Manifesto: MADE IN KIN

Australian media is an all-white house – and it’s time for a rebuild.

I’m Pauline Morrissey, and for more than twelve years I’ve written about homes across Australia – hundreds of them – for some of the country’s biggest mastheads. I’ve interviewed families and architects, travelled through regions far and wide, and documented the spaces Australians choose to call home.

This work has allowed me to see what the lifestyle, design and creative sectors really look like. Not from the outside, but from inside the house – long enough to understand precisely how it’s built. And it’s built like the homes it celebrates: bright, polished and overwhelmingly white. Unfortunately, this isn’t limited to the industries I work within. It’s a pattern across the entire media landscape that feels especially puzzling, given that Australia is one of the most multicultural countries in the world.

Throughout my career, I’ve attended countless events, launches and press gatherings. At almost all of them, I’ve been one of only two or three POC in the room as a Filipina-Australian. These rooms are often filled with industry leaders, decision-makers, editors and media representatives who shape some of the country’s most influential platforms. And the people who organise these events, attend them, photograph them and proudly post them online don’t seem to notice – or care – that the room is almost entirely white.

At some point, I stopped going. Now, when invitations arrive, I ask one question before accepting: how many POC will be in the room? The responses range from panic to silence.

And while I’ve found success in the media industry and am often invited into these spaces, the more I’ve leaned into my heritage and identity, the harder it is to ignore a simple truth: where are the rest of us?

So I’ve found myself asking editors of major lifestyle publications whether they employ POC writers on staff and suggested they hire more. I once questioned why Australia’s largest food and culture publication doesn’t feature more Filipino food stories, given that Filipinos are the fifth-largest migrant community here with a population of over 400,000.

I know of multiple established POC creatives – myself included – who have pitched book proposals to Australia’s major publishers and received nothing. Some were told their ideas were “too niche” despite significant career achievements, strong creative direction and substantial followings. Meanwhile, I was recently invited to a book launch telling a familiar story – a homecoming to a European motherland – published by the exact publisher that had ignored my Filipino homecoming proposal altogether.

The author had about the same number of Instagram followers as I do. The only difference was that their European culture was seen as “relatable” or “marketable,” while mine, apparently, was not. I suppose my twelve years of editorial experience didn’t matter as much as being the right kind of migrant.

And this is my experience as a 38-year-old with a lengthy career, national bylines and the confidence to ask uncomfortable questions. Even with the access and credibility I’ve earned, I’m still met with silence, excuses and vague promises whenever I question the lack of visibility for my wider community.

Because if I were to settle for my own esteem, invitations and quiet acceptance from white-dominated institutions, I wouldn’t be moving the needle for my people at all. And truly, what would be the point of all the outward racism my Filipina mum endured in suburban Australia in the 90s, if the next generation was only going to revel in the glory for herself?

MADE IN KIN is my response to our collective absence as POC Australians. Not as a gentle nudge, but as a rebuild. A new floor plan for culture.

A place where POC creatives are not squeezed into side rooms, handed scraps or wheeled out as seasonal diversity decor – but centred as cultural authors with voice, depth and authority.

The name MADE IN KIN reclaims the labels many of us grew up seeing – the “MADE IN [our homelands]” tags once dismissed or mocked. Ask any POC in a white-dominated room how they feel, and they’ll tell you: that label sits under our skin.

And yet so much of popular culture begins with us. Our culture inspires, is appropriated, and is spat back out with a white veneer. In fashion, the Indian dupatta becomes a “Scandinavian scarf.” In food, ingredients once dismissed as “too ethnic” become gourmet once handled by white chefs. In wellness, yoga – a sacred South Asian practice – becomes a Western lifestyle brand.

For too long, Australian media and creative industries have treated work by POC as an afterthought – published seasonally, when convenient, or when a trend cycle demanded it. It’s no surprise then that the cultural landscape still feels staged for a single audience.

MIK exists to change that landscape. To gather POC creatives so our collective weight is undeniable. To pitch campaigns, publications and cultural work backed by a community with visibility, volume and pride. To put more POC in the rooms where creativity happens – not as tokens but as the people shaping culture in this country.

We plan to shift the centre. To claim space. To wear our labels with pride.