1978, 2023 Edition

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF COUNTRY This edition of 1978 was edited, compiled, and published on the occupied lands of the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation.

We acknowledge that sovereignty was never ceded, and that the occupation is violent and ongoing. We give our deep respect and solidarity to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and to their Elders, past, present and emerging.

This land always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land.

First published 2023 by The University of Sydney Funded by the University of Sydney Union and the University of Sydney Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences © Individual Contributors 2023 Foreword © Nicholas Osiowy and Yasodara Afterword © Nicole Zhang and Marlena Holdernesse Graphic design © Yasodara, Jun Kwoun, Miles Huynh and Grace Alexander Layout © Yasodara, Nicholas Osiowy and Jun Kwoun Proofread © Yasodara and Nicholas Osiowy © The University of Sydney 2023 Images and some short quotations have been used in this book.

Every effort has been made to identify and attribute credit appropriately.

The editors thank contributors for permission to reproduce their work.

Print ISBN: 978-1-74210-567-3 PDF ISBN: 978-1-74210-565-9 1978 Reproduction and Communication for other purposes Except as permitted under the Act, no part of this edition may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or communicated in any form or by any means without prior written permission. All requests for reproduction or communication should be made to Sydney University Press at the address below.

Fisher Library F03 University of Sydney NSW 2006 Australia Email: sup.info@sydney.edu.au Web: sydney.edu.au/sup Cover design by Jun Kwoun

o all the crusaders on whose shoulders we stand

Editors-in-Chief Nicholas Osiowy Yasodara Creative Director Jun Kwoun General Editors Marlena Holdernesse Nicole Zhang Non-fiction Editors Penelope Beltran-Rehberg Kate Scott Poetry Editors Adela Goh Zara Ishka Yvonne Wang Prose Editors Markus Barrie Nathan Phillis Visual Art Editors Grace Alexander Miles Hyunh

iv

n enTS

CO T

1 9 7 8

Foreword ix-x – Nicholas Osiowy & Yasodara Interview with Ms Lesley Podesta 1 Interview with Mr Ken Davis 5 Is it Bye-Bye Binary? 18 – Nicholas Osiowy Cut To Freedom 23 – Hattie Zhu Gender Envy, or Radical 38 (女) 24 – Juneau Choo tectonic 26 – Jem Rice Lesbians to be aware of Pretty Boy SAME LOVE QUEER BINGO LESBIAN SMUGNESS THE EM & KATE PROBLEM HAMMERBARN Untitled –G

27 28 30 31 32 33 34 36

Ode to Desire 38 – Feronia Ding Scratch Me 39 – Hattie Zhu virga 40 – Brighton Grace FEMME RITUALS 41 – Xena M. 0 – Shelly Han

44

n enT

CO T

2 0 2 3

45 Dear Alice Shelly Han – 46 A Girl is not a Bird Feronia Ding – 47 Subversive Sheilas: The Women’s Liberation House and Sydney’s second-wave feminist movement of the 1970s Grace Mitchell – 60 The Angel in the House Kelsey Goldsbro – 61 Women Creating Art Penelope Beltran-Rehberg – 62 1978 45th Anniversary Playlist 63 Ode to the Night Frank – 64 Cambium Zara Ishka – 68 Homeward Feronia Ding – 69 Tomebird Cosmin Luca – 70 Liberation Ash – 72 Upon the Bay Alex Ma – 77 The Sublime Majesty of The Canada Bay Zoe Morris – 78 Letter from my Glutamatergic System Cosmin Luca – 80 Queer Joy in Collage Neve – 88 Afterword Marlena Holderness & Nicole Zhang – 91 99 107 109

About the Editors About the Contributors Illustrators Special thanks

forewRd 1 9 7 8

Dearest Readers, When 1978 was founded three years ago, by Kate Scott and Jenna Lorge, it took its name from the year of Sydney’s first Mardi Gras.

In doing so, it identified itself directly with pride’s basis in subversion and protest. This concerns pieces that directly challenge the status quo by subverting and challenging our society’s oppressive structures. But simultaneously, speaking to ’78ers, what struck us was the fragility of the queer community’s presence. That even the presence of a publication, autonomously written, edited and published by the community itself, is a subversive act.

When we began envisioning the journal this year, we insisted to our editors and contributors that there was no single theme like love, reflection, memory, or even protest, for to have one would be an injustice to the very multifaceted nature that makes us human and yet unique.

If there is one thing that should be clear from 1978, it is that the queer community is not a monolith. We have our own experiences, our own lenses and perceptions, but through these we also represent the entire spectrum of human nature.

You can see the diversity of the entire human race in the stories and experiences of our community. In this journal, we sojourn from suburban nightmares and nights out in Sydney to emboldening make-up rituals, strained familial ties and queer history. We also were quite keen to showcase the diversity of styles that queer creatives are employing to carry across their work.

We would like to thank the winners of the 2023 Queer and Trans Joy and Euphoria as Resistance Creative Writing and Art Competition for giving us the honour of featuring your mesmerising works of art. ix

2 0 2 3

R

werof

Although it was not our theme, we could not publish this edition of 1978 without acknowledging the 45th anniversary of the Mardi Gras, and the celebrations that it and the hosting of World Pride, have brought to Sydney. We spoke to two ’78ers and University of Sydney alumni, Lesley Podesta and Ken Davis, whose words speak to the changes and challenges of pride, of its past and its future. We extend our deepest thanks to Lesley and Ken for sharing not only their experiences and advice but also the many hours of their time.

Indeed, the greatest thanks go to our contributors, who have brought to life this edition with their stories, feelings and thoughts.

There is no greater privilege than being entrsuted the task of editing and collating them. Thus, most of all, we are truly indebted to our passionate editorial team who devoted days and nights to the task of refining these gems.

We hope you enjoy and see reflections of yourself in the pages to come.

Our warmest regards, Nicholas Osiowy & Yasodara Editors-in-Chief, 2023

x

Ms Lesley Podesta spoke to 1978 through video conference. The interview has been edited for brevity and clarity in collaboration with Ms Podesta.

1978: Thinking about the origins of pride, what are your thoughts on its basis in protest?

Lesley Podesta: There was a strong sense in Sydney at that time of it being an international movement. We relied on gay newspapers from the UK and US. I remember we used to follow a terrific Canadian one, and we were horrified when they were raided and people were arrested, private information was misused, there were threats and so on.

There was a diverse group of people involved in what we then called gay politics, anarchists, Trotskyists, radical feminists, and just regular students, and we were all horrified by this shutting down of publications. We had always been aware of what happened at Stonewall, but it felt more historical; the Lesley Podesta shutting down of publications felt more (Photo Credit: Lesley Podesta) real for us. The other thing we were following was Anita Bryant.

They had this slogan that because we ‘cannot reproduce we must recruit,’ which was all based on terrifying people and that was very real to us. Of course we knew about repression in other communities as well, but we just didn’t have the same interface with them, so it didn’t feel as real to us as the colleagues we had built relationships with in North America. ’78: Could you tell us about what it was like on the ground at the first Mardi Gras in 1978?

LP: That night, I was one of the speakers at the Paddington Town Hall before the march as part of the international Gay Solidarity Group; we had a meeting with quite a lot of people, and then we were ready for a party that night. Sydney Uni is pretty good at mobilising mates, so we had a lot of friends there, and honestly at the beginning it was fun, we had good music, we were saying, ‘sing if you’re glad to be gay.’ There was this sense of being a bit in your face, and because of that idea about recruiting, we were like ‘come and join us!’ I remember that night, as I always do in 1

Mardi Gras, running from person to person and hugging and kissing, and literally dancing in the street, since we had music coming from speakers in the back of the truck. Someone made the decision to go through Kings Cross and we were just on a high; there wasn’t a sense of this being a radical thing, it was just our party. We got to the Cross, and there were police there, and people pushed back and it got really ugly.

My friends and I got quickly separated, the police were coming to wedge us, and we were trying to find each other again more than anything. My girlfriend got arrested early, and we weren’t sure where people were being taken, we were taking them out of the police vans and trying to let their tires down. We didn’t hit the police, there was a lot of screaming and yelling, and a real sense of what the fuck is this about? From our point of view it wasn’t aggressive, but it became much more serious. My friend Peter Murphy got bashed in the police station. And more and more of our friends were not able to be found so we had a vigil outside the police station. And I went home and started ringing people to try and collect bail money, and we spent all night collecting as much as we could. ’78: How did the ’78 march spur activism later on?

LP: There were so many activist groups from Sydney Uni there, and we all had a very close relationship with the Redfern Legal Centre, since we’d been involved with demonstrations, such as for Isaac Jensen, on campus, that we’d brought them along on the night. And when it became clear that we needed to organise around this, we called a big community meeting at Redfern Town Hall just in the days after about what we were going to do in response to the charges, how we were going to defend people and protest. Of course, those who were arrested had their names published in the Sydney Morning Herald the next day, which was unheard of ! Many people got arrested during demonstrations, they never published names. This was such a blatant thing to intimidate and freak people out. My girlfriend was just a regular telegram operator, and everyone quickly found out at work. We were protesting this abuse of power, because how dare they do that? And the meetings were massive! There were hundreds and hundreds of people. We had to form a really strong coalition of people for the legal defence. ’78: As the movement has gone on, could you speak about the challenges it has faced?

LP: I’ve thought about this a bit recently, because I have a transgender child, and I was thinking about what are the new frontiers. This is probably not a popular thing to say, but most of the structural and community attitudes to homosexuality are not the same, that fight is not the critical fight anymore. We’ve moved to a more contested area now which is around that non binary sense of gender as opposed to sexuality.

Gay marriage is now something even conservatives are campaigning for. But I think that all of the work that was done to make gay marriage a reality has demystified gay rights, and rightwing attacks are very much around gender identity as opposed 2

to sexual orientation. What’s interesting is that the original movement hasn’t to some degree kept up with that change in contemporary debate. I find it really astonishing to meet up with people who I worked with on the front lines, do not understand the nuances or that the same people who opposed us are the ones that have such hatred towards trans people. There is still an essentialism in some people’s minds. ’78: Reflecting on that, what are some challenges and accomplishments that you have faced in the ’78ers?

LP: I am very happy now to live in Melbourne, and I don’t have to spend my life having the fights they have in Sydney because fuck me dead they’re ridiculous!

I’ll be blatant, some people, the highlight of their life was being put up in a street march where people got arrested. Honestly, it was just happenstance, I went on 500 demonstrations, it doesn’t make you special. What makes you special is continuing to fight for justice and people’s rights. Those of us who happened to be at the first Mardi Gras don’t deserve special status. And if people have a very political framework around what drives equality and inequality from the beginning, where they are always questioning, always thinking, always looking at the broader political context, then we can get on and talk about the broader issues in sexual liberation and gender politics.

But I find that there is a group of ’78ers for whom the world hasn’t changed, and the politics they absorbed young are the politics, are the prism through which they see everything, and it’s frustrating. I get that not everybody has maintained a political perspective too, but I do find it frustrating that people who are not political activists, feel that they can set the rules for the generation coming behind. Our role is to say this is what happened to us, these are the things we learned, and how can we help you guys so it doesn’t happen to you too? And that is why, for me, being very visible around trans rights is such a critical part of the responsibility of being a ’78er. We need to understand the lessons of history and do the right thing for young people who are hitting enormous barriers of hatred, discrimination, misinformation. I’ll give an example: my daughter, who is the most beautiful, amazing young woman. She’s 29, a lawyer, and she made the decision to transition 2 years ago. What she has to go through to have basic medical care fucking pisses me off so much. I get why people are so careful around trans people, but the lack of agency is exactly the same sort of thing that was discrimination for gay people in the ’70s. We need to be drawing the conclusions around who’s doing what, how gay people committed suicide because they were demonised, and you see the same thing happening with trans and intersex people. ’78: What is your advice to queer activists today?

LP: Never assume that you know anything and always question your privilege. So much is better when you’re opening your heart to other peoples’ challenges, and put your ego aside and think about what we can do to help more people. I went to a 3

pride day in Munich recently, and their slogan was Less Me, More We and I love that so much. ’78: How do you feel about corporate money in pride?

LP: I think that there is a role and a place for companies to be part of a good citizenship movement and to contribute, but not by being able to call rules. For me the main thing now is that it is easy to be positive about gay people, but how are the companies being positive about trans people? It comes down to if the company is able to be clear and positive and non-discriminatory. As for Mardi Gras, everyone disses on it, it’s now a tourist event. The real issue is does Mardi Gras contribute to other positive movements? That said, it was incredibly heartening to see more community based ones, like that one in Munich. It opened with Ukrainian refugees, and so much of it was young people. And I stood there and cried most of the time. This is what it should be like! It felt much more real. ’78: How do you feel about the advancement of queer representation?

LP: I do think that is a great thing! One of the things I found that is most important, in my own experience, was exposure. Spend time with us and see that we wipe our bottoms and eat our food. Normalising the other is really important in helping people open their brains to a new reality. For example, when I was at Sydney Uni, I was on the SRC when Tony Abbott was President. Years went by, and I was working in the health department, and he became the minister. We had an adult, professional relationship. After they lost the election, I rang him and said ‘Never vote for you in a million years, but can I tell you one thing?’ – he had met my son at the time – what a beautiful young boy he was and how much I love him. ‘And I want you to think, whenever someone is awful about gay parents, I want you to think that’s Lesley and Michael they’re talking about.’ And he said, ‘Well that’s something to think about in the wilderness isn’t it?’ Two months later, he gave a speech at a Liberal Party conference where he said gay parents are parents like anyone else. And I know he would never have said that if I hadn’t talked to him about it. That’s what exposure does. ’78: Are you optimistic about the future of queer rights?

LP: I am! I love the energy of young people, that they don’t have the same binary notions of gender. Through my own prism, I watched my daughter come out as trans; she went to an all boys high school, and her friends have been fantastic. So I am really hopeful, even though no right is ever settled, you always have to be fighting constantly for your rights. But I do think that the environment for young people is so much better now.

4

Mr Ken Davis spoke to 1978 through video conference. The interview has been edited in part in collaboration with Mr Davis.

1978: Could you tell us about your current work?

Ken Davis: I was at Sydney University from 1974, but now I work as International Program Manager for Union Aid Abroad – APHEDA, which is the international solidarity agency of the Australian trade unions. I started working with them in 1991, primarily on HIV, in southern Africa, Pacific and Mekong countries. So, I've been working there a long while, and before that, I worked in AIDS in the community sector, and before that, with the Commonwealth Government in employment and disability, and before that, I was a postal worker while I was at Sydney University.

I’m co-chair of First Mardi Gras Inc., which is a membership organisation with about a hundred-and-ninety members. Maybe less now ’cause people die, because we’re old.

I’ll just say about the history of this group. On the 20th anniversary of the Mardi Gras, a group of people got together around Robin Kennedy and David Abello and Karl Slotkowski and a range of other people, and formed The ’78ers to mark anniversaries of the first parade. ’78: We'd love to get your take on how you think pride has changed over the years.

KD: Can I just talk about what led up to the first one first? ’78: Yeah, absolutely!

KD: So, I was a high school student in state school near Macquarie University, and I got involved in radical politics in 1972, because of the Vietnam War, anti-Apartheid struggle, environment, Indigenous struggles; a whole lot of stuff.

I came out in Gay Pride Week, which was the first national demonstrations in September 1973.

There were other people from my school, teachers and students at those demonstrations, and there were a lot of arrests.

Ken Davis, c.1980s

(Source: Ken Davis)

About the same time, there was Jeremy Fisher from Gay Lib [who] was thrown out of Robert Menzies College, a residential college controlled by the

5

Anglican Church at Macquarie Uni. The Students’ Council, [which] was, at the time, controlled by Trotskyists, asked the Builders Labourers Federation to intervene. The Builders Labourers took industrial action against building the university at Macquarie.

And that’s the first time there was ever a strike to support homosexual rights, other than someone who was a member of the union. The key issue was [that] Jeremy Fisher, and later Penny Short, and (later) the students at Sydney University were not members of the BLF. So, these industrial actions are historically important in our movement, internationally.

It really changed how I saw gay liberation because I thought the struggles against psychiatry and other issues that we had big movements around were a bit tangential or not serious parts of the class struggle. So, an industrial, blue-collar union, democratically deciding to take industrial action to lose pay for a fair go for homosexuals, that really changed how I understood what was going on. It really radicalised me. It made me think that gay liberation was, and feminism was, as important parts of the struggle as union struggles or Indigenous struggles or international struggles. It really located things.

The gay movement – lesbian and gay movement – and I say ‘gay’ because we adopted that identity from America. It was quite troublesome, that identity. We didn’t use that word. We used ‘camp’ or ‘poofter’ or ‘dyke’ or ‘bisexual’. You know, at the time there were bisexuals and transsexuals in public life. There were no homosexuals in public life in the early ’70s. So, adopting the word ‘gay’ was an inclusive identity; didn’t mean that you were exclusively homosexual. It meant that same-sex attraction was a significant part of your life – that you recognised it was oppressed and you wanted to be involved in collective struggle around that. So ‘gay’ superseded ‘camp’ as a common word in Australia. And then ‘lesbian’. But they didn't mean then what they mean now. And other identities like transgender did not exist. There were transsexuals, female impersonators, drag queens, drag kings, transvestites, radical drag, genderfuck… I’m just giving a note, you know, [of] historic terms, in case anyone gets angry that I’m saying ‘gay’, but I’ll use terms that were proper at the time.

I was involved in the gay liberation from ’73 onwards, and most people were anarchists or Trotskyists or Left ALP or Communist Party, and the Communist Party at the time was Euro-communist, meaning it had broken with both Beijing and Moscow. And Beijing and Moscow maintained strong anti-feminist and antihomosexual politics.

So, the Communist Party was probably the biggest political group at Sydney University, at the time, and then the Socialist Youth Alliance, which was Trotskyist.

Macquarie was really important for, you know, Penny Short, Jeremy Fisher and those struggles and the SRC was sort of Trotskyist.

6

UNSW had Maoists and anarchists, and it was really, really, important for the struggle against psychiatry and psychosurgery, and aversion therapy.

And then Sydney University in government and economic history, you have this cluster of really important people in the Lesbian and Gay Movement: Sue Wills, Lex Watson, Dennis Altman, Ernie Chapels, Gavin Harris, Gary Wotherspoon, [and] later, Robert Aldridge. So, Sydney University was a bit different. The Left was very strong, very committed to gay liberation. And there was a group of academics that were very important. But, Malcolm Turnbull was head of the Liberal Club. Like, he was an organic representative of the ruling class, and liberal. Tony Abbott was head of the Democrat Club from the Democratic Labor Party, and many of them were closeted gay men – not Greg Sheridan, but the others. And they were putting out propaganda every day, which was anti-gay, against abortion and contraception in the early ’70s, in support of the dictatorships in Rhodesia, in Portugal, in Italy, in Greece, in Spain, in Taiwan, in South Korea, Pinochet in Chile. There was not a right-wing dictatorship they didn't support, and they strongly supported apartheid.

So, Sydney University was more tense than other universities, because of this really vicious far right-wing political organisation run by Tony Abbott and also the strength of Scripture Union on campus. So, politics was confrontational.

Also in ’73, ’74, there were big struggles to separate political economy, general philosophy… to split the university departments. The struggle around philosophy was to be able to teach Marxism, Feminism, Anarchism. And again, the Builders Labourers did industrial action to support feminists and I guess, in a different way, lesbian and gay liberationists at Sydney University.

Then, I was studying Arts at Sydney University. A lot of lesbians and gay people around the SRC in the Left. I was in Gay Lib still, which had become like a social group based at Sydney University with Lex Watson and Gary Wotherspoon, and then, Lesley Podesta and Garrett Prestage – his name was Gary Bennett at the time – and Rose Vines and myself and other people formed Active Defence of Homosexuals on Campus, (ADHOC), which was a more radical left-wing Sydney University-based group. And I guess, a lot of people were involved in different groups in the SRC. So, that’s the background.

I and my mob were in the Socialist Youth Alliance, which was Trotskyist. There were the International Socialists, also sort of Trotskyist, but the largest group was the Communist Party. Of course, there were anarchists and people that were Left ALP. And one of my comrades, Alison Britton, had dual citizenship with the United States, and in order to keep her American status, she migrated from Sydney to San Francisco in 1977. And she was with the Trotskyist Socialist Workers Party in San Francisco.

There was a big split in the movement in California in response to The Briggs 7

Initiative, which was a referendum from the Christian Right to remove anyone who supported gay rights from any job in the California school system. So, it wasn’t just homosexuals, it was about someone, even a janitor, speaking in support of gay rights.

So this was a really, really big threat.

Anita Bryant had started a Christian Right backlash in Florida in 1976. The Festival of Light had been formed here as an alliance of all the main Christian and Jewish denominations in ’73, based on Moral Re-Armament in Britain, with Mary Whitehouse and Malcolm Muggeridge, and, strangely enough, the African National Congress’ Anglican gay priest, Trevor Huddleston, as the three leaders. They’d exported themselves to Sydney in ’73.

So, internationally, although the movement hadn’t made any legislative progress in America or anywhere from ’73 onwards, the big issue was how to respond to the rise of the Christian Right. And that also was around the role of women, or around abortion and contraception. It was one package around reproductive freedom and sexuality.

So, the Trotskyist lesbians that were friends of Alison Britton, she got them to write a letter to me and to her ex-girlfriend, Anne Talvé, to say we need solidarity actions on the 24th of June 1978. And so, I convened meetings in May in the SRC. We got the campus groups together, the Metropolitan Community Church, which was the new gay Protestant church, Acceptance, which was the gay Catholic group [and] tangentially, the second Jewish group after Chutzpah– I can’t remember its name, but Jacob Gubay was running it after 1976; he had founded the main gay Jewish synagogue in New York [and] was now in Sydney. There was an initial Gay Teachers and Students Group. There was also CAMP, which was in the process of expelling its left-wing.

And then there were people who didn’t always identify as lesbian or gay from the Communist Party, from the Socialist Workers Party, from the International Socialists, from the Spartacists and from the Left of the ALP, particularly Young Labour. I was secretary of Sydney Young Labour and my partner, Max Pearce, was president of New South Wales Young Labour. So, we decided to have a forum and try to have a march, which was quite scary because our demonstrations – and we’re talking ordinary daytime marches – in the ’70s had not been very strong. So, it was a big gamble, because International Women's Day was growing in Sydney, but we as lesbians and gay men, we didn’t have a big background in having big street marches.

And then a group of people within CAMP who were about to be got rid of by CAMP leadership – who wanted to transform itself into the gay counselling service – Robin Plaister, Robin Kennedy, Marg McMann, Lance Gowland from the Communist Party, his partner, Dr Jim Walker, Ron Austin, who thought of the first Mardi Gras and his partner, Kym Skinner, Mike Clohesy, Peter De Waal, Peter Bonsall-Boone – there was 8

a faction within CAMP and they’d seen in May at the first Gay Film Festival in what’s now Whitlam Square, a film from San Francisco called Word Is Out, which showed the Gay Freedom Day with a million people in the daytime parade.

And the idea was to have a street party or a celebration in Oxford Street at night, late at night, so people could be in costume and people wouldn’t be filmed and on TV where employers or schools or parents could see people. [Ken chuckles to himself] This was a really dumb idea. I was a bit reluctant because I thought, you know, two or two and a half weeks out, we couldn’t manage it, but Garrett Prestage and everyone else and the Communist Party and the people from CAMP and everyone, except me, maybe, was really keen on doing it. And so Garrett Prestage and Mike Clohesy started doing mass media. I did banners. Chris Jones from the Socialist Workers Party did posters. We were writing to all the groups. Lance did the police permit and booked a truck. And we had a dance, mainly lesbian dance the night before, I think, at Balmain. Then the march on the morning was much bigger than we thought, with about 500 people.

Putting people together was really bad because a lot of the Lefties and anarchists didn’t like the Catholics and the Anglicans and the Liberals. The lesbians didn’t like the Leather Men. A lot of the men didn’t like the lesbians because they thought they were badly dressed and loud. So putting all the tribes together was not easy. You’ve got to remember back then, Radical Feminism and Radical Lesbianism, well, you know, they had a big agenda against sex work, against pornography, against S&M, against leather, against role playing, against transsexuals, against objectification.

All of this was organised from Sydney University.

So, on the night, no one came at 10 o’clock at Taylor Square. And I was there wearing a polka dot Country & Western frock and a gay liberation flag. But by about 11 o’clock, there was a critical mass. And we set off with a sound truck with the banner I did for ‘International Gay Solidarity’, playing Meg Christian’s ‘Ode to a Gym Teacher’.

And then the ironic Tom Robinson song, ‘Glad to be Gay’.

Ken Davis and fellow participants on the night of the first Sydney Mardi Gras (24th of June, 1978) (Source: Ken Davis)

9

New South Wales was, and to some extent, still is, run by organised crime. So, everything was negotiated between the Police, the Liberal Party, the Labor Party, some unions and the Catholic Church with the Syndicate, which was then run by Abe Saffron. And why I’m saying this is in Darlinghurst and in Kings Cross, the sex industry, pornography, gambling, drugs, were run by the Syndicate with a clear set of agreements with the police and the government, particularly during the former Liberal government under Askin (from 1965-75). When Labor came into power with Wran in 1976, – who, I didn’t know until recently, had sex with men – they needed to make new arrangements with organised crime.

Illegal casinos became gay bars. So, suddenly in Oxford Street, there were a lot of gay bars and a lesbian bar. The social scene in Oxford Street was suddenly really, really, different. And because pubs closed at 10 p.m., people moved from the hotels to essentially illegal gay and lesbian nightclubs or bars, which paid the police a lot of money to continue operating. And if they didn’t, the police, using the Summary Offenses Act, could come into the bars and arrest lesbians and gay men for displaying same-sex affection.

So the idea of having the Mardi Gras was, so that people – not necessarily rich people, but young people on the street – would come out of the new gay venues and be in a gay celebration. The police had given a permit, but the police coming on the late-night shift thought it was out of control, which it sort of was! There had never been anything like that in Sydney at night. It was before the Reclaim the Night marches. So, they kept harassing the truck and kept making it go faster and faster down Oxford Street to the point where most of us were running rather than dancing.

And, you’ve got to remember that this is before stimulant drugs. The music and drug culture was transformed, ’79, ’80, ’81 to ’83, from drag shows in illegal bars with downers and hallucinogens, to different music beats like disco and then, later house and techno with stimulants like MDMA and later speed. So, you’ve got a really big cultural change. And what’s just about to happen in 1979, is the birth of a really big commercial scene, which is, four times bigger than what’s there now. But by 1980, there was something like fifty gay and lesbian venues in Oxford Street.

Around 1980, the culture shifted. Mandrax was banned in ’79 and the men in the Communist Party that had been Effeminists suddenly turned into clones. And in most of the gay male bars, drag queens were thrown out [and] you couldn’t enter the bar if you weren’t dressed like a blue-collar worker. So there were big cultural changes occurring at the same time as the Mardi Gras. I digress, but we were situated in a moment of big change.

Anyway, the police tried to interfere with the Mardi Gras. We had called it a ‘Mardi Gras’ two weeks before. There was a lot of publicity for it in The Australian, which 10

at the time – I know this is hard to understand – was a left-wing publication! [Ken chuckles] And, by the time we got to the bottom of Oxford Street, we had maybe fifteen hundred people, maybe more. But then they stopped us going into Hyde Park to finish off and have a bit of a party. And spontaneously people went down College Street and then up William Street; maybe the police wanted us to do that, I don’t know. And it stopped being a celebration and became a march, even though there were no banners or placards.

People were chanting, ‘Stop police attacks on gays, women and blacks.’ And that slogan existed before the first Mardi Gras because at Darlinghurst Police Station, there’d been a lot of rapes of women and sex workers and transsexuals and drag queens. A lot of beating up of gay men and a lot of beating up of Indigenous people.

The Summary Offences Act meant you couldn’t drink in public.

So, there was a common problem identified before Mardi Gras. You know, people talk about intersectionality – well, we were sort of doing that in the ’70s, before we started to focus narrowly on gay rights.

And so, Mardi Gras marks this transition from liberation movement to a neoliberal rights-based movement. The police corralled us – I think you call it ‘kettling’ now – in Darlinghurst Road, [they] blocked off both ends of Darlinghurst Road and started arrests. And, you know, they’d never really dealt with an out-of-control crowd in the streets in the middle of the night in their territory.

And of course, the bar and brothel owners were hysterically angry. But what the police didn’t think through was that lesbians would fight back. And so as soon as they started arresting lesbians, the lesbians were really fighting and pulling people out of paddy wagons. I don’t know how many people went into the paddy wagons, but a lot more than a hundred. But the end result was they only kept fifty-three people in the paddy wagons. And then some of the gay men started getting involved, and then, the people in the street, who might have been in the street for sex work or drugs or just being drunk or, whatever – like, Kings Cross was pretty wild then, not like now. When the opportunity for fighting with the police arose, people were right into it, because Darlinghurst Police Station was really corrupt and brutal.

And so, the anger really exploded. I remember, I was trying to get my dress off and Di Minnis who was with me had her leg in plaster because she was a Bikie Dyke and she’d had a motorbike accident. So we were trying to hold back. And there was this really young Indigenous woman sex worker who just thought it was Christmas. She thought it was fabulous, you know, when she saw people throwing metal garbage bin lids at the police, she just thought this was fabulous! I don’t know how long she’d been 11

there, but, people in Kings Cross, ordinary people, had had such a bad time that it all erupted. And the police were really brutal. And then they took people to Darlinghurst Police Station.

We had to phone around or go around and get cash for bail. Meanwhile, people were overcrowded and were beaten up inside the cells and we couldn’t get doctors or lawyers in. And then the women were transferred to Central Police Station and released about 10 a.m. the next morning. And then people had to go to court on Monday.

I guess on the Sunday, two things happened. For the first time, lesbian and gay rights was a big issue in public life in Australia, and Neville Wran, the Premier, made quite offensive comments. But, suddenly, the new Labor government in New South Wales was behaving exactly the same as the National Party government in Queensland and had made mass arrests of a peaceful public assembly. So suddenly the Labor Party and the progressive parties, I think it was the Australia Party, Civil Liberties, all the trade unions, the Women’s Movement, the Student Movement, everyone realised that it had become a big democratic rights issue about who controlled the state – the police and organised crime or the elected government.

So, the demand was to repeal Summary Offences Act, which was the body of law that gave police control over public places, about definitions of what was offensive or acceptable, which really matters to Indigenous people or sex workers or lesbians and gay men or people that want to have demonstrations. In 1979, the pressure on the Labor government was so great that they dropped almost all the charges and repealed Summary Offences. And that led to momentum around inclusion of homosexuality and anti-discrimination in 1982 and the repeal of the Buggery Laws in ’84. But by then, of course, HIV was already a big political issue.

Sorry, I didn’t stop. ’78: No; that’s such interesting history!

KD: Can I just say one more thing? The first Mardi Gras, the Syndicate that owned most of the gay venues, and the other gay businesses, and the gay media and the more conservative gay groups were totally horrified. And they started to create structures, right-wing structures in the gay movement to oppose the Mardi Gras.

And so, they effectively opposed the first Mardi Gras, the second Mardi Gras in winter and the third Mardi Gras in 1980. And then the right-wing of the Communist Party, Brian McGann, moved to shift the Mardi Gras to summer to enable business participation in 1981. But ironically, that first summer Mardi Gras had to be postponed, and was essentially run by anarchists and the far-left, not by the right12

wingers who had tried to capture it. ’78: How do you feel about the change in Mardi Gras since then, especially with corporate money?

KD: I think Mardi Gras has gone through lots of different phases. And I think what’s good is the people that watch; I’m really interested in that. And so at the city end, it’s overwhelmingly people of East Asian backgrounds, maybe more South Asian now or West Asian.

Now, there’s students and citizens and tourists and I don’t know who. It may not be exclusively about lesbian and gay issues or sexuality but I think it’s more than just a free night of fun.

Because when there are political messages in Khmer or Vietnamese or Chinese or Japanese or Korean, people respond politically. Suddenly a whole bunch of people in the crowd will put their fists up. So, I think there’s some deeper political resonance that’s not well understood.

I think the gay and lesbian and transgender, or queer sexuality is really important. I think the humour and satire and politics is really important. And I think that’s still possible in different ways.

I think particularly in the showgrounds, there was a real problem with repression by the Mardi Gras, which at the time was run by, I wouldn’t say extreme rightwingers, but, some of them make Malcolm Turnbull look reasonable, you know?

The showground itself, which was very repressive, the broadcasters, which limit what you’re allowed to say, the state government, the city government, the police, all of them, can interfere with what people are doing in the parade. The process of getting into the parade by Mardi Gras, the curation of it, is completely non-transparent and conservative. I think this is a real problem.

They say that they give ten or fifteen percent to the sponsors. Well, I’m not opposed to sponsors, right? And I’m not opposed to straight people being in the Mardi Gras because they were in the first Mardi Gras. They’ve been there all the time [and] that doesn’t mean the parade doesn’t have an identity as gay and lesbian and transgender.

But I don’t think the sponsors need to be in the parade. You know, you can reward sponsorship by things other than having their floats in the parade. And there’s no proper ethical screen on which companies are there. So, if a company pretends that it’s done some diversity training with its management, then it can get in, but there’s no actual analysis of: is this company behaving well to the environment, to its workers or to its consumers? You know, Mardi Gras doesn’t have proper screening. So, there’s no barrier to Rio Tinto being the float behind the First Nations at the front because Rio 13

Tinto could say, look, we’ve done a whole lot of diversity training for our managers.

Now, where that comes from, though, is not a bad place, historically. When you’ve got groups of people from working class suburbs or from areas outside Sydney or from, you know, countries in [the] Pacific or Asia, self-organising parade entries, that’s really, really, really, good and valuable. And Qantas now has advertising floats, but the Qantas dancing groups were originally organised by workers, as workers, not as the employer. So, there’s a difference between people being there as workers in a government service or volunteers or as staff or as professionals or as union members, like the Nurses’ Association or Teachers Federation or Union Pride.

And there’s a parallel with police. I don’t think police should be there as a service, as the NSW Police Force, but I think it’s okay for people to identify as a group of lesbians or gay men or transgender people in the police or military.

But there’s too much marketing of for-profit companies that are unethical and for government, essentially government sector services that dilute the whole Mardi Gras. It takes the edge away. You know, if we’re not allowed to have peace signs or, if we’re not allowed to look like we’re sexual. If you look at the sexual tribes that used to be there: Puppies and Leather or the Bears, it’s really attenuated now. It’s really desexualised. ’78: How would you reflect on the corporatisation of pride? How do you see challenges or problems in the movement at the moment or where it should go next in the future?

KD: I think mainly in relation to racism, the pride parades in parts of Europe and North America have split or have banned police or have banned the big advertisers.

So it’s a big issue. And that sort of happened two years ago here with Pride in Protest running a daytime march. I don’t know if that’s the future. I mean, Mardi Gras leadership has changed for the better just now after World Pride, which was, outrageously neoliberal and apolitical and all about individual experience of famous people rather than building any campaigns that would change our lives anywhere in the world.

I think after World Pride, things are probably a bit better. I think of what the Mardi Gras represents in political economy; you’ve got all this work that’s done for free in the community, like building floats or conceptualising floats or rehearsing dances or whatever, and there’s a limited amount of money from the state government or the city government for the Mardi Gras, and then an in-kind agreement with the police to manage it. But then that’s replicated by hyper regulation internally within Mardi Gras, like with all these young authoritarians telling old lesbians and gay men and transgender people how to behave. Mardi Gras used to be more spontaneous, and I can’t see why it can’t still be. I think the hyper regulation is a response to the sponsors, 14

broadcasters, governments and the police.

I think the people that make a lot of money out of the Mardi Gras are the big hospitality industry companies like hotels, transport, travel, and to some extent restaurants, and they put nothing into it. So, what’s happening is there’s a bit of government money, a lot of community resources, and that represents tens of millions in profits for Qantas, for example, or for Marriott Hotels. I think the state government, like Tourism NSW, would prefer it’s a family-friendly daytime event – and I think to some extent some Mardi Gras people want that. Well, you know, there’s a real problem with winning the marriage debate because it says that the only valid lesbians and gay men are those that are monogamously married and with kids.

It throws the rest of us under the bus, you know. So, the family friendly stuff is quite dangerous, I think. ’78: If we’re trying to maintain that sense of radicalism and subversiveness in Mardi Gras, what would your advice be to queer activists that are working right now, for example, in trans rights and things like that, to avoid that?

KD: I think people are not very clear about how hard it is to get a visual political message across to the people watching on TV or on the road within seconds. But at Mardi Gras, people are not that interested in direct messages. What they want is something that’s satirical or camp or humorous or sexy that speaks truth to power. So, I don’t think it has to be only lesbian and gay and transgender issues.

I think with some skill, you can comment on issues that are topical in a satirical way that retains queer sensibility. There’s a way of putting out a message that’s attractive and humorous but leads to people questioning power. And that’s why Mardi Gras is Mardi Gras. That’s the role of Mardi Gras and the Feast of Fools in Christian history.

It’s to invert power and to speak truth to power through satire.

The talent for Mardi Gras is to package the message in a way that will instantly make people laugh or make people uncomfortable or to step out of bounds, and for that to call into question big political issues of power. ’78: In essence, are you optimistic, Ken, about the future of the movement at all?

KD: No. Look, I think like there’s a lot of ways of looking at it. One of the ways from American politics is to look at elite capture, that is, how does neoliberalism capture the leadership of social movements and make the framework that we work in very narrow. I think that’s happened in the queer movement internationally, and I think the problem comes from the first Mardi Gras where we moved without thinking very clearly, from liberationist perspectives to law reforms that empowered the state. And the best example is allowing the state to define our relationships through marriage.

15

I didn’t vote ‘no’ on marriage, right, but there’s a real trade-off. We lost a whole lot in social security, in industrial rights and in immigration. So I think the narrowing of the agenda to lesbian and gay rights or transsexual rights or transgender rights, that’s part of the problem. And what people politely refer to as intersectionality is really important. That is a radical sexuality/gender analysis of other political questions, like workers’ rights, the environment, Indigenous rights, disability, gender equality, reproductive freedom, internationalism, racism, refugees, housing, who runs schools, welfare, health… ’78: Would you like to see more collective revolutionary action across the board? Is that what you think the future of the movement should really be like, instead of focusing on individual liberties?

KD: I think it’s about alliances. I think it’s about taking radical sexuality or radical gender politics into social justice movements, like the housing. Housing is a really key question for us. It’s the biggest determinant around our gender expression or our sexuality, globally. One reason we had a gay movement in the late ’70s is because we were all on student allowances and sharing housing. We weren’t paying for university.

And we were getting subsidised by the government. And my rent when I moved out of home was $12 a week. So that enabled me to have sex. You know, that’s not what’s happening now globally. Like, the main problem for lesbians and gay men, for example, in Rwanda or Sri Lanka or Palestine is where do you go to be intimate?

So, housing is a really big question for us here or anywhere. And what we need to do is to be involved in that struggle consciously and visibly. But in Mardi Gras, we need to raise those questions in a satirical or humorous or queer or camp way to trigger a sudden question in people’s minds. ’78: What do you think about the use of queer representation in culture with things like Heartstopper, for example? I mean, do you think that that helps or hinders in that sense?

KD: I mean, it’s important that people with disabilities or, you know, non-Anglo people or people of different shapes and sexualities and genders are in mass media.

Because in the early ’70s, when I was in school, there were no homosexuals in public life. Literature about homosexuality, like Gide or Mishima or Gore Vidal or Baldwin, all of that was banned, you know. So it’s good, but – sorry to go back – the problem is when we entered this sort of mad gay-and-lesbian-rights-narrowly-defined moment in a neoliberal way in the late ’70s, we wanted to give the state power to censor stuff we didn’t like. And the problem was all of our best lesbian and gay and transgender – I’m being anachronistic – transsexual literature was not about good portrayals of lesbians and gay men as rich middle-class people. It was about difficult portrayals of us as troubled. You know what I mean? Like anybody else. It was good literature. Like, if 16

you read Jean Genet, this is not an attractive portrayal of drag queens, but it’s fucking enormously important and it’s real art!

I guess I’ll just say Mardi Gras was better when we had a bigger range of international groups there from Asia and West Asia and the Pacific and the diaspora groups here and groups that were about internationalism or migration. And different religious groups.

There’s actually less diversity now in the last couple of years in Mardi Gras than there used to be. Part of it is because people are less able to travel, there’s less overseas students here, but part of it’s also the Mardi Gras’ decisions.

If you’re NAB or ANZ, you can have three or four-hundred. So this 10% for the sponsors is bullshit, because in terms of numbers, they’re allowed to have a lot more people than community or political groups. So the problem is in what values does Mardi Gras have to groups?

Do they value fifteen people from Tonga, or do they value three-hundred people from Apple?

Mardi Gras should represent, even in a satirical way, the level of crisis in the world.

This century has seen reversals. We built a movement at a time when democracy was advancing in the late 20th century. When I got involved in the gay movement in the early ’70s, there were about twenty-four independent liberal democracies in the world.

By 1979, democratic space was expanding. And this is really crucial because how do you have a lesbian and gay movement if no one has democracy, right, if there’s no democratic space.

I mean, now Trump’s not there. Scott Morrison’s not there. Bolsonaro has gone. But the situation for queer movements in most countries is dire because the situation of all social movements in those countries is dire. And that needs to be reflected in the Mardi Gras and it wasn’t reflected in the World Pride Human Rights Conference.

We are in an emergency globally and it’s linked to climate crisis, it’s linked to the economic crisis, it’s linked to technological change, it’s linked to geopolitical changes, but because democracy is being rolled back and will continue to roll back, particularly if Trump’s re-elected, our movement is in total crisis, as is the feminist movement globally, as is the Indigenous movement, globally. In a creative way, we need to represent our queer urgencies in the Mardi Gras parade.

17

Is it

Bye-Bye Binary?

Nicholas Osiowy (he/him)

n my opinion, whoever

invented the phrase ‘beyond the binary’, deserves a medal. In just three words, it says all that ‘queer’ does, and more. But most importantly, it exists without the backbreaking, polarising baggage that accompanies the word. Of course, it does refer primarily to the trans and intersex communities, but more broadly it can apply to all of us that exist outside society’s gender and sexual norms. But besides the fact that it rolls off our tongues far more easily than almost any other term like it, ‘beyond the binary’ strikes something

18

"...far more easily than almost any other term like it, ‘beyond the binary’ strikes something deep in humans in its language of liberation."

deep in humans in its language of liberation. From the normiest members of suburbia to the nuttiest denizens of uni share houses, humanity labours under the existence of binaries; real, imagined, constructed, and enforced. But despite their long history, and us, as individuals and societies perpetually finding ourselves at war with many of them, their existence has endured. One of the most enduring:

gender. Today, in the face of greater opposition to the gender binary than ever before, the question arises – is this the beginning of the end? Is it bye-bye binaries?

efore I continue,

it is important to note that while many of the binaries we interact with are largely abstracted, and often obscure concepts, it would be wrong to ignore their real-life implications.

Whatever our opinions about many of these ideas, they cannot be separated from the human experience they describe.

"...a binary carries an additional meaning of opposition.

It's not just two copies of something but two different, albeit similar, things. This is where ideas of balance and complementarity start to come from..."

o, what precisely is a binary? The

word comes from the Latin bini, meaning two by two, or two together. Bini itself came from the older bis which comes from the Proto-Indo-European dwis, meaning doubly. In other words, it is the idea of a single unit that is composed of two discrete things. There is a clear applicability of the concept of a binary to our ancient past, likely related to many of our (now rapidly disappearing) hunter-gatherer experiences; two berries for one, two for another. This accounts for the prevalence of doubles, but a binary carries an additional meaning of

opposition. It’s not just two copies of something but two different, albeit similar, things. This is where ideas of balance and complementarity start to come from, and also where some would likely argue for gender as a definitive, model binary. But even a cursory look at human history clearly shows it is far more complex than that. Life is not defined by one or the other, but by a confluence of factors that act across all humans.

Instead, history shows us

a vast array of binaries, some harshly differentiated and balanced, others far more mysterious in the separation of their parts. Many of them are held as cornerstones of thought; Cartesian dualism gives us the murky ideas of mind and body, Chinese philosophy the balance of yin and yang. Others have defined an immense range of contemporary thought, from Freud’s Ego and Id to the beginnings of the political Left and Right from revolutionary France. But to illustrate my point, it might be useful to look at a more abstract example.

hat becomes clear from examples

like this is that binaries are present throughout practically all aspects of human life. But what is also obvious is that distinguishing between descriptive and inherent binaries is a murky area.

19

So, to illustrate the attributes of binary of the left and right brain, and the role thinking altogether, it will be useful to it plays in our creativity and cognition. consider an abstracted example; the idea Camille Paglia has also, for example, of Apollonian and Dionysian. Rooted applied the essential aspects of the binary in Greek mythology, it assigns one class to gender and sexuality in Western of human reality to Apollo, defined by civilisation, identifying Apollo with the the sun, music and art, logic and reason, male and Dionysus with the female. as well as disease, and one to Dionysus, defined by the night, wine, chaos, ut as before, the crucial takeaway from pleasure and emotions. Developed by the binary of Apollonian and Dionysian, Friedrich Nietzsche in his 1872 book The is that like most binaries, although it Birth of Tragedy, this binary between the has endured, it hasn’t come without an Apollonian and Dionysian attempts to accent. The Greeks, for example, did explain the artistry and function of Greek not place the binary centrally (or much tragedy. Since these plays by individuals at all) in their mythology and religion; like Sophocles and Artemis, the chaste Aeschylus contain both goddess of the hunt and the Apollonian and the moon, instead tended Dionysian elements, to occupy this spot next they dramatise the to her brother Apollo.

"The Greeks, for tension between Another is how our example, did not desiring order and 21st century society has chaos. Oedipus, who recontextualised many of place the binary infamously, trying to these old ideas. Putting centrally thwart the prophecy medicine, music and that he would kill love together under the (or much at all) his own father and reasoned Apollo doesn’t in their marry his mother, reconcile well with fulfills it, is a prime contemporary clubbing mythology instance. This tension, or hookup culture. It is and religion..."

Nietzsche suggests, gives perhaps worth noting considerable meaning as well that the radical not only to the drama, changes our society but to our own lives has undergone since themselves. the 1940s, especially in reason and emotionality, have destabilised Nietzsche’s frame of reference. y interest in this binary, however, lies in its continuing appeal to our common sense. It engages many of our natural n a similar manner, our post-war differentiations of experience and reality understanding of Left and Right politics into order and chaos, light and dark, noble has become increasingly redundant. The and naughty. There has also been much denotation of state action as ‘communist’ research and popularisation of the idea and state inaction as ‘democratic’ that





20

I

philosopher famously proposed the unity characterised political commentary 40 years ago has given way to a newer order. of opposites, in which contradictory Donald Trump and his imitators propose properties are co-present in two objects rather than oppositional, as in his more drastic changes to the status quo (though obviously more negative ones) aphorism that ‘what is at variance agrees than the Left have dared suggest since with itself.’ Separately, Aristotle proposes 1945. Nonetheless, these examples point that there is a ‘golden mean’ between towards a broader trend in the rejection a binary extreme, which balances the of binaries, their tearing down with new best action possible using reason. This is ideas. Some, such as MAGA, also not radically replace these outdated different from the binaries with newer ones, concept of the while others, such as the Middle Way in process of integrating queer Buddhism, between perspectives in research, extremes of belief "Considering the or queering, point towards or practice. It is a far more optimistic and also notable that in long inclusive future. What we Buddhism the goal history of find is that parallel to the is liberation from many examples of binaries repudiating binaries, the samsaric cycle that have underpinned the to attain nirvana – it seems obvious to structure of human reality, that word liberation there has always been a again. Considering wonder why they separate movement towards the long history of have maintained bridging these divisions; from repudiating binaries, the work of philosophers like it seems obvious to their grip on us Augustine or Ibn Rushd to wonder why they to such an extent reconcile faith and reason have maintained to something as recent as their grip on us to and Talking Heads’ fusion of such an extent and for so long." punk rock and Afro-beat; for so long. Besides seeking to disrupt, distort, the fact that we, unify or fuse these discrete as flawed humans, particles. It is this going always prefer to have beyond binaries altogether simpler worldviews rather than replacing them than not (imagine a that separates the better movements world where the periodic table is the basis from the poorer ones. This is what makes through which we understand reality), queering an important and fascinating is that of balance. This is the attraction of the yin and yang to many; it also activity, and MAGA risible. holds particular relevance for a liberal democracy, where the assumption has his bridging has a history almost as old as thought itself. Heraclitus, a pre-Socratic long rested that to every proposition there



21

As a side note, I don’t

must be the space for a counterargument.

pretend we could just throw binaries out overnight, nor that all binaries are necessarily bad. Medicine tested by scientists without a belief in the binary of positive/negative effects, for instance, is quite obviously absurd.

But, at least, within our general society, in our understanding of our own human reality, we can aspire to something new.

f course, as put in the

budding masterpiece "But, at least, within Barbie, ‘humans make our general society, things up like patriarchy and Barbie just to deal in our with how uncomfortable understanding of it is [to be alive].’

Consider Seinfeld; our own human binaries such as high reality, we can and low talker, and long and close talker, have aspire to entered our vocabulary something new." because they enable us to make sense of and discuss things in a straightforward way. uantum computers But we also create them hold their binary code because half the fun is finding someone in a state of superposition, where every beyond them. In Seinfeld’s case, we derive pattern of eventuality is possible, until our pleasure and amusement from the they are observed, when they collapse fact that we are the golden mean beyond into a final result. Much the same, we can these binaries. Unlike these freakazoids, suspend our judgements and labels and we stand at a totally normal distance and let history do the collapsing. So, although speak at a totally normal level. Of course, we may never truly escape binaries as a normal is just as subjective as before, but feature of human existence, each of us the binary’s creation gives us this way to can do our part to go beyond them in our revel in liberation from it. daily life.

Q



here is one major aspect of binaries which I have not touched on as yet, and that is computers. Just as in binary code, in traditional computing, we have long thought of the world in terms of an overlapping series of binaries; man/ woman, Left/Right, logic/emotion, even right/wrong. This form of computing, and our societies’ thinking have been bound in this schema for centuries.

22



nd if that can alleviate suffering, then there is no debate.

***

Cut Freedom

Hat

tie Z (

hu her) / e sh

TO

23

Gender Envy, Juneau Choo (she/they)

‘Green’ with envy: I am 绿 with envy, lǜ with en-vee, LV with NV, Las Vegas with Nevada, the low meadows with the serrated Sierra – snow-clad, ‘niveous’, an anagram of ‘envious’.

Green grasses with the high desert, ‘Las Vegas’ – an anagram of ‘salvages’, to save from destruction, from the loss of green youth, vanishment of my girlhood – with Nevada.

I am lǜ with NV, 绿 with nǚ, green with 女, envious of winsome ‘women’ or wanita, of joyful, joyous, gay 女性, josei.

24

Green-eyed, I have green eyes looking at 她, eyeing ‘her’ with a Venus in Scorpio’s envy, bottle green – Juno’s ‘jealousy’, from Old French jalousie, slatted louvres, window blinds.

Green-eyed monstrous-feminine: I see her 女字旁, her ‘female radical’, with little eyes the green of the aquamarine sea and cast the green eyes of a dreaming Gatsby upon her sex – ‘gender’, from Old French genre, an anagram of ‘green’.

Oh, through the windows to my Everglades soul I gaze at them, all girls, staring with radical, radiant jealousy; with the most benign envy I regard her, every other woman, warmly, wondrously – sage green the neon of: hope, spring, eternity.

or

Radical 38 (女)

n

e t

o t c

ic

breath parts muscles like plates quiet clarifies your smell its weight on the pillow like a touch screen pressed without response a window left open

Jem Rice (she/they)

the substance of thought becomes soup neurons couched in lazy currents

as you enter this air like you enter the ocean; head blips under then a lift before you fly on the updraft

26

to "

ae w

are of.

A note from the artist These 3 pieces share experiences of my queer joy, tying together my experiences of perception, community, and fun – things every queer person can take delight playing around with.

G (they/she)

27

28

Artist's Statement

I am a butch lesbian and highly visible. I go through airports and text my girlfriend tallies of how people gender me – 2 sirs, 1 ma’am, 1 awkward pause, and 1 “young sir” for a trip to Indonesia, with a side of 2 “you’re in the wrong bathrooms”. I play around with this, dropping my voice for flight staff, or tightening my shirt before braving the bathroom, lest I cause a security incident (not uncommon). Sometimes this is dangerous, but most of the time, it’s FUN.

One of my favourite clothes are my custom printed booty shorts with “pretty boy” on the ass. I like playing around with people’s perceptions and expectations, and take joy in experimenting and frankly, causing a bit of mischief. I like that people don’t always know what to call me, and that I’m visibly queer. It’s a wonderful thing to see young queers spot me or to have older butches give me ‘the nod’ on the street.

I marched shirtless in the recent Mardi Gras parade – a risky choice around my colleagues. But it was all worth it at the end of the march, where a young person with a non-binary flag spotted me and started cheering. When I was a teen, you didn’t see butches or non-binary people around, and it meant a lot to be identified as one for the younger generation. Thus, I take joy in being a “pretty boy” and one helluva butch dyke.

G (they/she)

29

SAME LOVE

G (they/she) 30

QUEER BINGO

G (they/she) 31

G (they/she)

32

LESBIAN SMUGNESS

G (they/she)

33

THE EM & KATE PROBLEM

HAMMERBARN

G (they/she) 34

Artist's Statement

This is a series of comics drawn from real experiences I’ve had as a butch lesbian. They’re some moments of queer joy, put into little cartoon form to make my friends and girlfriend laugh. They did, so I think I’ve nailed reflecting my queer experience.

SAME LOVE is an ode to the “Same Hat” comic by Yoshida Sensha, which captures that feeling of seeing another gay couple out and (particularly if they’re older) wanting to recognise and be recognised.

QUEER BINGO is real for my family - my siblings and I are L,G,B, and T together. To me, it’s a genuine indicator of the generational change in attitudes that allows us all to be our true queer selves.

LESBIAN SMUGNESS is so closely based on a recent conversation I had with some new female friends that I had to heavily doctor the dialogue for privacy. I take a lot of joy in shaping my own queer relationship narratives and roles, a privilege of dating outside heteronormative roles.

THE EM & KATE PROBLEM is another real conversation, where we tried to map out our friends. The queer community is small, which is a blessing and a curse, and also really needs more names.

HAMMERBARN is about the joy of finding people hot together with your partner – another blessing I think is strong in the queer community, where flirting and finding people hot is often far more encouraged and less of a threat to a relationship.

G (they/she)

35

Untitled G (they/she) 36

Artist's Statement

This is a painting of two of my queer friends having a nap in bed together. One friend, E, had a concussion and was unable to work – stuck at home, she messaged our queer friend group chat for support.

Most of us were at work and could only respond to messages, but J was available and went over to hang out and cuddle. This moment stood out to me as the essence of queer joy. For me, a lot of my queer joy comes from community. I moved to Sydney specifically for queer community as I struggled in Adelaide, and what I’ve found here has brought me unmeasurable joy. I think so much of our joy comes from found family and our support networks, and this moment represented that to me. Unquestioning support, friendship, and love in my community is what I dreamed of as a queer teen, and it’s been found here. In cishet circles, I found far less connection and clearer distinctions in relationships – romantic, sexual, platonic etc., all had stronger boundaries. Queer joy is often found in the blurring, in the love that binds us, and in the joy of our mess.

G (they/she)

37

Feronia Ding (she/her)

Ode to

Desire

My heart is too tender.

Even the gentlest touch will bruise blooming like a flower purples & blues dotting my skin.

Feel the heaviness of it all.

Listen to ‘I Will’. That one video where Mitski’s playing a pink guitar and she says that’s the best part about being a writer: you can write what you want to hear.

Love & tenderness yearning without consequence, I’ll take the night train and read Sartre and feel sacred.

Religion will exist in the curve of her hip I’ll call it ‘devotion’.

Nights will be warmer white cotton bedsheets calling in the morning sun peonies & daisies & violets crowding my senses.

Love in all its forms.

Please.

38

S

c

r

a t ch

M e

39

Hattie Zhu (she/her)

Brighton Grace (he/him)

v

a g ir

more trouble with forms: Name, Birth Date, Age, Gender, Address, Occupation, Family. feel like I am no more than mist, a heavy cloud, but not loud. my skirt sifts chalk along the sidewalk, my crimson lipstick graffitis the pillow, and I pray it’s legible today. and said skirt, said printed lipstick, are hypothetical, counterfactual, but I pray it’s legible today – more trouble with forms.

40

RITUATLS RITUATLS

FEMME FEMME

Xena M.

A

s a femme I am both the Mother and the Whore.

Some men say lesbian sex is not real sex – therefore I am the eternal virgin, in their eyes untouched and unbled. In a way it pleases me.

Forever shrouded in a blanket of holiness, whether I take a cock or not, a Madonna to be worshipped but never, ever touched. But then, of course, I am also the Whore – when I stand in front of the mirror and perform my Femme Rituals – mascara, blush, pink or red lipstick – put on for myself but also for the butch I will be meeting at the cafe or the bar, for their eyes to rest on my lips or my eyes and desire my performance of femininity. I think of my ancestors who took part in fertility festivals and painted their faces for beauty and protection, blackening their brows and lashes with coal. Cut beets on their lips and in perfect circles on their cheeks, looking ripe, before gathering their skirts and leaping over the fire at Ivana Kupala.

My Femme Rituals always start the night before a first date. I oil my hair, focusing on the scalp and the ends, folding it into a scarf and wearing it around the house like my grandmother did, wrapped around my head with the two long ends over my shoulders. Even though I am a bottle blonde, and have been for years, my friends love to marvel at the way it has remained soft. I preen every time, because for everything I do with my hair I make sure I am soothing it, tenderly brushing it out and applying oil and rosemary water to the roots. I treat what my ancestors valued so highly with care, and I want others to notice.

When a butch takes a perfectly curled lock between their fingers and marvels at the softness, it makes me blush, it makes me proud, and I know they feel that way too in the way their eyes

(they/она)

41

soften, because it is special to touch something so sacred to me.

When the hair has been washed and part-way dried, the dreaded set begins. I both love it and despise it. The vintage diagrams in the magazines of the ’40s and ’50s do not typically have patterns for hair like mine. It is long, far past my shoulders, and somewhat fine and thin. I have considered cutting it often, but every time I think about giving up the long braid, it makes me shudder, so I make do. I apply the setting spray to my dampened hair and put the rollers in five rows; two on either side of my head and one down the back. A new headscarf makes an appearance. This one is usually prettier, made from silk with hand-rolled edges, because this time I do not have to worry about the oil getting everywhere.

One time I explained the painstaking process of the hair set to a butch I was dating.

They listened in wonder as I told them about sitting in front of the mirror holding a bunch of hairpins in my mouth and manoeuvring the hair comb like a sword, the pre-Raphaelite Lady Lilith but in armour. We laughed about it and agreed that it would be much easier if the tools swapped hands. If the femmes wielded the clippers for the butches’ undercuts and buzzcuts, and if the butches put the rollers on the back of the femmes’ hair.

It is annoying to sleep with the rollers in, but the result is always worth it in the morning, because I have yet to be able to achieve with a curling wand what a good set does overnight. A smooth wave of curls falling over the shoulders, bouncy and shiny when brushed out with a boar-hair brush.

If I am wearing pink or blue or another pastel colour, usually a summer dress, then I try to match my eyeshadow to it. If I am being more subdued, wearing what I like to call my high femme uniform (a nice pressed blouse, skirt, and heels and accessories to make it a little more exciting), then I settle for neutrals on the eyes: two wings of brown eyeshadow, and two lines extending from my waterline, like that Marilyn Monroe trick that fools people into thinking you have longer lashes. I always use three colours of blush; the deepest closer to the outside of my face, around my temples, and a little under my chin. I blend it with a lighter pink towards the middle of my cheeks and use a light, almost translucent colour to diffuse it just under my eyes, like the great femme fatales of Hollywood who used blush instead of contour.

42

The most exciting part, perhaps, comes with picking the lipstick shade. I have tried many lipsticks that claim to be ‘kiss-proof ’ with varying degrees of success. None really do hold up to the test, although the stains are fairly good at not transferring onto a cheek when you give your date a goodbye kiss. I take out the bag where I store all my lipsticks and empty it out on the counter, sorting through them and thinking about whether I will be eating, whether I think I will be kissing them, whether I want to leave that imprint of red or pink on the rim of a teacup.

I have many lipsticks, but I love wearing red on my lips. There is something about reclaiming what the Eastern European aunties in my childhood called improper, devilish, too much, too western, too slutty, too dark. I am not looking for the attention of the boys they told me I would attract as a child, boys that would grow up and become bachelors I was expected to marry. Instead, a butch will be dipping their eyes to watch the lines of my mouth, painted just for them. When I smile in the mirror after applying it to my lips I am once again both the Virgin and the Whore, red lipstick inspiring desire only in those I deem worthy. The trick to making it stay is to dab a touch of powder on top.

I always use two types of perfume: a spray, and an oil. This holy ritual proceeds as I finish spraying on my pulse points and in my hair; the oil (usually rose) is spread on my chest, right above the cleavage, as if I could be a king of the bygone Arthurian days of chivalry, being anointed in a religious ceremony. It certainly feels sacred when they bury their face in my hair and blush and tell me it smells sweet. I have them guess what flowers I am wearing on my person today.

Then comes dressing. Whether I am wearing my high femme uniform or a sundress or something else, I always have to have beautiful lingerie underneath. Even if I do not intend to even take off my jacket, the process of rolling up my sheer stockings and clipping them onto the vintage garter belt I thrifted is a ritual I must perform. And if I do plan to take it all off, it makes it all the better to either see them fumbling with the clips or skilfully unclasping all the fancy closures. Pulling my clothes on top of the innumerable clips and lace and ribbons makes it feel real, a closure to the preparation before entering the world of sacred romance.

The Femme Rituals continue all the way: in the way I wait for my cigarette to be lit by their lighter while we wait outside the venue, in the way my long nails tap on my thigh as I wait for my drink, and they continue all the way until I arrive back home and slip off my heels and return the scarf to my hair and carefully wipe away the lipstick in the mirror.

43

0

Shelly Han (she/her)

Dear Alice

Shelly Han (she/her) 45

A Girl is not a Bird

Feronia Ding (she/her)

You chose my name just like you chose your own resculpting the soft clay into the shape of a girl to you, she is the rooster.

You built this house for me: to keep me warm to keep me safe & I have this nightmare where you look at me and fail to recognise my features.

I feel the distance between us growing miles and miles of desolate landscape swelling in between our bodies.

Am I still your daughter? you wanted a songbird and I failed to sing for you.

Can I be this girl instead – with a crowing voice concerned with the writings of dead poets a daughter of Sappho.

46

evisrevbuS Sheilas The Women’s Liberation House and Sydney’s second-wave feminist movement of the 1970s Grace Mitchell (she/her)

Figure 1: The entrance to the Women’s Liberation House, c.1975.1

Women and children approach the Women’s Liberation House. ABC News. https://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-0124/humphrys-women-and-children-approach-women27s-liberation house/3790222?nw=0.

1

47

he Women’s Liberation House, or the House, was a major location of activism during Sydney’s second-wave feminist movement (SWFM) throughout the 1970s.2 The House was established for feminists, by feminists, in 1970 and remained integral across the decade to the Women’s liberation movement – the western SWFM that aimed to defy women’s cultural and political inequalities.3 In pinpointing the various feminist activities that occurred within and around the House, this essay seeks to demonstrate both its political and social roles.

I will refer to the House’s political role as its function as an activist space and as an epicentre for the circulation of Sydney’s feminist ideas, and social role being the House’s broader impacts in Sydney society. I first explore how the House operated as a centralised political organising space for Sydney’s feminists, before discussing how this space galvanised feminist action through its consciousness-raising meetings.

I then examine the House’s political role as the publication site for Sydney’s secondwave feminist newsletter, MeJane. Finally, I emphasise how these political activities gave way to broader social change for Sydney’s women, as demonstrated by the establishment of the Elsie Refuge. Although not all 1970s Australian feminists viewed the House as an inclusive space, it nevertheless remained an important place for many of Sydney’s ‘Subversive Sheilas’.

Firstly, the House provided a centralised political organising space for Sydney’s second-wave feminists during the 1970s. This was the House’s very purpose when first founded at 67 Glebe Point Road, Glebe, in 1970.4 The House’s establishment mirrored the broader feminist movement that was occurring across the western world during the early 1970s. While it is true that women fought for their rights before the 1970s, the ’70s were a decade of widespread social revolution, particularly following the anti-war movement of the late 1960s.5 From this social upheaval emerged the second-wave feminist movement. Feminists and cultural studies academics Charlotte Kroløkke and Anne Sorensen use the term ‘second-wave feminism’ to mean ‘the

In this essay, the terms ‘second-wave feminist movement’ [SWFM] and ‘women’s liberation movement’ are used interchangeably.

3 Kroløkke and Sorensen 2006, 8.

4 The Women’s liberation house was relocated to Alberta Street, Surry Hills, in 1974, and then Redfern Street, Chippendale, in 1976. The House remained at Chippendale until the late 1980s before operating out of various rental properties. Its history becomes difficult to trace following its move from Redfern Street. This essay will focus predominantly on the early years of the House when it was located in Glebe, as, according to Ann Curthoys, this was the peak of its feminist activities (see Ann Curthoys’ Radical Glebe).

5 German 2013, 99.

2

48

radical feminism of the women’s liberation movement of the late 1960s and early 1970s…[it] grew out of leftist movements in post-war Western societies.’6 Here, I want to briefly digress and acknowledge that historian Marilyn Lake argues the ‘wave model’ of feminism is reductive in disregarding the feminist momentum that occurred in between feminism’s three ‘waves’.7 As Lake understands, ‘feminism in Australia flourished in the interwar years, decades that, in many ways, could be characterised as the golden age of the woman citizen…contrary to popular belief.’8 Yet, Lake does concede that the 1970s women’s liberation movement ‘represented a radical extension of the assimilationist project of earlier feminisms’,9 making it a period of political and social transformation for women. Regarding the feminist activities of the House, I use the terms ‘second-wave feminism’, and ‘women’s liberation movement’, to refer to feminism’s peak momentum in the 1970s that was grounded in the ethos of sisterhood and solidarity.

Thus, the House was established as a space where the SWFM’s sisterhood and solidarity ethos could be enacted upon.10 This was important as many women involved in other activist movements in the 1970s – particularly within the anti-war movement11 – viewed these movements as inherently patriarchal. In providing a dedicated female-only space for feminist activism, the House proved instrumental to the SWFM’s development in Sydney. Martha Ansara emphasises this viewpoint in a 1997 interview with Tristan Slade. Ansara, a member of the House during the 1970s, recalls how the House’s female-only space uniquely allowed women to speak without interference from male voices: ‘It seemed to me that because women’s voices had been so overwhelmed by the voices of men [in the Left], and because, in fact, our agendas conflicted, that you would not have men at the meetings. It didn’t make sense…They [male members of the Left] were out.’12

Kroløkke and Sorensen 2006, 7–8.

Feminism has been commonly grouped into ‘three waves,’ although some argue that 2016 saw the emergence of ‘fourth wave feminism’ (see Martha Rampton’s Four Waves of Feminism). First-wave feminism refers to the suffragette movement of the early 20th century, while third-wave feminism refers to the western wave of feminism which emerged in the early 1990s, challenging the ideas of previous feminist movements. This wave arguably persists today.

8 Lake 1999b, 9.

9 Lake 1999c, 227.

10 Kroløkke and Sorensen 2006, 9.

11 German 2013, 99.

12 Ansara 1997. Interview. Quoted in Magarey 2014c, 28.

6 7

49

Engaging with Ansara’s recollection as a testimony of how some women viewed the 1970s Left as inherently ‘patriarchal’13 enhances our comprehension regarding the importance of the House as a space of purely female feminist organisation. As women’s voices had been overwhelmed by men in Leftist activism, Ansara highlights there was a need for a dedicated feminist space where women’s agendas could be openly stated. It was the House’s feminist meetings that granted women this space. Indeed, these feminist gatherings proving instrumental to the movement’s development.

Importantly, Sydney’s second-wave feminists conducted consciousness-raising meetings from within the House. Consciousness-raising meetings, where women were able to openly speak regarding their personal experiences in a male-centred world, had a significant political role in galvanising activism within Sydney’s SWFM.14 According to Professor of Politics Verity Burgmann, consciousness-raising meetings were important to the women’s liberation movement in ‘enabling women to understand themselves and the male ordered nature of the world around them… to achieve consciousness of their real interests’.15 In helping women ‘understand themselves and [their world]’,16 as Burgmann writes, the House’s consciousnessraising meetings allowed Sydney’s feminists to organise their movement’s aim: to decompose ‘the edifice of patriarchy’17 for gender equality. Burgmann’s idea is echoed by the feminist academic Elizabeth Reid, who argues that consciousnessraising meetings permitted feminists to gather the ‘details of our lives together [to formulate] our demands’.18 Such political demands, including ‘free childcare’,19 were at the crux of the SWFM’s aim to increase women’s social equality. These meetings fostered the creation of a collective consciousness regarding the nature of womanhood. By employing ideas from the radical feminist texts distributed at the House, the consciousness-raising meetings became ‘informal classrooms’,20 where

German 2013, 104.

Magarey 2014c, 35.

15 Burgmann 2003, 87.

16 Burgmann 2003, 87.

17 Daly 1978, 17.

18 Reid 2018, 13.

19 Reid 2018, 13.

20 Magarey 2014b, 218.

13 14

50

Sydney’s feminists discussed their experiences of living as women to raise their combined cognisance of women’s social oppression.21 This gaining of collective consciousness is demonstrated in Ansara’s statement, made during a consciousnessraising meeting in the early 1970s. She stipulated that: ‘We should discuss the definition of feminine because when you look at it, it turns out to be not at all what you suspect it is. It’s quite different…it’s more than superficial. I think it’s a whole way of relating to other people, particularly men… there is a great martyrdom. Femininity is a great pointless martyrdom.’22 When studied as primary evidence for how consciousness-raising meetings operated, Ansara’s understanding of femininity highlights how the House’s ‘informal classrooms’23 granted feminists a means to raise their comprehension regarding women’s social position. In Ansara’s case, womanhood was ‘a great pointless martyrdom’.24 Thus, through sharing their stories and experiences of womanhood at the House’s consciousness-raising meetings, Sydney’s feminists galvanised activist momentum, as demonstrated by the formation of their central demands. Therefore, the House had an extremely important political role in Sydney’s SWFM in providing a space for many of Sydney’s feminists to meet, discuss ideas, and formulate their aims.

It should be noted that not all of Sydney’s feminists felt they belonged at the House.

As feminist-historian Susan Magarey argues, the very ethos of second-wave feminism was flawed in its propagation that sisterhood is the solidarity of ‘all women’, because ‘all women’ implies that every woman has had the same experiences and goals.25

One such text was Robin Morgan’s Sisterhood is Powerful, first published in 1970. According to Krolokke and Sorenson, Morgan’s Sisterhood is Powerful was the first second-wave feminist publication globally. It contained ideas about the solidarity essential between women to break free from hegemonic masculine power structures, thus greatly influencing discussions at consciousness-raising meetings.

22 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

23 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

24 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

25 Magarey 2014c, 39.

21

51

While the House acted as an important space for Western women to communicate and establish their feminist objectives, many Aboriginal women felt that their voices were not heard. As Kuku Yalanji activist Pat O’Shane recalls, ‘I found a lot of them [feminists], frankly, really racist. It was an unconscious racism…there’s a huge gulf between the white women’s movement and the struggles of Indigenous women.’26 O’Shane’s concern regarding the SWFM’s ‘unconscious racism’ was echoed by Wiradjuri activist Isabelle Coe. Coe stated that ‘You [western feminists] talk about liberating women, while black women are going through violence every day of their lives.’27 These primary testimonies demonstrate that Aboriginal women felt there was an element of white-solipsism within Sydney’s SWFM, best defined by the poet Adrienne Rich as ‘a tunnel-vision which simply does not see non-white experience or existence as precious or significant’.28 In thinking that ‘Aboriginal women were in the same boat as [white women],’29 as Gangulu woman Lillia Watson stated, the SWFM’s aims were limited by their lack of intersectionality.

It must be acknowledged when studying Sydney’s feminist movements that equality within feminist activism is not always guaranteed, unconsciously or otherwise. Yet, while acknowledging its lack of inclusivity, the House did remain an important place for Western feminists to circulate their ideas and achieve their aims.

Arguably, the House’s most crucial political role in Sydney’s SWFM was acting as a publication space for the city’s feminist newsletters. Inspired by the radical ideas brought from the international feminist texts distributed at the House, Sydney’s feminists resolved to print their own writings. These feminist publications were influential in disseminating the central aims of Sydney’s SWFM beyond the House.30 Feminist-legal academic Trish Luker stipulates that the SWFM can be seen as a print movement.31 As Luker claims: ‘Reflecting the belief that the printed word could incite social change, feminists asserted their position in the public sphere of publishing, as authors, in print production and through

Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

28 Rich 1979, 222.

29 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

30 Curthoys, speech, 22 February 2012.

31 Luker 2019, 121.

26 27

52

the establishment of feminist presses…with the slogan “the freedom of the press belongs to those who control the press” an enduring imprint of the movement.’32 Luker’s argument, that the SWFM employed ‘the printed word [to] incite social change’,33 supplements our understanding of the House’s publications, including its newsletter, MeJane.34 First published in March 1971 from the House’s print room, MeJane was Australia’s second feminist newsletter, after Brisbane’s Shrew.35 The content of MeJane mirrored the discussions raised at consciousness-raising meetings by women desiring to relinquish patriarchal confines, including Ansara’s assertion of the ‘great pointless martyrdom [of femininity]’.36 MeJane permitted Sydney’s feminists to propagate their ideas beyond their consciousness-raising meetings.37 As Ansara recalls, ‘we were always putting out our underground papers…this was our way of trying to discuss things, understand things, and tell people things…it reached out to all women.’38 Ansara’s idea that the House’s printed materials were published for women, by women, and could reach out to all women is echoed by historian and member of the House, Ann Curthoys. Curthoys recalls her time writing for MeJane in a speech to the Glebe society in 2011, declaring: ‘In 1971, I was part of the collective that established the first women’s liberation newspaper in Sydney called MeJane. The first issue had a picture of me swinging from a tree, meant to represent Jane I suppose…We compiled the newspaper in 67 Glebe Point Road, using Letraset. One of the things we did was a series on women at work – we interviewed nurses, housewives, machinists, and so on.’39 Examining Curthoys’ recollection as primary evidence for MeJane’s role in compiling stories of Sydney’s ‘women at work’ – stories largely absent from mainstream 1970s discourse regarding women – signifies the House’s importance in providing a space

Luker 2019, 121.

Luker 2019, 121.

34 Luker 2019, 126.

35 Luker 2019, 126.

36 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

37 Luker 2019, 125–126.

38 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

39 Curthoys, speech, 22 February 2012.

32

33

53

for the MeJane collective to collate their feminist opinions. As Curthoys discusses, the front cover of MeJane’s first issue was radical amongst its context [figure 2]. Contrary to traditional 1970s ‘cover girls’ [figure 3], Curthoys ‘made a spectacle of herself ’,40 appearing without make-up, in jeans, and swinging from a tree, typically masculine behaviour. MeJane’s front cover exemplifies its subversive nature and purpose as a feminist publication in aiming to redefine cultural images of femininity.41 It was not only MeJane’s front covers that subverted the expectations surrounding the female roles of domesticity and docility that existed in the 1970s in Australia.42 Its articles also voiced the women’s liberation movement’s major concerns from its first editorial, which announced: ‘Our changes will be total. They will not be immediate, but we want to start now, changing lifestyles, changing the family, and above all, changing ourselves.’43 Engaging with this editorial in light of the newsletter’s purpose – to propagate the SWFM’s objective of changing women’s social position – reveals MeJane’s role in galvanising feminist activism beyond the House by giving a strong voice to Sydney’s feminists. This activist cacophony continued across MeJane’s issues, as demonstrated in the July 1971 newsletter: ‘All men benefit from the oppression of women indirectly through the male-domination and privileges of society generally and individually through the lifestyle set aside for women, whether the women (sic) be his mother, wife, daughter, girlfriend or sister (or any combination of these).’44 Again, analysing this excerpt in light of MeJane’s political purpose reveals how MeJane was aiming to expound its concerns regarding ‘the oppression of women’45

Magarey 2014a, 74.

Magarey 2014a, 74.

42 Magarey 2014a, 75.

43 MeJane 1(1) 1971, 22. Quoted in Magarey 2014a, 29.

44 MeJane 3(1) 1971, 22. Quoted in Magarey 2014a, 29.

45 MeJane 3(1) 1971, n.p. Quoted in Magarey 2014a, 29.

40 41

54

beyond the House. As the November 1971 issue emphasised, MeJane’s overarching purpose was to lead women ‘to realise how their previous separations had been imposed upon them by values which were for the benefits of others rather than themselves.’46 In its didactic deliverance of the women’s liberation movement’s objectives, feminist writings like MeJane proved to be a defining characteristic of Sydney’s SWFM.47 Members of the House, such as Anne Summers, even turned to re-write Australian historical narratives from a feminist perspective, as demonstrated in the publication of Refractory Girl from 1972.48 Thus, in providing a centralised space for feminist publications, the House played an extremely important political role in propelling the SWFM’s ideas into wider society. These discourses about women’s liberation proved foundational for the social advancement of Sydney’s women.

Finally, the House also played a wider social role in promoting the agency of Sydney’s women, a key aim of the SWFM. The feminist activism incubated by the House led to the establishment of female-focused services in Sydney, including rape crisis centres, health centres, counselling services, and women and children’s refuges.49 While it is true that some of these services existed in Sydney before the SWFM, like the Salvation Army’s young women’s hostel, many were operated by religious organisations and charities; limited were those services run for women, by women alone. By the mid-1970s, ‘domestic violence rapidly emerged as a significant issue for the women's liberation movement.’50 Aiming to act upon this ‘significant issue’, House members Anne Summers and Bessie Guthrie established the Elsie Refuge, or Elsie, in Glebe’s Westmoreland Street in November, 1973.51 Elsie was

MeJane 5(1) 1971, n.p. Quoted in Magarey 2014c, 28.

Luker 2019, 125.

48 Refractory Girl was first published by women from Sydney’s women’s liberation movement in 1972, becoming one of Australia’s longest running feminist periodicals until its last issue in 1999. The periodical was primarily a historical journal written by history graduates from Sydney University. Their aim was to re-write Australian history from a feminist perspective. Refractory Girl was instrumental in assisting the circulation of feminist theory in academic circles, particularly within Sydney University (see Barbara Caine’s Women’s Studies at the University of Sydney).

49 Arrow and Woollacott 2018, 5.

50 Arrow and Woollacott 2018, 1.

51 Lake 1999c, 227.

46 47

55

Australia’s first domestic violence refuge for women and children.52 As advertised in a 1973 leaflet promoting the refuge, Elsie was established ‘for any woman needing to escape a violent home, needing advice and friends when faced with the legal, welfare, and health system’.53 Engaging with this advertisement as evidence of Elsie’s social role pinpoints the broader implications of those feminist ideas circulated within the House. Furthermore, individuals outside the SWFM commented on the ‘clear need’54 for Elsie’s establishment, as expounded in an ABC News report documenting Elsie’s opening: ‘Women of the Women’s liberation squatted in these terrace houses owned by the Church of England. It was illegal, but the clear need for a secular shelter to house disposed and frightened women and their children forced the move.’55 When analysed as documentation of the House’s social role, this report’s emphasis on ‘the clear need’56 for Elsie indicates the significance of the members of the House in promoting safety and care for Sydney’s ‘disposed and frightened women’57 during the 1970s. While the Elsie Refuge was not operated from the House itself, the House maintained a role in its formation by providing a space for Sydney’s feminists to establish Elsie. Thus, this service run by women, for women, signifies the wider social role of the House in helping meet the SWFM’s aim of promoting the agency of Sydney’s women.

Figure 2: Ann Curthoys on the cover of MeJane 1(1), 1971.58 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

Elsie women’s refuge 1973, 44. Quoted in Lake 1999a, 228.

54 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

55 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

56 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

57 Dwyer 2020. Brazen Hussies, film.

58 MeJane 1(1) 1971, 1. In Magarey 2014a, 77.

52 53

56

Ultimately, the Women’s Liberation House played an extremely important political and social role in Sydney’s second-wave feminist movement during the 1970s.

From its establishment, the House was instrumental in providing Sydney’s feminists with a central political organising space to galvanise feminist activism, emphasised through its hosting of consciousnessraising meetings. The House’s publication of MeJane further highlights its political role in circulating second-wave feminist ideas throughout the city. These ideas consequently lead to wider social change for Sydney’s women, as Figure 3: A 1977 cover of the Australian Woman’s exhibited by the Elsie Weekly.

In contrast to MeJane, this cover presents the Refuge’s establishment. typical 1970s ‘Australian woman’ adorned with make-up While it has been argued and promoted to read articles about ‘holiday cookery’ that the House – and indeed and ‘knitting.’59 the SWFM collectively – was not inclusive towards all women, it nevertheless remained a foundational place of activism for many of Sydney’s feminists, as highlighted in its political and social roles.

Studying these roles helps us comprehend the legacy of the House’s ‘Subversive Sheilas’ on the lives of Sydney’s women today.

59 The Australian Woman’s Weekly 1977, 0. Magazine front cover. https://vintagevisage.co.uk/product_908_Womans-Weekly-Magazine-July-1977.

57

References Arrow, Michelle., and Angela Woollacott (2018). Introduction – how the personal became political: the gender and sexuality revolutions in 1970s Australia. Australian Feminist Studies 33(95): 1–8.

Burgmann, Verity (2003). The women’s movement. In Power, Profit, and Protest, 86–120.

Oxford: Routledge.

Caine, Barbara (1998). Women’s studies at the University of Sydney. Australian Feminist Studies 13(27): 99–106.

Curthoys, Ann (2012). Ann Curthoys – radical Glebe. Sydney: The Glebe Society. https:// www.glebesociety.org.au/socialhistory/radical-glebe-a-personal-view-by-ann curthoys/.

Daly, Mary (1978). The metapatriarchal journey of exorcism and ecstasy. In Gyn/ Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism, 15–39. London: The Women’s Press.

Dwyer, Catherine (2020). Brazen Hussies. Brisbane: Film Camp Pty. Ltd. ABC iView.

Elsie Women’s Refuge (1973). The Elsie women’s refuge. In Sydney Women’s Liberation Newsletter 1(1): 44. Quoted in Lake, Marilyn (1999). Taking action: an end to woman’s role. In Getting Equal: The History of Australian Feminism, 227–230. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.

German, Lindsay (2013). Vietnam and the liberation decade. In How a Century of War Changed the Lives of Women, 9–112. London: Pluto Press.

Kroløkke, Charlotte, and Anne Scott Sorensen (2006). Three waves of feminism: from suffragettes to grrls. In Gender Communication Theories and Analyses: From Silence to Performance, 1–23. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications.

Lake, Marilyn (1999)a. The great awakening: an end to woman’s role. In Getting Equal: The History of Australian Feminism, 227–230. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.

Lake, Marilyn (1999)b. Introduction: correcting common misconceptions. In Getting Equal: The History of Australian Feminism, 9–15. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.

Lake, Marilyn (1999)c. Taking action: an end to woman’s role. In Getting Equal: The History of Australian Feminism, 217–227. Sydney: Allen & Unwin.

Luker, Trish., Michelle Arrow ed., and Angela Woollacott ed. (2019). Women in print: feminist presses in Australia. In Everyday Revolutions: Remaking Gender, Sexuality, and Culture in 1970s Australia, 121–138. Canberra: Australian National University Press.

Magarey, Susan (2014)a. Feminism as cultural renaissance. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World, 73–86. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

58

Magarey, Susan (2014)b. Outsiders inside? Women’s studies in Australia at the end of the twentieth century. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World, 217–229. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

Magarey, Susan (2014)c. Sisterhood and women’s liberation in Australia. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World, 25–41. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

MeJane 1(1) (1971): 22. Quoted in Magarey, Susan (2014). Feminism as cultural renaissance. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World: 73–86. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

MeJane 3(1) (1971): 6. Quoted in Magarey, Susan (2014). Sisterhood and women’s liberation in Australia. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World, 25–41. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

MeJane 5(1) (1971): n.p. Quoted in Magarey, Susan (2014). Sisterhood and women’s liberation in Australia. In Dangerous Ideas: Women’s Liberation – Women’s Studies – Around the World, 25–41. Adelaide: University of Adelaide Press.

Rampton, Martha (2008). Four waves of feminism. In Pacific Magazine: Pacific University, Oregon. Forest Grove: Pacific University, Oregon. https://www.pacificu.edu/magazine/ four-waves-feminism.

Reid, Elizabeth (2018). How the personal became political: the feminist movement of the 1970s. Australian Feminist Studies 33(95): 9–30.

Rich, Adrienne (1979). On Secrets, Lies, and Silence. New York: Norton. *****

59

The

Angel in the

House

I

f there was murk– Shallows obscured by haze– I couldn’t ever recognise

Eager to pierce that foul needle Into my lineage, And wilt on impact.

The ancestral fear Alight in me: Maternity and the demure.

To weave cruel tragedy In living death’s form.

So try bind my eyes–

Of violence Foretold in the clarity– Of brutal inheritance.

Not the hands, Nor womb.

Those can still be used.

Pious hues of Selfless devotion– Of vows and cathedral glass.

I only need that willow, the brook– Hallowed Protest in my resolve.

As the doves lie and The bridal peony hides Poison in its stem.

60

Kelsey Goldsbro (they/fae)

WOMEN CREATING ART

Penelope Beltran-Rehberg (she/her) Artist's Statement

I’ve always been interested in stories and art created by women, for women, and about women. After watching Greta Gerwig’s recent film Barbie, I found myself thinking about the scene where Barbie meets an elderly woman and discovers for the first time what it looks like to grow old. I love everything that scene evokes about life––the beauty of age, the memories we acquire as we grow, and the idea that life and living is something that is shared. I wanted to capture that scene in this piece, and to capture Greta’s place within it as its director, extraordinarily in the film without being in the film. And then I painted until it felt right.

61

1978 2

Mystery of Love Sufjan Stevens

0

Thought of You The Aces

For My Friends King Princess

Way I Go Gordi

Dog Days Are Over Florence + the Machine

Pink Pony Club Chappell Roan

Pink + White Frank Ocean

Grace Kelly Mika

and more...

Scan the QR code and enjoy the 45th Anniversary Edition playlist curated for you by the 1978 editorial team.

62

2

3

63

63

My queer and neurodivergent experience has always been about silence, loneliness and privacy, but I’ve learnt to cherish what I can keep to myself and the ability to share people into these personal parts of myself. Euphoria does not have to be seen. It only has to be felt. This is less a celebration of being in the closet and more on the freedom of not being seen; those moments of respite that I’ve shared with other queer and neurodivergent friends and with myself. This manifests into my love for the night that tempts strangeness and deviants to be whole and unadulterated. The most peace I feel is at night where no one can judge me and all social expectations fade away. This idea of night was inspired by very classical ideas of love and beauty, especially John Keats’ “Ode to Autumn” wherein the brightness of summer has left and the beauty of longer nights can be appreciated.

Frank (he/she/they)

Ode to the Night

Artist's Statement

C

ambiium

Zara Ishka (she/her)

AUTUMN: 5 YEARS 55 RINGS Summer is gone for now.

The familiar tune of the ice cream truck crackles melodiously as it loops around the culde-sac.

Fay smiles, giggling to herself as she makes her way down the stairs and rushes into the kitchen.

“Daddy! Mr Whippy is here!”

Her father grabs a few loose coins from the kitchen bench and heads towards the front door. Fay follows close behind. She grabs her father’s hand, tugging him towards the pink van.

“I want that one!” Fay says, pointing, “the one with lots of sprinkles!”

Mr Whippy hands her a soft serve coated with chocolate and tiny spheres of coloured sugar. Fay beams as her father picks her up. She shouts a ‘THANK YOU!’ to Mr Whippy as the ice cream truck disappears around the corner. Her father carries her inside as she licks at the sugary bliss melting down her fingers.

“Ma! Look what Daddy bought me!” Fay waves her ice cream in the air.

64

“Be careful, Fay! You don’t want to drop it!” her mother responds, leaping from her reading spot under the mulberry tree. Her mother glances up at her father as he saunters down the stairs towards them. Fay watches her mother curiously – she stiffens.

Her father walks over to her mother and rests his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently. She smiles.

Fay licks her ice cream.

Her parents start murmuring.

The murmuring becomes talking.

The talking becomes louder; screaming? Almost.

He is yelling now. He strikes her.

She falls.

Her mother is on the ground.

Fay stops licking her ice cream. She holds it in her right hand, clutching it as if it were her most treasured teddy bear. Multi-coloured sprinkles swim through the sea of milky vanilla that trickles down her fist.

Her hand slackens. The ice cream drops to the ground.

Fay’s body sways slightly as her father stalks off into the house, hands shoved into his pockets. Fay rushes over to her mother once the back door clicks shut.

“Ma…” Fay starts.

“I’m okay sweetheart, really. It was just an accident,” her mother concedes in a hushed voice. Only Fay can hear her unsaid words linger in the slightest of night-time breezes.

Fay cups her hands under her mother’s eyes, catching pools in her palms as salty tears fall.

They sit together on the grass, just the two of them.

Fay removes a pink clip from her tresses, stroking her mother’s mousy hair before clipping it just left of her parting. Her mother gives Fay a smile so transient that there is no way anyone could view it as remotely veritable; it’s just a fleeting surface smile to fill the void. *** Above, the sky is preserved in the perpetual balm of a thick pale blue; the air is that warm type of coolness that only brushes against your skin once or twice a year.

Fairy lights coil loosely around the branches of the mulberry tree, as yet unlit.

A cotton-white tablecloth billows in the breeze on the clothesline.

The grass is freshly cut, and the clean scent of early autumn fills the garden.

65

Fay’s father sets up a fold-out table by the mulberry tree, her mother making her way down the back steps to retrieve the tablecloth from the clothesline. She carefully removes the pegs holding it in place before bunching the cloth into a heap of cottony white.

Fay’s mother and father drape the cloth over the table, chuckling as they clutch at the corners to keep it from flying up into the canopy. Fay slips down the stairs at the back of the house and skips across the grassy garden to her favourite little spot. She rests against the mulberry tree, her chest rising and falling with every draw of breath as leaffilled gushes of wind send her wavy locks into tangles. She watches her parents with a detached sense of curiosity as they motion for her to come over.

“Fay, honey!” her father calls.

She skips over to them, her soft-blue dress floating. The lace hem brushes over her knees, soft and delicate against her milky skin.

“Oh sweetheart, you look so pretty!” her mother exclaims as she caresses Fay’s chocolate hair, tucking it carefully behind her ears. “The blue matches your eyes!” A gentle kiss on her forehead leaves a smudge of red lipstick behind.

Fay reaches up to her father for a hug. He envelopes her in a blanket of warmth as she snuggles into his shoulder. Her mother potters up to the house, spinning the loose silver band on her ring finger as she watches them.

She returns with her hands tucked behind her back. Tapping Fay on her right shoulder, she tells her to close her eyes and place her palms face up. Fay’s mother places a chartreuse velvet box in her palms.

“Happy Birthday Fay! ” She snuggles into her father’s neck once more, prickly with warm vetiver and lemon.

They seat themselves on the freshly-mown grass, swirls of amber fluttering in the zephyr.

Fay perches herself on her father’s lap, his expression ungiving.

“Open it… sweetheart.”

Fay unties the powder pink bow securing the box, the ribbon slipping onto her lap. She prises it open, letting her eyes rest upon the pearlescent beauty enclosed – a dainty silver necklace. Her mother plucks it from the box, gently brushing Fay’s hair aside before clasping the necklace at the velvety nape of her neck.

Fay’s mother and father finish setting the table; mismatched wooden seats; pretty white daisies in little glass bottles; pear-green plastic plates; jugs of lemonade, fresh lemon slices floating in the bubbles; rose pink plastic cups, transparent; bowls of red liquorice and lolly snakes; 66

homemade sausage rolls scattered with sesame seeds; multicoloured confetti dapples in the grooves of the cotton white tablecloth, the edge fluttering in the delicate wind.

Children filter into the backyard, laughter erupting from their gap-toothed grins. Fay’s parents rush to greet the adults that follow frantically behind their children, unable to keep up. Fay stands by the mulberry tree, savouring the pure sense of felicity that tickles her senses as she glances around at the crowd.

Adult conversations are abuzz with inconsequence – Fay slips over the fence.

“Trip!” she squeals. “You scared me!”

“Happy Birthday Fay!” he replies, enveloping her in a quick cuddle.

“Where have you been? We’re about to have cake!” she says, her left ankle already tapping the other side of the whitewashed wooden pickets.

“Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday dear Fay! Happy birthday to you!”

The unmelodious happy birthday chorus comes to an abrupt silence. Fay blows out her candles; the five flames flicker out in three swift puffs.

67

H om e w d ar Remember how my father said there would always be a place for me at the table?

Couldn’t look him in the eye afterwards, cheeks burning, wetness wounding my face.

I wondered if he knew if he could see right through me, the sting imprinted on my body craving absolution.

Will the seasons change just as they always have: the cool end of Winter tumbling into a hazy Spring, tracing the outlines of my own face again. Three summers ago now - the cicadas came and left but I stayed there. In the silence, in the darkness, listening to the thunder.

nia Fero

Ding

68

(sh

e/

her

)

T

O

Cosmin Luca (they/them)

m e b i r d

I’ve been holding books for you.

You asked me to hold them, you said it would be kind.

I’ve written tome after tome And I held onto them, Not quite sure if you’d read them, Each bloodied page weighing upon my spine Weaving together like bondage Back Cracking, Ankles sunken next to wrists In resignation, Contorted anticipation, The perfumed gag Making it hard to breathe Or say much of anything.

Should I burn these pages?

Light up a pyre and toss them in?

Sweet censorship.

But can you burn song? Burn flesh?

I would burn with them.

Maybe I’m a bird that flew into a window or some other kind of trap Locked away to write tomes, anchored from escape by the weight of my own flapping – captured by my raspy dreams.

I want to shatter the window and let in new air, Make a nest of my pages.

But broken glass cuts twice as deep And the smoke alarm’s already blaring.

69

Artist's Statement

Queerness has traditionally, and continues to be, an act of resistance in its expression, and in the people who hold these identities. It defies the neat boxes society defines people into, it defies traditional expectations, and around the world defies society. My queer journey has been an act of liberation of myself.

A small death of a construct that was somewhat made for me, out of which I grew a self that is more the self I want to be, that I am, than the ways I tried to contort my assigned gender at birth to fit myself.

In this artwork, “Liberation”, I based the figure on Michelangelo’s David, and made him trans, complete with top surgery scars. But instead of the expression of uncertainty and trepidation, I gave it one of determination, a forward lean in motion. Shackles to represent the different internal chains that tie us to states of being that are not true to ourselves. The storm represents struggles queer people still face around the world. The wheat fields and garden represent the connection to Earth that I found strongly amplified when I embraced my inner sense of self. Asphodels for death and change, marigolds for rebirth, dandelions for new days, plantain for healing, agrimony for gratefulness. Pleurotus, calocera and mycena pins for new and different life. Butterflies for the soul, dragonflies for metamorphosis. A branch of white oak for strength. And the European Ash tree which can have male flowers, female flowers, both, neither, and can change between years.

“Liberation” Artwork is digitally painted with no additional aid from matte painted textures or AI. Botanical references for the plants, photographs of ol’ Dave for the figure.

As

h(

the

y/

the

m)

Program: Krita 5.1.1 Platform: Surface Pro 8 with pen ~9 hours of work

70

T

he dress is stretchy blue spandex. Low-cut. My cleavage is fully visible. Whatever. My slut outfit, as I dub it. I normally don’t dress like this; I’m apprehensive, what if men catcall me on the streets? What if they stare?

What if, what if ?

Stop.

You’re overreacting, I tell myself. Nobody ever notices you. Nothing bad is going to happen because you wore that dress.

I stare at myself in the mirror – hung too low and too short, so that my head is abruptly cut off from my torso. Only a pair of tits.

My phone buzzes, a text from Mia. Can you meet me at 4?

Sure, will be there. Let’s meet at Circular Quay?

I haven’t seen Mia for some months. Lately, she’s changed; once dependable, now she disappears for days, only to reappear later and say that she was busy. Busy doing what? Going out it seems. Or so I’ve seen from her Instagram stories and heard from her recounts. I was never there. Once, she met some man at an RSL, but it was merely flirtation. Somehow, she decided to embark on unpredictable outings, and she forgot about me. What did I do? Why was I suddenly invisible to her?

3:30 approaches; time to depart. I know I won’t be back until late. I’m probably coming home alone again. It’s always been like this.

Circular Quay is a sheet of grey. Water laps lazily upon the wharf, and the ambling of pedestrians morphs into a looping video. I stand still. Here amongst the suffocating crowd, I am neither present nor absent, an odd kind of tranquillity. I wait for Mia. I hope that she’s not late.

Upon the

Bay 72

Alex Ma (she/they)

After a while, she appears. I step in and wave, she’s her usual scrawny self; limp greasy hair, shoulders hunched, an air of inferiority weighing her posture down.

“Did you want to go to the dive bar?” She asks.

“Yes, for a long time.” Since last year, actually. But you never made the effort to plan or even ask if I wanted to go.

“Of course.”

“My friend wants to join us tonight,” she urges.

“Sure. What are they like?”

Mia leads me to the stone benches that face the quay. She shifts askance as she speaks. I follow, but something about the conversation emanates coldness.

Mia grimaces. “I don’t know…Well…”

I brace myself. Mia has always possessed uncertainty, and she was privy to unleashing her doubts in endless waves.

“This friend, his name’s Finley… I met him through the fencing club. He likes me a lot.” She presses her hands to her temples.

Shit. There it is, she’s met someone new. Bastard.

Bitch. I’m all alone now.

“He likes me a lot and I don’t know what to do!”

“Right, right.

I see.” I try to keep my composure, I should have seen it coming with the way Mia’s been the last few months. “Do you like talking to him?”

“I don’t know!”

A spiral descending upon itself. We talk in this vein for some time; Mia describes her feelings, I feign impartiality, giving vague words of support.

“Let’s go to the bar. I’m hungry,” and I beckon Mia to leave.

Going to the dive bar is a mistake. We walk down the shallow, winding steps, into a cavern plastered with stickers, the ceiling so low that I could feel it collapse onto my skull. Red neon lights, classic rock drowning the venue, the wooden countertops reflect a sticky gloss. Usually, a band plays, but tonight the stage is vacant. I sip whiskey apple juice from a plastic cup whilst Mia finds two vacant stools for us.

The rest of the bar is filled to the brim with middle-aged patrons.

But those old mens’ gazes consume me like saccharine cake. Funny, there aren’t many young people here. Why? 73

“You have high expectations. I don’t think this place is what you expected.”

“I know,” I shout, but the music suffocates me.

“You’re so desperate to find men,” she effortlessly replies.

“Well? I just haven’t found many people who share interests with me. Like literature and history.”

“I’ve met plenty of men like that. They flirted with me in class, but I didn’t notice. God, there was this one guy who really liked me, then one day I didn’t see him anymore.”

“I see.” I drain my cup. I paid $6.50 for blended apples and a shot of house whiskey.

“If you stopped trying so hard, you’d find someone.”

That piece of advice. It comes again and again whenever I talk to Mia. Just stop trying so hard. It pervades my loneliest hours. Just stop trying. It echoes in the back of my mind when I cry into the pillow. Just stop trying.

After an hour, we leave the bar. I feel like I’ve shed a thick fur coat off my eardrums when I step out onto the dim city street – Mia gets a call.

“Fin’s lost his debit card,” she proclaims. “He’s got no way of getting to us.”

Irresponsible fuck. Why does Mia even like him?

Mia talks into the phone again, I wait aside.

Her posture is stooped and timid, like she’s afraid of looking into the wide, inquisitive eyes of the glass skyscrapers above. She speaks with a near-inaudible voice, pushing out an “Oh, right…Will you be okay?” She exerts herself not to burst out in incessant tears. It feels wrong. Have I simply been so blind as to never notice Mia’s utter incompetence? Where did my real friend go?

The city is falling from grey to black. Stray raindrops land on my cheek, I’ve always liked the eerie placidity of a bustling city at night-time. How the lights blink against a smoky sky, how the deserted asphalt becomes interminable miles of no-man’s land. But I’m here with Mia and I must attend to her.

“Fin will be meeting us soon.” Mia ends the call.

“Which way are we going?”

“Town Hall station.”

And we set off. I have little to say to Mia. I endure her dismissiveness and express myself anyway.

“I thought I could pick up someone.”

“Yeah? And? You act like you’re so ugly. But I’m observant, I’ve seen how people 74

are looking at you tonight.”

“In what way?”

“In disgusting ways,” she emphasises, looking at me from under her brows.

Fuck this. Why can’t I even get what I want? I only ever asked for one, one respectful man. I want to burn this dress. Burn it to shreds.

We meet Fin. He’s short and unassuming, hair covering half his face. I introduce myself, but his attention is on Mia. While we walk, they stick together in front, and I follow along behind. Unwanted.

We ride on the train to Edgecliff, on Fin’s suggestion. The carriage is covered in graffiti, with seats discoloured, and a strong musty smell overwhelms me. Mia talks about the dismal state of trains, how she once found faecal matter on the floor. Fin drinks a can of grape-flavoured soft drink. I have no input. I listen to them talk about their twoweek history.

The station is liminal, lit by harsh fluorescent lights, caved in by small yellow tiles. It’s 11:04pm. Fin leads the way. I realise that I’ve been constantly walking since the afternoon. My feet cramp up in my Doc Martens. Cars rush by along the motorway, and we tread precariously on the narrow pavement.

We walk across a damp oval. Fin has led us to the foreshore of Rushcutters Bay. Shielded by darkness, they think they can be covert – but I spy Fin taking Mia’s hand, interlacing fingers together. I stand unnoticed behind them.

I’m not meant to be here.

The moon crowns radiantly against a blue-black canvas. White yachts undulate with the water. All dark, all unseen. And I am fully hidden. *** The heavy humidity of summer has turned into crisp autumn.

I have never understood why summer is so synonymous with passion, why temporal heat must translate to bodily heat. One must let the sun rest. I have learnt to find contentment in the inconsequential moments. The feeling of soft tweed.

Clear water rippling in a fountain. Amiable stray cats who headbutt into your shins. Autumn is slow, but not languid; in autumn I may bide my time.

Since that late-night incident, I haven’t seen or heard from Mia. It took consultation from both my close friend and a counsellor to realise that maybe she didn’t have my best interests at heart.

75

Breathe in, breathe out. I like the chill wind soothing my skin. I’m wearing almost a full ensemble of wool tweed like a dandy Edwardian, much better and more comfortable than that flimsy dress. Ella Fitzgerald plays through my earphones and I take in the lush jazz melodies.

The white yachts in Rushcutters Bay rollick solemnly. Their masts jut up, a hundred antennae seeming to wave at my lone figure. I’ve also learnt not to fear a little rain, the drops form glistening spheres on my jacket. A translucent mist settles. I imagine that I’m a Gothic heroine; perhaps Jane Eyre stranded on the moors, my favourite literary character.

I think to myself, I’d rather be alone. Yes, I like solitude. To be free, with no impending disruptions or responsibilities, is an all-encompassing joy. Nobody to vex me and nobody to please.

For a while, I became remorseful on abandoning Mia. It felt wasteful to suddenly sever such an invested friendship. But she didn’t notice my absence and I lost my lingering sense of insignificance. She doesn’t matter; only my happiness does. It’s strange how certain people’s essences can seep into your life. Mia’s was vitriolic, talking to her was akin to chewing bitter fruit rinds. I obligated myself to taste it, enjoy it, because isn’t that supposed to be? Isn’t companionship more than just the sweet?

Not really, I couldn’t subsist on the peels, those mere scraps of warmth. And so I let them go. Let them sail away into the inky saltwater and wash up on a foreign shore so they’ll alight and write their initials in the sand, encircled by a love heart. But I don’t care about such voyages, I’m satisfied to remain on the shore, admiring the aquamarine horizon.

Pungent seawater stings my nose. I put my shivering hands in my pockets, the white yachts sway, indefinable creatures. Autumn in its colourless clouds and icy water may seem inhospitable, but love imbues fondness and beauty in even the bleakest sights.

I shall make the leafless trees come alive again.

I walk to the station slowly, letting words upon words manifest in my mind.

Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise. chance.

76

The grey line of the foreshore creeps out of sight. Tomorrow holds another

* ~

I go out of my way to be near her – walking the long route, catching the wrong bus, craning my neck, moving seats.

In late afternoon, she is dove-grey satin, the sky a clear light blue, full moon.

At sunset, she is so large she is a stage on which the only architecture is the sky.

I see the whole horizon, my whole encompassing vision, erupt in purple, fuchsia, coral; I drown in colour, gasping.

She is reflecting everything.

Entangled in the sky, venus conjunct crescent moon – I spend the whole night desiring.

The

Sublime Majesty of the Canada Bay er) sshhee//hher) ( s i r r o s( ZZooee M Mor ri

At night, she roams the city, neon lights reflecting in her black vinyl.

Above her, diamonds, drilled into graphite.

Every day, she stirs new potions.

I get the feeling if I jumped into her cauldron, I would lose myself, happily – Suspended in amber, spluttering ambrosia, brain exploding into starlight.

77 77

LETTER FROM MY

Glutamatergic

System they a(

Cosmin Luc

/ them)

W

e look at each other as if through a kaleidoscope. We don’t know what we’re seeing. We don’t know what we’re being. Frames of reference drop in and out of conscience. I’ve built an internal logic for moments like this; I think I have.

Keep with it. The mind tends to its own garden. Meanwhile— you, you’re in and out of focus. I can’t quite describe the way the waves move around you. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be— dissociation with a friend in need.

Memory-wise, you’re hard to remember, but harder to forget. Concentric circles dancing in the wind, never quite reaching each other, floating on different planes, their angles propped up by perspective: Let’s talk it out. Talking helps. Talk is good.

But if your talk is my talk, then my talk is your talk.

If your talk is your talk, then my talk is my talk.

No need to talk.

78

See the conflict? See the derision? I am stuck, forever on the precipice of some solution, but I don’t know what it is.

I like you. I like this problem. But I also like this song and how I feel when I am in it: elevatedA drug. I’m trying to make sense out of a drug. But the world is whirling within me.

words swirling epiphany

nascent hugs within me

a wick When the sun loses its shape, and the moon comes out of its cape We burn in flames…

—Tunnelvisions An experiment: speak foreign words to me and I’ll speak foreign words to you. That way, we’ll better understand each other. We’ll read each other through affect alone.

Our tongues might rest, drifting like petals in the wind. We might even sit side by side, making corals with our knuckles until the breeze floats you into my arms and the weight of your head on my chest blows a life’s easy out of me. One might blow out of you.

We seek to make the significant insignificant, but we can’t. Silence is good; experimentation is good; the Dérive is always good. So we keep saying.

Stranno Neobjatno Странно, Странно Необятно.

Whatever you do, you can’t hide from the things you place significance on. If you place significance on something, whatever that thing might be, then such is life. C’est la vie.

Such is the way it has operated; can’t help that.

Just notice the other things too.

Like with that Italian Death Mural Someone once wrote over: Take notice until you don’t.

79

80

Queer Joy in Collage

Neve (she/her)

Queer joy to me is a personal life philosophy, as a form of resistance,

celebration and utopic imagining. My collages are sapphic, sex-positive, psychedelic colour explosions, celebrating fluidity and queer femininities.

The collages feature imagery of self-exploration and escapism, from psychedelia to sex toys to nature, because I see queer joy as an escape from a heteronormative world to a space of liberated self-expression.

They include images of powerhouse icons like Janelle Monáe and Grace Tame, who have inspired me as a bisexual woman and survivor. Through collage, I have transmuted language taken from early 20th century Australian magazines into new queer meanings and reclamations, such as “A queer bird”. With the swirling paint backdrops, I wanted to place fluidity as foundational to queer euphoria, as we celebrate the beauty of existing beyond the binary. As a drag artist, I live and breathe performativity and bold bright expression and I’m constantly inspired by the incredible queer artists [in] our local scene – that is where queer joy lies, in celebrating our community.

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

terwRd 1 9 7 8

This edition of 1978 takes place on the 45th anniversary of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras and continues to borrow its name from the protests that first brought queer rights to the forefront of Australian politics. We honour and acknowledge the tireless work of queer advocates before us and draw on their vast expanses of knowledge to better understand ourselves and our communities.

Over the past few years, the influx of queer voices in media and publications has brought a sense of wonder, community and joy into the mainstream that would have been almost unimaginable even only a decade ago. In small but ongoing ways, we, as queer artists, continue this activism and legacy by uncompromisingly and unapologetically putting our stories out into the world.

When writing to apply for the editorial team of 1978, one prompt asked us to explain what our queer identity means to us. There are any number of beautiful and captivating answers to this question, and yet it was often a struggle to reflect positively on the experiences of growing up queer.

Repression has followed like a shadow from our childhood into our young adult lives. Because so much of our identities are often shrouded in shame, guilt, secrecy and the feeling that we might never be happy in our own skins, it is with a subversive lens that this edition of 1978 celebrates the exact opposite – the vibrant, joyous aspects of youth and queer culture. If there's one thing we appreciate 1978 for most, it is the dedication to celebrating queer joy in all its varying yet interweaving forms.

We thank you, dearest readers, for giving these amazing pieces the audience and attention they deserve. Readers and contributors alike are crucial parts of the magical, transformative processes of storytelling, and we hope you enjoyed your time inside this little world of vivid stories, essays, poems and artworks.

88

That being said, this publication would not have been possible without all the wonderful students, alumni and associates of the university who have supported 1978 by submitting, editing and reading the journal. We would once again like to thank all our contributors and the editing team for their persistent, meticulous work over the past few months. It has been our greatest pleasure to discuss and work together on your pieces which have brought so much life to this journal.

Finally, we would also like to send our utmost gratitude to our editors-inchief, Yasodara and Nick, for their warm and steadfast leadership through the process of making this journal. Their passion, direction and insight have been a driving force behind every aspect of the creation of 1978 2023. It has been an absolute pleasure to work together on this edition, and we are so incredibly proud of what this team has accomplished.

Marlena Holdernesse & Nicole Zhang General Editors, 2023

dRwret 2 0 2 3

about the

ediTor

91

Nicholas Osiowy (he/him) Editor-In-Chief Nick is a second-year student studying English and Media & Communications.

He was an editor for AVENUE in 2023, and jumped at the opportunity to become more involved in SASS publications. You may find him wandering aimlessly through Sydney’s streets. He also enjoys receiving more recommendations than he could ever follow.

Yasodara (she/her) Editor-In-Chief Yasodara is a Medical Science student majoring in Visual Arts. Her works traverse cultural commentary, brownness, selfhood and equality. In spirit, a cross between a tortoise and a kookaburra, the aptly named Yasodara is a dully chaotic creature with a tendency to guffaw at the faintest trace of clever punnery and satire. When not in her usual habitat, surrounded by paint palettes and her trusty easel, she can be found pondering the possibility of life beyond Earth.

Jun Kwoun (they/them) Creative Director; ‘0’,‘Dear Alice’ “I am an Arts student at USyd. I spend my time reading and drawing, and I like the smell of rain.”

Marlena Holdernesse (they/she) General Editor Marlena is a third-year Media and Communications and International Relations student, whose first foray into the world of SASS publications has been editing this amazing edition of 1978. They are an avid little treat and op-shop-trip enjoyer, and an escapist into any form of fictive wormhole, be it a good book or the YouTube algorithm at ungodly hours of the night.

Nicole Zhang (she/her) General Editor Nicole is a third-year student at USyd who enjoys reading translated fiction, cooking elaborate breakfasts and taking photos of her pet parrots. You're likely to find her napping through class and speeding through books during exam week.

92

Penelope Beltran-Rehberg (she/her) Non-fiction Editor; ‘Is it Bye-Bye Binary?’, ‘Subversive Sheilas: The Women’s Liberation House and Sydney’s second-wave feminist movement of the 1970s’ Penelope is a fourth-year Arts and Sciences student studying English Literature and Geology and Geophysics. She loves Taylor Swift, long road trips, and a good chai latte. She believes diverse and inclusive representation in art and media is so, so important and is very excited for everyone to experience this edition of 1978!

Kate Scott (she/they) Non-fiction Editor; ‘Is it Bye-Bye Binary?’

Kate’s a first-year post-grad student and one of the first editors of 1978. Having written, illustrated and edited several student publications Kate is looking forward to creating a kickass journal. They rate zines, fresh pavlova, and going on a nice big hike to procrastinate on their studies.

93

Adela Goh (she/her) Poetry Editor; ‘tectonic’, ‘The Sublime Majesty of the Canada Bay’, ‘Tomebird’ Adela is an Arts and Social Science undergraduate with a great interest in watching musicals, reading Japanese manga and going on the occasional hike. A foodie at heart, she loves indulging in pastries and cafe-hopping with her close friends. You can find her listening to video game soundtracks and on the lookout for creative art pieces and art supplies to journal with.

Zara Ishka (she/her) Poetry Editor; ‘virga’, ‘Homeward’, ‘Ode to Desire’ “I am a first-year Arts student at USyd, majoring in English and minoring in Writing Studies. My whole life revolves around books – reading, writing, editing, bookselling – all that fun stuff. I expect this to be the case for the rest of my life, in some form or other. I also love ballet, going to concerts, watching films, and playing card games with my friends… partly because I then get to write about it all. I will always look for new ideas in the brilliance that comprises the works of Joan Didion, Donna Tartt and Ottessa Moshfegh: my unceasing literary muses.”

Yvonne Wang (she/her) Poetry Editor; ‘A Girl is not a Bird’, ‘The Angel in the House’, ‘Gender Envy, or Radical 38 (女)’ Yvonne is a first-year student in Psychology and Latin. Her hobbies include learning and (unfortunately) often abandoning new languages as well as overspending on concert tickets. She loves some poetry, both ancient and modern, and is also a big fan of the literary technique of chiasmus. She often buys second-hand books but falls prey to allergies, thus failing to read them in peace.

94

Markus Barrie (he/him) Prose Editor; ‘FEMME RITUALS’, ‘Letter from my Glutamatergic System’ Markus is a third-year student at USyd majoring in Medical Science and English.

Working, studying and writing between two different academic worlds, you will find him meandering through his perpetually growing TBR pile, indulging in rare disease videos or writing poetry – all while cosied up with a soy hot chocolate and his guinea pig. He enjoys reading and writing a mix of fantasy and science fiction, in addition to ruminations about the body, gender and sexuality. You risk summoning him if you start talking about dystopic fiction, the Legend of Zelda, queer theory or Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

Nathan Phillis (he/him) Prose Editor; ‘Cambium’, ‘Upon the Bay’ “I’m a first-year currently throwing myself into every project and hobby I can muster. Between a love for Ghibli, hours on hours spent trawling the dive bars and metal concerts of the world, and an endless adoration for art and writing, I am a patchwork of hundreds of dissonant inspirations and indulgences.

You can find me browsing retro games, pouring myself into fringe art projects, or keeping up with the bleeding edge of weird films and music; I am a medley of aesthetics and hyper fixations matched by only the most incohesive of Pinterest boards.

Looking for someone to cry to La La Land with? Looking to thrash to punk music with someone? Looking to watch an obscure Korean horror film from 20 years ago? I’m the writer for you.”

95

Grace Alexander (she/her) Visual Art Editor; ‘Women Creating Art’ Grace is a second-year Arts student majoring in English and Philosophy. She is passionate about books, reading, writing, etc., so being a visual arts editor is very new to her and she hopes she does an OK job. She is usually reading, sleeping, talking to her cats, or very slowly doing a cow cross-stitch.

Miles Hyunh (he/him) Visual Art Editor; ‘Scratch Me’, ‘Cut to Freedom’ Miles is a final-semester student in Marketing and Design. Right now he is obsessed with the Substack blog Vittles, receiving monthly sticker sheets from Patreon, and the band Kino. He is currently working being unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it.

***

96

about the

onTribuTor

99

Lesley Podesta (she/her)† Lesley Podesta was an Arts/Law student at Sydney University in the mid seventies.

She was an SRC rep, the SRC Women’s Officer and the local AUS Secretary.

She was an active member of Active Defence of Homosexuals on Campus (ADHOC) and part of the original Mardi Gras in 1978. She has had a long career in government, public health and social impact and has continued to be a strong advocate for social justice and inclusion.

Ken Davis (he/him)† Ken Davis became involved in radical activism and Gay Liberation in school in 1972. After 1983 he worked on HIV, and since 1991 has worked in international solidarity and development.

Nicholas Osiowy (he/him) “I am a second-year student studying English and Media & Communications.

Perpetually in love with the Sydney landscape and its people, I try to channel that into writing, which has been published in Honi Soit and Pulp. I have been most recently inspired by Ovid and Wong Kar-wai, but am always in search of new books, movies and songs to add to my list(s).”

Hattie Zhu (she/her) “I’m a third-year Biomedical Engineering student specialising in Humanitarian Engineering. I enjoy all forms of art, though, I’m most familiar with traditional and digital drawings/paintings. I’ve always strove for both aesthetics and curiosity when creating my pieces without too much focus on a predetermined meaning.

This, I believe, has allowed for freedom and autonomy in my drawings. Much of my inspiration comes from the various media I consume such as animation, books, games, digital/analogue horror, etc.”

Juneau Choo (she/they) “I am a first-year student studying International Relations. I was born in Muar, Malaysia, grew up in Seberang Perai, studied on occupied Coast Salish territory, and temporarily reside on unceded Gadigal land. My favourite novel is House of Leaves, and I am interested in postmodern literature, postcolonial histories, postcapitalist societies, post-gender worlds, post-humanist theory, post-punk bands, and the Postal Service. P.S. and postal services (‘We Await Silent Tristero’s Empire’).”

100

Jem Rice (she/they) “I am a third-year student studying English and Japanese. Over the years, poetry has become more and more like an organ in my body – I need it to process the world.

Other things I do with my time include drawing, playing guitar, and taking walks with no set start or finish. I write on the lands of the Eora Nation.”

G (they/she)* “I am a butch lesbian and highly visible. I go through airports and text my girlfriend tallies of how people gender me – 2 sirs, 1 ma’am, 1 awkward pause, and 1 “young sir” for a trip to Indonesia, with a side of 2 “you’re in the wrong bathrooms”. I play around with this, dropping my voice for flight staff, or tightening my shirt before braving the bathroom, lest I cause a security incident (not uncommon). Sometimes this is dangerous, but most of the time, it’s FUN. One of my favourite clothes are my custom printed booty shorts with “pretty boy” on the ass. I like playing around with people’s perceptions and expectations, and take joy in experimenting and frankly, causing a bit of mischief. I like that people don’t always know what to call me, and that I’m visibly queer. It’s a wonderful thing to see young queers spot me or to have older butches give me ‘the nod’ on the street. I marched shirtless in the recent Mardi Gras parade, a risky choice around my colleagues. But it was all worth it at the end of the march, where a young person with a non-binary flag spotted me and started cheering. When I was a teen, you didn’t see butches or non-binary people around, and it meant a lot to be identified as one for the younger generation. Thus, I take joy in being a “pretty boy” and one helluva butch dyke.”

Feronia Ding (she/her) “I am a first-year Arts student, majoring in English and Film Studies. I enjoy reading, watching films and writing poetry in my spare time and can often be found browsing bookstores or record shops on the weekend, even when I don’t have the money for it! I love Ocean Vuong, Mary Oliver, Richard Siken – all the classics – and hope to publish a poetry collection one day.”

101

Brighton Grace (he/him) “I am a second-year student completing a Bachelor of Arts and Advanced Studies at the University, majoring in English and Film Studies, currently based on Gadigal land. I aim for my writing to offer refractions of contemporary concerns and excavations of hidden feelings. If you enjoyed the poem, you can also find my work in Maudlin House, the Cordite Poetry Review, Scissors & Spackle, and the Riverstone Literary Journal. Some of my favourite writers include Sylvia Plath, Wallace Stevens, Cormac McCarthy, Gerald Murnane, and Thylias Moss, although I am influenced by a number of artists across each artistic medium. ”

Xena M. (they/она) “I am a third-year arts student. Having immigrated early in my life, I always felt lost, and turned to words to pour out my heart – poetry, prose, words scribbled down on cafe napkins. I felt torn between two communities; my immigrant community, which I felt alienated from because of my queerness, and the queer community, where I often felt like I was sacrificing my cultural identity. I am inspired by femmes and butches of the past, and my writing is always imbued with Leslie Feinberg’s quote from Stone Butch Blues – nature held me close and found no fault with me. My writing reflects that my love, and my identity, is innate and ancestral.”

Shelly Han (she/her) “I am a third-year student studying Speech Pathology. I’ve always enjoyed creating digital art because it allows me to bring my imagination to life. Lately, I've been experimenting with various lighting styles in my artwork to enhance the ambiance across different works. I get my inspiration from various sources such as written prompts, images, or even songs. It surprises me how much the mood of a song can affect my artwork. My other hobbies include exploring digital art on social media, finding playlists, and reading various genres of short stories.”

Grace Mitchell (she/her) “I am a fourth-year Secondary Education/Arts student living and writing on unceded Gadigal and Wangal land. Majoring in modern history, I have a keen passion for history and education, particularly Australian history, feminist history, and local history. I love to research and write about historical periods and people who are forgotten or under-represented in the popular imagination; I believe that writing is a key tool to raise awareness of these periods and people’s impact on our past and present. My writing focuses primarily on the history of Australian women.”

102

Kelsey Goldsboro (they/fae) Kelsey is a third-year Arts student who bares their heart as an example of female rage; as a romantic devoted to loving, just as the lovers who died for that such beautiful thing did; as a tired soul.

Born from sea-foam and blood— how wondrous it is to live.

Penelope Beltran-Rehberg (she/her) “I am a fourth-year Arts and Sciences student studying English Literature and Geology and Geophysics, living on unceded Gadigal land. For me, art and storytelling have always been important ingredients of life. Whether visual or verbal, I love approaching my art with a sense of play, and never want to take what I do too seriously. When painting, I like to be guided by feeling and affect, rather than realism, and I am endlessly inspired by the post-impressionists' vibrant and bold and unrealistic style. I think Women Creating Art embodies my process well; I hope it's a painting that you can feel, and not just see.”

Frank (he/she/they)* “My queer and neurodivergent experience has always been about silence, loneliness and privacy, but I've learnt to cherish what I can keep to myself and the ability to share people into these personal parts of myself. Euphoria does not have to be seen.

It only has to be felt. This is less a celebration of being in the closet and more on the freedom of not being seen, those moments of respite that I've shared with other queer and neurodivergent friends and with myself. This manifests into my love for the night that tempts strangeness and deviants to be whole and unadulterated. The most peace I feel is at night where no one can judge me and all social expectations fade away. This idea of night was inspired by very classical ideas of love and beauty, especially John Keats' "Ode to Autumn" wherein the brightness of summer has left and the beauty of longer nights can be appreciated.”

Zara Ishka (she/her) “I am a first-year Arts student at USyd, majoring in English and minoring in Writing Studies. My whole life revolves around books – reading, writing, editing, bookselling – all that fun stuff. I expect this to be the case for the rest of my life, in some form or other. I also love ballet, going to concerts, watching films, and playing card games with my friends… partly because I then get to write about those pretty little things.

Those pretty little intricacies hidden in everyday reality, waiting to be uncovered; waiting to be written about.”

103

Cosmin Luca (they/them) “I am a third-year first-year Psychology Student, majoring in Psychology and Theatre and Performance Studies. I wrote my first poem in protest to a punishment my parents put on me. I thought that if I wrote my feelings out, they might feel them too and treat me differently. Since then, I have always tried to be brave with my writing and “go for the jugular.” I am a poet, playwright, actor, placemaker, expolitico and a big fan of Wei Shujun’s film, Striding Into The Wind.”

Ash (they/them)* “Queerness has traditionally, and continues to be, an act of resistance in its expression, and in the people who hold these identities. It defies the neat boxes society defines people into, it defies traditional expectations, and around the world defies society. My queer journey has been an act of liberation of my self. A small death of a construct that was somewhat made for me, out of which I grew a self that is more the self I want to be, that I am, than the ways I tried to contort my assigned gender at birth to fit myself. In [my] artwork, “Liberation”, I based the figure on Michelangelo’s David, and made him trans, complete with top surgery scars. But instead of the expression of uncertainty and trepidation, I gave it one of determination, a forward lean in motion. Shackles to represent the different internal chains that tie us to states of being that are not true to ourselves. The storm represents struggles queer people still face around the world. The wheat fields and garden represent the connection to Earth that I found strongly amplified when I embraced my inner sense of self. Asphodels for death and change, marigolds for rebirth, dandelions for new days, plantain for healing, agrimony for gratefulness. Pleurotus, calocera and mycena pins for new and different life.

Butterflies for the soul, dragonflies for metamorphosis. A branch of white oak for strength. And the European Ash tree which can have male flowers, female flowers, both, neither, and can change between years.”

Alex Ma (she/they) “I am a third-year student finishing up my Arts degree in English and Art History.

Words have always been a deep interest for me. In my spare time, (but really when inspiration strikes), I’m typing away at a short story. My other interests include playing the piano, student theatre, and befriending local cats.”

104

Zoe Morris (she/her) “I am a third-year student studying Politics and English. I love to write primarily non-fiction poetry which celebrates the beauty of the world. I have been previously published in AVENUE and the USyd Anthology.”

Neve (she/her)* “Queer joy to me is a personal life philosophy, as a form of resistance, celebration and utopic imagining. My collages are sapphic, sex-positive, psychedelic colour explosions, celebrating fluidity and queer femininities. The collages feature imagery of self-exploration and escapism, from psychedelia to sex toys to nature, because I see queer joy as an escape from a heteronormative world to a space of liberated selfexpression. They include images of powerhouse icons like Janelle Monáe and Grace Tame, who have inspired me as a bisexual woman and survivor. Through collage, I have transmuted language taken from early 20th century Australian magazines into new queer meanings and reclamations, such as “A queer bird.” With the swirling paint backdrops, I wanted to place fluidity as foundational to queer euphoria, as we celebrate the beauty of existing beyond the binary. As a drag artist, I live and breathe performativity and bold bright expression and I’m constantly inspired by the incredible queer artists [in] our local scene – that is where queer joy lies, in celebrating our community.”

***

members of The '78ers, interviewed for this edition of 1978. * winning artists of the 2023 Queer and Trans Joy and Euphoria as Resistance: A Creative Writing and Art Competition.

†

105

ilTraTor

107

Jun Kwoun Cover artwork ‘Cambium’ ‘Letter from my Glutamatergic System’ Grace Alexander ‘virga’* ‘The Sublime Majesty of the Canada Bay’* Miles Hyunh ‘tectonic’ ‘The Angel in the House’ ‘Upon the Bay’ Yasodara ‘Is it Bye-Bye Binary?’

‘Gender Envy, or Radical 38 (女)’ ‘Ode to Desire’ ‘FEMME RITUALS’ ‘A Girl is not a Bird’ ‘Cambium’ ‘Homeward’ *approved alterations made by Yasodara

108

peial Thank

Special thanks to, Melody Wong, Amy Tan, Angela Xu and Kate Scott, for your creative generosity, wisdom and guidance; our editors, contributors and illustrators, for bestowing upon us the immeasurable honour of partaking in your creative journeys; Lesley and Ken, for your kindness and patience; and Jamaica Leech, The Sydney Arts Students' Society, The University of Sydney Union and The Sydney University Press, for your gracious stewardship.

We are eternally grateful to you all!

Reproductions of the original iteration of the pride flag created by Gilbert Baker have been used throughout this journal, alongside the ilbe typeface, celebrating LGBTQIA+ activists such as Baker and his contemporaries across the world, two of whom – Lesley Podesta and Ken Davis – grace the earlier pages of this edition of 1978 with their image, wisdom and thought.

University of Sydney Student Counselling Service (02) 8627 8433 QLife 1800 184 527 Twenty10 (02) 8594 9555 13YARN 13 92 76 Beyond Blue 1300 22 4636 Lifeline 13 11 14 0477 13 11 14 (text) FullStop 1800 424 017 Mental Health Line (NSW) 1800 011 511