Trove 2022

trove contents

VISUAL ART

A series of visual art pieces

8 Portrait Paintings by Year 9 students

Harper Copp, Leo Algar, Oliver Turner, William Stronach, James Middleton, Caleb Tandy Matthew Collins, James Renton-Weir

10 Clay Farm Animals by Year 7 students

12 Lino Prints of Fremantle by Year 10 and 11 students

Micah Renton, Joshua Ranallo, Samson Connolly, Jarran Mitchell-Bathgate, Declan Rees, Luca Bertolini

14 Skateboard and Hexagon Art by Year 9 and 10 students

Matthew Collins, Caleb Tandy, Xavier Fitzpatrick, Oliver Garvey

15 Etchings of Fremantle by Jack Prelevich (Year 11)

16 Individual art work by Year 11 and 12 students

Beach Time by Oliver Renton (Year 12)

Spade by Matthew Sapienza (Year 11)

Generational Love by Seth Galipo (Year 12)

Cracked by George Carlson (Year 11)

Convergence and Beauty by Kyan Mathews (Year 11)

18 Slip Street Collages by Riley Woods (Year 12)

20

Australian Animals by Year 10 students

Tiernan Lyne, Oliver Garvey, Noah Wood, Oscar Holohan, Jackson Mithen

Cover artwork by Oliver Garvey (Year 10)

ENGLISH

A collection of creative and analytical writing

24 A Single Flute

A poem by Ryker Rijs (Year 7)

25 Darwin Botanical Gardens

A poem by Ahren Schulze (Year 7)

26 Blossoms Bay

A poem by Jake Olsen (Year 7)

28 There is Always Hope

A poem by Jonah Wieser (Year 7)

30 A Reflection on the Humble Battery

Descriptive writing by Elliot Garvey (Year 8)

31 An Exposition inspired by Metamorphosis

Descriptive writing by Xavier Cook (Year 8)

32 Cottesloe Beach on a Rainy Day

Descriptive writing by Lucas Prince (Year 7)

33 The Storm Rages On

Descriptive writing by Jason Peters (Year 7)

34 Menacing Scream

A gothic short story by Luke Johnston (Year 11)

36 Pariah

A dystopian short story by David Oxford (Year 11)

38 Bottlebrush Boys

A short story by James Robartson (Year 12)

40 Rockies

A short story by Jamie Neesham (Year 10)

42 Romeo and Juliet

An essay by Jackson Mithen (Year 10)

44 War Bride

A close reading by Micah Renton (Year 10)

46 Ability Grouping: The Future of Education

A persuasive piece by Evan De Nicolis (Year 8)

48 Bang! Bang! Bye! Bye!

A persuasive piece by Xander Burling (Year 8)

50 Bohemian Prosody

An open letter by Sam Shales (Year 12)

52 Virtue Signalling

A listicle by Charlie Warren (Year 12)

MEDIA

A series of film posters by Year 8

54 - 58 The Plague by Adrian Cuccovia

The Plant by Ethan Putland

The Bridge by Heath Johnson

The Atom by Jack Dudley

Outlaws by Luke O’Donnell

Disease Police by Sam Locke

Tomorrow by William Lomma

The Abduction by William Pickett

foreword

In our second annual edition of Trove, we commemorate the extraordinary talents of our students in the learning areas of Visual Arts, English and Media. Our students have been inventive in their work, proving that taking risks and breaking rules is key to developing creativity.

Our Art students have used a range of media to offer thought-provoking compositions in various shapes, forms, colours and textures. Our English students have manipulated language style, and structure to produce brilliant imaginative, interpretive, persuasive, and analytical texts. And lastly, our Media students have engineered visual and written elements in digital forms to create impressive film posters.

We feel very fortunate to be able to edit and curate this anthology and we hope you enjoy it as much as last years!

Ms Mai Barnes English and Literature Teacher

Ms Tavia Pursell Academic Excellence Programme Coordinator and

English and Literature Teacher

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For their support and assistance with the creation of Trove thanks to Visual Art teachers Carmen Stewart and Zoe Francis, and Media teacher Lana De Palma for selecting and supplying the incredible selection of Visual Art and Media work. Thanks also to the fabulous English department teachers for helping select and supply the wide range of fantastic pieces from their students. Lastly, thanks to Ms Cherie Butcher, Miss Mali Merttens and Mr Tom Yeates in the College Communications team for their tremendous patience, diligence and innovation in putting it all together.

This text was produced on Whadjuk Noongar land. We acknowledge the traditional owners of this ancient land, the Whadjuk people of Noongar Boodja. We recognise their continuing connection to the land and waters and pay our respects to elders past, present and emerging.

“Creativity is inventing, experimenting, growing, taking risks, breaking rules, making mistakes, and having fun.”

Mary Lou Cook

VISUAL ART

A series of visual art pieces by students from Year 7 to 12

Portrait Paintings by Year 9 students

Harper Copp (Year 9)

Leo Algar (Year 9)

Oliver Turner (Year 9)

William Stronach (Year 9)

James Middleton (Year 9)

Matthew Collins (Year 9)

Caleb Tandy (Year 9)

James Renton-Weir (Year 9)

Clay Farm Animals by Year 7 students

Lino Prints of Fremantle

by Years 10 and 11 students

Micah Renton (Year 10)

Joshua Ranallo (Year 10)

Samson Connolly (Year 10)

Jarran Mitchell-Bathgate (Year 10)

Luca Bertolini (Year 11)

Skateboard and Hexagon Art by Year 9 and 10 students

Matthew Collins (Year 9)

Caleb Tandy (Year 9)

Xavier Fitzpatrick (Year 10)

Oliver Garvey (Year 10)

Etchings of Fremantle by

Jack Prelevich (Year

11)

Individual Pieces by Year 11 and 12 students

Beach time Oliver Renton (Year 12)

Spade Matthew Sapienza (Year 11)

Generational Love Seth Galipo (Year 12)

Cracked George Carlson (Year 12)

Convergence Kyan Mathews (Year 11)

Beauty Kyan Mathews (Year 11)

Slip Street Collages by Riley Woods (Year 11)

Australian Animals by Year 10 students

Tiernan Lyne (Year 10)

Oliver Garvey (Year 10)

Noah Wood (Year 10)

Oscar Holohan (Year 10)

Jackson Mithen (Year 10)

ENGLISH

A collection of creative and analytical writing

Trumpets blow and violins play

In the centre the conductor sways

Cellos hum and choirs sing

Pianos cry and triangles ring.

A Single Flute

RYKER RIJS YEAR 7

Mellifluous chords are loud and clear

A guitar twang resonates to the ear

A cymbal crashes like a roar

A mellow harp strum could cease a war.

A didgeridoo drones through the room

And the orchestra merges to resume

The brass blows and strings slide

Percussion bangs and singers sigh.

And a single flute stands alone

In the orchestra, as it’s lightly blown.

Darwin Botanic Gardens

AHREN SCHULZE YEAR 7

Giant coconut trees dangle above me like Christmas decorations gently swaying in the hot territory breeze.

I can smell the sweet wafts of eucalyptus nectar and the taste of freshly picked avocado dancing on my tongue.

In the distance is a café made of jarrah wood as dark as the night sky.

Beneath my feet a galaxy of different blues gush in the river And the quiet hum of the bees around me pulsates gently in the air.

Blossoms Bay

JAKE OLSEN

YEAR 7

The giant waves crash onto the soft sand

Sandcastles fade away in the water

Families perch on colourful towels laughing and eating lunch

The sand squelches as I step on it

Soft cries as small particles squish together

The waves crash gently in quiet rhythms wafting away in the breeze

The ocean is ice-cold as I first jump in and steals my breath

The scent of sausages sizzling on the barbeque

floats towards the shoreline

The aroma of onions calls me from the ocean’s depths

The sand sizzles underfoot as I run for lunch

I can taste the salty water as I head up the dunes

The smell of sizzling sausages fills my nostrils

And mingles with the scent of summer sunscreen

This is Blossoms Bay

There is Always Hope

JONAH

WIESER

YEAR 7

The cold, hard rain pounds on the earth

Dark, gloomy clouds circle overhead

The seas begin to splash and thrash

The mighty winds toss me about My whole body is engulfed in darkness

And everything is coming down with me

Beautiful, terrible crystals of rock-hard hail

Cut into my fragile skin like a thousand needles

Everything is lost forever in this never-ending storm

But there is hope... there is hope... there is hope...

For at the top of a faraway storm-ravaged hill

That’s been beaten and bruised by this hell

Bursting through the pitch-black clouds

That cover the once bright blue sky

Sits a singular ray of beautiful, bold sunlight – bling!

Gleaming gorgeously and bathed in beauty

It stands there as if nothing is happening

Oblivious to the carnage that is all around...

There is always hope

A Reflection on the Humble Battery

GARVEY YEAR 8

Ah. The battery. If memory serves me right, this piece of the complex design of electricity, had a long and interesting journey, dating back to two people from the 1800s.

Alessandro Volta had this brainwave of creating the world’s first thing which would be later known as a battery. The creator had pushed electricity to its limits. The so-called voltaic pile consisted of alternating discs of silver and zinc separated by leather or pasteboard that had been soaked in salt water, lye, or some alkaline solution. Strips of metal at each end of the pile were connected to small cups filled with mercury. When Volta touched both cups of mercury with his fingers, he received an electric shock; the more discs he assembled, the greater the jolt he received.

Battery. Invention. New. Original. But why? Mind your own business.

Before the battery’s existence, the one and only American inventor, Benjamin Franklin, had used the term “battery” whilst doing experiments with electricity. Benjamin Franklin’s famous experiment to attract electricity by flying a kite in a lightning storm was only one of many late eighteenth-and early nineteenth-century experiments conducted to learn about electricity.

An Exposition inspired by Metamorphosis

XAVIER COOK

YEAR 8

As Jermain Jamal awoke from a deep slumber, he felt a feeling he had not felt ever before. His body was heavy: he was a skinny man who was often aware of his bones, but now felt oddly boneless. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs and his eyes were— well, they were looking in different directions. He found the place where his eyes met and forced them to look forward.

His sheets were soddened and wet. Not knowing what had happened he reached for them, but then realised he had no arms. He wriggled out of the covers and found he had no legs either. He slithered off the bed and down the stairs to the bathroom.

In this moment, it became clear: he was an oversized slug.

There and then he realised he couldn’t wear his signed Air Jordan 1s that had been signed by THE Michael Jordan. Thinking he didn’t belong in the house anymore, he slithered over to the front door, leaving a trail of thick, clear slime behind him. With no arms to open the door he decided to use his eyes, which extended out like slick, firm tentacles. He wrapped them around the handle and opened the door before slithering outside. The California heat beat down on him as he exited the building and he slunk his way down the road, cars zooming past him at high speed.

All at once there was a loud crash, as a car swerved off the road and knocked into some metal bins. Even from behind the inflated airbag the driver didn’t shift his eyes from the strange sight before him: a giant slug, sliding across the sidewalk, on a quiet suburban street.

Cottesloe Beach on a Rainy Day

LUCAS PRINCE YEAR 7

Muted cornflower blue water encased in white foam crashes on the rocks. In the distance bright orange buoys jump around in the sea, like goldfish out of water. The sun is covered by a layer of grey clouds, only little streams of laser beam light make their way past. The sand is soaked, and the rain has made miniscule divots on the surface and ripples in the water. The waves crash loudly against the shore like thunder in a raging storm. In the distance seagulls squawk and fly, trying to find cover.

The salty air blows out from the ocean and hangs heavy and thick with salt. Seaweed that has just washed up on the shore smells of salty fish. The sand underfoot is damp, but dry and fluffy a few centimetres down, like a pancake covered in wet maple syrup. The sharp rocks are jagged and rough, with a very thin layer of algae making them slippery. Rain is falling, soaking everything it touches. The beach is grey and bleak and disappointing. The warmth of summer is yet to arrive and dry everything out.

The Storm Rages On

JASON PETERS

YEAR 7

Thunder booms and echoes in the night sky. Darkness blankets everything. A blinding flickering light explodes in the darkness, rocketing down to sea. Rain plummets from the sky and lands like shrapnel, bombing the surface of the water. Wild turbulent waves roll and toss in every which way. Silver fish scuttle away under the water. The waves are like skyscrapers lunging high in the air and then breaking furiously, barreling to the shore. The storm rages on.

Hail descends from the sky like a box of spilled marbles. Water splashes onto the boat. Raindrops fall in slow motion. A blinding light illuminates the sky. Lightning tumbles out from above and exploding in the water. Thunder erupts in an explosion of sound, as loud as a gunshot. The wind is an invisible force blowing everywhere. I can feel water splashing onto my face. The salty water stings my eyes. The storm rages on.

Waves smash into the boat and sway it like a rocking chair. Everywhere is the wet and dewy smell of rain. Snowflakes plummet from the heavens, elegantly dancing their way down. They wither and melt away as soon as they touch the ground. I can taste the cold and wet night sky. The storm rages on.

Menacing Scream

LUKE JOHNSTON

YEAR 11

The screaming was deafening.

I was looking around this dense, thick forest, keenly searching for a safe secluded area, to escape this traumatic sound. I was drowning in this scream, as if it was a thick noise barrier pressuring my ear drums to failure. I had found this small cave, moist and peppered with moss and other slippery surfaces, and temporarily the scream had grown quieter. I gathered my thoughts and tried to decide what thing had been letting out this awful yell. At first, I thought it was a bobcat with its raspy high pitch voice but figured it must have been a lady in somewhat distress. The screaming had an aspect of fear from something else, something that could yell louder than any other animal on this planet. I decided at that moment to search for this dreadful yelp. Now I think about it, it was not the best idea... There I was looking for the tone of ultimate destruction after I had just fled from it.

This forest was very hard to navigate through. Everywhere you looked it seemed as though you were experiencing infinite déjà vu. Every tree, every stick looked the same, although I pushed on observing this woodland. The scream had only been going non-stop consistently with no hesitation to seize. It seemed supernatural in a way, as if whatever was letting this yelp out would have lungs of steel and a breath that could last a million lifetimes. The scream was definitely increasing in pitch, like it knew I was searching for the source. I reached this secluded area, yet the scream became more unbearable, it just kept growing louder and louder.

I reached a circle of trees with dense bush. I could not peek through but was desperate. My journey hadn’t come this far with this much damage to my eardrums for nothing. I desperately started hacking at this thick bush with miserable force. Suddenly, light shone upon my eyes, creating a blinding effect. I felt dizzy with agony. Despairing illumination burned my eyes, but I kept scratching and punching this bush till I got to the other side. It felt like the green and brown never ended, leaf after leaf, twig after twig, until I started striking nothing. The scream remained unbearable, and the luminescence continued tormenting my shrivelled skin.

I opened my eyes to get a glance at whatever was ahead. The scream stopped, and it was like a light has been flicked off. I slowly opened my eyes with great fear to see a woman, lying down sobbing. I walked over to her crunching leaves with my shoes. I helped her up and asked why there was bright lights and terrible screams. She whispered, “They’re coming for you.” Standing there in confusion I keenly asked “Who?” She replied with a chuckle.

I started contemplating what this could mean, wondering if she was the one who planned this. I couldn’t think of an alternative. The woman was obviously in distress, I tried helping her up, she started screaming again, this time louder and higher pitched, my ears once again in fell into agony. The light shone once again, I grew a menacing headache, bawling on the ground hoping this ordeal would stop and wishing this whole scenario was only a dream...

I must have slept as later I woke up, headache still there, just as painful. But I was not outside. Instead, windows barred me in like I was in a jail cell, a door was made with heavy metal, and the walls were covered with fingernail scratches. The door slowly opened, creaking like an old house in the middle of the night.

A man holding a large needle crept through and quietly said “Have another bad dream again, sir?” Confused I replied, “What dream? What even is this place?” He walked over sharply and forced the needle into my arm and creepily smirked, “Another bad dream, so it was...” I just fell down to the ground and started crying.

The deafening screaming erupted again in my ears. Looking up, I saw this dense, thick forest...

Pariah: A Tale of Lost Love, Corruption and Escapism

DAVID OXFORD

YEAR 11

I should be in agony. My bruised knuckles bleed as my exhausted legs continue to push on through the soaked city streets and claustrophobic corridors. The grimy pigs continue to chase me as I jump fences and dart from side-to-side dodging bullets like fireworks blazing past. My body of sixty should be burning in pain like the flames of Hell, but as the thunderous rain wash-es over me like an unholy baptism, I am a man twenty years younger, forty years younger. I am reborn anew.

Bright red and blue lights and blaring sirens from Police Spinners wail like a newborn through-out the icy-cold November night in New York. The lieutenant with his raised brow and stretched skin furiously barks orders like a dog to the dirty pigs chasing me. The pigs are different now, ever since they were allowed to use unhindered amounts of force due to the 2049 Weapons Declaration Act, trigger-happy divisions now light up alleyways, street corners and homes with the cutting sound of high-round ammunition and blinding lights of muzzle flashes, the same sounds that took her away. But this information, this file will undo all of this and maybe give this damned society what it needs – freedom, justice, hope.

As I continue to run I can hear their slimy voices, calling me by the name this society has as-signed me, Detective #21195. That isn’t my name, I don’t even remember my birth given name anymore. This repulsive society relishes the idea of deconstructing your personality until you’re a mindless number, a drone walking the void that is the city’s streets. But they couldn’t tear her down, not through their usual methods, not without the help of a division armed to the teeth with assault rifles and 100 rounds at least. I remember coming back to our apartment on the 13th floor, ripped apart by bullet holes like an open-heart surgery or at least that’s what my mind tells me. I don’t even know my own past anymore, none of it – except for her.

I’m at a dead end. I hear the suffocating sirens and feel as if the walls are closing in until... a ladder! Like the hand of God, an oxidised and rusted ladder reaches down from the rustic roof-tops above the streets to a stranger in the dark. I reach the roof and stop for a moment to glance at the almost Lovecraftian moon. All those nights spent with my love staring at this space rock and yet I never appreciated its glistening beauty until now, until she was gone.

As I continue to run, my brain ponders why he would betray me. Detective #181090 was his name but everyone just called him by his family name, Caracappa. We worked together for thirty years, and we both took the same oath to follow the principles of the law, duty, mercy and honour. But this file represents how, like the Angel Lucifer, Caracappa fell from the light and into the open arms of the demons that dictate over this cesspool of a city.

The file spelled it out through police reports and blood red stamps of approval. The department always despised me because I was honest and decent and valued preserving the little bit of humanity left, over a promotion or bribe. They knew that there was no tangible threat that could bring me down, so they opted to take the psychological route. But time and time again I re-mained unfazed, unmoved like a statue by these attempts to destroy me. That fortitude endured until they stole my soul, my world, away from me. Caracappa sent out the orders and put the final bullet between her soft green eyes and lied to my face and laughed to the others. But there’s no time to think about this now. I hear the clambering of feet on the ladder and sound of rifles being reloaded.

So, I push on.

The building’s rooftop felt as if it went on for eternity. Seeing the same skylights and radar dishes over and over again, hearing the same advertisements from different televisions, it became almost nauseating. But then like a sharp sting from a hornet, the decade-old arthritis I’ve felt in my right knee returns. I have to stop, to catch my breath, but I can’t, not with the grubby pigs behind me, not with them so close, not when I’m so close.

So, I continue to run.

A large canyon of darkness appears between this rooftop and the next and I must make the dis-tance. I must take the leap. With the filthy pigs’ footsteps becoming louder and louder so does the beating of my heart.

And then, I jump.

As I’m gliding through the air, the fantasy in my head catches up with the reality of my body and I crash onto the fire escape of the next building and painfully stumble through the shat-tered window. As I sit bleeding from head to toe, I hide in the shadows from the voices of the putrid pigs and scanning searchlights and... finally breathe, really breathe and process the events that just occurred.

I slump down and begin to fall asleep. For now, I know I am safe but tomorrow will be different. I will be chased, I will be hunted, I will need to escape. Again.

Bottlebrush Boys

JAMES ROBARTSON YEAR 12

Summer was their favourite season. It was desperate attempts to climb paperbark trees and endless roaming of the hills. It was all the free time and none of the consequences. Every week felt like a year: a year spent grazing knees, peeling scabs and itching carpet burns. A year of reckless fun. Their parents weren’t around enough to tell them no, stitch their clothes up, make sure they got their lunch, or cover them in sunscreen. They didn’t think the UV rays would touch their young skin anyway.

Oscar and Jonas were always in sync. Every morning they’d wake up at the same time and head out to the sprawling mess of their garage. Oscar would scrape his training wheels across concrete, a smudge of vegemite still on his cheek from a rushed breakfast. Jonas would check both their tyres for punctures, and then they’d be off. They’d head for the hills, riding past flowering gumtrees and singing blue robins, flowing streams and the occasional spiderweb. Most people would avoid this overgrown strip between the suburban roads and the coast, but they had too much free time and too little supervision.

There, they would spend hours making forts out of broken branches and rotting wood. They’d pull reluctant bottlebrushes from their homes and attach them to their ankles using reeds they found by the streams. They would then head to the dunes, rolling down them in desperation to reach the water. The blue expanse offered the only escape from the unforgiving heat. Jonas would stay in longer, mocking his brother, who stayed on the shore and shaded himself under a ragged towel. “Can’t handle the heat, can ya Oscy?”

Jonas didn’t understand. Oscar could handle the heat— he had been in it all day. He just didn’t want to.

After Jonas began high school, he’d go out with his friends and Oscar would be left home alone. He’d do his best to entertain himself, crafting pillow forts and making sandwiches. When Jonas got home, he’d head for the shower to wash his sandy feet and peel of the dead skin. He would go and microwave their dinner, then the two boys would be in bed before either car pulled into the driveway. And that’s how growing up was.

By the time Oscar turned 21, Jonas had moved out of home and lived with his partner, Harriet, and their son Keegan. They’d moved to an old flat a few hundred kilometres up the coast. It still had that salty breeze he and Oscar would soak up after a long day. But the days he spent at the new beach were never the same without his little brother.

Keegan was too cheeky for his own good, with a face as pale as the moon and gleaming opal eyes. Most days Jonas and Harriet would take him down to the beach and he’d launch himself straight into the water. He seemed endlessly buoyant, but it was never long before Harriet would pull him out of the freezing ocean. The three of them would lie on her towel, covering Keegan’s eyes with her sunglasses and letting their skin soak up the sun.

It was Christmas Eve when they got the news. It was a day like any other day, and a day different from all others. The family headed to the beach in the morning, and the doctor in the afternoon. It was a routine appointment, as far as they were concerned. While the parents waited for some results, Keegan thought about the things he wanted for Christmas. Fun, snow and presents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the doctor’s words to his father: “Stage 4.”

The pain Jonas felt was nothing compared to the torture of looking into his son’s eyes and telling him the truth. He needed to be there to raise his son, to protect him. That night he cried with Harriet as they drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

They moved back to their old town, and Oscar greeted them at the old family home. His eyes were filled with tears as he hugged his brother. The four of them headed to the beach, nostalgic as they walked through the hills. To Keegan’s frustration, he had to copy his father. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and winced as his face was coated in a thick layer of zinc. When he started towards the water, a firm hand pulled him back. He had to wait 15 minutes.

So, he walked to the top of the dune and looked out at the cascade of bottlebrushes and gumtrees. He heard his uncle and father murmuring and tumbled back down the sand to the adults, who were crowded around the esky. They greeted him with outstretched arms. They had made him lunch.

Rockies

JAMIE NEESHAM

YEAR 10

The harsh heat of the golden sun glared down on the land, invading all with its sweltering rays of fire. The clear and deep blue sky outlined the few pale clouds floating about awkwardly through the air, moving aimlessly.

Easton’s light blonde hair blew with the strong easterly wind, revealing his fair but tan skin and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in his school uniform, a white polo plastered with multiple grass stains, contrasting with dark red shorts following the school’s colour scheme. ‘Westwood College’ was embroidered on the corner of his shirt, named after Westwood Forest, which was the rural community’s ‘playground’.

The school was a bustling and diverse mix of people, boys and girls melded from different shapes and shades hurled themselves past Easton. All shared the same goal of escaping this prison to seek freedom after the long day.

“Stop dawdling.” Max pleaded, “You didn’t forget about Rockies, did you?” “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Easton sighed hurrying along.

‘Rockies’ was a codename for their secret spot. A lake like no other, it was unimaginable until you saw it. They stumbled across it during the previous summer break when they found themselves temporarily lost in the woods.

Easton ran now, catching up to Max, and they paused briefly in front of the colossal wall of green marking the forest’s entrance. A small narrow dirt path was strewn with thick tree roots and bulky vegetation, built up of various vines and shrubbery, and it seemed ready to strangle any who dared enter. A small sign, made of rotted wood and faded letters, warned Leave no trace. Leave before dusk. Countless trails spiralled from the original path, winding in all different directions. A small green pole stood next to an opening to suggest a marked `safe’ path, but the boys winked at each other and scampered down a trail to the left with no pole. Branches, rocks and divots became more occurrent and this new path slowly narrowed. Despite this, Easton whizzed through the track robotically, like a master of his craft, without a drop of doubt.

After what felt like hours of sprinting through the cool dry air and endless obstacles, moving water could finally be heard trinkling along rocks. Easton and Max sighed with relief and satisfaction, then both gasped for air and wiped the sweat that dripped from their cheeks.

Max exhaled as he wheezed for oxygen. “Slow down next time,” he quavered, working his chest in and out. “I’m too tired.”

“Hurry up, let’s get in before the sun goes down. Remember the sign!” Easton insisted, eager to refresh himself of the coat of sweat formed on his back.

Turning the final bend, the track widened to reveal the lake. It appeared as if by magic, summoned into the centre of the forest by gods. It glimmered in the peachy afternoon sun, its light illuminating the endless rocks that surrounded the water’s edge. The surface was guarded from the winds by the great wall of oak and elm trees.

“We finally made it!” the boys cheered in perfect sync. “ROCKIES!”

Easton instinctively sat on his favourite boulder, inhaling the fresh hickory scent of the forest. Absorbing the lakes magnificence, he looked around hypnotized by its features. A small glimmer of focused light beamed into his eyes. The culprit was a small delicate stone, its radiance so large that it lit up along the edge of the shore. Upon further inspection, the rock was a sparkling sapphire blue and a perfect sphere. The stone seemed to have drained the blue of the surrounding lake water of its essence. Easton swiftly snuck it into the front pocket of his backpack and then hung it high off a tree branch.

“Stop daydreaming. Come and jump in!” Max beamed, clearly excited to embrace the lake’s beauty. He jumped in, disrupting the stillness of the lake. Small ripples formed around him, shattering the glassy layer that was protecting the depths. Easton hurriedly followed, diving down reaching for the bottom. They played around until the evening sun finally began to set, filling the sky with a hot-pink glow.

Hopping out of the warm lake first, Max was chilled to the bone by the icy air. Easton swam to the water’s edge, noticing in his peripheral vision bubbles rising from deep within the lake. He scrambled out as well, suffering the cold air which washed over him and feeling dazed by the bizarre change. After the foamy bubbles, the wind picked up causing the trees to let out a deathly shriek. The once crystal-clear water was overcome with a dirty silt, and moss suddenly sprouted from cracks within the rocks. Stormy clouds gathered in the sky above like an angry mob, ready to stir violence at a moment’s notice. Birds of all kinds fled the vicinity, screeching as if in terror.

Max’s face was overwhelmed by a slurry of emotions; shock, fear, anxiety and dread leaving him incapacitated. He screamed, “Easton, what’s happening?!”

“Shut up and run.” Easton replied as adrenaline flushed through his body. He grabbed his bag, and they sprinted back towards the trail. They reached it only to find thick shrub and logs now obstructing the already narrow path. Screams deep in the forest echoed through the lake. Easton scanned his brain – what could have possibly caused this?

Realisation hit. Harder than any sledgehammer.

The stone. The setting sun.

Leave no trace. Leave before Dusk.

Easton’s legs were trembling, he felt paralysed, held in a tight grasp by the menacing aura before him. He rummaged through his bag, ignoring Max’s shouts and the disasters around him. His mind was racing, heart pounding out of his chest as guilt enveloped him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the smooth surface of the stone, pulled it from the depths of his bag and hurled it far into the middle of the lake. For several drawn-out seconds of anticipation Easton and Max held their breaths.

Then Easton’s gaze was pulled to his favourite boulder. The slimy moss disintegrated, and the rumbling lake began to calm. Overhead the storm split, the sky cleared, and birds landed steadily on branches.

Easton and Max exhaled and grinned at each other. ‘Rockies’ was back.

An essay on

Romeo and Juliet

JACKSON MITHEN YEAR 10

William Shakespeare’s play, Romeo and Juliet , written in 1597, is a famous romantic tragic love story that revolves around two “star-crossed lovers” torn apart by their rival families who inevitably die as a result of their undying love for one another. The play employs a variety of figurative language features and double entrendres to represent Romeo as impulsive and Juliet as dramatic to strengthen the purpose that love surpasses all boundaries.

Through imagery and a simile, the character of Romeo is represented as impulsive to convey that his love for Juliet surpasses all boundaries. Romeo’s impulsive tendencies are both openly and subtly hinted at from the play’s beginning. In act 1, scene 5, Romeo first sets eyes upon Juliet whilst attending a party on the Capulet estate. Romeo falls in love instantly and talks lovingly about Juliet which is overheard by Tybalt. Romeo is so smitten that he says “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear”. Romeo referring to a jewel within this simile suggests Juliet’s superior beauty stands out from every other woman at the party. That this comment is made from the first time Romeo lays eyes on Juliet further strengthens his impulsive and spontaneous nature. A jewel has many positive connotations and to be described as one, means Juliet is more beautiful, more valued and more special than others, referring to possibly Rosaline, Romeo’s first love. For Romeo to say this, strengthens the idea of him being hasty as he has decided Juliet is better and as beautiful as a jewel immediately and yet he does not even know her. In the moment, Romeo does not consider the dangers or possible outcomes an ordinary person may think about when seeing or meeting someone for the first time. This displays the purpose that the love he already has for Juliet surpasses the emotional boundaries and is a direct result of his impulsiveness. The character of Romeo is further represented as impulsive through the language device of visual imagery. In act 2, scene 2, Romeo converses with Juliet after managing to reach her bedroom window, soon after leaving the party on the Capulet estate. Romeo, unable to leave Juliet behind, has climbed over the orchard wall and entered the garden of the enemy Capulets. He proclaims that “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out”. Romeo mentions “love’s light wings” and “stony limits” creating the visual imagery of him flying over the barrier outsider her house. Even though this is metaphoric and he isn’t able to fly, love makes him imagine he can. Romeo is blinded by his love and thinks nothing, not even the stony orchard wall on the enemy Capulet grounds, will stop him from trying to see Juliet. Romeo rushes into this quite quickly in the short time after leaving the party which reveals he tends to act without careful thinking, thus creating that sense of impulsiveness in his character. The alliteration of the “l” sound, the first letter of “love”, also emphasises how Romeo surpasses this physical boundary of the wall due to his love of Juliet. Therefore, Romeo is represented as impulsive to strengthen the purpose that love surpasses all boundaries, even physical ones, via the language devices of simile and imagery.

The character of Juliet is represented as dramatic for the same purpose that love surpasses all boundaries, but instead through the language devices of an oxymoron and double meaning/ambiguity. In act 3, scene 2, Juliet learns that her cousin, Tybalt has been killed by Romeo, her lover. Juliet lashes out with descriptions like “Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!” as she finds it impossible to believe that Romeo, now her beloved husband, is a killer. She uses the oxymorons “lovely tyrant” and “fiend angelical” interchangeably to describe him, reflecting her own conflicted emotions. The words used within these oxymorons contain direct contrasts as “lovely” and “angelical” have positive connotations whilst “tyrant” and “fiend” have negative connotations. Juliet is blinded by her love for Romeo, and she can’t say anything bad about him without a positive term before or after. Her cousin has just been murdered which, for most person, would be a boundary to the love she has for Romeo. Yet Juliet cannot seem to be stopped by this, due to her immense feelings of love strengthening the idea that her intense feelings overcome any barriers. The character of Juliet is further represented as dramatic through double meaning and ambiguity. In act 5, scene 3, Juliet sits by Romeo’s dead body after she wakes from her faked death: “I will kiss thy lips, haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative.” These are Juliet’s last words before she dies from the poison left on Romeo’s lips. Juliet mentions the phrase “die with a restorative”. Restorative means having the ability to restore health and strength which is quite an ambiguous statement in this case as death and restoring health are opposing ideas. This phrase creates a second meaning, signally that when Juliet dies, she and her well-being will essentially be restored, as she cannot imagine living without Romeo. This strengthens the representation of Juliet as dramatic as she kills herself straight away after she wakes up, as she is so overcome with Romeo’s death. Juliet is so in love with Romeo and this love surpasses the biggest boundary of death. Thus, Juliet is represented as extreme in her emotional responses to strengthen the purpose that love surpasses all boundaries and this is shaped by the language devices of an oxymoron and double meaning/ambiguity.

Romeo and Juliet employ a variety of language features to represent the lead characters as driven by their emotions. Visual imagery and simile have been utilised to represent Romeo as impulsive while oxymoron and double meaning/ ambiguity have been utilized to represent Juliet as dramatic. Both these characters have been represented by William Shakespeare to strengthen the purpose that love surpasses all boundaries and demonstrate that two characters who are destined to love deeply are also doomed by their love.

A close reading of

War Bride

MICAH RENTON YEAR 10

Nina Murdoch’s “War Bride” is a war poem that raises questions about the governments greed in sending young men to go and fight in war. By considering the texts use of poetic devices such as metaphors, imagery, and enjambment, one might dominantly read the text, viewing the old men as avaricious and horrible. Murdoch implies the greed of the old men robs women of marriage and children, and thus their future.

Throughout the text, Murdoch applies metaphors to portray the government or old men who send young men to war as avaricious and horrible. This representation is initially shaped by their description in the second stanza: “It is the old men with their crafty eyes / And greedy fingers and their feeble lungs / Make Mischief in the world and are called wise / And bring war on us with their garrulous tongues.” The characterisation of these “old men” in the visual imagery of “crafty eyes,” “greedy fingers,” “feeble lungs,” and “garrulous tongues,” implies these men are cunning and avaricious who seek war for money. By adopting a dominant reading style, one might view war as a futile endeavor, initiated by men in power (those who serve high up in government positions) who do not have themselves have to fight. Murdoch uses more imagery in the second half of the poem to portrays the horrible reality of war that these old men seem to ignore. The poet’s perspective of war as gruesome and violent is shaped by her use of visual and olfactory imagery: “And turn fair meadows into reeking tombs / And passionate bridegrooms into bloodied clay.” The olfactory imagery created in the word “reeking” which suggests a horrible stench and the visual imagery in the phrase “bloodied clay” both portrays how war turns beautiful or ‘fair’ meadows into graveyards, where bridegrooms rest lifelessly like “clay”. A dominant reading invites us to view this as a horrible circumstance and that the old men are horrendous for ignoring it. Thus, Murdoch’s application of metaphors and imagery portrays the violent and inhumane reality of war that these greedy old men of a higher class value their profits and status and disregard human life.

Furthermore, Murdoch’s use of imagery and enjambment portrays the impact the greed of the old men have on the wives of soldiers. The melancholic tone in stanza four is shaped by their enjambed syntax in the lines: “The old men grown so old they have forgot / The touch of mouth on mouth in the still of night / the tenderness that wedded lovers wot.” The continuation of the sentence through the lines creates a melancholic tone. The old men seem to disregard or “forget” the love shared between couples in a kiss and moments of intimacy. The wives of soldiers can’t hold their husbands as the government has sent them off to war. This can be dominantly read by viewing the old men as loveless and uncaring, for ignoring the love between wedded lovers, as if it were significant. Additionally, Murdoch’s use of visual imagery portrays the unfortunate future of the wives, which these old men are preventing. The use of visual imagery coupled with enjambment creates a beautiful scene in the future denied: “The dreams that dwell in the eyes of a young bride / The secret beauty of things said and done / The hope of children coming, and the pride / Of little homes and gardens in the sun.” The continuation of the sentence through the stanza, creates a harmonious pace in the visual imagery created by the words, “little homes and gardens in the sun.” These brides picture a warm and secure future with their husbands, having children and spending time with their families in their houses and gardens while basking in the sun. The denial of this can be dominantly read as Murdoch’s feelings of resentment towards the old men who are robbing wives and husbands of the “pride” of having a family. Therefore, Murdoch’s use of imagery and enjambment portrays how, by sending soldiers off to war, the government or “old men” are depriving wives of love and a family.

Nina Murdoch’s “War Bride” successfully questions the governments greed in sending young men to their deaths. By considering the texts use of poetic devices such as metaphors, imagery, and enjambment, one might dominantly read the text, viewing the old men as greedy and selfish for robbing War Brides of marriage and children, and a happy future.

A persuasive piece

Ability Grouping: The Future of Education

Have you ever been in a class that you found boring? Ok, I guess everyone has, but have you ever been in a class that you found too easy, or way too hard? You find yourself staring at the clock as it ticks by, screaming for it to hurry up as the teacher drones on about something you’ve known for years— or something you’ve never heard of! Your head aches, and you let out a pained groan. Either you make it through the next 30 minutes of pain and suffering, or you die of boredom. Honestly, that second option might be looking better.

The anecdote above may seem like a bit of an exaggeration, but it is a sad reality for millions of students across Australia. According to the Guardian, 40% of students across Australia are either struggling to keep up with, or aren’t keeping up with, their classmates. That’s roughly 1612287 students, which shows the sheer scale of this problem.

However, there’s a clear solution: make year groups based on ability, rather than age.

Consider how much easier it would be on teachers, not having to adjust their teaching strategies to fit every single student. This would help to remove some of the pressure placed on teachers, 62% of whom— according to The Conversation— are currently suffering from a mental health condition. Indeed, having to make a different set of activities for every student based on their own level can be incredibly draining. Having different classes for students with distinct levels of academic ability means that teachers have less to worry about, as they would have one rough level for their whole class. This would mean that they would only have to create one lesson plan, lessening the impossible workload.

Ability grouping would also benefit the wellbeing of students. 40% of Australian students struggle in school. This leads to 29 percent of students taking at least one (unexplained) day off every two weeks. I see evidence of the connection between these two statistics every day: boys messing around in class, trying to hide their struggles, or skiving off so that they don’t have to do the test that they know they’ll fail. It’s not that they’re bad kids, it’s just that they don’t want to be embarrassed— a very normal human reaction. If assignments could be tailored to fit the abilities of a certain group of students, it would be a win-win. Teachers wouldn’t have to spend the whole lesson helping four or five boys, and students would be able to do the work assigned to them without having to be ashamed with their result. Having classes based on ability would be a win for both teachers and students.

Finally, grouping based on ability would allow students to work at their own pace. Students with a similar academic level usually have the same working pace. This means that students don’t have to adjust their learning strategies to the pace of the class, and teachers don’t have to worry about kids finishing all their work early, or struggling to finish it by the bell. According to Teach-nology, ability grouping “helps in placing similar students in one classroom or group... it helps in increasing the pace of advancement of the study skills of the students at higher levels of ability.” Ability grouping also allows certain groups slow down their pace to accommodate for their needs. This evidence shows that ability grouping lets students work at a rate suited to them.

Now, let’s see what ability grouping would look like in practice. Picture this: you’re a teacher standing at the front of your classroom, looking out at your students. Instead of groaning as you were forced into 50 minutes of torture, you smile. You’re doing a lesson on opinion pieces, and your teacher seems to be explaining the assignment in a way that makes it seem understandable. As you begin your assignment, you feel prepared, and excited about the work ahead. At long last, you aren’t bored or confused in class. The people around you are happy, too. They are finally with other students at their level, so they aren’t frustrated by a slow pace or embarrassed by struggling to keep up.

We may have grouped students by age for a long time, but it’s time for a change. In order to create a brighter future, it is crucial that we push students to do their best. There are urgent problems plaguing the world, and we need to raise intelligent, inquisitive children to solve them. The current school system is flawed and obsolete. It’s time to change the rules of the game. It’s time to move to ability grouping.

A persuasive piece

Bang! Bang! Bye! Bye!

XANDER BURLING YEAR 8

I remember coming home from school and seeing someone being shot dead on TV. It was a minor altercation, between a petty thief and a police officer. Yes, stealing is wrong. But stealing a life is more egregious. Was it fair that this man lost his life over a simple mistake? Aren’t mistakes a part of life? Aren’t we supposed to learn from them? I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe it.

What was on the news that day was not uncommon. Last year, 164 people were shot dead in Australia by police officers. These numbers are unacceptable. Are the guns to blame? Without a doubt. Why do we even allow officers to carry guns? When did protecting and serving equate to shooting and killing? No one should ever die at the hands of the people who are meant to keep them safe. Guns should be banned in Australia.

Do guns keep the peace? No, they definitely do not. Police officers in England and Wales do not carry guns, yet statistics show that homicide levels are around 18 times lower than comparable countries. New Zealand’s ordinary police force is also gun free and ranks 2nd in the world for domestic peace— miles ahead of, Australia which come in at 27th. In fact, places like Norway, Iceland, and Ireland are all gun free, and all ranked higher than Australia. The evidence is clear: countries without guns are safer and more peaceful.

Carrying a gun is also dangerous. In one heated moment, an officer could take someone’s life. Since when did injuring or killing someone become a part of serving and protecting? And it’s not just the victims that suffer. Friends and family are also traumatised by these shootings— not to mention the post-traumatic stress disorder suffered by many officers after being associated with a shooting incident. Currently, more than 15% of police officers are treated for this condition in Australia. Isn’t it everyone’s right to work in a safe environment? Guns are highly dangerous and people suffer from their long-term repercussions.

People often wonder how young people become violent, but this very behaviour is being modelled by our police. Being a police Officer or a detective are two of the most popular professions that children aspire to be. Children are highly influenced by what they see. So why are we showing them that it’s ok to use guns and violence to solve problems? With so many children admiring the police force, isn’t this a golden opportunity to teach them how to diffuse problems without violence? The most important thing is that no one gets hurt and no one suffers. Keeping our children safe and modelling positive behaviour should not include carrying guns.

Imagine a future where everyone feels safe and protected by the police. A future where you can walk out of your home in safety, knowing that guns are no longer a threat. A future where the police model good behaviour, showing young people how to problem solve without resorting to violence. We should all dream of a gun-free utopia, where our friends, families and communities are kept safe.

When I think back to the macabre vision of a man whose life was no more, I wonder— what we have truly learnt? I’m haunted by the fact that nothing has changed. Police still carry guns and we all still live in fear. If we wish to live in peace, to teach our children to solve problems without violence, and to keep front-line workers safe, we need to take guns away from the police. There are many things in the world that we cannot control, but we can control this. Let’s make the right choice.

An open letter

Bohemian Prosody

SAM SHALES YEAR 12

An open letter to SCSA, published by Sam Shales, a year 12 student, on the 14th of September 2022, promoting action to alter the ATAR English course.

Dear the School Curriculum and Standards Authority or SCSA,

I have just come from the supermarket. I wasn’t there long, as I only had a few items and was thus able to use the ‘12 items or less’ checkout. I bought a packet of snakes made by the Natural Confectionary Company and some fruit loops that were notably absent of artificial colours and flavours. No doubt you are wondering why I am telling you this. Well, if you’ll indulge me, you’ll soon find out.

I am writing on behalf of my fellow ATAR English students in the hope that you will listen to my concerns and allow English to become an easier and more accessible subject for students like me. There are many of us; the silent majority of silent mediocrities; those who simply want to be told that we are ‘officially literate’ enough to go to university.

We’re not stupid, you know. We actually like learning. But we’re not too good on the theory stuff, which seems to be your obsession. So, my question is this: does all this wordy-theory stuff actually matter? Can’t we just get on with making sure we can function in society as people who can read, write and think on a level that will allow us to do our jobs and live our lives? Do I really need to know the difference between perspective and point of view? Because I can tell you right now; I don’t.

Like I said, we’re not stupid. I know it’s supposed to be ‘12 items or fewer’. I know there’s nothing natural about natural lollies - it’s not like they were harvested - and that the lack of artificial colours and flavours is a propagandist misdirect designed to take my attention from the fact that fruit loops are basically food colouring and sugar. I’m clearly able to read between the lines, as they say. Or, as you’d say, plausibly construct inferential meanings. Isn’t that enough?

It’s not like I look at a movie poster and don’t understand it. But SCSA, you’re ruining movies for me. I thought the last Fast and Furious movie was clichéd rubbish that merely recycled tired old plot tropes and tired gender stereotypes. And worst of all, I didn’t even have to see it! I got that from the poster! All this highlighting and annotating, hunting for underlying attitudes and perspectives, and rules of thirds stuff has made me more critical than Simon Cowell!

Why is it that you can have ideas that are interesting, complex and profound but if you don’t hit one or two specific syllabus points, they’re worthless? Aren’t you guys missing the point a bit? I mean, think about Neil Armstrong. When he landed on the moon, he said, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” We all know this. But not all of us of know he was misquoted; he actually said “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind” which is evidenced by the original radio transmission. Knowing this, you can see that what he was quoted as saying doesn’t quite make sense because the `a’ changes the meaning of the sentence. Now, should we deduct marks for the error, or give him partial credit for the fact that he was STANDING ON THE MOON at the time?

I understand that this isn’t entirely your fault. You didn’t write the dictionary or invent the English Language. But you did write the English Syllabus, and that infuriating little ‘glossary’ hidden away at the back. That little list of weirdness has more than a few problems, and I’d like to draw some of them to your attention.

Let’s start with ‘Stylistic choices’. You define this as: The selection of stylistic features to achieve a particular effect.

Ok. Not helpful, but ok. Let’s go to ‘Stylistic features’. You define them as: The ways in which aspects of texts are arranged and how they affect meaning. Examples of stylistic features are lexical choice, syntax, narrative point of view, voice, structure, language patterns and language features, both written and visual.

Right. What is an ‘aspect’ of a text? You don’t define that. Lexical choice? Nope. Syntax? Nope! Voice! Yes! You’ve got a definition for voice. Now we’re getting somewhere!

Voice: Voice, in a literary sense, is the distinct personality of a piece of writing.

Wait, what? Personality? Yes, you say. And then you add: Voice can be created through the use of syntax, punctuation, vocabulary choices, persona and dialogue.

Are you kidding me? You’ve just told me that one of the features of style is voice, and that voice is made from syntax, but syntax is also a part of style, along with lexical choices, which in a different definition you’ve called vocabulary choices, even though they mean EXACTLY THE SAME THING. You can’t do this. It’s not acceptable. The glossary needs to be specific and straightforward. Frankly, I’ve been in mazes that are easier to navigate. #hashtagbollocks! If you’re going to make us learn this stuff, don’t make it so confusing and send us round in circles!

Now look, I know you’re still reading this thinking I’m one of those entitled students who thinks English is rubbish, but I’m not. I’ve used perspective, hyperbole, in-jokes, juxtapositions, anecdotes, evidence, and a boatload of impressive words. And I want to be a PE teacher for God’s sake. How many rhetorical devices do you need to blow a whistle?

So, all I ask is this: don’t just make the syllabus less confusing, go one step further and take out the fancy stuff and just leave us with the bits we actually need to know. Trust me, we’ll figure out the rest as we go along. As American Poet Laureate, Derek Walcott once said, “The English Language is nobody’s special property,” so let me use my own words in my own way, and everyone will live happily ever after.

Warmest Regards,

From an English ATAR student (who really wants to pass the course)

Virtue Signalling

CHARLIE WARREN YEAR 12

“3 Ways for Companies to Utilise Virtue Signalling to Act Like They Care”

Charlie Warren’s top tips for handling social media as a corporation in 2022. Published on Buzzfeed, 30/06/2022 buzzfeed.com/CEOvirtuesignals

A shout out to all you Hyper-Rich CEO’s and Customer Relations Managers!

Today I’ll be running you through the top ways to show your company cares on social media. Listen, I get it, it must be so annoying when your company is undergoing its latest little exploit to maximise profits, and then the “woke” youth is up in arms about “human rights” and sales are suddenly down 2%. What a bummer, right?

The fact of the matter is, in this new era of inclusivity, acceptance and equality, it has become a requirement for companies to show utmost support for trending social issues. Whether it be Gender Equality, Black Lives Matter, Pride Month, or whatever the most recent human rights violation is, your company has must be the face of wokeness and acceptance. But how do you achieve this without spending money or resources on supporting these issues? The secret? Social media and a little trick I like to call virtue signalling.

1. Prolific Power

The staple of social media. This is the first thing people see when they click on your company’s page or any social media platform, therefore, it is key that you keep it up to date. By now, everyone knows the basics of this; the black box for BLM, the rainbow during Pride Month, the flag colours of whatever nation has recently undergone tragedy. The problem with this is that simply slapping on trending colours to your company’s logo can cause damage to what is most clear to us. Sales. This is especially true in nations that are a bit behind on human rights and equality. Fortunately, genius companies such as BMW and Mercedes have solved this issue by simply refraining from updating their profile pic on the Middle Eastern denominations of their pages.

Boom! That is how you successfully show you care about human rights using your profile pic, whilst avoiding any actual controversy and upsetting anyone. Perfect.

2. Messaging Matters

The recent Russian invasion of the Ukraine sparked a huge outburst of peace protests on social media, as many were shocked and horrified by the violence and violations occurring. Companies were called to show support for Ukraine. In fact one corporation at the forefront of this was Formula One with their “Peace Not War” movement.

#PeaceNotWar as well as Ukraine’s blue and yellow flag was plastered all over social media, on the driver’s helmets and along the walls of the tracks. The organisation even went as far as cancelling their Grant Prix in Russia, a decision that would have cost them millions! Now, I know what you’re thinking; what rookies! You should never sacrifice profits to show support for a social issue. But this? This was a genius move because also plastered along the walls of each track was F1’s title sponsor Aramco. Aramco, for those who are unaware, is a Saudi Arabian oil company. Saudi Arabia is a nation renowned for exploiting the rights of women and foreigners within their borders. You may remember their most recent participation in the violence in Yemen – not very peaceful if you ask me. Still, it doesn’t matter because thanks to F1’s consistent messaging over social media, any concerns raised have been squashed. If F1 really doesn’t care about peace, why did Sebastian Vettel have a blue and yellow flower on his helmet?

3. Sponsorship is Superior

Another way companies have managed to put on a friendly face is through endorsements by well-liked and respected celebrities. For example, Nike’s 2020 “Dream Crazy” campaign featured ex-NFL player Colin Kaepernick encouraging young adults to “believe in something, even if it means sacrificing everything.” A lovely and fitting message for Kaepernick to be portraying. Wow! Nike really does care. Except at the same time, a Turkish NBA player dared to stand up and speak out against the Turkish government was denied sponsorship. He was told that Nike giving him a sponsorship rushed Turkey to shut down Nike stores. Sounds like he was punished for believing in something doesn’t it? However, by choosing the “right” endorsements of a famous and well-liked American, Nike successfully took a calculated risk and their “Dream Crazy” campaign received praise and numerous awards.

And there you have it! The top 3 ways companies have utilised virtue signalling to demonstrate their support of current social issues, without actually supporting them. However, this is the part where I tell you that I lied in this listicle because the ‘genius’ examples I’ve been giving you actually caused massive controversy for all of the companies mentioned. This is all really to say that no matter what happens, CEO’s all around the globe can be certain of one thing...

The world will keep turning and Nike, BMW and Mercedes will continue to be the among the biggest companies in the world.

MEDIA

A series of film posters by Year 8 students

Heath Johnson (Year 8)

Ethan Putland (Year 8)

Adrian Cuccovia (Year 8)

Jack Dudley (Year 8)

Luke O’Donnell (Year 8)

Sam Locke (Year 8)

William Pickett (Year 8)

William Lomma (Year 8)

A collection of work from CBC Fremantle

English, Art and Media students from Year 7 to Year 12.