He was made Australia’s race discrimination commissioner. But his dad had questions

Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given.This week he talks to Giridharan Sivaraman. Before becoming Australia’s Race Discrimination Commissioner last year, the employment and human rights lawyer, 47, led the pro bono compensation scheme for underpaid 7-Eleven workers.

Giridharan Sivaraman: “My dad said, ‘What? You gave up permanent employment for a fixed-term contract?’ ”Credit: Benny Capp

MONEY

What was money like for you growing up? It was tight. We were a migrant family of five – Mum, Dad, me, my brother and sister – living in a one-bedroom flat in Flemington [in Sydney’s inner west] when we arrived. My mum was a teacher; my dad became an accountant. He was denied a tertiary education in Sri Lanka because he was Tamil. Not having money when you’re young imprints on you the importance of education; it’s also something you never forget.

How about now? I’m now financially successful, there’s no question about that. In fact, that’s been used to attack me when I’ve talked about the struggles of migrants. People have said, “Look at you: successful and in a high-paying job. You’re the perfect example of why there aren’t any issues for migrants!”

How dare you, case-study-of-one! Exactly. It’s funny. I was a partner in a law firm before I took this job. It was very stable. The job as commissioner is a five-year fixed term. The first thing my dad said was, “What? You gave up permanent employment for a fixed-term contract?” [Laughs]

Why did you take on this job? I’d been at the same law firm for 20 years. So, in one sense, it was time for a change. But you don’t take on a job like this just because you want a change. You take on a job like this because you want to make a difference. I knew this job would come with its challenges and critics, but I thought, “What an opportunity to do good.”

Speaking of critics, one radio commentator said of you, “We’re paying this bloke to tell us how awful we are. He earns four times the average pay, courtesy of the taxpayer.” Your response? No, it’s the opposite. I don’t think I’m paid to say how bad we are. I’m paid to shine a light on uncomfortable truths so that we can get better. But to make it better, you have to recognise problems and be honest about them. And hey, I’m well-paid, no question about that. But I don’t get to negotiate my pay: it’s set by a tribunal. I hope I do justice to the salary I earn.

Say I gave you a hundred bucks and you have to spend it on yourself within an hour. What are you buying? At the moment, I’m wearing a pair of Stan Smith sneakers and I love them. They’re white, but they’re scuffed with stains and marks. In Sydney, there’s a joint called Sneaker Laundry. You go in with your dirty sneakers and they come back fresh. That’s what I’d do.

SEX

Did you feel attractive growing up? Oh, no.

That was a pretty emphatic no! Unpack that for me. Growing up in Australia 30 years ago or more, the classic model for men was blond hair, blue eyes, muscles, tall, maybe some R. M. Williams boots. I was brown with not-good hair, braces and I wasn’t particularly athletic. The Indian tradition isn’t about sport, other than cricket; it’s about academic achievement.

What about now? Well, I married someone very beautiful. I’m still in love with her and she makes me feel attractive.

How long have you been married? Nineteen years.

Congratulations! What’s the secret? She’s amazing. You have to know the important things you have in common, make time for each other, do things together when you can. Not sweat about the stuff that you don’t need to sweat about. Remember that your values are almost identical.

RELIGION

You grew up Hindu, right? Yeah, Hindu household, Hindu rituals, going to the temple – which was a trek because the only temple when we lived in Flemington was out in Helensburgh. And I had a Hindu wedding.

Is “Hindu” what you tick on the census? No. It’s part of who I am and I respect the cultural beliefs, which are so important to my family. But since I entered the world of law – which is a lot like the world of science; all about facts, evidence and the truth – I moved away from it. The other thing is, there’s not much room for Hindu beliefs in public life. At my ceremony to be admitted as a solicitor, I had two choices: take an oath on the Bible or have a secular affirmation. Even legal events started with a Christian prayer.

What do you hang on to from Hinduism? One of the things I’ve done throughout my life is meditate. In Hinduism, there’s that notion of meditation, self-reflection and quiet stillness.

Philosophical question: how do we reconcile the need to accept and celebrate all religions in Australia alongside the capacity for religious institutions to discriminate? There must be limits to the way a faith is practised. In a sense, freedom from humiliation is more important than freedom of faith. For example, to be excluded from school because you’re LGBTQ+ is humiliating: we need to protect children from that. It’s also important to remember that faith is often maligned – antisemitism and Islamophobia are both rampant right now – and that people are never just one thing: we’re complex, with multiple attributes. We must try to protect people as a whole.

Do you ever doubt yourself? If so, what helps? I doubt myself all the time. But I gain enormous strength from the people around me: my team at the commission and my family. Yesterday, my dad said, “I’m proud of you, son” and he doesn’t say that lightly. My sister said the same thing to me this morning. You just feel lifted.

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