I’m basically a professional bridge-builder. Most days I’m helping people weave their way through Australia’s visa maze—turning legal jargon into real-life options so they can work, reunite with family or start a business here. I’m also steering a small (but mighty) team, juggling nap schedules with policy submissions, and nudging government decision-makers toward rules that feel a bit more human.

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Unity, strength, perspective.

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Intentional access: widen entry points—scholarships, clerkships and remote roles—so talent isn’t filtered by postcode, privilege or traditional career pathways. Active sponsorship: senior practitioners must champion under-represented voices, not merely “mentor” them; amplifying someone’s ideas in the room where decisions are made is transformative. Structural flexibility: billing models, parental-leave policies and hybrid work options need to reflect different life stages and cultures; when people can bring their whole selves to work, creative problem-solving flourishes. Relentless accountability: track diversity metrics the same way we track billables—set targets, publish progress, and tie leadership KPIs to inclusive outcomes.

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I’ve always had a built-in fairness radar. I was about twelve when I marched up to a corner-store owner and lectured him on the illegality of the pirated DVDs he was selling—my poor mum had to pull me away. In high school, Legal Studies poured fuel on that fire: the human-rights cases we covered made it crystal clear I wanted a career that sticks up for people who don’t always get a say. Law felt like the most direct way to turn that sense of justice into something useful.

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