Elise Searson Prakaash 30/6/25 Elise Searson Prakaash 30/6/25

“A Place Where Women Build, Belong and Thrive”: Minister for Women Visits Canberra’s Women’s Shed

Minister for Women and ACT Senator, Katy Gallagher. Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

Canberra, Australia — Along the frosty banks of Lake Tuggeranong, the rhythmic buzz of a power sander cuts through the morning stillness. Clad in fluorescent safety vests, three women are engrossed in their work. One leans over a sanding machine, meticulously smoothing a piece of timber balanced on a plastic table, while the others share smiles and quiet conversation.

Scenes like this—women confidently handling tools and engaging in hands-on projects—were once uncommon. However, at the Women’s Shed Canberra, such images are becoming increasingly familiar, reflecting a broader shift in societal norms.

This transformation aligns with evolving attitudes toward gender roles in Australia. According to the 2025 Gender Compass report by Plan International Australia, 62% of Australians believe that men have more opportunities than women to earn the main household income. Yet, 62% also agree that everyone benefits when women have equal access to rights, opportunities, and outcomes as men. plan.org.au

Initiatives like the Women’s Shed Canberra not only equip women with practical skills but also foster a sense of community and empowerment, challenging traditional norms and promoting inclusivity in shared spaces.

A Growing Hub for Women

Women’s Shed members enjoying the the sun while working on their projects. Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

Founded in 2020 by Sunita Kotnala and Robby McGarvey, the Women’s Shed Canberra began as a modest venture operating out of a small space in Griffith. Kotnala’s vision was clear: to create a safe and supportive environment where women could learn practical skills and build community connections.

That vision has flourished. Earlier this year, the Women’s Shed secured a permanent home at the WAVE Centre in Greenway. It now offers workshops in skills ranging from carpentry and home maintenance to creative projects, providing women with hands-on experience and confidence in fields traditionally dominated by men.

Minister for Women and ACT Senator, Katy Gallagher and Women’s Shed Canberra CEO, Sunita Kotnala Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

Sunita Kotnala’s tireless work led to her being named Canberra Citizen of the Year in 2025, recognised for her efforts in empowering women and breaking down barriers. Under her leadership, the Shed has become a place not only for learning but for friendship, mental health support, and community resilience.

“When women learn how to handle tools, fix things in their homes, or take on new projects, they gain independence,” Kotnala has said previously. “But they also discover how capable they are—and how much they can support one another.”

Minister’s First Visit

This week marked the federal Minister for Women’s first visit to the Women’s Shed Canberra, following an invitation from Kotnala after her Citizen of the Year honour.

“I’ve been to the Men’s Shed down here before, but this is my first time visiting the Women’s Shed,” the Minister said, standing amidst the women in high-vis vests. “I wasn’t sure what I would find when I came down here, but it’s fantastic. It’s very similar to the Men’s Sheds—a place for people to gather, chat, learn new skills, and create things. Women are often the glue that knits communities together, so it’s no surprise there’s a bunch of dynamic women behind this.”

Beyond learning practical skills, the Minister highlighted the broader significance of the shed’s work. “One of the biggest problems in our labour market is the gender-segregated nature of our employment base,” she said. “Industries like construction and trades are still overwhelmingly male. Normalising women gaining skills in these areas has huge potential.”

She also spoke passionately about the role sheds like this can play in helping women who’ve experienced domestic or family violence. “For women who’ve been isolated or controlled, being able to come here, feel safe, try new things, and connect with people who care is incredibly powerful,” she said.

Funding and Future Vision

Women’s Shed member restores her grandfathers lamp stand. Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

When asked about potential funding support, the Minister noted she was eager to explore how federal programs might assist the Women’s Shed, in partnership with the ACT Government.

“I’m definitely keen to look at what I can do to help,” she said. “Traditionally, this kind of community initiative might be funded by state governments, but as Minister for Women, I’m interested in how our programs could support reducing gender segregation in the workforce and helping women affected by violence. And as a proud Canberran, I know how many generous individuals and businesses might want to partner with a place like this.”

Empowerment in Action

Women and the tradie gather for a photo with the Minister. Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

Back outside by the lake, the winter air carries the soft hum of sanding machines and the sound of laughter. Inside the shed, cups of warm tea are being made while homemade date muffins are being adding to the safe and homely vibe. It’s a reminder that the Women’s Shed is far more than just a workshop—it’s a place where women build skills, friendships, and futures.

For Sunita Kotnala and the women of the shed, it’s all about creating a space where every woman feels she belongs.

“It’s about practical skills, yes,” Kotnala has said. “But it’s also about belonging, friendship, and discovering that you’re capable of things you never thought possible.”

Women’s Shed member discusses her woodwork project with the Minister and Sunita. Photo: Elise Searson Prakaash.

Under rows of neatly organised tools and shelves filled with timber offcuts, jars of screws, and woodworking planes a quiet revolution is unfolding.

With the support of community leaders and the determination of its members, the Women’s Shed Canberra looks set to keep growing—one project, one friendship, and one power tool at a time. All they need is more funding to make the workshops more accessible and equitable.

Elise Searson Prakaash 20/5/25 Elise Searson Prakaash 20/5/25

What It Takes: Lessons from Women Who Ran for Office.

“I was ready for trolls and political attacks — I wasn’t ready for the woman who tried to take me down.”

Former federal election candidates - Kerrie Harris, Elise Searson Prakaash and Claire Miles.

Two campaigns in nine months was never going to be easy but the thought of saying no to an opportunity to speak on behalf of my community was even harder to stomach. So, I said yes and strapped myself in for the race to the safest senate seats in Australia. Knowing, the only way to win is if I had a Steven Bradbury moment, you know that guy? He won an olympic gold after all four of his opponents crashed on the final turn of the race.

Steven Bradbury Olympics GIFfrom Steven Bradbury GIFs

Women with public profiles often warn about trolling, sexism, and discrimination — but nothing quite prepares you for what it feels like when it’s directed at you. You wonder, what could they even say? “You’re fat”? “You’re a mole”? It all seems ridiculous — until it starts. The abuse only came from men, and the intensity of their anger felt strangely personal, as if I’d wronged them directly. It was one of the most bizarre and unsettling experiences I’ve had with strangers. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, because it absolutely did - it left me wondering if the trolls are people who I interacted with in person and to be honest, that made me feel incredibly unsafe during the campaign.

Facebook screenshot of a real life troll.

I managed to internalise the abuse like a seasoned candidate — until the final week of pre-poll. By then, the toll had started to show. The night before, I’d been called a “dump slut” online. At a community forum, I was cut off midway through my four-minute pitch. I was tired — physically and emotionally. It was also school holidays, and my four- and seven-year-old were home. Still, I kept repeating my mantras: “There’s never a perfect time” , “Walk through doors that open”, And for the most part, it worked. Until it didn’t.

That day, I was handing out how-to-vote cards when a party staffer walked up behind me. Without warning, he interrupted my conversation with a voter, placed his candidate’s flyer directly on top of mine, and said, “Don’t take hers, she’s an anti-vaxxer.”

I turned to him and asked, “Excuse me, what did you just say?”

A volunteer joined him. Together, they insisted I was mistaken. And for a brief moment, I questioned myself. Did I hear that right? But I quickly gathered myself. I had heard him correctly, and I knew this behaviour wasn’t acceptable.

So I responded — firmly and publicly. In front of a queue of voters, I said: “Show me where it says I’m against vaccines. You are factually incorrect — and you would never have done this if I were a man.”

He used a false label to discredit me, publicly, for nothing more than a moment of one-upmanship — and that’s what stung the most. It wasn’t just personal; it was strategic and demeaning.

Later, I sought accountability in the MP’s office. The staffer apologised: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” His boss remained passively complicit in what had happened.

When I walked back outside, eyes swollen with tears, I felt the weight of it all. I was embarrassed — not by my emotions, but by the fact that I’d been forced into public vulnerability. I quietly stepped away and called it a day.

Not all attacks come from opponents

To my surprise, one of the most disheartening experiences came not from anonymous trolls or political opponents — but from a woman in my own network. What began as passive-aggressive comments in a group chat slowly escalated into something more hostile: smirking and laughter while I spoke at public forums, volunteers openly scoffing at me during pre-poll in her electorate, icy glares when we crossed paths, and even my yard signs kicked over and local posters graffitied.

It wasn’t just pettiness — it was a deliberate attempt to undermine and humiliate me, both publicly and privately. And it hurt more than I expected, because it came from someone I once considered a peer.

When I stepped into the political arena, I was prepared for scrutiny, sexism, and party politics. What I wasn’t prepared for was the conditional support from other women — support that seemed to depend on whether I aligned with the right affiliations, the right networks, or the right image.

Sisterhood, I learned, is not always unconditional in politics. And that’s a truth we need to talk about, too.

My ambition to enter politics was driven by lived experience — my own, and that of the people I hoped to represent. I came into it with the belief that authenticity, integrity, and a good heart would be recognised and respected. In hindsight, that was naive. I underestimated how threatening those qualities can appear to some in a system more focused on power than principle. What has stayed with me most is not the pressure or the pace, but the inability of some people to simply be decent — to act with basic humanity. That, more than anything, is what I won’t forget.

“It Was an Investment in Myself”: Cooma Mother and Teacher Reflects on Running for Senate

Kerrie Harris is a former Independent Senate Candidate for Eden-Monaro. Photo: Supplied

Kerrie Harris, a mother of three and a teacher from Cooma, ran a zero-cost campaign as an Independent Senate candidate for Eden-Monaro — driven by a desire to represent everyday Australians and offer an alternative to the major parties.

“Running for elected office is something I have always wanted to do,” Kerrie says. “So I felt like it was an investment in myself to take my leave and give it everything I had.” With no party backing or campaign budget, she put herself forward as a relatable, grounded candidate — someone she describes as “an average woman wanting to represent everyday Australians.”

Though the odds were stacked against her, Kerrie embraced the challenge. “I knew that running for the Senate and getting elected as an Independent would be pretty much impossible,” she admits. “But I feel like putting myself out there and offering people an option to the major parties was worthwhile.”

Her campaign resonated with many in her community. “My messages and what I stood for were really well received,” she says. Support poured in through social media and private messages, encouraging her to run again. “I was really overwhelmed by people being willing to publicly support me — this was the best outcome imaginable for me.”

Like many women in politics, Kerrie wasn’t immune to criticism. A few nasty comments appeared on Facebook, targeting her intelligence and questioning her legitimacy as a candidate. “Some people said I was dumb or that I should leave politics to more serious people,” she recalls. “But honestly, they were really minor in comparison to the support I received.”

Reflecting on the experience, Kerrie says the campaign left a lasting impact. “It was an amazing experience — I learnt a lot about people, about politics, and about myself,” she says. She’s now back at school, teaching full time and raising her three daughters, but the spark hasn’t faded.

“I’d really love to run again,” she says. “I think there’s room for a new party — something that could give democracy in Australia the opportunity for a bit of renewal. And I’d love to put my efforts into that possibility.”

'It Has to Be a Partnership': What One Former RAAF Officer Learned from Running for Office

Former Independent Candidate for Canberra, Claire Miles. Photo: Supplied

Claire Miles ran as an independent candidate for the lower house in Canberra, stepping away from her career in the Royal Australian Air Force to focus entirely on the campaign.

“Resigning from the RAAF was a big decision,” she said, “but it gave me the space to fully commit.” Before making that call, Claire sat down with her family for a frank discussion about what it would mean for all of them — who would need to take on what, and how they’d manage daily life while she was campaigning. “We’ve always supported each other’s goals, and this was no different. It was a real team effort.”

As an independent female candidate, Claire was prepared for a challenge — but some moments still surprised her. “One comment that really stuck with me came from a man I’d met a few times,” she recalled. “In a group conversation, he said, ‘Oh, you do have a brain. I just figured you were another idealistic blonde.’”

She didn’t let it stop her. There was also trolling online, but she chose not to take it personally. “It was harder on my friends and family, actually. They felt protective.” Claire made a conscious choice to only engage with people who were genuinely interested in discussing policy or ideas. “If it got personal, I didn’t respond. It wasn’t worth the energy.”

Former Independent Candidate for Canberra, Claire Miles with volunteers in Civic. Photo: Supplied.

The campaign taught her a lot — about politics, people, and herself. “The biggest lesson was the importance of staying true to myself. There’s so much advice out there, and a lot of it is conflicting. I just kept coming back to my values and trusting my instincts. Authenticity matters.”

Reflecting on the experience, Claire says running for the seat of Canberra was deeply rewarding. She met people from all walks of life and had meaningful conversations that reshaped her understanding of her community. “It only strengthened my drive to make sure Canberra gets the representation and outcomes it deserves.”

And would she run again? “Absolutely — if the community supports me and says they want me to represent them. But it has to be a partnership. It only works if we’re in it together.”

Despite setbacks, the fight for authentic representation continues

Running for office as a woman — especially an independent or micro party — means stepping into a space that often wasn’t built with you in mind. It means weathering attacks from strangers, disappointments from those you once trusted, and constantly proving your worth in ways your male counterparts rarely have to.

But it also means discovering deep wells of strength, community, and purpose. It means refusing to let cynicism win. I didn’t enter politics to be liked, or to play the game — I entered it to speak for people like me, who are often left out of the conversation. And despite everything, I’d do it again.

Because the truth is, we need more women with lived experience — real women — in politics. Not just for the symbolism, but for the substance. For the communities we serve. For the future we’re still brave enough to fight for.