigning. Because of this, the first rally I ever attended was the 2017 Womens March in Sydney. I hadnt actually realised it was happening that day, and discovered its existence when a friend invited me to come along with her family. When we rocked up to Hyde Park a few minutes after the rally had officially begun, I was completely gobsmacked at the crowds of people flooding through the grounds. About 5000 people were crammed into the area, a sea of pink pussyhats and hand-painted banners. I thought it was the most incredible thing Id ever seen. We chanted as we marched through the city: cries of feminism, girl power and intersectionality. Id never felt an energy like that before; it was entirely consuming, both electrifying and seemingly endless. I knew in that moment that I wanted the feeling to last long after the march.

Towards the end of that year, the marriage equality plebiscite was held. After months of tireless debate, the voluntary postal survey was called by the federal government. It asked a simple question: should the law be changed to allow same-sex couples to marry? But the public response was anything but simple. It put all LGBTQ+ people on the chopping block, threatening their identities and livelihoods while loud political and media voices likened same-sex marriage to bestiality, paedophilia and polygamy. The hatred and attacks against the community were awful, leading to measurable impacts on the wellbeing of many queer people. I was incredibly frustrated by the whole situation, but had no clue how to help. Then one night I saw a tweet from the YES campaign, recruiting volunteers for phone banking. I clicked through to the website and immediately signed up. One of my mothers conditions for letting me go along to a meeting of random adults in an office building in the city at 7.30 pm was (quite reasonably) that I had to take a friend. I gave my mate Marley a call and, luckily for me, she was keen to help.

Dressed in our sweaty school sports uniforms, we made our way into the YES campaign HQ. It was very nearly an average office space, but the rainbow flags covering every available wall ruined its chances of looking at all ordinary. As we took our seats, it became clear that we were the youngest people in the room by about twenty years. We slunk into our little corner, trying to act as if this were a totally normal situation and we didnt feel wildly awkward. We were separated into small groups and went through a few icebreaker introductions, explaining how we had come to volunteer. It was interesting to see that the majority of people there didnt actually identify as queer, but had still taken time out of their evenings to support a cause that didnt directly impact them. Then we started our training. We were supplied with a script that worked as a flowchart to guide the conversation. The goal of the calls was that if the person was in support of marriage equality, we would get them to pledge to send in their vote as soon as they received the ballot. And, if they had already received the ballot, they would send it in immediately after we finished the call.

It was simple work, but I was unusually nervous. I guess cold-calling strangers to ask about their personal and political beliefs is just a little anxiety-inducing. But pretty quickly I managed to summon up the guts to start dialling. After navigating the robot voice system, we were placed in the call queue and spent time listening to the on-hold music. Because this was a marriage-equality campaign, I was anticipating some classic queer hits. The music was most certainly classic, but not of that variety: we were confronted with a disconcertingly dramatic and gothic orchestral song that would jarringly cut out every time we were connected to a call. Most people who were picking up the phone automatically assumed I was an adult; I dont think Ive been referred to as maam in any other situation. Happily, most callers were incredibly sweet and willing to talk. The worst interactions I had were with very gruff-sounding men telling me that they simply did not want to discuss this over the phone.

By the end of the evening I didnt even need to look at the script anymore; I had recited it so many times it had become muscle memory. It was a surprisingly exhausting task and I couldnt wait to get to bed. But it was also remarkably empowering and rewarding.