Flawless by Bossy

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BOSSY

The Womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Department Annual Magazine

Cover

C.C. Ham Sandwich Casey Crockford

Editor Profiles The Bossy Editors

6-7

Women’s Officers in Conversation

Linnea Burdon-Smith and Loren Ovens

The Pledge

20-21

Amplify ANU Tess Masters

14-15

Provide for Periods: It’s Bloody Essential Claire Rapson

Women in Academia Aditi Razdan

The Rapunzel Room

Codie Bell

Trigger Warning: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Assault

22-23

The Typical Pakistani Daughter Rashna Farrukh

16-17

Seeking Asylum

Neerja Thirunavukarasu

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Suicide, Racism

Linnea Burdon-Smith

2015 in Review: The Year Emotional Abuse Sucked The Joy and Happiness Out of My Sassy Independant Life

18-19

A Man’s World

24-25

In Living Colour Jill Chuah Masters

26-27 Boy

Anonymous

Blair Williams

Traveller’s Checks Jessy Wu

Trigger Warning: racism

Makayla Brinckley

30-31 Shortcut

Esther Carlin

We acknowledge the rightful owners of this land, recognize that sovereignty has never been ceded and support the ongoing struggle of Indigenous Peoples for self-determination. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and future.

The Cost of Being Flawless Emma Henke

34-35

Selling Beauty and Selling Choice Katie Cunningham

Flawless Poem Rebecca Kriesler

38-39

In Whose Eyes? Hayley Keen

40-41 A Handful Clair Lenehan

42-43

Sorry But I Just Wanted To Say... Maeve Bannister

44-45

Ariana Grande, Gloria Steinem, and the Dangers of the ‘Smart Girl’ Feminist Trope Jemimah Cooper

52-53

Call It What You Want Amy Campbell

54-55 The Johnsons Grace Flanagan

Guy In Your Tute Amazed To Discover Yes, You Did Know That Thing All Along

56-57

Lauretta Flack

Unsealed

Suffragette: A Review

Igniting Liberation

48-49

Ria Pflaum

Rey of Sunshine Laura Perkov

50-51

The Bond Girl Jayne Hoschke

Gabriela Falzon

Flawless Tunes

60-61

Gifts for the Men’s Rights Activist in Your Life

Useful Contacts

Disclaimer: The opinions, experiences and views present in this publication are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of the Editorial Team or of all members of the Women’s Department.

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Meet the Editors Jill Masters

Gillian Ferguson Jill is a class-A hunk with very little aptitude for social cues and/or bio-writing. She enjoys living vicariously through the better writing of others, long glasses of water, and mild-moderate banter about the representation of race and gender in television & film.

Lauretta Flack

Gillian is an Arts/Law student with the best cardigan collection this side of Canberra. She talks about dogs on the internet a lot and knows all the words to Nicki Minaj’s ‘Monster’ rap. You can often find her roaming the streets of Braddon, searching for an almond croissant.

Rashna Farrukh

Lauretta is a student of the world. She believes learning is a lifelong pursuit, and is currently learning how to use a microwave without the assistance of the fire department. She has a heart of gold and a podcast about dogs she once inappropriately plugged at a Learning Communities event. Oops! (I did it again).

Emily Dickey

Rashna is a hot sauce and jalapeno enthusiast, and makes a mean toasted sandwich. She also enjoys lukewarm showers, spending lots of money to relieve stress, and temperatures between 20 and 24 degrees Celsius.

Joanne Leong Emily is a fun, art-loving, slightly forgetful and notgood-under-stress creative type, who enjoys the odd sunrise skinny-dip in the cold waters of Tasmania! She attempts to be patient and loves to travel, although making plans is not her strongest suit so she will regularly hop on the last bus to anywhere.

Joanne Leong is very keen on tea. Joanne also likes novelty socks. Recently Joanne bought a pair of socks. The socks have a bear face and pom pom ears. They are very cheerful socks. They make Joanne feel happy when she wears them.

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Madisyn Zabel

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Artwork by Estelle Briedis

Women’s Officers in Conversation Linnea Burdon-Smith is the incoming Women’s Officer for 2016. She studies Human Rights and Australian Indigenous Studies in a Bachelor of Arts and among many other credits to her name, she worked tirelessly in 2015 as the ANU Indigenous Cultures Learning Community Ambassador

Linnea

Loren, you’ve been out of the role for 6 weeks now, what do you miss most about the role, do you miss it?

Loren

Loren: It feels like a lot longer since I’ve been out of the role. For most of the year (Dec ‘14 - Nov ‘15) being Women’s Officer consumed most aspects of my

Loren Ovens is a Bachelor of Arts/Law student who, as outgoing Officer for 2015, is preparing to pass on her baton. We asked them to sit down and have a chat about the role, which these two extraordinary busy people very kindly obliged. What resulted is an insightful, personal conversation about what it means – and how it feels – to be Women’s Officer, as well as finding a sense of belonging in the collective.

life, and certainly a lot of my time - so to go from that to a complete absence of it all meant I had to readjust to life postofficer in a big way. I don’t miss being in the role but I’ve gained an appreciation for what it was and for what I did. The parts I really loved, like being given the opportunity to be an advocate and the bonds I formed with the other Department heads, isn’t going to go

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away any time soon! Linnea, what are you thinking as you look towards the year ahead? You’ve seen the demands of the role up close. Are you feeling excited? Apprehensive? Emboldened?

Linnea

I feel like I got a snapshot of how consuming the role is, having worked with you throughout the year, but I’m sure I’m going to be bamboozled when the reality really hits me. I’ve already been amazed by what I have been exposed to thus far in the position, and I haven’t even been in position during term time. The onus on student representatives to make certain decisions and fill pastoral care roles is quite concerning. I’m excited, certainly, with the current discourse around the University Administration there is the possibility for some long awaited changes. I am nervous though, to be in a position that holds so much responsibility and is so important in my eyes.

Loren

This makes me wonder, what inspired you to attend collective meetings and give Women’s Department a go? Were your motivations different when you ran for Women’s Officer?

Linnea

My engagement with the department started out of curiosity. Feminism and everything that the movement involves is not something that I had directly engaged with previously. I attended a meeting because I was interested in what the much talked about Department was all about. As someone who would define themselves as an introvert, I was amazed at how comfortable I was in my first Women’s Collective meeting, how welcoming the women were, how much my personal values were accepted by the group and how willing the group was to transform and progress. So, my first interaction came out of curiosity, but my reason for running for Women’s Officer was a respect for what

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the Women’s Department stands for and those that engage with it. I ran because I believe the Women’s Department has the potential to achieve so much and I wanted to support it as much as I possibly could. I ran because I believe the Women’s Department is full of inspiring and diverse women and I’d like to facilitate the Department’s growth.

Loren

I still get a glow when I hear women speak about how welcoming ‘Dept’ has been to them. For one thing, I can definitely relate. Looking back now, it is easy to see how I stuck around so long (I attended the first meeting of the year, in my first year at ANU and have missed very few since.) But what it really comes down to is the women you meet, as you described. Finding spaces full of warmth, passion and support is pretty special and I don’t say lightly, that the people I’ve met through the Department have absolutely changed me, and changed my life. Of course, that didn’t happen when I first walked through the door of the Rapunzel Room. By now it’s a bit of a joke – that I didn’t talk for my first six months in the Department. I was hugely intimidated, and yet, wildly interested before I felt comfortable to dive in and nominate for Publications Editor.

Linnea

Wow! I never would have imagined you would be intimidated at a Women’s Department meeting! You were always so considerate, welcoming and above all, confident as Women’s Officer. What would you say to others that might feel the same way?

Loren

Throughout my term I had dozens of women tell me that they wanted to get involved and I was so impressed by the ones they did. As they say, we all start as strangers, and in case I haven’t exhausted enough clichés, I’d add – decisions are made by those in the room! Do you think that the Women’s

Department is only for the radicals among us?

Linnea

Definitely not! I do think you have to be willing to engage in the conversation though. Since I have been active in the Women’s Department I have been able to engage with women whom have a range of different perspectives on all things feminism. The most radical thing that everyone is collectively obliged to adhere to, is the respect of our Safe Spaces Policy. Ultimately, people are encouraged to develop their thinking, and to share their opinions with others, as long as it’s done with respect. In my mind, tools like trigger warnings are not radical. When used appropriately they are just considerate. Just one last question; out of the many, many campaigns that you were involved in over your time as officer, which was your favourite?

Loren

My favourite campaign is The Pledge! I’ve seen some amazing stuff over the last three years but nothing compares to this campaign that was created by the Women’s Officers of 2012 and 2013; Renee and Beth. I love everything about it, from the graphics that were used, to the striking questions on posters. This campaign is also special to me because it reminds me of one of the great things about the Department. I was very much supported by my predecessors as Women’s Officer and I hope to do the same for you, Linnea. There is a deeply held tradition here of supporting and encouraging each other, and I have no doubt that will continue.

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The Pledge Linnea Burdon-Smith

“I believe everyone should be safe from interpersonal violence, harassment and assault. I believe harassment and assault are the fault of the person using violence, not the person subjected to violence. I pledge to help my campus be a safe space for everyone.” - ANU Women’s Department The ANU Women’s Department created the Pledge campaign in 2012, in order to address the extensive cases of interpersonal violence at the ANU Campus. Since this time, the Pledge has become an annual campaign that has engaged students and staff from all over the university. The Pledge asks for individuals to consider what is defined as violence, what kind of community we want to live in, and what bystanders should deem as inappropriate behaviour. The Pledge is about the ANU community collectively committing to improving their attitude towards violence and harassment. Taking the Pledge is a commitment to say no to violence in all its forms. It is a campaign with an aim to create a cultural change within our community; to stop supporting perpetrators, to stop being complicit. The Pledge addresses sexual violence,

but it also explores what else constitutes as violence, giving much-needed attention to the micro aggressions that often occur on our campus without intervention. This campaign calls for the ANU community to notice that all forms of violence, including verbal abuse, harassment and unwanted physical contact or attention constitutes as violence. This campaign calls for bystanders to not only take notice of the violence that may be occurring around them, but also to have the confidence to intervene. This was a really fascinating campaign to be a part of in 2015. Since its inception, the Pledge has become a campaign that is well recognised by both students and staff in the ANU community. It is a campaign that, every year, is well received and rallies a lot of support. In 2015, the Pledge campaign included individual Pledge events in residential halls,

mass Pledge signings in Union Court, a screening of The Mask We Live in, as well as a social media campaign that was fronted by a video of ANU Students describing what the Pledge meant to them. Within the video students express their want for a ‘safe community’, ‘a safe campus’, a ‘respect for personal space’, an end to ‘victim blaming’, and an increase in ethical bystander behaviour. In order for a cultural shift to occur and hold, the community must comprehend the ways in which every single individual is complicit in violence if they fail to intervene. I hope that in 2016 this campaign may continue to grow, as more of our community becomes aware of the principles we advocate, and more start to live by them.

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Claire Williams

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Tundi-Rose Hammond

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Women in Academia Aditi Razdan

You would be lucky to find a more diverse, intelligent, and inspirational group of women than the female academics at ANU. In an industry still dominated by men, these women are continuing the legacy of their fore-mothers and paving the way for future academics. From science to law, the Women in Academia Profile Series provided an opportunity for the passionate members of ANU’s Women’s Department to engage and be inspired by their tutors, academics, and lecturers. It represents one of many campaigns run by the department that reaches out into the wider university community. The structure of interviews is loose and modelled around encounters with the Academic themselves. In such a way a very personal connection to the academic is often built, and write ups of these interviews are laden with references to our own experiences of these meetings and conversations. It creates both a private relationship with the academic as well as a public acknowledgement of her work, experiences, and most importantly, her invaluable advice. I was lucky enough to interview Udeni Appuhamilage, an academic in ANU’s School of Culture, History and Language. She was a Fulbright scholar, a clinical psychologist, and I admire her as a deeply perceptive and hard-working academic. I was thoroughly grateful

that she took time out of her busy time researching, teaching, and writing to allow me to gain some insight into her life. Her post-university career began in Sri Lanka working with child-trauma victims, and after completing her Masters in Clinical Psychology she returned to Sri Lanka to work with those experiencing the psychological horrors of the Sri Lankan Civil War. Her articulation of these experiences was wonderfully elucidating, and really compelled me to think deeply about some of the areas she researches and teaches. As a lecturer in one of my courses, I was fortunate enough to find her approachable as I entered the interview; however this ease only improved as after the interview, which went well overtime (sorry Udeni!) she remained receptive to my questions and conversation. I think this is what was most valuable about this campaign. Whilst we published the write ups on the ANU Women’s Department website for the public to learn about these women in academia, I built a connection with an academic I had admired from afar. Many of the students who participated in the Women in Academia Profile Series were able to strengthen their connection with their tutors and lecturers, or branch out and become engaged with those they had never been personally acquainted with. Judging from the write ups on each of

the academics it is certain that they had a lot to offer in terms of advice, and this campaign is one which enabled female students to gain unique insight from women working so closely around them. One of the issues that really drove a lot of students to get involved in this campaign, and perhaps may have motivated it in the first place, is the dire lack of female academics in STEM fields. Female STEM students at university can be discouraged in almost any area of science or mathematics by the lack of female representation within the academic staff of their college. This campaign highlighted the incredible calibre of female academics in STEM, and the advice they had for students. As someone with a humanities background it was eye-opening to read about the paths these women take, and their accomplishments in a field so separate from mine. This campaign was one of many run by the ANU women’s department, with the intention of strengthening the community of women on campus. It was one of my favourites as it engaged female academics, accomplished in both their personal and professional lives. Interview write ups, including mine with Udeni, can be found at: http://anuwomensdepartment.com/.

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The Rapunzel Room Makayla Brinckley

The Rapunzel Room is a hub of ideas, excitement, and support between women. It is a place where the women of ANU can gather to study together, or take a break and catch up over a cup of coffee; where all those that enter are treated with respect. The Rapunzel Room was one of the first places that I felt truly at home during my first year at ANU. On a campus that is filled with near constant happenings, the little sanctuary of the Rapunzel Room was always a relief to get to. Over a pot of tea I have laughed with my best friend about the stress of a shared subject, and the simple act of talking openly about it made me feel

instantly better. On a day that I was there by myself, I stretched out on the couch and let my hair down. It is these small instances that together create the loving environment of the Rapunzel Room; somewhere to gather your thoughts before you jump back into the intense world of ANU. It is a true home away from home. I look forward to more shared experiences in the Rapunzel Room this year, and to meeting there more of ANUâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s intelligent and inspiring women.

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Amplify ANU Tess Masters

2015 was a huge year for menstruation. Protests erupted over the ‘tampon tax’, prompting Tony Abbott’s sister to appear in a rap music video about the need to end the unfair tax. Donald Trump (unsurprisingly) made several offensive comments regarding menstruation, which prompted an artist, Sarah Levy, to draw a portrait of Trump using her own menstrual blood. No kidding. You can buy prints on Etsy. Instagram banned a photo of a woman who had menstrual blood on her pants, until forced by public backlash to restore the post. Thinx ‘period panties’ were released and were the talk of many BuzzFeed articles. It was a bloody big year for menstruation. In 2015 the ANU Women’s Department invited the ANU community to “AMP IT UP”, and learn about Alternative Menstrual Products (AMPs). The campaign provoked open conversations that worked to de-stigmatise menstruation, with a particular focus on alternative menstrual products. The campaign successfully taught me – and many people in the ANU community – much more about a wide range of products. I was won over by the juju cup and am now a proud user. Yes, despite living on-campus at a residential college with shared uni-sex bathrooms! It is possible, and is one of the many topics we were able to openly discuss with other users during the workshops run by the department. The campaign touched on two really important aspects of menstruation: the way that a lot of discourse on disposable menstrual products fails us, and the need for education on alternative menstrual products.

As it stands, the advertising industry of disposable menstrual products profits off people feeling alienated and disgusted by their bodies/menstruation. The advertising industry has a historic role in stigmatising menstruation as well as presenting gendered and cissexist narratives as the norm. These narratives are dangerous because they exclude people. Not all women menstruate and not all those who menstruate are women. Somebody needs to let the tampon industry know this, because based on some adverts I’ve seen they clearly missed the memo. Actually, could somebody let the entire advertising industry to stop gendering products? Please and thank you. I say stop with the pretty pink packets and stop with the mystical blue liquid. Pads and tampons often are marketed by being as ‘removed’ as possible from the process of menstruation. The real message should be: people menstruate, get over it. Rosanna Stevens, one of the speakers at the department’s discussion panel, suggested an excellent way of improving the discourse around menstruation. Use the terms ‘menstruators’ and ‘non-menstruators’. I love this suggestion and have adopted it ever since. It is so important to acknowledge the ways in which mainstream discourse may be exclusionary. The second part of the campaign was focused on educating students on alternative menstrual products. While alternative menstrual products certainly aren’t for everyone, education and informed decisions are.

There is not a lot of representation or discourse on AMPs in mainstream media and pop culture, and they are also usually sold online. This results in potential users being uncertain because they simply don’t have access to the information they need in order to make an informed decision. This barrier to access was addressed in many different ways during the week. Menstrual cups are reusable, so they benefit the environment. They also benefit your body, as users are not at risk of TSS in the same way they are with tampons. The menstrual cup has certainly benefited my wallet, as they last up to 10 years (depending on the brand) you don’t need to keep buying new products every cycle. Personally, I also find use of the menstrual cup a great way to get to know your own body, observe menstrual regularities more clearly, and to unlearn the toxic notion that our bodies’ natural processes are disgusting and shameful. Before the department’s campaign I didn’t know the first thing about menstrual cups, cloth pads or sponges. My entire knowledge on cups was based on the BuzzFeed video entitled “Women Try A Diva Cup For The First Time”. That’s a worry. The power of this campaign was that it gave women an increased awareness of alternative menstrual products so they can make informed choices about which products work best with their body and lifestyle.

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Kirrily Humphries FOR A HOT TIME CALL RAMJET 4962 2111

Provide for Periods: Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Bloody Essential 1

Edward Said, The Edward

Claire Rapson Said Reader, edited by Moustafa

Bayoumi and Andrew Rusbin, (New York: Random House, 2000): 206.

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The 2012 ABS Census estimated that roughly 46,300 women are homeless in Australia. These people face a minefield of problems which desperately need redressing; amongst these is handling menstruation. Getting your period sucks no matter where you live. As a student, I in no way lead a lavish lifestyle but I nevertheless have the financial means to buy menstrual products. I have a hot water bottle stowed under my bed in case of an unanticipated cramp emergency, I have YouTube and I have Netflix, and I can always squeeze comfort food into my budget. Homeless people don’t have these luxuries. For the homeless, getting your period is often beyond unpleasant – without access to the necessary products, it can be a harrowing and degrading experience. With this in mind, one of the ANU Women’s Department’s key campaigns in 2015 was our pads & tampons drive, “Provide for Periods: It’s Bloody Essential.” Over a number of weeks, we raised over $1500 to purchase sanitary products for the residents of Toora Women Inc. and Doris Women’s Refuge, two shelters which provide assistance to homeless women in the ACT. Feminine hygiene products are essential. Periods are after all wholly unavoidable, a biological regularity. Australian law nevertheless classifies them as “luxury items.” Unlike condoms, nicotine patches, incontinence pads, and various other items, sanitary products are not exempt from the GST, a 10% tax imposed on “luxuries.” Pads and tampons are expensive: a 14-pack of regular Libra Pads with wings costs $6.37 from Coles; a box of 20 regular Tampax tampons costs $7.15. This adds up even for the average Australian, but for those who can’t afford food or shelter, feminine hygiene products are unlikely to make the cut. Unlike the individual consumer, homeless shelters are afforded charity status which allows them to claim back GST

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on the goods they purchase. They are fully funded by the ACT and Commonwealth governments through the National Partnership Agreement on Homelessness (NPAH). The agreements do not however specifically provide for the purchase of feminine hygiene products, and although some shelters are able to purchase a limited quantity of pads and tampons as part of their general ser-

Feminine hygiene products are essential. Periods are after all wholly unavoidable, a biological regularity. Australian law nevertheless classifies them as “luxury items.” vice provision, their budgets are often stretched to the limit. Many cannot find the funds to incorporate them into their expenses at all, and those which can are unable to do so in sufficient numbers. For many living on the streets, the only (legal) option remaining is to sacrifice food for sanitary items. Under these deplorable circumstances, many of Australia’s homeless are consistently forced to go without essential hygiene products. They will often resort to rolled-up toilet paper from public toilets in lieu of pads. If the blood stains their clothes, they do not have ready access to fresh underwear or soap to wash their clothing. Washing in public toilets can be dangerous and frightening – particularly at night and in areas where sexual assault is prevalent – and so here privacy is a rare luxury. The law is unsympathetic and detached from these issues: recall the recent case of the 20-year-old Indigenous woman who, at police discretion,

was fined $500 for stealing a box of tampons in rural Western Australia. Even when given access to tampons or pads, the homeless may be unable to visit toilets as frequently as they might need. Changing at regular intervals may be difficult, leading to precarious and even potentially life-threatening bacterial infections such as toxic shock syndrome. It was with the aim of both providing material support for these people and increasing awareness surrounding their issues that we decided to give Provide for Periods a shot. It was our first time running this campaign, and it was more successful than we had ever imagined. When we first set our fundraising target, we thought that even $800 might be too unrealistic a goal. Never will I forget the incredulous disbelief (and possible regret) etched onto the Costco cashier’s face when we approached him with $1,500 worth of sanitary products; nor will I forget the grateful reactions of the workers at the shelters when we finally gave them the products. If we were to run the campaign again (which I hope we will), there are a few things I would change: perhaps, for example, we should consider donating reusable menstrual products. This was an option we’d dismissed early in the 2015 campaign on the grounds that people undergoing such turbulent change were probably not in a position to be enthusiastically experimenting with avant-garde sanitary hygiene products. Overall, however, the campaign was a huge success, and I think I speak on behalf of everyone involved when I say that it was something I was very proud to have been a part of. * Note that not all women menstruate, and not all those who menstruate are women.

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‘Take off your clothes so we can touch you, and then we will give you cigarettes’ - Accounts of a female transferee ‘I don’t care about a visa anymore. I want to finish everything’ - 17-year-old unaccompanied minor, period of detention: 15 months ‘In Iran I was the only one being tortured, and now my children are being tortured here [in Australia’ - Father of 3, Christmas Island Detention ‘A ll motherfucker refugees, we will kill you, this is our country and no one can protect you, even Save the Children or Immigration’ - Local Nauruan ‘…The one thing we know is that the policies – tough and harsh though they are – work. They save lives. It’s not a theoretical exercise’ - Malcolm Turnbull

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Seeking Asylum Neerja Thirunavukarasu Nauru has become a permanent stain on our nation’s soul. It is a prison that detains the innocent, an asylum that converts the mentally sane to suicide and an Australian Guantanamo for the people who are actually the victims of terrorism. Nauru is one of the most perverse and sadistic ideas our nation has conjured into public policy. Australians don’t want to see lives lost at sea, but we are oblivious to the deterrent measures our government has taken in a desperate attempt to win votes. We do not hear about the five year olds who are driven to suicide, nor do we hear about the young mothers who endure sexual assault in order to wash the shampoo from their child’s hair. The bleak reality of Nauru is kept hidden behind closed doors and to the best of our government’s abilities, we are kept in the dark. These kinds of stories were revealed in the Moss Review, an internal report sponsored by the Department of Immigration and Border Protection which was headed by former integrity commissioner Phillip Moss. Alarming evidence from the Moss Review suggests that sexual abuse and exploitation is engrained into the Nauru Processing Centre’s environment to the point that it has become a regular occurrence. Whether you are asked to strip naked in order to have more time to wash the shampoo out of your child’s hair or trade sexual favours for marijuana to relieve your depression, exploitation within the Centre has become a norm. For women who have been exploited or assaulted, the treatment they receive is appalling. A female client told the review that she had received an anon-

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Suicide, Racism ymous letter threatening her with gang rape. Despite the sheer severity of this threat, she destroyed the letter and decided not to report the incident. When asked why she replied, ‘So I’m done with putting in complaints, I think that they’re useless. (…) And I know that whatever I say might be held against me or make my case more complicated.’ Ms Viktoria Vibhakar, a former Save the Children Australia employee, told a Senate Inquiry that women were required to ‘experience multiple episodes of sexual harassment before she can be moved to a safer location’. ‘Violence against women is one of the great shames of Australia. It is a national disgrace,’ says Malcolm Turnbull. But what about women who are detained? Women in detention have rights too, but it seems as if the Australian government has forgotten that. Pamela Curr, a refugee advocate at the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre, now estimates around 80-100 women who are at risk of brutal gang rapes. These women who have fled countries consumed with conflict such as Iran and Somalia, and braved the treacherous journey across the seas in order to make a better life for themselves, are now faced with yet another nightmare in their Australian detention. In these Centres women have little autonomy to the point where their natural given right to raise their children can be taken away from them. Women are often

denied sanitary items such as pads and tampons and sometimes they are not even given appropriate underwear. Stories have emerged of pregnant women with no access to medical professionals or appropriate medicine. However, sexual abuse and deprivation of resources is only the beginning of problems at Nauru. The Nauru detention facility is a breeding ground for madness in men, women and even children. With nothing but a thin sheet of fabric separating detainees and toilets being a trek away, privacy is virtually non-existent. Even within the tents temperatures soar to above 40 degrees, and mold grows so thick that children write their names in it. These living conditions mixed with sexual assault, harsh and racist treatment from security guards, and uncertainty about visa applications – it’s no surprise that self-harm, suicide ideation and mental illness are rampant throughout the Centre. Refugees are some of the most vulnerable people in the world. They have little protection from the law and inadequate access to medical resources. On top of the trauma they endured in their country, our government is locking them up in a prison of now famously appalling and inhumane conditions. Refugee women and children have escaped countries where there is widespread violence against females, both sexually and politically. And some of these women and children have now landed themselves in one of Australia’s offshore detention camps. Australia is working hard to eliminate violence against women, but we cannot ever fully succeed unless we start reforming the way women and their children are treated within our offshore and onshore detention camps.

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A Man’s World Blair Williams

Lucy Chetchuti Writing Memory, 2015 The overarching theme of 2015, in general, was the shattering observation of the way in which men try to dictate discourse and the ways in which people argue. In other words, how men decide what is, and isn’t, ‘truth’ or ‘fact’, in addition to what does, and doesn’t, count for evidence and what methods of collecting evidence are ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. In multiple facets of my life I have encountered men controlling conversations and belittling those (almost always women or non-men) who use anecdotal evidence or who show the slightest hint of emotion or passion. 2015 was the year that I became aware of this and 2016 is the year in which I will actively fight against it. Part of living in a patriarchal society

means that the things we do or say are policed in order to uphold societal constructions of gender and the gender binary (and heteronormativity). This is seen in a vast array of spheres ranging from films and television, to politics and academia, and can affect men as well as women (though it is much more frequent and more heavily policed for the latter). Women and men are both expected to behave a certain way and any other gender is either ‘othered’ or seen as invisible. It also means that the ways in which we engage in arguments are implicitly regulated, though the type of regulation differs depending on the context and situation of the discussion. Continuing on this gender binary notion, the different ways that we argue can

also be seen on a binary scale through which our male-dominated society, decides that one way is better than another. For example, in a Facebook discussion, using statistics and ‘logic’ is better than using anecdotal evidence or ‘emotion’ (and emotion is always regarded as ‘feminine’). Similarly, in the world of politics, being assertive and adversarial is preferred to being sensitive and compromising. A common theme appears in both of these examples: the thing that is preferred is usually labelled as ‘masculine’ action or discourse whilst the one that is dismissed as ‘feminine’. Living in a ‘man’s world’ means that what is seen as ‘feminine’ is usually expelled or seen as ‘lesser’, as men are defined by being the opposite of women.

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I have experienced this regulation throughout my life but I only became aware of how it personally impacts me and my research in 2015. I am a PhD Candidate whose studies focus on why first women Prime Ministers experience more negative media responses and how their performances of gender (both ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’) influence this. Coincidentally, what I am researching links directly with my life experiences. Women politicians, especially Prime Ministers, have to perform both ‘masculine’-labelled adversarial and stereotypical leadership qualities whilst also being ‘feminine’ enough. This is the old adage of girls being called ‘bossy’ whereas boys are labelled as ‘leaders’. Women have to play by men’s rules in order to succeed in politics – simultaneously I, and many women/non-men, have to play by men’s rules of discourse in order to be seen as ‘legitimate’ and have our opinions believed.

ly frequent in academia as well. My research primarily uses qualitative data and interpretive methods (I examine and unpack media articles) and because of this, my research is seen as less important, ‘valid’ or ‘reliable’. I am a qualitative fish swimming in a sea of quantitative sharks and ‘hard data’ whales. It’s a common occurrence in academia where qualitative methods are questioned and regarded as inferior whereas ‘objectivity’ is the ultimate methodology in finding the mythical ‘truth’ and ‘fact’. Because there is only one ‘truth’ or ‘fact’ and a

I first realized this after joining the ANU page ‘Stalkerspace’ when I first moved to Canberra at the start of 2015. As an argumentative person I would join the Facebook debates on threads of 100+ comments. I soon became aware that a majority of the commenters were men who mostly supported each other whilst denigrating women who dared to speak differently – vitriol that was always more vicious when directed at women than when aimed at men. Then, in most Facebook arguments I have witnessed, came the inevitable phrases from the men who were arguing and trying to dictate discussion: ‘well I am using ~~logic~~’ and, ‘apart from anecdotal evidence, what ‘facts’ do you have?’. These judgements are used to disprove what women have to say about our own experiences and are usually shouted at us on topics that directly affect us – such as rape/sexual assault, domestic violence, feminism and oppression. They call us ‘illogical’ whilst labelling themselves the suppository of all wisdom and ‘truth’. It is simply another way to silence women who dare to go against the grain.

room full of white men calling themselves ‘academia’ who have decided long ago that the ultimate method that can garner ‘truth’ is objectivity, logic and numbers whereas subjectivity, qualitative methods and discourse is seen as inferior and, I’d argue, ‘feminine’. It is these men who have decided that ‘objectivity’ (which in my opinion cannot truly exist as people will always bring their biases to the table) is ‘right’ and subjectivity is ‘lesser’ or outright ‘wrong’. Academic institutions reflect this: the people in positions of power in universities are usually those who are quantitative and ‘objective’ and, though this differs depending on one’s discipline, the most prestigious journals in my field essentially only publish quantitative studies.

What is worrying is that this is extreme-

It is simply another way to silence women who dare to go against the grain.

Women politicians have also long had to play by the rules of a man’s world. Our first woman Prime Minister, Julia Gillard, tried to adhere to these rules – of walking the tight-rope between ‘masculine’ traits and ‘feminine’ traits – trying to maintain the right balance of masculinity and femininity. We all know how that turned out. She tried to play by the rules but was nevertheless punished by

her colleagues, our media and society. Whenever she broke the imaginary rules and spoke with emotion she was vilified and portrayed as a ‘witch’ or a shrieking banshee. When she stood up for herself against Tony Abbott in the famous ‘Misogyny Speech’ she was portrayed by Australian media as throwing a ‘hissy fit’ because how dare a woman and a Prime Minister show emotion or passion! It is not true that men never act with emotion during discourse; however a bizarre blind spot has been developed in society. As soon as women show some semblance of what is perceived as ‘being emotional’ (crying, personal attachment to an issue) they are seen as illogical or lesser, whereas emotions stereotypically displayed by men (yelling, getting angry, being physical) are just ‘how things are done’ and rarely so negatively portrayed as an ‘emotional’ state. As soon as one expresses the former type of emotion, their argument is seen to have lost all credibility and moves from ‘logical’ to simply ‘emotional’. 2015 was the year when I became aware, and also sick, of the gendered policing surrounding our constructions of discourse, arguments and research. I am tired of seeing so many women and non-men’s opinions thrown under the bus because we dared to be emotionally attached to a topic that a lot of the time personally affects us. I totally reject the notion that objectivity is equivalent to a higher state of knowing, and that ‘rationality’ is the ultimate goal. 2016 is the year when I will do my research and my arguments the way I want to; I will remain confident that non-objective, ‘feminine’ methods and evidence are just as worthy in our quest for understanding.

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2015 In Review: The Year Emotional Abuse Sucked The Joy and Happiness Out of My Sassy Independent Life Codie Bell Trigger Warning: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Assault

Bossy

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Like most young heterosexual women, I’m drowning in a sea of fuckboiz coming in from every side, with no rescue in sight. Occasionally I grasp for the side of a bright orange lifeboat and haul myself aboard, only to find I’m trapped in a small space with a man who is a lethal combination of perfectly nice and deathly boring. My dating life, to put it mildly, is a disaster. ‘It’s complicated’ is what women say when what they really mean is he treats me like shit. For most of 2015, I was in a ‘complicated situation’ — with a guy who was dating somebody else. Maybe you or a woman you know has found herself in my situation before — he has no plans to break up with her. He loves her and talks about her to other people. They are in a long-distance relationship. She is coming back. It’s complicated. Say these words to yourself now. Whisper them, hold them close. These words will become your friends. It’s complicated. He’s complicated. I’m complicated. It’s all very, very complicated. I had many coffee dates with girlfriends to discuss my complicated situation¸ when even the barista could have told me that a guy who fucks you and tells you how much he loves his girlfriend is bad news. But I had never met someone who was so much on the same wavelength as me. He was smart, and he was funny, and when we were alone he made me feel like I was the only person who understood him. He knocked on my door whenever he wanted, at any time of the day or night, either to have sex with me or to unburden about the darkness that was inside of him. He was in pain — chronic physical pain, and emotional pain — all the time, every second of the day, and it never went away. And because I was in love with him, I was in pain too. When I told him I wanted more — I told him I wanted him to be my boyfriend — he told me I was being irrational. When I

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told him that I needed space, he threatened to kill himself. Once, I told him how glad I was that he had finally decided to see a psychologist. He told me that she had prescribed him sedatives, and ‘the danger with prescribing me sedatives is the temptation to take all of them, drink a bottle of wine, and see what happens’. I learned it was better to keep my opinion to myself. When I tried to tell him the way he was treating me made me unhappy, he would say ‘so what you’re saying is you never want to see me again’, a thought which scared me more than I could express. And so I was always the first to take back what I’d said. The night of our Valete — a farewell from college for the both of us — he coerced me into having sex with him. Alone and drunk, he got me in his room while his returned girlfriend was working a night shift. He told me everything I wanted to hear. That the only reason he was with his girlfriend and not me was because he had met her first. That he missed me, and I was beautiful, and I was criminally undervalued by everyone we knew, and why didn’t I stay the night? I loved him so much, but I didn’t want him to hurt me anymore. Having sex with a crying girl is not romantic. It’s sad. It’s really fucking sad. Afterwards, I didn’t recognise what had happened for what it was. I thought instead that another chapter had been written in our tragic love story, and I didn’t send him away when — the next week — he came to my room to talk about his suicidal thoughts. While he was sitting next to me, I tried to tell him about a high school teacher who had passed away – a woman who taught me how to be a good person, because she was the best person. He looked at the order of service I kept on my desk, and asked if they could have read out a more generic poem than ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep’. Then, he began to recite Invictus — a white-guy poem about war, written a hundred years be-

fore either of us were born — and I realised. He was boring. He was really, really boring. And he didn’t care. Didn’t care that I wasn’t interested in his poem, and he didn’t care that he had forced me to have sex with him. After a year of anguish over how we couldn’t be together, I realised why we weren’t together. He had only ever been interested in a woman he could abuse. I felt free. I didn’t have to care about him anymore, because he didn’t care about me — had never cared about me. It took a lot of courage to tell my next boyfriend — a friend in our shared social circle — about the emotional abuse. But I told him. He held my hand and said that he wanted to be with me, and he was sorry that it had happened. I thought, this is what it’s like to be with someone who cares about me. Yet the same boyfriend got out of my bed at eight in the morning to see off my abuser before he moved interstate. ‘I still care about him as a friend,’ he told me by way of explanation, ‘it’s complicated.’ My abuser is gone now, and I know I’m safe. But he will never face any repercussions for what he did to me. Not legal, not professional, not even the low-level social fallout of an uncomfortable conversation with my boyfriend. Trying to explain what he did — trying to explain the violence that so many women face from men, face every day of their lives — can feel like screaming at a brick wall that keeps asking you to be rational about this. I am rational. And I could make myself small and accommodating for men’s approval and my own safety — but I refuse to. I will tell anybody who listens, and if they don’t want to listen, I’ll tell them anyway. I am not the only one. I know so many bright, beautiful, and kind-hearted women, and I know the men who only want to take something that’s not theirs to have. I don’t know if everything will be OK in the end, but I do know we will come out stronger — voices calling out to let our sisters know they are not alone.

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Bossy

Artwork by Julie Delves

The Typical Pakistani Daughter Rashna Farrukh

“The typical Pakistani daughter is obedient, she does as she is told, holds no arguments, and if she has anger issues, she bottles them up.” Boy, do I have anger issues. And yes, they are very much bottled up. Although I cannot say that I have always been obedient, I have plenty to be angry about. From a tender age I was taught that ‘good girls don’t talk back,’ and that no one would want to marry me if I didn’t know how to cook, or clean, or heaven forbid, if I wasn’t white enough. So when I came across Ayesha Tariq’s graphic novel, Sarah: The Suppressed Anger of the Obedient Pakistani Daughter, I couldn’t believe how well it illustrated my pent-up frustration. The seed for Tariq’s book — which was developed from her thesis — came from a fight she had had with her family. From there, she had conversations with tonnes of other angry girls, and began hilariously depicting the unfairness of her life, of our life. I have never identified with a book so much — as clichéd as it sounds, I felt like this book had been created about

my life. It brought back a lot memories that I had worked hard to suppress. When I about ten years old, it became my duty as a daughter to help my mother around the house. It was around the same time that I ‘grew too old’ to wear shirts that bared my shoulders, or pants that showed off more than my ankles. Not being able to wear my favourite outfit –- a bright red skirt which came with a yellow, spaghetti-strapped top –- made me upset, sure. But it enraged me that not even one of my male relatives had ever had a dress code inflicted upon them. It was around this time that the lies began. In my desperate bid to fit in at my predominantly white school whilst simultaneously being the daughter my parents wanted me to be, I wore a skort underneath my pants when I walked out of the house, taking off the pants on the way to school. This worked pretty well, until a gossipy ‘aunty’ saw me, and told my mother about it. My skorts were taken away for good. I had to beg my

parents for weeks to allow me to wear shorts on Fridays — sports day. Only after screaming and shouting did they let me wear them during the summer. More than anything, Tariq’s book reminded me of my countless trips to Pakistan. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere or do anything without someone accompanying me — preferably a male cousin, or atleast two females. The only female I knew that could go out by herself was my neighbour, who had masculine qualities; she was tall and wide, staunch in stature. I, on the other hand, was a skinny little girl. So I would get kidnapped or raped or someone would steal something from me; it wasn’t up for debate. I still remember the year my family and I went to Pakistan and I was told that I could no longer leave the house without wearing a scarf. I was confused, not realising at the time that it was because I had grown boobs. Now men wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off me if I didn’t cover myself up. All I knew was that it was a nuisance. The scarf would fall off my shoulders, or slip off my hair

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when I moved too fast. I felt restricted, and ungraceful. But I was told that I had to protect myself from the dirty looks of the men around me.

erful movement of loitering in public spaces, specifically in these male-dominated tea stalls, they have now gained support from all over South Asia.

When I went to Pakistan for the first time by myself — despite the unwillingness of my father — I was told to always sit in the ‘family area’ when there was one, and that if the bus had a small female area towards the back I had to sit there. At the time I didn’t think much of it, and did as I was told. However, thinking back, I had never seen a men’s area on a bus, or a men’s area in a dhaba – a neighbourhood tea stall, traditionally a male space. Perhaps it is out of the need to protect women that these things come about, and I should be thankful for them. But now, all I can think, is that these spaces perpetuate the idea that public spaces are inherently for men, and that women have to be tucked away in little corners. Contained, for their own safety, though they would be the victims and not the perpetrators of the implied crime.

What really resonates with me is that the movement is not exclusionary of males. In fact, males are central to spreading its message. Men appear regularly at book club meetings and at dhabas, going with their female friends in solidarity. To me, this is so important. In a patriarchal society where both males and females have the potential to perpetuate — or, importantly, combat — sexist ideologies, it takes the coordination and collaboration of both groups to bring about change. This also tackles the idea that ‘female friendly’ cities are just for females — they are for everyone to enjoy and feel safe in.

The next time I went to Pakistan, I began to see this everywhere. Not only were public spaces for men, but so was riding motorcycles, playing street cricket, and wearing Western clothing. But I was only there for a few weeks. Soon I was back home, able to do almost all of what the girls in Pakistan couldn’t. I used to think about these girls, and how much I would hate it if I were one of them. But, at home, my life went on as usual. When I heard of Girls At Dhabas, I was immediately hooked. This campaign was started, in the city of Karachi, Pakistan, by Sadia Khatri, who uploaded a picture of herself at a dhaba onto the internet. When Khatri realised that this could become a large-scale project, she teamed up with Sabahat Zakariya to challenge the constraints that women face in public space, and the mobility issues this causes. These girls organise cricket matches, build solidarity through social media, and have even opened their own crowdfunded dhaba for women, all in a bid to make their cities female friendly. Through their simple yet pow-

The division of men and women has always confused me. When I turned eleven, I got my period for the first time. I had woken up to eat at four o’clock during Ramadan and I saw blood everywhere. Everywhere. And I was terrified. I ran up to my father to show him what had happened and asked him to take me to the hospital. Both my mother and grandmother saw this happening. With horrified looks on their faces, they hurried me to the bathroom and scolded me for what had just happened. “He is your father, Rashna. You don’t talk to men about these things!” “But what thing! What is all of this blood doing all over my bed, and inside my underwear?” My very first pad was given to me by mother, and she told me that ‘this thing’ would happen to me for a week, once a month, until I grew old enough. I was never told why. I learnt that through sexed class two years later, along with what an STI was, and how to put a condom on a banana. The fact that these things are taught openly in schools would downright put my parents into shock. For me, coming of age was like being

thrown into a paradoxical trap. I was over-sexualised yet desexualised, made so hyper-feminine in my role that my thoughts couldn’t be said out loud. I was expected to make good chai, serve it to guests when they arrived, and have my eventual marriage discussed in front of me. Yet I couldn’t talk about boys or play with them or even be seen with one. My parents were easier on me than most, encouraging me to concentrate on my studies, and supportive of my ambitions — they even swore I wouldn’t be forced into an arranged marriage! But this lax nature only went so far. The way they had been brought up stuck, and it came forth constantly. At the dinner parties I was forced to attend by my parents, men and women were always segregated. The women would sit in a smaller lounge room, or if there wasn’t one, in the dining room. They would help out in the kitchen and talk about clothes, or of girls who went astray: a warning to us children. When the food was ready, the men who loudly spoke of politics and business would be invited in to take food first. Only after they had served themselves would the women come forward. This always disturbed me. I always asked my mother why women are expected to slave away in the kitchen for men, but her answer was never really an answer. “It’s just the way it is supposed to be,” she would say, frustrated with my ‘rebellion’. Ayesha Tariq’s book is powerful in its depiction of these dinner parties, of the rules I had to live by, of the anger I could never show. In a time when women have voting rights, are fighting for equal pay, are becoming CEOs, this book sheds light on the culture of everyday sexism that so many still face. Little girls like me needed it to know that they weren’t alone. I wish I had found it when I was younger, when I was told fighting for my rights was a stupid Western concept and that I should just be a good girl. Tariq’s book, to me, is the voice I didn’t have when I was trying so hard to be heard.

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Bossy

In Living Colour Jill Chuah Masters

When I was a teenager, I loved the word ‘oriental’. ‘Oriental princess’, a friend called me, on one of the handful nights that I surrendered to a dress. The word, it seemed like something won. A title separating me from my pale-haired, pale-skinned friends. It was only after years of this word, tripping from the mouths of my closest friends, from drunk kids at parties, from men in bars, men in streets, men on the

internet — tripping from my own mouth — that something faltered. “The Orient,” reads a book that now sits at my bedside, “is an idea that has a history and a tradition of thought, imagery, and vocabulary that have given it reality and presence in1 and for the West.” 1

Edward Said, The Edward Said Reader, edited by Moustafa Bayoumi and Andrew Rusbin, (New York: Random House, 2000): 206.

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It takes a long time to realise that you grew up in a vacuum. For eighteen years I lived in Kings Cross, in Sydney, and the daily walk home from school bore traces of sex work, homelessness, drugs. But it took leaving home for me to realise my youth had been sheltered nonetheless. In my high school, I was one of the most ‘racial’ kids, which is to say — spurning euphemism — the most non-white. There were over a hundred students in the year. For perspective, my mum’s lived in Australia longer than she did Malaysia. Dad’s so white he’s pink. It was ludicrous, it looked like a country club. As a high-schooler, when I wasn’t self-exoticising, I basically took my heritage for granted. I loved the food, I loved the celebrations, but was somehow content to speak to my grandparents in half-sentences, never reaching out for their history or their culture or their language. It makes me ashamed to think of it now. I have my grandfather’s nose, my mother’s hands — but my father’s tongue. I still can’t speak the language that so many of the people that I love will always think in. When I moved to university, something changed. I started living with girls that spoke fluent Mandarin, and though it wasn’t my family’s dialect, was radically different, I felt ashamed not to grasp a single word. We went out, in one of those first weeks, to a Malaysian restaurant, and I could barely make out most of the menu. Yet at those first-year parties that I’d loathed, and at those yearless clubs I’d loathed more, I’d always hear the chorus. “Oh, I love Eurasians”, “Yeah, but where are you from though?” Sydney, I’d want to say. One day a particularly white white boy — inexplicable Eton accent, near-colonial glint in his eye — asked me: “Where, though?” I said nothing, but I thought of my friends, and I thought of being ‘a princess’, and when I excused myself to go to the bathroom I couldn’t look my reflection in the eye. I’m sad to say that it continues today, the chorus. On campus, in pubs, in the ghosts of my old relationships. “Oh, why

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don’t you order for all of us?”, “I love your eyes”, and once, farcically, “you were my entrée into Asian porn”. Caught, on occasion, in an all-white circle at a party, it becomes almost stifling. As Bell Hooks writes in Black Looks,

Every aware black person who has been the only in an all white setting knows that in such a position we are often called upon to lend an ear to racist narratives, to laugh at corny race jokes, to undergo various forms of racist harassment. Just as the word ‘black’, here, could be substituted for ‘Asian’, or for all manners of ethnicity or tone, the word ‘race’ could be equally substituted for ‘sex’, ‘colour’, ‘gender’. In all cases, it is an experience of difference, of being different, and of being pressed into service as a symbol of that difference. Of being limited by that. It is an experience many of us will know well. Though I have always been a feminist, and though my feminism continues to forge and shape and take leaps and bounds, it took me a long time to embrace the term ‘person of colour’. For myself, that is. For as coloured as I increasingly feel, and as hungry as I am to understand, speak with, and learn from my culture — for as often as I have been made to represent difference —‘POC’ seemed like a badge for a demonstra-

tion I didn’t attend. I had always been complicit in my difference; I had participated in my othering. I have a laundry-list of flaws. I can’t see them all, but I see them everywhere: in what I say, in how I feel, in what I’ve written here. But I’m working on it, and now I talk back to the drunk kids at parties, to the men in bars, men in the streets, men on the internet. (Especially men on the internet.) I have a voice, it doesn’t live in my mind anymore. Oriental is a word whose edges are dulled by ignorance, and by intent. It felt warm in the mouths of my friends. But in the deft hands of older men, it was something entirely different. I had so much undone and unsaid. I was seventeen, I was eighteen. But they only wanted to know where I ‘came from’, never where I was headed. ‘Oriental’ is a word that spoke for me, that narrated a life — a meaning — disconnected from mine. The thoughts, imagery, and vocabulary that forge our identities can’t be reduced to a word, to country, to a set of ideas and beliefs and implied value judgments. Call me anything you want. Call me flawed, call me contradictory, don’t call me. These things say as much about my identity: broad, changing, unnameable as colour, indelible as skin.

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Quiet Painting Shanti Shea-An

Bossy

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Boy Anonymous

It was about three years ago that a friend convinced me to become a feminist. We knew each other during our early years of high school and reconnected years later at uni. That is to say, she knew me back when I refused to wear dresses, when I refused to do anything stereotypically feminine, and when I would tell my friends “as a joke” to refer to me as a boy. She came over one night after recently finishing a course on Foucault and Butler, and we had a conversation on the ways we felt limited by social norms. She turned to me and said, ‘You’re very unconventional’. She meant it as a compliment. The fact that I wasn’t conventionally feminine in high school seemed to suggest that I was some teenage intellectual, fighting against the gender binary without even knowing it. I constantly reflect on that conversation to revise my thoughts on how I was affected by patriarchal culture and the social norms associated with it. At the time, I accepted her compliment. I identify these past and present experiences with a sentiment expressed by Kathy Rudy, with myself as she puts it: “the woman

who (…) acts in accordance with her inner compulsion to be a more complete and freer human being than her society cares to allow”. This of course resulting in “these needs and actions, over a period of years, bring[ing] her into painful conflict with people, situations, the accepted ways of thinking, feeling and behaving”. As a woman, certain behaviours and values are expected of me. When I act against these behaviours and values, I conflict with society’s image of what a woman should be. There was no doubt that have I faced pressure to fit into that image, and was never short of negative experiences to affirm this.

in my closet.

Formals, in particular, carry bad memories for me. For my Year 10 formal, I wanted to wear a suit - which for a moneyless student really meant a button-down white shirt and tie. But the night before my formal, my parents had noticed that I hadn’t bought a dress. What followed was a scolding from my mum, then a patronising talk from my dad on how girls are supposed to wear dresses to formals. The night ended with me locking myself in my room by pushing a cupboard against my door, and then crying

It seems ridiculous that a seemingly trivial thing like refusing to wear a dress was so controversial. To my family and friends, it was another sign that I wasn’t ‘normal’ and that I was not acting like a woman.

I chose not to attend my Year 12 formal, but a similar experience occurred anyway. I had gone along with my friends who were shopping for their dresses, when one friend asked me, ‘Mandy, what’s your favourite colour?’ She returned moments later with a dress of my colour of choice, and my other friends pulled me towards the dressing rooms. I struggled and fought against them, before they eventually gave up. The friend who had chosen that dress for me threw up her arms and exclaimed, “Why can’t you be a girl for once?”

✽✽ As much as I want to accept my friend’s compliment and live up to her image of me as a gender radical, I have come to realise that my identity may not have

been in opposition to societal views of masculinity and femininity, but was just another result of it. I was not immune to social norms, but affected by them in a different way. When I was a child, I found an old, tornout article in my parents’ closet titled, “What to Eat to Conceive a Boy”. Needless to say, my first disappointment to them was being born a girl. This sentiment isn’t exclusive to my parents. Society as a whole seems to value men over women. It’s no coincidence that traits which are culturally associated with manhood and masculinity - such as competitiveness, autonomy, independence, rationality, leadership - are also traits which are valued by society. This is evident in the fact that these traits are seen as requirements to succeed in politics and business. On the other hand, traits culturally associated with womanhood and femininity which include being emotional, nurturing, irrational, and interdependent, values which are often undermined by society. Because of their success, women such as Julia Gillard or Hillary Clinton are usually presented as counterexamples to the argument that we live in a patriarchy. However, for women to succeed in traditionally male-dominated fields, they must take on ‘masculine’ traits while distancing themselves from more ‘feminine’ traits. Allan Johnson writes that because of this, ‘the more powerful a woman is under patriarchy, the more “unsexed” she becomes in the eyes of others as her female cultural identity recedes beneath the mantle of male-identified power… With men the effect is just the opposite: the more powerful they are, the more aware they are of their manhood’. A recent article describes Gillard’s rise to the leadership as ‘famously knif[ing] former prime minister Kevin Rudd’, whereas Rudd’s parallel act was described as ‘successfully challeng[ing] Gillard’. While Gillard’s act is associated with backstabbing, betrayal, and aggression, Rudd’s act is viewed as another ordinary success. On further reflection, I realise now that,

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as a teenager, I never actually felt like a boy. Rather, I aspired to be one. My conflict with gender norms did not arise because I was naturally unfeminine but because I fell into the narrative of gender essentialism and believed that masculinity was superior. As a teenager I wanted to be rational instead of emotional, independent instead of interdependent, and therefore, masculine instead of feminine. However, these traits are not opposites, nor are they exclusive to a single gender. ✽✽ There’s a joke where two fish are swimming along when they meet another friendly fish who asks, ‘Morning, how’s the water?’ As they pass him, one fish looks to the other and says, ‘What the hell is water?’ Like fish in water it is difficult to understand and comprehend how patriarchy – and the social norms associated with it – affect us, because it is so pervasive. To take the idea that there are two fundamental and opposite genders, each with distinct personality traits and characteristics, is to view the world through a patriarchal lens. The problem with this is that many – if not most – people do not fit perfectly within these categories. As such, people are constrained to act in accordance with seemingly arbitrary standards. Further, those who find themselves in stark contrast to these norms unnecessarily face confusion and conflict with their identity. Personally, I find myself stuck between two standards of how I should be. Being born a woman, I am pressured to present femininely and take on traits culturally associated with femininity and womanhood. Yet at the same time, being born in a patriarchal society, I found myself wanting to be a boy. Ultimately though, this was not because I felt like one, but because I fell in line with the narrative that men are superior.

Bossy

Sources Johnson, A.G., 2005. The gender knot: Unraveling our patriarchal legacy. Temple University Press. Rao, S., 2016. ‘Outgoing Australian Ambassador to the US Kim Beazley says Americans find Australians ‘bemusing’, news. com.au 21 January, Available from: <www.news.com. au> [22 January 2016] Rudy, K., 2001. Radical feminism, lesbian separatism, and queer theory. Feminist Studies, pp.191-222.

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Bossy

Traveller’s Checks Jessy Wu

“Where are you from?”

Jessy Wu shares some of her experiences travelling in Europe as a woman of colour.

This seems to be an innocuous question, but it was one I became increasingly wary of during my time travelling in Europe. Even under the best of circumstances, it is difficult to choose between saying ‘Australia’ — where I am currently living, and ‘New Zealand’ — where I grew up. But for a number of the people who asked, neither of these answers proved satisfactory. Most people looked confused, some accused me of lying, others started rattling off a list of Asian countries until I gave in and admitted to being from one of them. One even implied I must be a mail order bride — clearly the only reasonable explanation as to why an Asian woman might live in Australia. For the most part, I am able to dismiss casual racism with a snappy retort or an icy glare. But a constant battery of harassment can take its toll on even the battle-hardened. The harassment varies from hawkers shouting random assortments of Asian greetings at you, to lecherous men in bars trying to strike up conversations about how much they love Thailand. This harassment — though its individual instances may seem minor — feels like constantly having your nationality called into question, like being forced to defend your claim to your identity. The insinuation that my ethnicity ultimately determined where I was ‘from’ struck a particularly raw nerve, because it spoke to an insecurity I have had to grapple with for a long time. When I immigrated to New Zealand as a child, I was desperate to become ‘naturalised’. I didn’t look the part, so I felt I had to go above and beyond to prove I belonged. At the delicate age of seven, I remember quietly resenting that we did not spend our summers at a beach, or have large family barbecues, or wear All Blacks jerseys around the house. In time, I realised my claim to be Kiwi was not evaluated against

how many clichés I fulfilled. In fact, I did not need to prove my belonging to anyone. When Turkish street merchants except themselves from this rule, it is more than a little unsettling.

I was struck by the sense that I had lost control over how I was perceived in public spaces. As a naturally guarded person, I take comfort in being able to shape others’ impressions of me with how I dress, how I carry myself, what I post on social media. But I felt as though these things stopped mattering. The only feature people saw was my race. It bordered on an outof-body experience. I couldn’t take a compliment, because I didn’t know if the compliment was directed at me, or simply to me, as the most proximate metonym for someone’s idea of the exotic racial other. I was powerless every time I was asked where I was from, because I knew the answer they expected to hear, and I knew they would be disbelieving of the one I proffered. My unease was not straightforward, and I often questioned why I felt the way I did. I felt guilty for being embarrassed about my ethnicity, as if I couldn’t be mad at being serenaded by a chorus of ‘ni hao’s, because to do so would be like renouncing my heritage. In the end, I realised that my experiences were dispiriting not because I am ashamed of my heritage, but because my ethnicity fails to capture every thing I am. It is hard to be reminded that no matter what I do to forge my identity, some people will never be able to see past my skin. But every time I resolutely answer the question ‘Where are you from’ with ‘Australia’, I am able to reassure myself it is true.

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Shortcut Esther Carlin

She cuts my hair. Even though I know the hairdresser will chastise me it doesn’t matter, because having one’s hair cut by someone you are in the process of loving is an act of the greatest intimacy. My hair is already short but this time after she trims it, slowly with gold scissors, the women at the op-shop mistake me for a boy. One of them says to the other, ‘wait and let this young boy out will you Murv,’ and it’s like a jolt back in time to when I was 10 or 11, long and broad-shouldered with a flat chest and lanky blond hair. People everywhere, at the milk bar, on the street, would mistake me for a boy. I wore t-shirts and shorts chosen from the boy’s rack at Target, and always felt some sort of indignant pride when they mistook me so.

Indignant because I could be mistaken for something so supposedly different. Pride because I was malleable, shape shifting, and somehow untouchable because of it. When I finally do go to the actual hairdresser I am back in Melbourne, on Sydney Road. Paul is the hairdresser I have returned to the most after one-off dalliances at fancier, vastly more expensive salons in Fitzroy and East Brunswick. Somehow my mother, brother and father have all ended up seeing Paul. What he offers in terms of hairdressing is solid: short and sweet. And cheap. There is no need to make endless small talk. I ask him about his daughters, he asks about me, and cuts my hair. This time he has a

new assistant, or at least new to me, Patricia. I’m not sure where she once came from – Southern Italy I imagine, or Croatia perhaps – but she holds her accent, beautiful and thick. She has kids at home too, she tells me; her eldest daughter minds the others after school while she is at work. ✽✽ I ask myself, what does hair length mean? How do we attach ourselves to its significance as individuals, and as members of different social groups? How does it mould where we fit, and what is thought of us in society? In the past, both men and women sported longer hair. One need only look at pictures of pre-19th

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royalty such as Louis XIV or Charles II to see that long luscious locks were clearly very desirable for men. I wonder at what point long hair became purely a fashion for women? Perhaps, with the industrial revolution, men were increasingly forced to contain their hair so as to avoid accidents around newfound machinery. This is a narrative that is easy to attach oneself to, and harder to conclusively corroborate. It fits conveniently with a history in which men, largely white and older, are the storytellers. Later whilst travelling in Tasmania with my family, I think about how hair can be used against people, too. For women convicts arriving in Van Diemen’s Land (as termed by the colonial government of the day), two forced separations occurred, violently and without warning. First their children were removed and next their hair. Similarly, in 1971 the British-Australian counter-culture publication OZ was targeted by the Obscene Publications Squad. Prosecutor Brian Leary described the publication as dealing with ‘homosexuality, lesbianism, sadism, perverted sexual practices and drug taking’. The charge of ‘conspiracy to corrupt public morals’ carried a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. Two of the three defendants were found guilty of lesser offenses, and their long hair – by this time once again the style for men – was forcibly cut, causing immense public outcry. ✽✽ Patricia, as she helps, tells a story about her own past misadventures in hair. One time she is young, and it is hot, very hot. She laughs as she talks, and I catch glimpses of her behind me in the mirror. This young Patricia cannot for the life of her get to sleep, and so she rises in the night and sneaks past her sleeping sisters to find her mother’s heavy sewing scissors. They are sharp and the cut through her hair is very straight despite the fact that it is still pulled back in a ponytail. Her hair is now gone, and not knowing what to do with it, she leaves it insouciantly hanging out of the kitch-

en bin. I picture it there, long and thick. Of course in the morning her mother doesn’t have to picture anything at all. The severed ponytail hangs plain to see, and in its place Patricia’s neck is free and bare. All her mother can think to say, over and over again, is ‘why couldn’t you have waited?’ Paul knows why I needed short hair.

Even though I know the hairdresser will chastise me it doesn’t matter, because having one’s hair cut by someone you are in the process of loving is an act of the greatest intimacy. He knows about the home-dye job gone bad, the orange tinge to my poor bleached head, and the decision to hastily and somewhat inexplicably chop it all off rather than simply re-dye it. Certainly, it was a matter of money; I didn’t have any at the time. Yet there was also a thrill in chopping 5 inches off my hair, a revelation in doing something so unmediated. At the start of that year I had moved to Canberra for university. Living away from home, I found a freedom that felt new and exhilarating. This haircut is the last thing I do in Melbourne before leaving once again for Canberra. Sitting with Paul, I tell myself that I don’t really care what I look like. But I do. Orange may be my favourite colour, but this is ridiculous. Better short than long I think, as he snips further and further. I didn’t have much hair in the first place. It was very fine and often greasy, mostly unkempt. It still is. I chose to cut my hair,

and I feel almost a sadness at the fact that I will never again experience that initial shock, the nauseating intake of fear and excitement all at once. At the time most people asked me why I did it. Some people asked me if I was okay, as if cutting off all my hair could be some kind of unhinging, the beginning of a slow but palpable descent into madness. Others took offense on my behalf, whatever that means. Most, even if they liked it, were visibly shocked. As for me, I had never felt so naked, so acutely exposed. I caught glances of myself, in the mirror in the lift, or refracted in the window of the long haul bus, and was shocked. I don’t recognise myself. Was everyone staring at me on the bus, I wondered? No, likely not, but in my imagination they were. Had I so deeply offended their notions of femininity, or are such notions non-existent? Perhaps they were constructed by me just as much as them. Now I am the girl with short hair. The one with gold scissors who is trimming my hair on this soft afternoon doesn’t know me with long hair. She tells me, not now but another time when we are lying in bed together, that she would like to cut her hair short. Her hair is thick, beautiful and like a shield parted around her face, or in front of it should the need arise. She tells me she would miss this ability to hide, should she cut her hair, and I agree that yes, this is true. But there are many other ways to hide too, I think.

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Elena Ryan

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The Cost of Being Flawless Emma Henke

$1351. That’s the average extra amount that a woman has to pay each year for identical goods and services to men. On top of women earning 17.9% less than their male counterparts (according to the Australian Government’s September 2015 gender pay gap statistical review), and on top of the extra $3000 a woman will pay in a lifetime due to the GST charged on essential sanitary items, a 2015 study by the New York City Department of Consumer Affairs asserts that — on average — companies charge women 7% more for items that are near-identical to those marketed to men. Since 2014, this surplus has been colloquially known as ‘the Pink Tax’, after French Secretary of State for Women’s Rights, Pascale Boistard, asked ‘Le rose est-il un couleur de luxe?’ (‘Is pink a luxury colour’). Recently, as I walked around my local Woolworths, I was startled by the fact that until that day I had been unaware of a glaringly obvious display of inequality. Woolworths’ home brand ‘Select’ women’s deodorant cost $2.47, while the ‘Select’ men’s deodorant was $2.29. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could reconcile this because the products were differently fragranced. But as I continued to peruse the aisles, I could no longer remain so blissfully ignorant. The ‘Kinder Surprise Girls’ Egg’ which was considered a ‘girls’ product because it was packaged in pink foil was valued at $2.31, while the egg wrapped in white foil with the same contents was $2.20. Similarly, a packet of pink ‘BIC Girls Blue Ink Pens’ cost $4.50, while the original blue version was $4. This gender-targeted pricing disparity

also extends to services. In 2014, The Washington Post reported the average cost for dry cleaning one men’s shirt — $2.86. A women’s shirt — $4.95. A 2013 paper at Northwestern University reported that, for an identical car repair, men were quoted $383, women $406. Why do these companies charge more

Why do these companies charge more for the same products? The simple answer is because they can. for the same products? The simple answer is because they can, under the guise of style or femininity. Companies have tested their marketing methodology and determined that women will pay more for products marketed directly to them. We will pay more for a pink razor than a blue one, and more for pain relief that is marketed as ‘menstrual pain relief’ as opposed to ‘extra strength pain relief’ even though they contain the same ingredients. Though women’s consumption may buoy this gender-based price inequality, they did not create it. The companies who use subtle tactics (re-colouring, re-naming, re-marketing) to coerce women into paying more, for corporate gain, are to blame. However, women can change this. By buying the more expensive yet equiva-

lent pink product, not only are women buying into the archaic idea that pink is a ‘girls colour’, we are buying into the success of these organisations. The first step that we can take is to buy the blue razor. When sales in pink razors plummet, a message will be sent to the manufacturer. Clearly, awareness is key. French feminist group Georgette Sands raises raises awareness for this gender inequality by uploading pictures of unequally priced products to their Tumblr (womantax.tumblr.com). You can do the same. Another potential solution exists in the form of public policy. Since 1999, California has had a gender pricing law whereby companies charging women more for an equal product are fined a minimum of $1000. Ten states in the U.S. have banned gender rating in health insurance. In response to Georgette Sands’ activism, the French ministry launched an inquiry into price discrimination. Women’s magazine Marie Claire encourages women to take up ‘the Pink Tax’ with their MPs, and consider lodging a complaint with the ACCC. Though there is significant opposition to public policy changes from organisations such as Forbes — who question where the line is drawn in terms of what is an equal product — it is clear. Large scale change aside, you could save $1351 a year by simply keeping your eyes on the price tags.

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Selling Beauty and Selling Choice Katie Cunningham

When 21st Century women choose to engage with cosmetics, their motivations can hardly be compared to those they might have had had they been born thirty or fifty years earlier. All the same, today’s female-identifying consumer will, knowingly or otherwise, be engaging with history when making choices about their image. The constant movement of the beauty industry is foremost a commercial path. However politics affect our attitudes, while vintage and stylistic influences continue to attract us to values from the past. We might enjoy the privilege of choice when it comes to beauty practices, but if cosmetics and media are rooted in unhealthy ideals, how do we know that those standards are not perpetuated by our continued consumption? In the back of my mind when I’m buying my favourite orange lipstick, there is always my mother’s caution against young women letting their femininity be manipulated according to the standards of society and for the profit of an industry. This position denotes commercial practices that profit from sexually-objectifying traditions, a perspective that rightfully takes issue with the pressure put upon women to spend time and money improving themselves physically. Quite simply, requiring makeup equates to requiring beauty, undermining the worth of a woman’s other valuable qualities. However, equally as valid, is a woman’s right to choose to wear makeup. We have choice when it comes to consump-

tion, and cosmetics offer a range of possibilities to any individual exploring their gender and sexuality. How do we reconcile the enjoyment we get out of the way that Betty Draper’s lipstick plays perfectly to the colours of her dress with the fact that their coordination is symbolic of her tragic lifestyle? Attitudes to cosmetics are in constant fluctuation. They predate feminism, and thus are somewhat chaotically bound to its history. Cosmetics never fail to inspire arguments about what their use denotes about a woman. Unfortunately, these discussions are also taken and filtered into commercial strategies. The shifting status of feminism in popular culture has had understandable spillover effects into how feminine image can be sold. For example, it is no coincidence that second-wave feminist discussion of how oppression operates in a woman’s daily life corresponded closely with a rise in demand for ‘natural looking’ and subtle cosmetics. Today, depending on whether you want to look ‘chic’, ‘edgy’, ‘effortless’ or any other of the hilarious qualifiers of feminine image, there are a great number of techniques that you can employ to look like the ‘right’ kind of woman. As we float out here somewhere beyond the third wave, society still deems it acceptable — depending of course on social and cultural background — for the average woman to put time and energy into projecting some degree of feminine beauty. However, the necessary mélange of vanity and effortlessness is quite a shameful thing when miscalculated. We still claim

to favour natural beauty as a society, and so there is only an acceptable amount of primping that can be done. Beyond it, we compromise our respectability. Just the other day I heard someone refer to a woman’s black eyeliner as ‘whorish’. Never mind the fact that shaming artificial beauty in favour of the ‘natural’ only emphasises the importance of beauty to begin with. Commercially, the trend of ‘no makeup makeup’ has seen the promotion of minimalist branded products that still do everything to fix-you-and-stopyou-from-getting-any-worse — think ‘BB cream’, ‘CC cream’, apparently ‘EE cream’. This panders to a confused translation of what women want equality to look like, when in reality it is another adaptation of commercial practices and patriarchal standards that frown upon overt femininity for failing to moderate and apologise for itself. The funny thing is, most often, the more modest and acceptable ways of being beautiful will still demand your money in exchange for ‘subtlety’. We have always had a ‘life imitating art’ relationship with cosmetics and other feminine fashions. Dance, theatre, Hollywood, and now social media have flourished alongside commercial and political change, with female personalities from all sides compelling one another’s choices. But makeup has taken on even stranger forms in the 21st Century, making celebrities out of otherwise ordinary women. YouTube beauty gurus

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Casey Crockford Mirror and Makeup, from Domestic Delicacies series, 2015. Punctured inkjet print, LED lights. 53.5cm x 79cm (framed)

present a mix of styles and tastes, some with qualifications, some just teenagers who moved from a love of drawing to a love of drawing on their own faces. Their content typically includes ‘how to’ videos and product reviews, the success of which has earned them status to succeed in self-managed business and collaborate with mainstream brands. Interestingly however, in the world of YouTube beauty, separation from the commercial is often rewarded. The official channels of cosmetic brands have far less success on a platform where the relatable, personally-branded figures hold monopoly. In another intersection of beauty, identity, and technology, Kim Kardashian West shares regular visual updates on how her face and body are looking with her 58.6 million (as of January 2016) Instagram followers. However, like any good woman, living in the public eye or otherwise, where Kim goes scrutiny follows: Which parts of her body are real, and more importantly, which parts of her

soul are? What makes her worthy of all that money? She makes money out of being beautiful, while the rest of us lose it trying. We tend to hate her for it. As the world questions the quality of her lifestyle and career, the only thing that remains truly clear about her influence is the larger societal desire to lay judgment on feminine beauty. In the same way that many argue the Kardashians ‘don’t do anything’, a common criticism of the gurus is that their aesthetic-focused content lacks substance, and this is proof of some moral defect. These symbols of the modern beauty economy are mixed up in discourses on the quality of our culture. Yet the same personalities demonstrate a couple of the weird and wonderful extremes in which our culture’s relationship with beauty manifests itself, and tuning in to them is addictive. Besides, the numbers of YouTube and reality television viewers tell us that, perhaps, they’re really only giving us what we want.

In reality, most of the women I know — most of them feminists — avoid any overt use of beauty products. Yet I fail to think of a single one who does not have something that she does every single day to prepare her image, however laissez-faire. We can’t deny that whatever we choose, we are likely to be conscious of what we are projecting about our femininity and ourselves. We have limited choice in the ways that biology and culture affect us, and this is important to remember when making judgments about others. Yet no matter where you sit on the spectrum between total glamour and basic hygiene, you still have to make a choice about how to look and how to spend, which in a way guarantees your interaction with the industry. It is not some concrete responsibility of the individual to abstain from certain practices. However, doing so will in many cases symbolise the monumental differences in women’s past and present liberty.

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Casey Crockford

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Flawless Poem Flawless

Rebecca Kriesler

In a world where the words themselves have gender Where quoting deceased people is an agenda To call out is bossy but silence is weak You question why women don’t come out and speak But it adds fuel to a fire that only heats men You ask me my problem again and again But the second I talk you complain that its needy I can’t stay in this nightclub, these men are too seedy

Women have jobs, true equality has arrived We cured the disease, just a few symptoms survived But society itself, my god it is flawless How could it not be, the patriarchy adores it We’ve done our job, now don’t say a peep Leave the thinking to us and get beauty sleep It’s not your fault, it’s the price of biology The heroes are men, just look at mythology

I cannot walk home after sunset alone My voice is called shrill if you don’t like my tone But god forbid I express my concern Because in all of my years there is one thing to learn Men are flawless and always are right It’s my job to look pretty and be a delight Hush now my dear, sexism has passed It was gone with corsets, now don’t look aghast

Accept your place, it’s what nature intended This is what equality looks like, all’s amended Focus on your family, your kids, and your spouse If you want true belonging, get back in the house Its fine if I make derogatory comments or slurs If you point out a flaw I’ll just say it is hers But all these actions you’ll excuse, I insist Because labels have power and I’m a feminist

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Louella Raynolds

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In Whose Eyes? Christianity & the ‘Perfect Woman’ Hayley Keen Imagine this: a young pastor, straight out of the seminary, with a pretty woman. They’ve likely grown up together, and their parents will encourage their union. They’ll marry in the ‘fairy-tale’ wedding, a highlight of the church’s social calendar, followed up with a barrage of personal questions regarding the imminent birth of many beautiful children. They’ll make a home together; she will work tirelessly to keep the home presentable and provide hospitality. All the while, she will remain happy, loving, and graceful. She is the perfect image of a Pastor’s wife. This conception is one that sums up an integral culture which is worryingly rife in many of the more youth-focused branches of the modern Christian church. Pressure to date within the church and marry young obviously extends to both genders. However, it is the women who are taught that a lifestyle of living out a ‘calling to be the wife your husband needs’ is most noble, in which a woman can then devote herself to a flawless checklist of character traits and support the dreams of her husband. So rather than flicking to a Cosmo article that tells one ‘How To Seduce That Love Interest And Keep Him Coming Back For More,’ young Christian women can read a series of blog posts and listen to countless sermons about being the picture of biblical womanhood in order to snag the man (of God) of their dreams. The feminist movement has largely failed to influence many women to abandon these ‘di-

vinely ordained roles’. And many believe that only in the ways of the scripture can God’s intended design for women be found, and only in the tradition of the Church can women gain their greatest joy and sense of accomplishment, from being perfect wives and mothers. Women and Christianity have always had a complicated relationship, fraught with contextual conflicts. There is nothing inherently bad about how women are presented in Christianity; often their descriptions come with gracious and acclaimed character traits. But by looking at one of the most women-focused verses in the Bible, Proverbs 31, one can see the eternal Christian contradiction of both adoration and requirement, for the ‘perfect’ woman. It acclaims a woman as ‘worth far more than rubies’, for she will also be a ‘wife of noble character’. The Bible often describes a Christian woman, with words akin to ‘unadulterated’: implying a perfect wife, mother, operator of a home, controller of a family, a hostess, an intellectual, an entrepreneur, a domestic, a woman whose man needs no satisfaction from another woman, and is acclaimed for her inner and (bonus) outer beauty. Again, these things are fundamentally good, but they are packaged still in a limiting domestic and married context. With young Christian girls looking specifically to verses like this for guidance, there is no doubt that the ‘Pastors Wife’ culture will continue to pervade the church and perpetuate certain standards that pressure women into

an image of godly perfection, acknowledged as unattainable to men, and somewhat unattainable without men. Obviously the ‘Pastors Wife’ ideal fails to apply to the enormous Roman Catholic branch of Christianity, where its clergy members are forbidden to marry and most definitely forbidden to be female. However the male clergy – assumedly ignorant of the pressures facing women – continue to teach scriptures such as Proverbs 31 and the Church continues to disguise its insistence of the ‘checklist’ female, while enforcing a complex of submission and adherence to roles. The Uniting, Anglican and Pentecostal churches are breaking away from these restrictions; many have female ministers and pastors, however these churches are yet to liberate themselves from the pressure they put on their female members to be ‘flawless’ Proverbs 31 women. Jesus treated all people equally; he even pointed out to Martha, the priority of learning spiritual truth over ‘womanly’ responsibilities like serving guests in one’s home. Jesus continually taught that attaining perfection in this world is not possible, and in Jesus’ treatment of women, He showed them compassion and respect, for who they were, in a way they had never known. Christianity, quick to criticize the treatment of women in other religions; still has a long way to go and a lot to learn from its main figure.

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A Handful Claire Lenehan

When I was at school I was one of those girls known for being an “early developer.” Like in those teen movies where the flat chested girl is furiously jealous of that equally awkward but somehow adult girl who woke up one day aged 14 with breasts (or in my case, somewhere between 12 and 13). At that age there is a certain wonder in all things adult, and kids seem to revere the things that distinguish them as older. For a short time, I was really happy with my very temporarily B cup boobs. I watched with curiosity as that quickly

changed to a C cup, then oh so momentarily a D cup, before seemingly stopping at the coveted DD cup. Everything had made cup size seem like a key to the adult world, to being cooler and more accepted, and for a girl who had always been known as the “chubby” girl in class this redistribution of weight seemed like an enormous stroke of luck. Until it didn’t. Very quickly my rapidly expanding mammary glands drew the attention of a lot of boys, and while my young adolescent mind grew flushed and excited at finally being recognized

by the other sex, I wasn’t prepared for very much beyond that. I couldn’t understand the veiled threat that accompanied immature boys yelling out to me “You’ve got big tits!” as I passed them at school. Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing? A nerdier boy in my class wrote some pretty imaginative and very lurid fantasies about my breasts that he then shared with our classmates and I was furious, and violated. More importantly though this experience became a lesson, not only would people define me based only my breasts; I had no tangible way of ever controlling that. I felt like the

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only way I could truly be comfortable in my body was by trying to own what it looked like now. By trying to be happy in what I presented to the world I felt like I didn’t have to own the harassment thrown at me. Clothes became my way of fighting back and owning my body. As my breasts settled uncomfortably at a 12E , my heart sank. Not only did I feel alienated by the people around me, but I was feeling like my breasts had physically alienated me from things that used to make me happy. I realised pretty quickly that once you get above a D cup not only are bras consistently more expensive, they’re also uglier and much, much harder to source. Compounding these issues with bras is the fact that the clothes that sit on top of them are almost exclusively designed for those women who happen to have B cups. This might not seem like a big deal, after all most of us are aware that when you can’t get your cup size accommodated you can always go a size up, right? Unfortunately, cup size isn’t necessarily a linear measurement. The extra sizing required for the cup actually allows more room for movement and coverage that can’t be accommodated by going up a size. If you are a 12E but your clothing is designed for a 12B, chances are, even if you go up two sizes you may feel like your arms are in a straight jacket because the material is trying to accommodate all that extra bust. Women are then left with a choice, and it’s a very depressing and frankly alienating one. They can either wear the wrong size clothing, or the wrong size clothing. They have to decide whether they’d rather wear the wrong size and constantly feel like they’ll bust out of their clothes, or they can wear the wrong size and feel invisible. Don’t get me wrong, there are the tried and tested (mainly online) brands that almost-kind-of-don’t-quite-fit which we loyally support and feel oh so grateful for, but I can’t count the amount of times I had to physically go buy a piece of

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clothing for an interview or a special occasion without prior planning and have come away from the shops fighting back tears and shame. I’m ashamed that it still hurts to be reminded that these shops are not for me. I’m ashamed that I’m surprised that not one single store in Westfield has a sexy nightdress that even begins to cover my breasts. But most of all, I’m ashamed that when I fall in love with a piece of clothing and have to remind myself of all the reasons its not going to fit, I feel pangs of hatred and resentment

But most of all, I’m ashamed that when I fall in love with a piece of clothing and have to remind myself of all the reasons its not going to fit, I feel pangs of hatred and resentment towards the breasts I’ve been told all my life are a good thing. towards the breasts I’ve been told all my life are a good thing. To be clear I’m not ashamed to wear clothing because society dictates I can’t, rather I feel that I’m not allowed to decide how to represent my breasts because they literally don’t fit into the clothes themselves. I’ve made a turning point recently. I’m a feminist who truly wants to believe that my body is faultless despite what society says, so I’ve started making my own clothes. There are no patterns for my cup size either, but at least in the making process I can adjust clothes so they fit me. I finally have the opportunity to represent myself to the world in a way that

I want to. I may not be able to stop harassment all together, but it is a lot easier to handle when I feel like I have as much right to exist at my size as anyone else. This has brought me a lot of happiness and a lot of relief. There is definitely a sense of rebellion every time I take my scissors to a pattern, but I’m alarmingly aware that this isn’t a practical solution for everyone, and its not always a practical solution for me. The average bra size is no longer the 12B fashion houses use to base their clothes on; in America the average cup size is currently a DD, in Australia its between a C and a D depending on which bra company you talk to, and everyone is in agreement there is an increase in women with large cup sizes and small backs. There are plenty of articles exploring the phenomenon of the growing Australian bust, but not one single article addressing the practical problems associated. Whenever I enter body positive online spaces to vent my frustrations I’m reminded of how big breasts are socially desirable and accepted in mainstream culture and fashion. Hell. I’m told they’re sort after – so how can we complain? But that doesn’t change the fact that women who have these breasts are consistently reminded that they don’t fit, in their clothes or society. Well, I’m calling it: we need to do better for these women. We need to ask why we are deemed undeserving of clothes that fit us and we need to address the reasons why this issue hasn’t been given space in the feminist world. We need to be there with our plus sized sisters (many of whom are big breasted) calling for companies to make accessible clothing for women who have more than a B cup.

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Georgia Elith

Photographed by Brenton McGeachie

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Sorry But I Just Wanted To Say... Maeve Bannister When it comes to building myself into the strong, independent, woman I’d like to be, I like to think I’ve laid some pretty solid foundations. Over the years I’ve tried to channel the characteristics of some of the women in my family tree; a great-grandmother who smuggled guns across the Irish border for the IRA, an aunt who entered the Church of Scientology as an undercover journalist. My immediate family includes my four sisters and our mum, making me one of six women in a home where my dad and brother almost never get a word in edgeways. I went to an all-girls’ school for my primary, high school, and college years. I’ve never had a problem stating my opinion in an academic or social situation. Yet, when I started university in 2015, I seemed to forget all of this. At the beginning of my first semester, I wanted to do something to ensure that I spoke in class. I set myself a goal to make at least one contribution to every tutorial. Little did I know that I needn’t have worried. Those first few weeks of nervousness quickly faded and I became quite capable of saying what I knew on each week’s topic, just like I did in high school. What’s different from my high school years, however, is the way I tend to speak. “I feel like…”, “I’m most likely wrong, but…” and “This is probably really left of centre, but I think…”. These, and variations, have somehow crept their way into my vocabulary. By the end of last year I began to notice that I constantly start my contributions with the above statements. As do many fellow students,

who are, more often than not, also female. It turns out that I’m not the only person who has observed this trend of female self-deprecation. Studies by Harvard social scientist Kathleen Welch and writers David and Myra Sadker have shown that women not only often speak less than men in discussion-based situations, but are also more likely to preface what they say with a self-deprecating phrase. Additionally, it’s a phenomenon that is present not just in classrooms, but in boardrooms, surgery theatres, and staffrooms across the world. According to research, this is because — historically — women have experienced an overwhelming pressure to be feminine, and that to boldly assert one’s opinions is supposedly anything but. What is most fascinating, however, is the response to the idea that women heavily qualify their claims. A Chrome extension called ‘Just Not Sorry’, recently launched by Cyrus Innovation, alters Gmail to underline self-demeaning phrases and qualifying words like ‘just’ and ‘actually’, in order to help women stop inadvertently discrediting themselves in emails. In the two months since its release, the extension has been downloaded more than 27,000 times. Meanwhile, some commentators argue that telling women that they need to change the way they speak perpetuates the same gender imbalance that initiatives like “Just Not Sorry” attempt to combat. I see both sides of the argument, and understand that this is a trend rather

than a rule. Yet at the same time, words are important. The way we speak, even more so. Like the cliché, it’s often how you say something that makes the impact, not what you actually say. Recognising that as a woman you’re more likely to use self-deprecating language, and then trying to change this is not about learning to “speak like a man”. It’s about urging yourself to speak like a person who’s confident in themselves and their opinions. After all, male students are also not immune to self-deprecation. We could all benefit. When I think about the careers of my female relatives, I realise that even though what they did was incredibly impressive, I admire their actions more because of how they assertively fulfilled the goals they set themselves. I once asked my aunt if she was scared when she got her undercover assignment, and she said that she was worried that the camera hidden in her glasses would somehow malfunction. Yet even if her equipment had failed her, it wouldn’t have dimmed the confidence she had in her own ability to record the story without it. What’s more, while I never got the chance to meet my great-grandmother, I am sure that she wouldn’t have said she ‘just’ worked as a gun smuggler for the IRA. She did it. Both of these women didn’t have the time to be self-deprecating, because they were so busy being self-assured. They ran out of time doing things, not ‘just’ doing them. My aim for this year is to run out of time too.

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Ariana Grande, Gloria Steinem, and the Dangers of the ‘Smart Girl’ Feminist Trope Jemimah Cooper

On June 7 2015, Ariana Grande (singer/actress) uploaded a screenshot to Twitter, containing a short critique on double standards she has experienced within her career, as well as her desire to be seen as something more than ‘Sean’s ex’. In December 1968, the New York Magazine published an essay by Gloria Steinem (political activist/journalist), entitled ‘Women and Power’. Only one of these texts is seen as ‘genuinely feminist’. It is not difficult to guess which. Although they deal with disturbingly similar content (especially considering the fifty year age gap), such content cannot be feminist unless it conforms to certain prerequisites.

Serious Educated Doesn’t dress provocatively Expresses opinions in appropriate media form (journal article, radio interview, books)

Flippant Not tertiary educated/doesn’t have a ‘serious’ job Dresses provocatively Expresses opinions through social media I’ll call this the ‘serious feminist’ binary. It is used as a value judgement by a white and male-dominated mainstream media, to decide what is and isn’t feminist. Simply put, it says ‘feminism must be academic to be serious’. If we only legitimise texts which conform to this ‘serious’ trope, it is impossible for feminism to compete with patriarchal narratives fed to us on every form of media, every day. Bell hooks wrote that ‘misunderstanding of feminist politics reflects the reality that most folks learn about feminism from patriarchal mass media’. Because the status quo, of course, does not have to be coherently presented in order to be ‘correct’ (think: every male comment section of every feminist article ever).

At the time of writing, Grande has 35.6 million followers on Twitter. Despite this, I could only find one ‘legitimate’ news source covering the post: a Vanity Fair article, by Richard Lawson. The whole article was bizarrely patronising from start to finish. To start, when most of the gossip mags tended to report it as a ‘defiant feminist tweet’ or ‘feminist twitter rant’, Lawson titled his article ‘Ariana Grande issues important feminist manifesto’ (you can imagine the tone in which that was intended to be read). He notes humorously that there has been ‘no note yet’ from Gloria Steinem, who was referred to by Grande in the post. He finishes by quipping that: ‘somewhere out there, some of Ariana Grande’s babes, as she calls her fans, have probably had their eyes opened to the frustrating, daily inequities of the world’. By ‘fans’, Lawrence presumably means young, teenage girls. Who, weirdly– he

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presumes – have never faced such daily inequities, having become cognisant of them for the first time via Twitter, and by extension, the wisdom of David Lawrence.

tired of living in a world where women are mostly referred to as a man’s past, present or future PROPERTY’. Her breakup with Big Sean, a successful rapper, is more important than her current career. As Steinem expressed it: ’sponge- like, they acquire the status… of the man they’re with’.

✽✽ So Grande’s contribution to feminism is dismissed by mainstream media because it fits into the wrong side of the binary. Grande’s style of pop music, as it is primarily consumed by teenage girls, is not really ‘art’ and hence ‘flippant’. She dresses and sings in a provocative manner, often in pink. Her emotively written, randomly capitalised Twitter screenshot could then, not possibly be ‘feminist’. Steinem’s 1968 essay is accepted, as it neatly conforms to the binary. Any deviation, however, is enough to withdraw this approval. After her May 1963 investigative piece ‘A Bunny’s Tale’, (which uncovered the exploitive conditions of women working as ‘Playboy Bunnies’), Steinem found it difficult to land another job. This was because ‘I had now become a Bunny — and it didn’t matter why.’ In other words: she had moved from one side of the binary, to the other.

Gloria Steinem, ‘A Bunny’s Tale’ 1963

Does Grande’s break up with Big Sean mean a ‘loss’ of her power? Consider this question is light of her achievements: the most top ten singles of any artist in 2014, number one album, two Grammy awards. But of course, Grande cannot exist without a dominant male figure. She says, ‘I have clearly not been having the boy questions in my interviews lately because I have come to the conclusion that I have SO. MUCH. MORE. to talk about’. She ‘can’t wait to live in a world where people are not valued by who they’re dating / married to / attached to…. but by their value as an individual’. ✽✽

Grande’s Tweet begins with a disclaimer, noting that ‘being “empowered”… is not the same as being a “bitch”….’ Grande is well aware that as a woman in power, to be outspoken or opinionated is to be ‘difficult’, or evidence of a bad attitude. This equation does not apply to men, obviously (they would be ‘firm’, ‘charismatic’). As Steinem wrote in Women and Power, ‘to accuse someone of not being a “real man” or “real woman” is a potent social weapon in preserving the status quo’. Both Steinem and Grande deal with the challenges faced by powerful women, and particularly, the place of relationships with men in a successful woman’s life. Steinem acknowledges it as a truth that ‘it’s part of every girl’s experience to be treated as two entirely different people just because she’s changed escorts’. In 2015, Grande laments that ‘I am

Ariana Grande, ‘Honeymoon Tour ’2015.

To have one of the biggest female pop stars of our time saying that she feels she cannot be taken seriously by the mainstream media without a man, or that her break up with Big Sean is of more importance than her artistic output, is awfully depressing. But more depressing is the easy dismissal of her thoughts. Because Grande is a pop star who dresses cutesy, it is decided her contributions to feminism are irrelevant, or she is not a ‘real feminist’. Because she presents her opinions through a low-quality Twitter screenshot, with misspellings and frequent capitalisation, she has no place in feminist discourse. To reference hooks again: ‘literature that helps inform masses of people, that helps individuals understand feminist thinking… needs to be written in an range of styles and formats’. Grande’s exclusion then leaves white, cis-gendered men, like David Lawrence, to have the final word. This of course, is most depressing of all.

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Guy In Your Tute Amazed To Discover Yes, You Did Know That Thing All Along Lauretta Flack

Yesterday, on campus at the Australian National University, one history tutorial fell into silence, as that voice which had for so long suffocated group conversation suddenly vanished. Class members were shocked and disorientated. One recalled, “It was hard to adjust at first. I just can’t remember a time when that guy wasn’t telling us about how he could really make some improvements to game theory.” Daniel, 21, said he never really thought of himself of “that guy.” “You know, the one whose obnoxious presence is the primary drain on Australia’s energy resources. The guy in the terrible first tute of the week, the actual reason Garfield hates Mondays. That guy.” He told reporters that friends and family were either too frightened to lay it down for him, or were equally as blind as he was. When Daniel first met Madeline, 20, sources indicate he did not think of her as anything other than a fellow classmate eager to hear his opinions about

the nuances of America’s civil war. Madeline herself noted that her previous interactions with Daniel had shown no signs of what was to occur. She says he would typically talk, while she nodded politely until presented with a socially-acceptable excuse to leave the “conversation.” Neither Madeline nor her classmates were comfortable with this experience, but had collectively resigned themselves to ride out the situation and hope for better luck the following semester. Nothing distinguished yesterday’s tutorial from any other week. Daniel explains, “We grouped up for discussion of this week’s focus topic and at first I saw her mouth moving, but I just couldn’t hear anything that was coming out. I figured she probably wanted some help, but was too shy to ask a guy like me.” “I couldn’t decide which she didn’t get: the lecture material I saw her taking concise notes of earlier this week, or the very similar readings she had printed and highlighted in front of her. So I settled on explaining the basic introductory

content from six weeks ago. “Then I started to feel something I never experienced before. Doubt. Looking into her eyes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was mentally drafting a mocking retelling of this very moment to post in a group chat with nine of her closest friends.” Classmates confirm this was the moment that Daniel first fell silent. Reflecting on this now-famous stunt, Daniel says that he is considering a more self-aware approach to his studies. “I’m still coming to terms with the insufferable personhood I have suddenly become conscious of, but yeah, I hear other people can say some interesting stuff.”

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Suffragette: A Review Ria Pflaum

At first glance, Sarah Gavron’s cinematic exploration of the line between civil disobedience and violence in an oppressive society, Suffragette, presents itself as a feminist period drama – you’ve got convincingly dowdy costumes, the steam-filled setting of a laundry bustling with harried workers, and respected, award-winning white actresses. However, despite going into the movie thrilled that a mainstream release was finally covering something I saw as incredibly important, despite going in looking to learn, I haven’t felt this unsure about a film in a long time. Sitting in the movie, the main emotion I felt was that of immense anxiety. Watching Maud — a fictionalised composite character — be swept slowly and almost unconsciously into the world of the suffragettes, I was uneasy, and frankly scared, not just for what would happen to characters in the film, but to the women on whom they were based, whose reasons not to join the cause were so insistently stripped away. Uneasy because it was the reality of their world – of our world. At times, the movie feels too hurried, making you ask yourself whether you’re uncomfortable because the film wants you to be, or, when there are scenes that drag on, whether you’re uneasy because of the direction and structure of the film itself.

The actresses in the movie, especially Carey Mulligan as Maud, and a heartbreaking Anne-Marie Duff as the fellow factory worker who first piques Maud’s curiosity in the movement, are remarkably expressive. They dedicate themselves fully to the roles, with incredible turns that hit straight to the core of the audience. The issues raised around this

Despite going in looking to learn, I haven’t felt this unsure about a film in a long time. movie lie not with these actresses, nor the slightly more one-dimensional men in the film, but instead with the discourse between feminism and intersectionality. Gavron has stated many times that the movie was intended to be accessible to anyone, and the focus on a working class, everyday woman rather than an iconic figure such as Emmeline Pankhurst (played in a short but vivid scene by the incomparable, though perhaps too disproportionately advertised Meryl Streep) allowed a bigger emotional investment from the audience. However, there has been much criticism against this supposed ‘relatability’ to an imagined white character.

Gavron was also quick to address the main criticism of the movie – the lack of women of colour. “In Britain, you had immigrants, but you didn’t really have women of colour at that stage—apart from two very prominent women. Later in the movement, you got the diversity that reflects the wonderful diversity we have in Britain today. But you did have a range of classes”, she expressed. This raises immense issues around intersectionality in feminism, a long-time concern for those women affected by multiple layers of oppression, which has only made it into mainstream debate in the last few years. Gavron, in her response, seems to be saying that sure, there were women of colour fighting for their rights, but that it wasn’t emphasised in the history of the movement. The question that this then raises, and that the audience has to answer, is: is that good enough? Coming out of the cinema, incredibly uneasy and with a knot of tension in my stomach, many of my questions were left in suspense, unanswered by the movie. Perhaps most prominent was the simple question that makes me most unsure about the film – did the film fill me with discomfort in order to remind me of the sacrifices that have and will continue to be made by women, or was it simply a film anchored by superb acting and not much else?

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Rey of Sunshine Laura Perkov

Science fiction has long been regarded as a genre that is not exactly feminist friendly. The exclusion of women in ‘nerd culture’ is normalised and celebrated in shows such as The Big Bang Theory, while even in the well-respected Doctor Who, women seem to be only capable of being sidekicks or love interests. Scifi is overwhelmingly centred on straight, white, cisgender men; women are not only unseen in stories but are largely absent from writers’ rooms and production teams. Even though many texts unfold in non-Earth contexts these narratives are inevitably a product of our own patriarchal society in which women’s experiences and contributions are devalued. Nevertheless, sci-fi is uniquely positioned to address issues of race, gender, and sexuality because of its unparalleled ability to tell stories that need not be

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grounded in realism – humans can explore distant star systems and dinosaurs can be brought to life in a modern wildlife park. Sci-fi’s emphasis on the timeless tale of good and evil, fraught with issues of morality and implicit social commentary, provides the perfect medium to address feminist concerns. Sci-fi’s masculine connotations are particularly surprising considering the extensive and diverse contributions of women. Mary Shelley’s exploration of humanity in the face of growing scientific advancement in Frankenstein (1818) is centred on the appropriation of the role of women in creating life. Shelley is credited with pioneering the genre itself, while Frankenstein continues to inspire countless works, the most recent being Ex Machina (2015). Other women also continued to lay foundations for feminist work in sci-fi, amongst them Rokeya Sakhawat Hussain. Her novel Sultana’s Dream (1905) questions the gender politics of early 20th century India by creating a world in which it is the women who receive the benefit of advanced technologies and social mobility. Television brought about a new wave of female participation, and also provided a glimpse into the positive power that sci-fi was capable of wielding – Nichelle Nichols’ portrayal of the esteemed Lieutenant Uhura in Star Trek influenced a whole generation of actresses, Whoopi Goldberg in particular, and helped recruit African-Americans and women to NASA. Similarly, The X Files’ Dana Scully inspired masses of women to pursue careers in the sciences. Normalising the inclusion of women began to gain traction with Alien’s (1979) Ellen Ripley, who was written as a typical hero but cast without a specific gender in mind. And yet the myth that women were never present in the genre, in creating texts and consuming them, persists. As more women turn to sci-fi as entertainment, they are confronted with misogynistic double standards and micro-aggressions. Women are quizzed by men who view themselves as gatekeepers of knowledge, and are subject to wide-

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spread harassment and sexualisation. They are consistently accused of being ‘fake geek girls’ who are only interested in gaining male attention. Misogynistic attitudes towards women in the scifi community both informs and results from sexist representations in media. The most celebrated texts are written by men, about men, for men, while women star as damsels in distress or the femme fatale. Women typically do not feature in main roles that are well-developed with their own storylines and motivations. Seminal texts such as the Star Wars franchise, The Matrix (1999), and more recent examples like

Women are not only unseen in stories but are largely absent from writers’ rooms and production teams. Inception (2010) often feature one or two women in a male ensemble cast. This is also reflected behind the camera and in literature – only four of the thirty-one authors awarded the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award are women. This trend is prevalent across genres and mediums. Contemporary sci-fi should encourage active female participation and address the issues of race, gender, and sexuality that it has often ignored. However, this is not to say that men themselves cannot create feminist sci-fi – Orphan Black has been praised for celebrating the diversity and skills of women by building the show around the characters’ struggle for identity and autonomy, all played magnificently by Tatiana Maslany. 2015 also saw the premiere of Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens. The normalisation of a female protagonist in Rey subverts the common masculinised hero stereotype, but avoids the ‘Strong

Female Character’ trope. She is not sexualised and is free to participate in the action, but also has a discernible personality, skills, and motivations unlimited by unnecessary stereotypes. Rey is not confronted with the casual sexism commonplace in sci-fi – the antagonists do not doubt her abilities and her gender is not a qualifier to her successes. She is allowed to exist as a multi-faceted character with concerns and aspirations unrelated to men, as demonstrated by the film’s clear pass of the Bechdel Test. Gender also has a negligible impact on the roles of other characters: Leia appears as a Princess, Diplomat, and General, while Captain Phasma’s position as a female Stormtrooper is uncomplicated. Nevertheless, equality must be sought both on and off the screen. Men significantly outnumbered women on the cast and crew, and there was a considerable public backlash against Carrie Fisher for having the audacity to age. Rey was excluded from the marketing and merchandise of the film, seemingly communicating that the franchise values the mediocre or minute contributions of men more than the significant achievements of women. Women have played a pivotal role in the development of sci-fi and continue to do so, despite their marginalisation in mainstream sci-fi. Progress has definitely been made in encouraging female involvement and creating stories that include women, but unfortunately these narratives are not commonplace. Epic space operas and gritty dramas can provide an entertaining backdrop to explore notions of gender and sexism, as The Force Awakens has shown. It is by no means perfect, but the growing success of more inclusive sci-fi points to a brighter future for female creatives and audiences who crave role models in the genres they love.

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Warning. Contains spoilers.

The Bond Girl Jayne Hoschke

*The Bechdel test is a metric created by Alison Bechdel, the acclaimed American cartoonist and graphic novelist, and author of Dykes to Watch Out For and Fun Home.

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It’s such a shame that the Bechdel test needed to be created.* What’s more, is that hardly any new-release blockbuster films pass it. That it’s something to be celebrated when they do. The requirement of a) having more than two women in the film who, b) talk to each other, and c) about something other than men, shouldn’t be hard to accomplish. But apparently it is. The night I watched Spectre I came home and wrote something that many would dismiss as another ‘raging feminist’ rant. I was disgusted that I had paid money to watch misogynistic norms be perpetuated through the portrayal of women as one-sided, submissive commodities to be used by men who wear nice suits. I was angry that — in 2015, in one of the most famous franchises in film history — women are still given no agency. Let’s have a look at what’s so problematic about the ‘Bond Girl’, because in this case, a ‘raging feminist’ is essentially what I am. There are three female characters in this film. Lucia Sciarra, the widow of an assassin whom Bond kills in the first scene — a pretty awesome helicopter fight scene, I’ve got to admit. For a moment, we are fooled that finally Bond has found someone his own age. That maybe the average 14-year age difference between lead Bond actor and actress might be closed! The pairing of 51-year-old Monica Bellucci and 47-year-old Daniel Craig is a refreshing improvement from the age gap between Roger Moore and Carole Bouquet in For Your Eyes Only, who were 54 and 24 respectively at the time of release. However, Sciarra has probably five minutes of screen time. This mature woman is no revolutionary Bond Girl, but a minute character, a tiny blip in the already convoluted plot: she mourns her husband, is rescued by Bond at her mansion, has sex with Bond, Bond leaves. Sciarra neither appears, nor is mentioned, again. Next is Eve Moneypenny, introduced as

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a competent MI6 agent in Skyfall. Intelligent, interesting. Yet, every conversation Bond has with her explodes with sexual tension and double entendres. They might as well be winking at the camera. When Bond calls her late at night, he is so shocked that she has a ‘friend’ calling her back to bed, “A friend? At this time of night?” Bond’s incredulity — though tongue-in-cheek — is concerning. After more than fifty years of Bond films, Bond is still the only one allowed to sleep around. After this scene, Moneypenny appears only a few times throughout the rest of the movie. The most interesting female character becomes the most minor. Still zero points on the Bechdel test. This brings us to Madeleine Swan, the biggest disappointment. She had so much potential at the start. Swan is an evidently well-off psychiatrist, not fooled by Bond’s typical “Trust me. You have my word.” She does not want to be saved by him. She knows how to use a gun, she doesn’t take any of his mansplaining, and she doesn’t want to fall into his arms. “You touch me, I kill you.” But as the movie hits the halfway-mark, everything seems to go downhill. Swan’s individuality and assertiveness become secondary to Bond’s charm and wit, and within days she they are having sex. After he saves her, of course. As Swan walks down the aisle of a train in a beautiful silk gown she says, “You shouldn’t stare.” He retorts, “You shouldn’t look like that.” An echo of victim blaming. This potentially strong character becomes just another ‘Bond girl’: a submissive, vulnerable, leggy-blonde damsel in distress. So there are our three women. “But it’s a Bond film, what did you expect?” “But he is sexy! If I met him I’d have sex with him.” “But if you ignore all that it’s a pretty awesome movie.” But let’s not ignore it. Let’s ask why it is there and why it is so damaging. Good action is great, cool cars are awe-

some, beautiful soundtracks are inspiring, quirky humour is refreshing. But you can have the classic ‘Bond’ without the sexism and without forcing out-dated and unnecessary norms of what it is to be a woman. It is 2016 now, come on. Aside from Eve Moneypenny — portrayed by Naomie Harris — we have been talking exclusively about white, straight characters in this article so far. The representation of women of colour and non-heteronormative women is more shocking. Just look at the 2016 Oscar nominations. The women nominated for Best Actress are all white. The nominations for Best Supporting Actress, the same. All eight films nominated for Best Picture are directed by men and, would you guess, all nominations for Best Director are male. The representation of women in film — and what it is to be a woman in 2016 — is not just an issue to be raised with Spectre and the Bond franchise, but an issue to be raised with the film industry as a whole. What films did you see in 2015 which were directed by women? What films have you seen that pass the Bechdel test? Can you name one blockbuster film whose female characters resemble women — yourself, your sister, mother, friend — as the multidimensional and interesting person that they are? I’m finding it hard. Let’s give actresses name-making roles in film franchises that don’t degrade women, that don’t place them as sexual objects, and that allow female actors of all shapes and sizes and shades to be able to ‘make it’ as professionals in a field that is so dominated by men. Spectre had this opportunity, and destroyed it. Oh but wait, I forgot. The director has a penis. He could never be expected to think about these things. My bad.

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Call It What You Want Amy Campbell

I painted this self portrait in response to an encounter I had with an artist whose blog I followed. He was looking for followers to submit photos that he could paint portraits from. He was a talented artist, I liked his style and thought it would be cool to have a portrait done so I sent him a photo. After trawling more extensively through his previous posts I discovered that he almost exclusively painted from photos of supermodels that he fetishized. His call out for follower submissions was an experiment in painting ‘average’ looking women. He was a complete chauvinist who held women to impossible beauty standards and often painted distastefully sexualised images of them. The way he spoke about his art made it clear that he adored these models because they looked flawless and he thought of them more as aesthetic objects than people. Had I known this earlier, I wouldn’t have sent my photo, but in the end he never followed through with my portrait. I painted this picture as a personal rebellion against the way he saw women, and to highlight that to be flawless is to be flawed. I wanted to compensate for the lack of humourous, unladylike and ‘unattractive’ portrayals of women in all forms of imagery.

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Anastassia Krstevska SERIES C, NO 1 AND SERIES D

The Johnsons Grace Flanagan

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‘I do not want to know what’s in this.’ Cream tiles were coated brown, sticky with Coke residue. Pagers echoed as employees yelled orders back and forth in fits of inefficiency. The cleaner sat outside, watching sparrows duel for crumbs. ‘Amen to that.’ Saskia said, through a mouthful of food. ‘I was watching Jamie Oliver and this one time he made chicken nuggets. Just put a whole chicken in a blender. Feet, face, and feathers.’ ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ ‘And I heard this chick in America started growing a dick cause she ate so much beef. All the growth hormones.’ ‘Sas.’ She looked up. ‘Seriously, where’s the toilet?’ ‘Mate, what’s your problem? You peed at mine.’ ‘Thanks for reminding me, I’ll just sit here till I wet myself then.’ Gesturing behind, her eyes fell to my unfinished burger. I nudged open each door, before returning to the first cubicle for its paper. The sanitary disposal lid was propped open, coloured tampon wrappers sprinkled on the floor. An ad on the door displayed various types of underpants. ‘70% of people with genital herpes get it from a partner who didn’t have an outbreak at the time of sexual contact.’ It was only once I’d finished reading the ad that I realised I hadn’t peed yet. There was a hot melon slung between my hips, dripping battery acid into the bowl. Water pummelled the grungy sink, splashing my shirt. Ben Folds smiled from the print, tears rolling from his cheeks. I haven’t eaten anything strange recently. Or exercised differently. Should probably go away by itself. The hand-dryer pumped more noise than air, so I wiped my hands down my thighs. ‘I trust your trip was satisfying, given its duration.’ ‘If only. I couldn’t go.’ ‘I know they’re gross, but surely

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you could have made a toilet paper seat cover if need be.’ I laughed, and told her what happened. ‘You fuckwit. You’ve got a urinary tract infection. I got one last year when I was with James… and Isaac. I can’t believe you haven’t had one before.’ We binned our scraps, and she led me around to the pharmacy. Medicine refrigerators cooled the store. On our left, Macey tested perfumes, assaulting sterile air. Heads down, we turned right and busied ourselves with white packages although I didn’t know what to look for. Macey usually spent her time questioning the newsagent nextdoor, and reading his fishing magazines. ‘Total nutcase,’ the newsagent would say, or ‘mental health patient’, as the pharmacist told his disconcerted customers. ‘Not a serious threat.’ There was a clank, and heavy breathing behind us. ‘What’s your name?’ Macey asked. I was hit by the smell of unwashed clothes, unmasked by floral alcohol. Saskia became enthralled with the children’s shampoo she was holding. ‘…Meg.’ ‘Meg what?’ I glanced at the baby powder next to me. ‘Johnson.’ Her face twitched as she picked at the scabs across her arms. I couldn’t tell if she was staring at my shirt print or my boobs. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘What? Oh. Sas... kia.’ She said, now distracted by Macey’s joggers and 1999 Robbie Williams tour shirt. ‘Saskia what?’ Blood seeped from Macey’s reopened wound, collecting under her nails. ‘Saskia, what’s your last name!’ The pharmacist’s assistant glared over and cleared her throat. ‘Uh, Johnson.’ Idiot. ‘You two must be twins. You look a lot alike.’ Pushing past us, she squashed herself into a seat, waiting for her script. The pharmacist’s assistant eyed her from behind the counter. Sas found the stuff in the next

aisle. ‘Ural’. She said it’d get me through ‘til I saw a doctor. ‘That comes to eight ninety nine today.’ ‘Savings, thanks.’ Macey fidgeted in her chair to see my item, eyebrows wrinkling her pockmarked forehead. Brown paper masked my purchase. Zigzag teeth clenched the bag shut. Wood pulp shame. The automatic door sounded again as we approached the car park. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Home, Macey.’ ‘Can I come?’ Her shiny face squinted at us through the sunset. Fingers pierced her brown paper bag. ‘…Sorry, we… don’t have enough seats.’ ‘Maybe next time.’ She said. Macey hoisted her tracksuit pants into a camel toe and turned down an alleyway. I thumped the radio onto a station, but the squeaky brakes marred the song. ‘I should have listened in sex ed,’ I said. ‘Fat lot of good that would have done you. That was the first health unit I actually paid attention in, and I only found out about it ‘cause Kira doesn’t stop complaining when she gets them. You just gotta remember to pee after.’ It was some comfort, but I was still left wondering how I didn’t know and what else I’d been doing wrong. I’d thought I knew my body well. ‘Come have lunch with me during my break tomorrow, ay?’ Sas asked. ‘Alright.’ Her headlights cast my shadow on the roller door and I walked inside.

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Unsealed A curated selection of the weird shit that we know we all do. This ain’t Girlfriend, or Dolly, it’s loud and proud. Unsealed. This is our life — this is your life — and though it can be thoughtful, philosophical, dark, and vulnerable, it’s also bloody weird and funny and gross.

So when I was about eight or nine years old, I was a confused and curious little girl. One day I went to the bathroom, and when I was all done, I saw a bra hanging on the hook on the back of the door. I removed my shirt and tried to put it on because I actually had no idea what they were or what they did. At the same time, I decided to get a menstrual pad out from the cupboard underneath the sink, because I’d seen them before but also had no idea what they were for. I proceeded to remove my pants, and stood up on top of the toilet to see how I looked in the mirror. While I was holding the pad onto my nether-region, my male cousin — about fifteen years old — walked in. Yep. That happened. I forgot to lock the bathroom door. And we made eye contact. And we never spoke of what he had just seen ever again.

Yours truly, Curiosity Killed the Cat Maybe it’s because my family is strict and conservative, but one of my sexual fantasies I fulfilled is giving road head

while naked, in broad daylight. While my boyfriend and I were getting hot off my exhibitionism, we laughed when the car started beeping that its oil was also too hot. So hot, the car stopped running. At a busy T-intersection. Cars were beeping their horns, some stepped out of their vehicles to assist us. After the fastest record of putting clothes on, I rushed out and caught the first bus home — chucking the g-string that I forgot to put back on out of the bus window. I hope whoever found it washed it, or chucked it, and regularly checks their car oil.

Regards, Prurient Passenger I was dipping digestives in milk and I dipped one too long and when I took it out the bottom half of the digestive had disintegrated so I had to eat half a dry digestive and drink a cup of milk with bits of digestive biscuit floating around in it

Too sad ttyl, Sad Cookie

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Last year, while my housemates were all away on holidays, my boyfriend and I decided we would just walk around the house naked. This went all fine and well, until one day, we were watching TV, and my brand-new housemate walked in on us while we were completely naked. All we had time to do was cover ourselves with cushions, and watch him walk away after apologising. We never spoke of this incident again.

to a huge red stain on my chair. Then I looked up and made eye contact with blonde-sexy-art-teacher. Yep. Straight. In. The. Eyes. There may still be a chair at my high school with a huge amount of my DNA. Don’t worry, I wiped it clean.

Unapologetically, Nudist

My boyfriend and I decided to get a little bit creative with our sexual endeavours, and had sex in public for the first time. We searched for the most secluded bush area around Lake Burley Griffith and started going at it. When we got home that night, we realised that both our clothes were soaked in blood, and knew that there shouldn’t be that amount of blood on us (considering we hadn’t murdered anyone). We were both super freaked out — we didn’t know whose blood it was or where it came from so we both jumped into the shower to examine our genitals. Upon my boyfriend realising that it was actually his blood, he came close to tears, so we rushed to the hospital. That night I learnt what a ‘Banjo String’ is, that it can break, and that the Canberra Hospital emergency room is grossly underfunded.

Once, when I was sunbathing at the beach with a few girlfriends, I untied my neck straps and pulled the top down as far as I dared. I lay there for a while and talked, drank from my water bottle, scrolled through Instagram, etc. until I fell asleep. When I woke up later, I saw that my friends were in the water swimming, so I sort of just got up a little bit in my lethargic state to scratch my stomach, and one on my thigh, then laid there for a few minutes half-comatose. I started noticing people sort of gawking at me, so I looked around a lot, and finally down to where my top was supposed to be. Somehow both sides had either been blown off or pulled completely off my boobs, and a lot of Coogee had ended up seeing them as a result.

Breast regards, Beach Bae I had a small crush on my (extremely) attractive art teacher throughout year nine, and I was building up a (nonexistent) friendly relationship. Then, one month the crimson stain paid a visit. Now, this was the first visit! As in my first period. Let’s just say I was ill-prepared. I was old enough to know what to do, but didn’t realise what to do fast enough. So, at the end of a one-and-ahalf hour art class, I stood up to a huge blood stain on the back of my light grey school dress, and looked down

Cordially, Sista-from-another-mista

Please consider the environment before printing this email, Bloody Mary While trapped in a tent (caught at the mercy of a faulty zip) this New Year’s Eve, I peed into a water bottle. My drunken aim somewhat off, and the water bottle itself already half-full of water, I spilled, sprayed, and overfilled. I slept the first night of 2016 soaking in my own piss.

Sincerely, Tent Wetter

Igniting Liberation Gabriela Falzon

There are certain stories that deserve to be told, That we have a duty to tell, To recite, Like truth itself, And chant, Igniting liberation, Freedom. We can hear each striking wave becoming something bigger, Like power that is voicelessly growing, And pain, The beautiful kind. The stories that are underneath us and within us. The yelling back of the words that demean us. Some like to say ‘womanhood = vagina’ ‘gender roles = your choice’ ‘patriarchy = myth’ ‘naming oppression = the victimisation of men’ But we say Solidarity is our voice And our stories are our rhythmic songs of truth.

There are certain stories that deserve to be told, That we have a duty to tell. Words that belong in our hearts are constantly made political, Because silence is more destructive than sorrow, And there is no excuse for reinforcing our relegation. The freedom that you offer me is not the kind I want: What good is the law if we are not allowed to rewrite it? Hope is when we make this moment a shame that is read aloud like history. These conflicting veins of hope make change inevitable, Strength immutable. There are certain stories that deserve to be told, That we have a duty to tell. We are a movement that is infinitely capable of loving, Chanting discarded discourse, Forever alive with the stories we own. With every fist we name each haunting word, And fight each silence with life itself.

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BOSSY presents

Flawless Tunes ***Flawless – Beyonce (feat. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) Raising the Skate – Speedy Oritz Survival – Adult Mom Townie – Mitski Fergalicious - Fergie Modern Girl – SleaterKinney Pedestrian At Best – Courtney Barnett Shake it Off – Taylor Swift Gossip Folks – Missy Elliot (feat. Ludacris) Jane - Girlpool

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Gifts for the Men’s Rights Activist in Your Life Suggested course readings — tools for a better, more constructive discourse at ANU. Codie Bell

Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men

✽✽ Abuse is not an anger problem: abusive men never ‘lose control’, although they may use that as an excuse. Their behaviour is calculated to intimidate and control their partner. ✽✽ Trying to ‘remain neutral’ when friends or family are involved in domestic violence means you are colluding with the abusive man, whether you want to or not.

Lundy Bancroft. Berkley Books, 2003.

Quotes from this book show up a lot in the feminist internet universe, and deciding to give it a read has been one of the best decisions I’ve made for my feminism and my life. Reading it has helped me identify the toxic relationships I’ve had with men in my life, and empowers me to call out abusive behaviour when I see it around me. Bancroft is refreshingly unapologetic in asserting that domestic violence is a crime perpetrated by men, against women. It’s a long read, but the three points that spoke the most to me were ✽✽ Abusive men tie your brain in knots, so you spend all your time and energy trying to ‘figure them out’, which is a distraction from their abusive behaviour.

All my friends are sick of hearing about this book, but it gave me my life back — now I gotta foist it on someone else.

Rashna Farrukh

Wadjda

Haifaa al-Mansour, 2012. Directed by the first female feature-length director in Saudi Arabia, this movie centres around a twelve year old girl named Wadjda and her quest for a bicycle. The only problem is that Wadjda is a girl, and girls in Saudi society do not ride bikes, which are considered ‘boys’ toys’. As we follow Wadjda in her quest, we are introduced to her society, its cul-

Bossy

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ture and, in particular, its treatment of girls and women. Living in a world that is at every moment scrutinising Muslim majority countries — and Saudi Arabia especially — it is refreshing to see this portrayal, free of heavy judgement, though the bittersweetness of being female is un-concealed. It is incredible to see that while in Australia we rally for equal pay, women across the world battle it out for the right to simply ride their bike after school.

Joanna Gaze

The Misogyny Factor Anne Summers. University of New South Wales Press, 2013. I was already a believer in feminism and gender equality before I read Anne Summers. But this was the first book I read that actually broke down the systematic oppression that women face. I knew that the media had treated Julia Gillard unfairly, I knew that I felt uncomfortable about how she was referred to, but this book told me why..

Jill Chuah Masters

Not That Kind of Girl Lena Dunham. Random House, 2014. Lena Dunham cops a lot of flack. Some deeply necessary, some totally dispiriting. Essentially, Not That Kind of Girl is not that kind of book to teach feminism with, but it is a deeply affecting, naively frustrating, eye-opening read. It taught me about a world I’ll never understand; infamy, posh jobs, fiercely american idiosyncrasies. But it also taught me about the world I live in everyday. It hurt to read Dunham’s stories about sex, about

the hatred and maltreatment of her own body, about the crude and callous actions and relationships that shaped her. Sometimes, looking in the mirror at the end of a day, I think of some of its plainest words: “I look alright. I look like myself.” Admittedly, this note of affirmation is overrun by overshares, and this book has many inconsistencies. But even in its missteps, even in its parochialism, it forced me to be critical. It sharpened my desire for intersectionality. It urged me to be self-reflective. When I hated this book, it was in the same way that now and then I hate myself. I read it, and — no matter what you say about Dunham, no matter what she says about herself — it changed me, just a little.

Kathy Wu

Blind Mountain Li Yang, 2007.

This film centres on a young Chinese woman, Xuemei, who is sold as a bride to a village in the remote countryside. At times hard to watch, this film criticises and exposes the on-going social problem of selling women for marriage in modern day China. These things go unnoticed by the world at large. While the majority of Western media is focused on condemning China’s poor human rights record, it skims past everyday injustices: on the treatment of many Chinese women. As I sat alone in my room at night to watch this film, I felt utterly disgusted and terrified — I had to wrap myself in a blanket like a burrito, and pause once or twice to pull myself together again. From China myself, I felt (and still feel) very privileged to be safe and secure in Australia, not worrying about the possibility of having go through the same, horrific ordeal. It is alarming to know that women in China and other parts of Asia have to live in fear of being trafficked or sold to villages as wives, with virtually no route of escape. Definitely not for the light-hearted.

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Bossy

Useful Contacts ANU Women’s Officer

Linnea is available any time on 0467 092 808, or for non-urgent matters on sa.womens@anu.edu.au

ANU Security

Domestic Violence Crisis Service

Phone: (02) 6280-0900 24hr telephone information, counselling, support, and referral, access to safe accommodation service for individuals in crisis affected by domestic violence.

Phone: 02 6125 2249

Women’s Legal Centre (ACT & Region)

Canberra: (02) 6257 4499 Toll Free: 1800 634 669 The Centre offers free, confidential telephone advice Monday to Friday 9.30am to 12.00 noon. Women who do not speak English can contact us through the Translating and Interpreting Service.

Legal Aid Telephone Advice and Information Line

Local Call Cost: 1300 654 314 After hours duty lawyer service for urgent advice Phone: 0429 440 084 Email address: legalaid@legalaid. canberra.net.au

Australian Federal Police Victim Liaison Officers Phone (02) 6245 7441 Fax (02) 6245 7266

Sexual Health and Family Planning ACT

Street Address: Level One, 28 University Avenue, Canberra, ACT, 2601 Mailing Address : GPO Box 1317, Canberra ACT 2601 shfpact@shfpact.org.au Reception : 02 6247 3077

Canberra Hospital

Yamba Dr, Garran ACT 2605 Phone: (02) 6244 2222

ANU Health

Location: Ground floor, Sports Union Building, North Road, ANU Campus Building 18 Front Desk: (+61) 02 - 6125 3598 (internal extension 53598) Nurse: (+61) 02 - 6125 9695 (internal extension 59695) (between 2pm and 4pm weekdays) Facsimile: (+61) 02 - 6125 0069

Family Services (After hours crisis number) Phone: 1300 556 72

Welfare Rights and Legal Centre ACT

Provides legal advice and assistance specialising in social security, tenancy and student assistance. Catchments; ACT and parts of NSW in DSS Area South West that covers (Albury, Bega, Orange, Wagga). Also operates a nighttime legal advice service. Phone: 02 6247 2177 Fax: 02 6257 4801

Victim Support ACT

Phone (02) 6205 2066 Toll Free 1800 822 272 Email victimsupport@act.gov.au

Victims of Crime Coordinator’s Office Phone (02) 6205 2066 Toll free 1800 822 272 Email vocc@act.gov.au

Canberra Rape Crisis Centre

Phone (02) 6247 2525 Business Phone (02) 6247 8071 Fax (02) 6247 2536 Email crcc@rapecrisis.org.au

Domestic Violence and Protection Order Unit (Legal Aid) Phone: (02) 6207 1874

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There is an ANU Learning Community for everyone. Come along to one of our events, share in the discovery and make friends along the way.

Find us on social media for more details. @lc_anu fb.com/anulearningcommunities twitter.com/lc_anu

Canberra Canberra Canberra Rape Rape Rape Crisis Crisis Crisis Centre Centre CentreCentr Canb Canberra Rape Crisis

Providing Providing support Providing support and support counselling and counselling and counselling for children, for children, for children, P Providing support and counselling for children, youngyoung people, young people, women people, women andwomen men and men and men young people, women and men who have who been have who have affected been been affected byaffected child by sexual child by child sexualsexual who have been affected by child sexual assault assault andassault /or and sexual /or and sexual assault. /or sexual assault. assault. assault and /or sexual assault. For more For more information For more information information or to make or to or make a donation to make a donation avisit donation www.crcc.org.au visit www.crcc.org.au visit www.crcc.org.au For more i For more information or to make a donation visit www.crcc.org

Phone Phone the Phone Counselling the the Counselling Counselling and and Crisis and Crisis Support Crisis Support Support Phone Phone the Counselling and Crisis Support LineLine on 6247 Line on 6247 on 2525 6247 2525 2525 2525 Line on 6247

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STRAIGHT BISEXUAL LESBIAN GAY TRANS QUEER OR EVEN SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN?

YOUR SEXUAL HEALTH MATTERS! Take charge of your sexual health and wellbeing Visit our website at shfpact.org.au where you’ll find heaps of information — or make an appointment at the SHFPACT clinic by calling 02 6247 3077 • Sexual concerns and contraception services • Pap smears and HPV vaccine • Unplanned pregnancy counselling • STI and HIV screening, checks and advice • Reproductive and sexual health services and information for female, male and trans people • Education and training programs • Disability friendly services

SEXUAL HEALTH AND FAMILY PLANNING ACT

The SHFPACT clinic is located at Level 1, 28 University Ave, Canberra City. We offer a holistic, confidential and respectful service. Call 02 6247 3077 or email shfpact@shfpact.org.au to make an appointment. More information at shfpact.org.au