The relationship between law and history has long been the subject of academic interest. Both disciplines have occasion to turn to the past, yet their purposes and methods for doing so often vary. Some commentators have noted the similarities between the two disciplines, describing them as ‘intellectual cousins’ who share a ‘natural affinity'. Yet, equally, commentators have noted the tensions between the two disciplines, depicting them not as allies but as strangers or enemies. These scholars have painted a picture of competing logics, suggesting that the clash between the law's ‘logic of authority’ and the historian's ‘logic of evidence’ creates an uneasy relationship.

Although capturing the attention of both judges and commentators, the intersection between law and history continues to elude precise definition.

Australia's telecommunications sector is in the process of remarkable change. Over the past decade, it has evolved from a market dominated by a government owned entity (Telecom) with a statutory monopoly, to a privatised and fully competitive market comprising “carriers”, “carriage service providers” and “content service providers”, each providing an ever-expanding range of services through a variety of delivery platforms. The aim of this paper is to review the rapidly evolving legal and administrative framework for the protection of privacy within Australia's telecommunications sector. The paper will survey the regulation of telecommunications interception by individuals and law enforcement bodies, disclosure of the contents of (tele)communications by telecommunications service providers, encryption policy, computer “hacking” offences, the Telecommunications Industry Ombudsman scheme and the new “co-regulatory” approach to standards development through the Australian Communications Industry Forum (ACIF). The paper will also consider whether Australia's privacy regime is an adequate response to the challenges posed by the changing telecommunications environment.

I was asked to address the impact of the Administrative Decisions (Judicial Review) Act 1977 (Cth) (ADJR Act) in the field of broadcasting. That is not the title of this paper, as I frankly doubt that the availability of review under the ADJR Act has made that much difference in this area.

This is not to say, of course, that there have not been important challenges to administrative decisions in this field, with significant consequences, both for those of us working in the area and for administrative law in general. I remain to be convinced, however, that similar challenges would not have occurred, or that there would have been that many less applications for review, if parties to proceedings before the Australian Broadcasting Tribunal (“ABT”) had been left to their remedies under the general law.

One notable outcome of the 2004 federal election is that no Indigenous Australian was elected to federal Parliament. Since July 2005, when Aden Ridgeway’s term as Senator expired, there have been no Indigenous Australians among the 226 members of the national Parliament. This article explores briefly why this is the case, and then moves to consider the viability of Australia adopting a quota system whereby ‘dedicated’ or ‘reserved’ seats of Parliament would be created for Indigenous Australians.

The issue of the protection of privacy sums up a congeries of public anxieties about the standing of individuals in relation to those who exercise governmental and economic power. The issue has impinged increasingly on governmental and legal processes but it is one which these processes have had difficulty assimilating. At a general level, this article attempts to provide some insights into this difficulty, taking the Privacy Act 1988 (Cth) as its main focus.

Until now, analyses of the Privacy Act have tended to concentrate quite narrowly upon its provisions. Although a number of shortcomings have been identified as a consequence, no detailed or systematic explanations for these shortcomings have been advanced. This article seeks both to outline the deficiencies in the Act and to explain them. It takes as its point of departure the premise that the Act's deficiencies cannot be explained adequately by looking only at its provisions or formal legislative history.

Socio-legal scholars have long recognised the importance of understanding the difference and the interaction between the ‘law in the books’ — the formal legal rules and doctrines made by parliaments and the courts, and the ‘law in action’ — the processes and practices by which those rules and doctrines are put into effect. Similarly, public lawyers and regulatory theorists have highlighted the importance of understanding the role of regulatory discretion in the enforcement of rules. The commonly understood message in these overlapping areas of research is that we cannot properly understand the law if we limit our attention to formal rules. A related point is that there is nothing necessarily improper about the exercise of regulatory discretion. Nor is there anything necessarily improper about the fact that the processes of rule enforcement can produce different outcomes than might be suggested by a simple reading of the rule itself.

The use of history in constitutional interpretation is widespread. It is defended by scholars and practised by judges, both in Australia and, in particular, the United States. Originalism, as this practice has come to be known, also attracts many critics. There is extensive debate, for example, about whether originalism disguises or serves political agendas, or whether constitutional pre-commitment is legitimate: in short, whether the present should be bound by the past. Originalism comes in many forms, but common to all is the assumption that the meaning of constitutional provisions is to be found in the past. Critics challenge this assumption primarily on normative grounds. What originalists and critics alike rarely consider is whether, and, if so, how, it is possible to know the relevant history. Surprisingly little attention has been paid to this fundamental methodological question: if history is to guide constitutional interpretation, how should the courts ‘do’ history? What are the disciplinary rules of research that should be followed if historical meaning is genuinely to be delivered?

This paper explores what conventional historians do (and the fallacies and errors they attempt to avoid), and identifies some of the basic rules of historical methodology, an awareness of which is a precondition for any claim to interpret historically. It surveys the High Court of Australia's record of reference to Australia's constitution-framing, including and following the leading ‘originalist’ case, Cole v Whitfield (1988) 165 CLR 360. It considers several alternative ways in which judges might approach the use of history methodologically, albeit without becoming historians. It neither defends nor contests originalism but concludes that history should be used in constitutional interpretation only with great care and only rarely.

Although the framers of the Commonwealth Constitution, steeped in the study of American federalism, found the United States Constitution a valuable model which they could copy or adapt to the requirements of the six federating Australian colonies, they deliberately departed from the judicial provisions of that model in two major respects: first by creating the High Court of Australia as a general court of appeal from the Supreme Courts of the States; and, secondly, by empowering the Parliament to invest State courts with jurisdiction in all matters which might be brought before the High Court in its original jurisdiction.

Most High Court decisions which touch upon the Australian Constitution are posthumously examined in academic literature. Some, though too few, have been subjected to more lengthy and detailed analysis. The Franklin Dam case is not an exception. Within eighteen months, it has consumed a substantial number of pages of commentary. Prominent are discussions concerning specific constitutional powers — corporations, race, external affairs and nationhood — and prohibitions — ss 51(xxxi) and 100 and implied restrictions. General premises and themes which underlie the processes of constitutional adjudication have attracted rather less attention. There has been some enunciation of interpretative principles and discussion of the political dimensions of judicial review. Further elaboration would be invaluable. Perhaps, commentators are waiting for the dust to settle before advancing to these, and other, more nebulous aspects of constitutional decision-making. When they do so, the dimensions of Australian constitutional law scholarship could be irretrievably enhanced.