At Robert Menzies College, we’ve always believed that being a residential community means more than simply offering services to students. Yes, we provide accommodation, academic support, and a place to belong—but if we stop there, we’ve missed something vital. Our calling is to be outward-looking. We are not a closed circle. We are part of something larger.
We hold a deep concern for refugees and asylum seekers. People don’t leave their homelands lightly. They leave because of war, persecution, and danger—because they have no other option. Over the years, we’ve partnered with the university to offer accommodation to asylum seekers, creating a space of welcome, safety, and belonging. These students have inspired us. They have faced unimaginable grief—losing loved ones during the pandemic, stranded far from home—and yet they continue to show resilience, gratitude, and determination. Their presence enriches our community. They remind us what courage and hope look like.
We are also committed to making the college accessible to students from all backgrounds. While some arrive ready to launch with just a bit of financial help, others face more complex obstacles—cultural dislocation, trauma, lack of family support. Our role is to walk alongside them, recognising that equity isn’t achieved with one-size-fits-all solutions. It requires time, attention, and care.
Faith is part of who we are, but it’s never imposed. Our partner church which meets on-site is active in the wider community—offering English language classes, a playgroup for families, and a regular food service for residents in nearby social housing. People come with questions, needs, and stories. Some come to explore faith. Others come for bread, connection, or a place to speak English. We’re here for all of it.
Another dimension of our work is a partnership with a bush university to support First Nations students transitioning to city life and university study. These students are trailblazers. They carry the hopes of their families and communities with them as they pursue education in an unfamiliar environment. Their courage, persistence, and presence are gifts to our college.
This outward-looking posture matters. It creates social capital, models generosity, and invites transformation—not just for those we support, but for all who share life here. My hope and prayer is that the students who pass through this place will carry this vision with them into the future—that they will become people who seek the margins, build bridges, and live lives marked by purpose and generosity.
After all, the real measure of a college is not just what happens during the years spent here, but the kind of people we become because of it.
This is not just
a place to sleep,
to study,
to leave with a scroll.
It is a threshold.
A table with extra chairs.
A door left open.
Some arrive
with full backpacks.
Others come carrying
grief and grit.
They don’t ask for pity—
just space to begin.
There are stories
of homelands left behind,
of courage carried
across oceans.
Of students
walking new paths
with ancient strength.
Food shared.
Language learned.
Children laughing.
This is not charity.
It is community.
We are being shaped—
by welcome,
by grace,
by the decision
to keep the door open
The Afterword 
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