Despite celebrating its status as Australia’s oldest living campus-wide student publication, Farrago appears to court a limited audience among the students it serves. Why this apathy? And what do these students think?

What are your thoughts on the uni paper?

Alex Ciocan, a Commerce Honours student, pauses for a moment. ‘I didn’t know we had a uni paper.’

Really? Have you heard of Farrago? 

‘No.’ 

Oh. 

It’s an awkward exchange, but an unsurprising one. Farrago describes itself as a publication that ‘will publish anything’, yet for many, particularly those outside the Arts faculty, it may as well not exist. The problem isn’t hostility; it’s irrelevance. Farrago reads more like a creative writing and arts zine than a space where student ideas, interests and disciplines intersect.

The official student paper of the University of Melbourne Student Union, Farrago’s earliest iteration in 1925 set out its intention to ‘be an open forum for discussion on any matter pertaining to University life.’ Today, its content largely appeals to a niche audience - those who can recite Marx from memory or engage in heated debates over the Oxford comma. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with this, it creates an echo chamber rather than a publication that represents the diversity of the student body. Ciocan scrolls through pages of political coverage and personal vignettes. ‘Yeah, so this has obviously got its own identity as a very artsy, very political publication.’ His assessment is blunt but fair. If a student doesn’t have an interest in politics, poetry or niche film reviews, there’s little reason for them to engage with Farrago at all. 

It’s not that most students dislike Farrago; it’s that they don’t care. A publication that fails to engage large swathes of the student population will inevitably become background noise. Major outlets like The New York Times or BBC understand the importance of range, covering politics, science, sports, entertainment and more with enthusiasm. Farrago, by contrast, has been shaped by generations of humanities students writing what they want to read rather than what all students at large might be interested in. ‘The Finance Student Association has a publication where they’ll do market recaps similar to what’s done in the Australian Financial Review.’ Farrago might benefit from incorporating such articles  and collaborating with organisations from other disciplines. ‘If you had a finance section in the uni paper, I think more people would be interested.’

The perception that Farrago is an Arts student’s playground isn’t just anecdotal. A keyword search for ‘business’ on the publication’s website yields no results. The science section has been scrapped. This reflects a broader issue at the University of Melbourne: degrees are highly siloed, meaning students from different faculties rarely cross paths. Ciocan points out Farrago’s potential as a unifying force: ‘If I’m inclined to pick up the uni paper because there’s a finance section or whatever, while I’m there, I might as well check out the science section or the art section and see what else is going on.’ Ciocan points out. 

For aspiring journalists, Farrago is an invaluable opportunity to build portfolios, develop a network and gain industry experience. But should a student paper exist solely as a stepping stone for those pursuing media careers? If the majority of students don’t see themselves reflected in the publication, can we blame them for disengaging? Widening the lens wouldn’t just draw the student body back in, it would sharpen the skills of future journalists, teaching them to navigate a richer terrain of disciplines and perspectives. 

Farrago operates on a sizeable budget, with $109,475 allocated to the UMSU Media Department in 2025. Of that, $72,000 is earmarked for printing with Kosdown Printing, the Union-mandated, sustainable provider. The rest supports events, launches and other media initiatives such as Radio Fodder and the Above Water writing competition. While this funding has gradually declined year-on-year, it remains significant, and, for some students, increasingly hard to justify. ‘Having something that has so much uni funding that’s only for one degree, that a very small subset of people use, is probably not the best utilisation of uni funds,’ says Ciocan. 

At the same time, Farrago’s defenders would argue that internal funding is the lifeblood of student-led media, especially when publications like The Age or The Conversation draw from deep wells of advertising and grants in ways a student paper cannot. Still, the question remains: what obligation does a publicly funded student paper have to represent the diversity of the student body? Ciocan offers a solution: ‘Rebrand or spin-off.’ If Farrago wants to stay afloat, it must broaden its sails. More representative coverage wouldn’t just anchor its relevance, it might also increase its readership, helping to secure greater funding in the long run.

A Response from Farrago editor Sophie He: 

‘Every year, four fresh students commence their editorships with grand ideas for how they’ll reshape Farrago; and we were no different. However, its perceived lack of broad student appeal is an enduring critique lobbied at this publication; with SSAF funding raised as an analogue to taxpayer money wasted. However, unlike the ABC, any student who pays the SSAF can submit to us. If you want to see the magazine’s content shift, to quote 2003 editor Jackie Bailey, “get out your pen and do something about it.”’