2017 Edition 2 by Farrago Magazine

COMEDY | PISS | REVOLUTION

FARRAGO EDITION 2 2017

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CONTENTS

02 03 03

04 05 06 07 08 08 09 10 10 11 12 13 16 17

COLLECTIVE contributors editorial acknowledgments and apologies

CAMPUS news nuggets april calendar home system 2 overworked and underpaid stonewall empty rhetoric balancing act working it out burnt out a national day of factions breaking (the) news office bearer reports unimelb field guide flushed away

18 19 20 22 24 26 27 28 30 31 32 34 36 38 40 42 44 46 47 48 50 51 52 55 56 58 60 62 63 66 67 68

COMMENTARY neglected time music as protest art suite: alexandra burns stand up for what? life in parkville tips and tricks sick sad world decree 770 pupils david unnerving eating ourselves into extinction on the origin of strangeness little red scars a sea of isolation the age of monsters my name is emily CREATIVE onsra delicate treats bees the world is fucked kids today save the birbs cleaner, oh glorious art suite: cultural decomposition eternal darkness of the vengeful mind the passenger fiona recollections peachy chroma ghost boy for and against: friends

COLLECTIVE

EDITORS Alexandra Alvaro Amie Green James Macaronas Mary Ntalianis CONTRIBUTORS Madeline Bailey Alexandra Burns Ewan Clarke-McIntyre Darcy Cornwallis Chelsea Cucinotta Cornelius Darrell Martin Ditmann Veronica Di Mase Natalie Fong Tilli Franks James Gordon Sam Hansford Ashleigh Hastings Esmé James Anisha Kidd Tzeyi Koay Emily Li Ethan Loh Jasper MacCuspie Claire Miller Ellen Muller Fergus Neal Monique O’Raﬀerty Ruby Perryman Sarah Peters Ed Pitt Yiani Romios Morgan-Lee Snell Sherry Te Alison Tealby Caleb Triscari Linus Tolliday Christian George Tsoutsouvas Stephanie Zhang

THE FARRAGO TEAM SUBEDITORS Elizabeth Adams James Agathos Natalie Amiel Kergen Angel Harry Baker Amy Bartholomeusz Amelia Bensley Sue-Ann Chan Esther Crowley Noni Cole Breanna Derlagen Sebastian Dodds Katie Doherty Esther Le Couteur Alessia Di Paolo Simone Eckardt Victoria Emerson Esmé James Candy James-Zoccoli Annie Jiang Celine Lau Vicky Lee Morgan-Lee Snell Maggy Liu Caitlin McGregor Sinead Medew-Ewen Ellen Muller Jeremy Nadel Jesse Paris-Jourdan Ellie Patton Sarah Peters Lara Porczak Jeﬀrey Pullin Claudia Seers Felicity Sleeman Alf Simpson Reilly Sullivan Caleb Triscari Peter Tzimos Matt Wojczys Alice Zeng Stephanie Zhang

GRAPHICS

Charlotte Bird-Weber Ella Hope Broadbent Edie Bush Leung Chin Ching Ewan Clarke-McIntyre Cornelius Darrell Sebastian Dodds Anwyn Elise Veronica Fernando James Goh Minahil Munir Hamdani Ilsa Harun Darus Noel Howard Kyaw Min Htin Carolyn Huane Lauren Hunter Winnie Yungchi Jiao Clara Cruz Jose Nakate Kakembo Esther Le Couteur Sarah Leong Sarah Fan-Ning Lin Lisa Linton Hanna Liu Eloyse McCall Rachel Morley Amani Nasarudin Sam Nelson Wasinee Phornnarit (Gwen) Elena Piakis Ruth Simone Rathjen-Duﬀton Amelia K Saward Nellie Seale Bonnie Smith Morgan-Lee Snell Sophie Sun Selena Tan Jasmine Velkovski Reimena Yee

ARTWORK BY VERONICA FERNANDO 04

COLUMNISTS Madeline Bailey Anwyn Elise James Hazeldine Carolyn Huane Claire Longhouse (online) Tessa Marshall Harry McLean Monique O’Raﬀerty (online) Ed Pitt Danielle Scrimshaw Claudia Seers (online) Benjamin Smart (online) Linus Tolliday WEB Jenny Huynh Jack Kaloger Cathy Weng SOCIAL MEDIA Elizabeth Haigh Ilsa Harun Annie Liew Monique O’Raﬀerty Acacia Pip Ramone Taanya Rohira Mega Safira Maddie Spencer COVER Sam Nelson

Farrago is the student magazine of the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), produced by the Media Department. Farrago is published by the General Secretary of UMSU, Yasmine Luu. The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of UMSU, the printers or the editors. Farrago is printed by Printgraphics, care of heartthrob Nigel Quirk. All writing and artwork remains the property of the creators. This collection is © Farrago and Farrago reserves the right to republish material in any format.

COLLECTIVE

EDITORIAL

t took a while for the bathroom to empty out so we could go in and take this photo. The men’s toilets on the ground floor of Redmond Barry turned out to be more popular than we anticipated. That and we’re pretty sure someone was in there taking a poop. But when we finally glimpsed the two solidary cubicles, the yellow feature wall and the platinum urinal that spanned over three walls, we knew this was the place. So we held our breath (seriously, that place smells bad) and went for it. It feels like Edition Two just happened. Like that time you pissed yourself on the pavement because you didn’t want to piss yourself on the tram (James). Or that time you almost pooped on a roof (Amie). Or that time you accidentally pissed on your nice shoes whilst popping a squat (Alex). Or those three times you peed on South Lawn because the Baillieu toilets were shut (Mary). In these pages there’s just so much going on. Ruby Perryman and Martin Ditmann uncover the deep and dark exploitation of student workers right here at the University in ‘Underworked and Underpaid’ (pg. 7) and Ed Pitt explores the world of student protests in ‘National Day of Factions’ (pg. 11). Ellen Muller discusses the long-term consequences of suppressing women’s reproductive rights in ‘Decree 770’ (pg. 28) and Stephanie Zhang reminds us that revolutions can have damaging and intergenerational effects in ‘Little Red Scars’ (pg. 38). Tzeyi Koay gets experimental with her concrete poem ‘Onsra’ (pg. 44) while ‘The Passenger’ by Darcy Cornwallis (pg. 58) is a head trip and a half. Our cover is inspired by Morgan-Lee Snell’s ‘Fiona’ (pg. 61) and crafted by the talented Sam Nelson, who proved to us that collages and cut outs aren’t just for snot wielding kindergarteners. So here comes another one – a roaring, rumbling and dangerous-to-know edition of Farrago that will be the light of your life before it flickers into oblivion and Edition Three rolls around. We hope Edition Two is everything you hoped and dreamed for. Now go fuck yourself. Alex, Amie, James and Mary

APOLOGIES

We’re sorry that we didn’t include an acknowledgment of country in Edition One. Farrago is printed on the land of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin Nations and acknowledging this, and the continued contribution of Indigenous students to Farrago, is something that is very important to us. We’re committed to making sure this does not happen again. We’re also very sorry that Kergen Angel and Jasper MacCuspie weren’t included in the list of contributors, and Carolyn Huane wasn't included in the list of columnists for Edition One. All of you did an amazing job and we fucked up.

BACKGROUND BY LEUNG CHIN CHING PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEBASTIAN DODDS 05

CAMPUS

NEWS NUGGETS INTERNSHITS

The Unpaid Work Experience in Australia Report has revealed that interns are bearing much of the cost of completing unpaid internships, including travel, insurance and reduced work hours. Students from low-SES backgrounds are most likely to pay up.

IN REVIEW

NO SHOWS

Potentially a quarter to a third of students actually attend their lectures in the Faculty of Arts, new data suggests.

The Bachelor of Arts is set to be reviewed in the second half of this year by the University’s Teaching and Learning Quality Assurance Committee. First year foundation subjects will also be scrutinised. Watch this space!

NO SYM-PaTH-Y

The government is still carrying through on their controversial PaTH program, despite not having enough votes to get the legislation through Parliament.

PLIBERSEK’S DEMANDS

OH, STOP IT

Tanya Plibersek has said that if Labor is elected in the next Federal election they will continue to make the demand driven system for higher education more flexible through more reforms. A demand driven system allows universities to enrol as many students in courses as they please.

Stop 1 kicked off the semester with a 59 per cent increase in activity since last year’s launch. The service has also seen an increase in visits from international students.

JUSTICE SERVED

#FARESFAIRPTV

Victorian graduate students have mobilised against their inability to obtain concession transport fares. Students attended the Make Fares Fair rally on 14 March.

#CROISSANT GATE2017

STUDENT LIVING

The UoM is set to initate a new student accommodation project. They hope to create 6000 new beds by 2020.

16 charges have been laid against Cowboy Builders, the company responsible for knocking down the 159 year-old student favourite Corkman Irish Pub without a permit.

First year Bachelor of Design students have sparked amusement online after being caught scanning croissants in the Architecture, Building and Planning Library. Students undertaking the subject Foundations of Design: Representation were advised to use a designated scanner in order to complete their Week Three assignments.

LOCKOUT LOCKHEED

Students are launching a campaign against the University of Melbourne’s partnership with US arms manufacturer, Lockheed Martin.

ARTWORK BY WINNIE YUNGCHI JIAO 06

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APRIL CALENDAR WEEK 6

WEEK 7

WEEK 8

Monday 3

Monday 10

Monday 17

Monday 24

12-1pm: Welfare – Monday Mingle 12-1pm: Enviro – Fossil Free Meeting 1-2pm: Queer – Trans Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Zumba

Tuesday 11

Tuesday 18

Tuesday 25

8-11am: Enviro – Bike Coop Breakfast 12pm: Women’s – Women of Colour Collective 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, BBQ & Bevs 2:15-3:15pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 4-7pm: Media – Wordplay 5:30-8:30pm: Enviro – Green Screen 6-7pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

8-11am: Enviro – Bike Coop Breakfast 12pm: Women’s – Women of Colour Collective 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, BBQ & Bevs 1-2pm: POC – People of Colour Collective 2:15-3:15pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5-9pm: Enviro – Play with Your Food 6-7pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

8-11am: Enviro – Bike Coop Breakfast 12pm: Women’s – Women of Colour Collective 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, BBQ & Bevs 2:15-3:15pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5:30-8:30pm: Enviro – Green Screen 6-7pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

Wednesday 5

Wednesday 12

Wednesday 19

Wednesday 26

12pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Queer – Queer Lunch 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

12pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Queer – Queer Lunch 1-2pm: POC – People of Colour Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

12pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Queer – Queer Lunch 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

12pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Queer – Queer Lunch 1-2pm: POC – People of Colour Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

Thursday 6

Thursday 13

Thursday 20

8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Queer – POC Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 4:15-5:45pm: POC – Race & Diaspora Reading Group 6-7pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defense Classes 6-10:30pm: Creative Arts – PLOM

8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Queer – POC Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 5:15-6.15pm: EdPub@Pub 6-7pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defense Classes

8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Queer – POC Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 6-7pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defense Classes

Thursday 27 8:30-10:30am: Welfare – Free Breakfast 12-1pm: Queer – POC Collective 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 3pm: Education – General Education Forum 4:15-5:45pm: POC – Race & Diaspora Reading Group 6-7pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defense Classes 6-10:30pm: Creative Arts – PLOM

Friday 7

Friday 14

Friday 21

Friday 28

1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities X Rowdy Screenings 3:15-5:15pm: Rowdy Screenings

Tuesday 4 8-11am: Enviro – Bike Coop Breakfast 12pm: Women’s – Women of Colour Collective 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, BBQ & Bevs 1-2pm: POC – People of Colour Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5-9pm: Enviro – Play with Your Food 6-7pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

WEEK 9

ARTWORK BY WASINEE PHORNNARIT (GWEN) Reverse this calendar to see Anwyn Elise’s ‘Home System’. Each edition will piece together to form an eight part artwork.

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OVERWORKED AND UNDERPAID WORDS BY MARTIN DITMANN AND RUBY PERRYMAN ARTWORK BY AMELIA K SAWARD

THE EXPLOITATION OF STUDENT WORKERS COULD BE RIFE IN UNION HOUSE

he Fair Work Ombudsman (FWO) may investigate the alleged underpayment of international students by campus food outlets in Union House. Similar to the recently uncovered nationwide exploitation of 7-Eleven workers, University of Melbourne students may be getting paid significantly below minimum wage. The University and Union House tenancy operator MU Student Union Ltd (MUSUL) invited the FWO to assist in speaking to all vendors in Union House about their legal obligations as employers. Tenants were also informed of a possible spot audit commission into their stores during 2017. The move comes after advocacy from several groups at the University. Independent student group, Malaysian Progressives, contacted the National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) with this claim on behalf of mistreated students last year. The NTEU then encouraged the University and MUSUL to intervene and alert the FWO of these accusations. Manager of the University of Melbourne Student Union's (UMSU) Advocacy and Legal Division, Phoebe Churches, confirms that multiple students have also approached them seeking assistance. “The problem is that all of the aggrieved students were studying on international student visas,” Churches said. “The very low wages mean that these students routinely work in excess of their allowed hours in order to earn enough income to live on.” The UMSU Legal Service provides students with advice regarding their options in the event of workplace mistreatment. They can also aid students in lodging a formal complaint with the FWO. “Some students indicated that their employers had directly threatened to report them to the Department of Immigration and Border Protection if they complained,” Churches said. MUSUL was the body previously managing Union House tenancies, including food vendor leases. Broader changes at the University, unrelated to this issue, will see the University take on tenancy management from 2017, with MUSUL winding down its operations. Union House itself is also set to wind down in the next few years and be replaced by a new student precinct. However, tenants remain independent businesses, employing staff autonomously under the obligations of the Australian Fair Work Act. This means MUSUL’s and the University’s power is limited in terms of intervening, especially considering any formal complaints are yet to be lodged.

“We can’t demand to see people’s employment records,” MUSUL CEO Simon Napthine said, speaking on behalf of both MUSUL and the University. Napthine encouraged any students with concerns to report them to authorities. A former employee of Union House’s Express Kebabs, who wishes to remain anonymous, is amongst those who are too afraid to lodge a complaint with the FWO. The employee claims they were underpaid with cash-in-hand for several months in 2016 and received no penalty rates. During this period, a co-worker reached out to the Young Workers Centre (YWC), a Union-backed advocacy and legal centre. “Before the YWC (issued a letter of demand to my employer), we were paid eight to ten dollars per hour on an average of six to seven hours. Afterwards, the pay increased to 15 dollars per hour, but the hours were shorter,” the employee said. “So in the end, we would still be paid around the same amount.” $17.01 is the award rate for an 18-year-old, casual fast food worker. It is $19.44 for a 19-year-old and $21.88 for a 20-year-old. Express Kebabs suggested they have since raised their pay rates above the Australian minimum wage, but this is yet to be confirmed. Malaysian Progressives produced a booklet to distribute on campus informing international students of their rights as workers. “Casual racism pushes them towards underpaid work. They’re exploiting our lower standards of English and our not being aware of local employment law,” Malaysian Progressives member Jason Wong said. On a larger scale, the Victorian Shop, Distributive and Allied Employees Association (SDA) are working on a similar scheme. In combination with unions in the Asia-Pacific, the SDA are aiming to ensure international students are aware of their legal rights when working in Australia. Student representatives remain concerned, including UMSU Students’ Councillor Molly Willmott, who initially raised the issue at Students’ Council late last year. “We must look into fixing this issue moving forward into the last few years at Union House and the transition to the student precinct,” she said. The UMSU Legal Service oﬀers free advice and assistance to all enrolled students of the University of Melbourne. For enquiries about workplace rights and entitlements, call: 0468 720 668.

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EMPTY RHETORIC WORDS BY ASHLEIGH HASTINGS ARTWORK BY CAROLYN HUANE

STONEWALL CONTENT WARNING: REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT

WORDS BY ALEXANDRA ALVARO ARTWORK BY CAROLYN HUANE

ata indicating the University's performance in the first nationwide survey on sexual assault on campus may never be released. The survey was commissioned by Universities Australia (UA) from the Australian Human Rights Commission, with results set for release in the first half of this year. The University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) is urging the University to consider releasing their specific results through continuous negotiation. “Last year it seemed like the there was a deal struck where all or most universities would be releasing their individualised data together. Now it appears like that deal is no longer going ahead,” UMSU Women’s Officer Hannah Billett said. The news of the possible suppression of the complete results comes after a recent submission to the Australian Human Rights Commission, which accused universities of covering up cases of sexual assault. “Students that submitted to the survey put themselves through something that was incredibly emotionally draining, having to answer really intimate questions about some of the most painful experiences of their lives. We think that they did that in the hope there would be positive outcomes and that this data would help to improve University policies,” she said. “Students have the right to see the data and hold the University to account,” she added. “While this Australia-wide data would be useful for policy makers in government, we think that given universities around Australia have different policies and cultures, that individualised data is appropriate.” Billett said the results are likely to have a positive effect on campus culture by making it more likely that students report cases of sexual assault and seek help. Billett also suggested the results could contribute to victims’ healing processes. Director of Students and Equity, Elizabeth Capp, says the release of the results is a decision that will be left to Universities Australia. “We have at no stage committed to releasing UoM results to UMSU or the public, so there no backflip here,” she said. “UA – representing the 39 participating universities – has not yet determined the best way to manage this important matter, so as to ensure that the data is accurately and appropriately reported.” “We look forward to working with UMSU, the Graduate Students Association and other student groups to achieve these shared goals, building on the work of our Respect Initiative.”

ndigenous staff members and the National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) were surprised to find that references to Indigenous employment targets have been removed from a proposed new version of a staff agreement. Previously, the University of Melbourne Enterprise Agreement included a "fundamental principle’"of supporting Indigenous Employment through the implementation of the Melbourne Indigenous Employment Framework. The agreement also acknowledged the University’s target of reaching population parity in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander staff numbers by 2020. The University of Melbourne branch of the NTEU took to Facebook to suggest the changes showed that the University valued ‘rhetoric’ over ‘reality’. “On the one hand the Uni publically acknowledges traditional owners by including ‘Wominjeka’ to their welcome sign, on the other they have recently sent out a new proposed staff agreement which removes Indigenous Employment from terms and conditions of employment," read one post. Indigenous Branch Committee Member for the NTEU Melbourne branch and Murrup Barak staff member Nicole Major said that she was disappointed to hear of the changes contained in the proposed new agreement given the University’s relatively strong support for other Indigenous perspectives. “In terms of what the University is doing and what they’ve withdrawn in terms of Indigenous targets, we’re all on the same page about that. In terms of why that’s happened, that’s not something we’re privy to.” She also said she had not been contacted for consultation. Dr Sally Eastoe, Executive Director Human Resources, said an industrial agreement is not the right place to include Indigenous targets. “Sophisticated and long term employment strategies and actions cannot be distilled in an industrial agreement which is primarily intended to articulate the terms and conditions of individual employees," Dr Eastoe said. “Indigenous employment continues to form an important part of the University’s diversity strategy to promote inclusion. The University’s Indigenous employee numbers have increased from 21 in 2010 to 87 as at December 2016, however, we know we need to do more to achieve sustainable population parity, as committed to in the University’s Growing Esteem Strategy for 2015-2020.” She said that there will be room for consultation later in the process. "The University has absolutely drawn on the knowledge and insights of its Indigenous colleagues," Dr Eastoe said. “Employees and relevant stakeholders will have opportunity to provide feedback on the University’s proposed agreements."

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BALANCING ACT WORDS BY CHELSEA CUCINOTTA ARTWORK BY ILSA HARUN

WHY DOES UoM HAVE THE LOWEST DROPOUT RATES IN THE COUNTRY?

ccording to new Federal Education Department (FED) statistics, one in three Australian university students are failing to complete their studies within six years. Despite this record high statistic, the University of Melbourne has the lowest dropout rates in Australia, with an 88 per cent undergraduate completion rate. Reasons behind dropping out vary, with some groups of students more vulnerable than others. Research by the National Centre for Student Equity in Higher Education (2015) found that attrition rates were higher for Indigenous students, part-time students, external students and students of over 25 years. Emeritus Professor of Education Richard Teese said that other factors were also at play here. “Dropout rates vary a lot around the country and reflect a range of different factors, including prior academic attainment, financial factors, lack of fit between student interest and course, uncertainty about the value of a course and trouble relating to the teaching regime.” The FED's suggested attrition rates are highest in those institutions with a higher percentage of these at-risk groups, such as Charles Darwin University, which has the lowest completion rate in the country of 41.8 per cent. Deputy Provost and Deputy Vice-Chancellor at the University of Melbourne Professor Susan Elliott says that the University does have a higher percentage of students from middle class backgrounds. "If you look at our student profile compared to other universities, we have very high achieving students who have shown that they have the academic ability, and the opportunity to succeed.” She did mention that the student body is also made up of students from a range of different backgrounds. “We certainly have students who struggle, with many from disadvantaged backgrounds,” she said. “In fact, 30 per cent of our offers go to these students." For the University of Melbourne, past performance is used as the best possible predictor of future performance. This may be why students who study at the University, even those from disadvantaged backgrounds, have higher completion rates, with such high requirements to gain entry into their given courses.

Richard Teese pointed out that there are flaws in the way that data concerning dropout rates is calculated. “How the rates of dropout are calculated is an issue as they need to be adjunct to take course transfers into account.” Indigenous students are another particularly important group who are known to be harder to hold onto, not only within the University of Melbourne, but across the nation. This prompted the creation of Murrup Barak, which provides cultural and academic support. “For all the complexities of the Indigeneity in Australia, there are many reasons why the transition into university is more challenging. That is why we have specific tailored programs for Indigenous students, and culturally safe environments to support them,” Elliot said. Though dropout rates in Australia may seem high, it must be considered that 48.5 per cent of 25 to 34 year olds in the country have completed tertiary education, above the OECD average of 42.1 per cent. “Australia’s retention rates are higher than average. We have a demand driven system, rather than a system with very high competition for places,” Elliot said. “We have been, as a country, deliberately expanding to those groups who find it hardest to stay in tertiary study.” Though student attrition may be low within the University of Melbourne and perhaps across the nation, Professor Elliott says students can expect a growth in scholarships and bursaries, another English Language program, and more support for Indigenous students with two new senior Indigenous positions. “There is never complacency here as we are always pushing to be better and better. That is where the students and their organisations are critical, as their feedback helps constantly improve the services we provide.” For students struggling with their academic work, support is available through Academic Support Services. For external issues, Professor Elliott acknowledges the financial and housing support, counselling services on campus and medical support, including psychological support provided by the University.

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WORKING IT OUT

BURNT OUT

WORDS BY ANISHA KIDD ARTWORK BY JASMINE VELKOVSKI

National Union of Students (NUS) working group has been established to look into the relationship between the NUS and the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU). The motion to form the working group was put forward at the first Students’ Council of the year as part of a number of recommendations submitted in Education (Public Affairs) Officer Sinead Manning’s NUS National Conference Delegate Report. The recommendation suggested that the Council establish the Working Group to “examine the continuing relationship between UMSU and the NUS before presenting Students’ Council with a report of their findings in six months”. “A working group seemed like a way in which students who are not necessarily student politicians could engage with the NUS,” Manning said. In its capacity as a student representative body, Manning regarded the involvement of students as fundamental to its operation. During Council’s discussion, significant attention was drawn to how the group would be composed, and how that would impact its operation. Although it is expected that any University of Melbourne student will be welcome to contribute to the group’s discussion, the motion limited voting rights to a select number of representatives. These include this year’s NUS delegates, the UMSU General Secretary or nominee, the UMSU President or nominee, a representative appointed by the UMSU autonomous office bearers and a representative appointed by the UMSU Environment Department. Specifically, members of NUS Executive, and the NUS Campus Representative were designated as non-voting members. This decision was based on the potential conflict of interest of enabling these members to vote. Over the next six months the group is expected to prepare a number of recommendations around the UMSU-NUS relationship. NUS Campus Representative for the University of Melbourne, Caleb Triscari, will be chairing the group's meetings. “This is the first time that a student association has done something like this before and I think it comes at the right time,” Triscari said. “Students are becoming disenfranchised with the larger political sphere and in turn I believe this has an effect on local activist spaces. This disenfranchisement also comes hand in hand with repeated concerns over how the NUS operates both as a representative body and as a culture.” UMSU is an affiliated member of the NUS. Support for the NUS within the Students’ Council is divided around the general operation and effectiveness of their actions.

WORDS BY CALEB TRISCARI ARTWORK BY JASMINE VELKOVSKI

urnley students have expressed concern over a change to the study load requirements of a signature degree. In late 2016, it was decided that the Associate Degree in Urban Horticulture (ADUH) would only be offered as a full-time course from 2017 onwards. Students who started the course before 2017 still have the option of studying part-time and students who applied to enter the course in 2017 through VTAC were notified of this change in mid-December of 2016. The University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) Burnley Department has condemned the change, claiming that no student consultation was carried out before the decision was made. “My main concern with the ADUH only being available full time is that it may become inaccessible to those students who, for example, have carer responsibilities, mental health issues, disabilities or work commitments,” said Jessica Peeler, UMSU Burnley Campus Coordinator, “These students will be discriminated against because of their circumstances.” 43 per cent of the 2017 cohort is made up of mature age students. In a letter sent to Professor Ian Woodrow, Head of the School of Botany, students at the Burnley campus expressed their concern with the decision. “It is our experience that students appreciate the ability to reduce their study load in response to external stressors or to maximise their success in challenging subjects.” Farrago is aware of a student who was granted an exception to this new rule due to a preexisting medical condition. “I was stuck in a limbo awaiting a decision out of my power which would decide the direction of the next few years of my life, not to mention potentially waste the last six months of preparation,” they said in an anonymous statement. “Due to the lack of context surrounding the decision to make the course full time early, there was no advice to be given to me by the staff at Burnley.” Correspondence obtained by Farrago between faculty staff and a prospective student states that the decision was made after a “broad review” was conducted into the programs offered by the Faculty. “The review was conducted by the Faculty in consultation with senior leadership from across the School of Ecosystems and Forest Sciences,” Dean of the Faculty of Science Professor Karen Day said. Reviews are conducted annually and explore enrolment trends across the subjects of the Associate Degree.

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A NATIONAL DAY OF FACTIONS WORDS BY ED PITT ARTWORK BY AMANI NASARUDIN

EXPLORING THE EFFECTIVENESS OF STUDENT PROTESTS

he National Union of Students' (NUS) National Student Protests are set to occur on 22 March as part of their 'Make Education Free Again' campaign. Previously referred to as National Days of Action (NDAs), these days have targeted various policies and cuts, most notably university fee deregulation in 2014, with speakers from universities and unions, as well as Labor and Greens politicians. For many, these days represent a time to make the general public and political class aware of the issues that affect students. With the trio of impassioned slogans ‘Make Education Free Again’, ‘Your Rights At Work’ and ‘You're Worse off as a Woman’, the NDA is including women's issues in their campaign, in addition to protesting against cuts to education and welfare. Since 2014 however, the NDAs have been scantly attended, with numbers hovering at around 50, with many in the crowd being closely linked to Labor Left or Socialist Alternative factions. This year, the NUS is making an effort to rebuild the protests through an interlinking of major issues affecting students as well as a high-profile push by the NUS and groups linked to Socialist Alternative and the Labor Left, to engage more students. Member of the Australian Labour Party Club (Labor Left) at the University of Melbourne and organiser, Desiree Cai, suggests that an interconnected approach in messaging would lead to an increase in attendance and help raise awareness this year. "There is a particular political climate which is bringing a lot more people out to protest. So that should translate to larger crowds," she said. Cai acknowledged that they hadn't been well attended in the past two years. She did not comment when asked about the nonattendance of NDAs by Student Unity (Labor Right's student wing), a faction that now holds a substantial amount of influence within the NUS. The NUS, in its advertising for the protests, has included images of the recently inaugurated president in an apparent attempt to draw on anti-Trump sentiment. However, some are critical regarding the success of NDAs.

The University of Melbourne Student Union's (UMSU) Education (Public Affairs) Officer, Sinead Manning, suggests that when part of a wider group of activism, NDAs are fundamental. However she did say that in the past they have been divisive. “NDAs in the past have been alienating due to their association with particular political groups – often quite extreme groups. A lot of students are unwilling to become involved in a protest that is dominated by a political group that they do not want to be associated with,” Manning said. Manning also noted that "unclear messaging" can sometimes prevent NDAs from being as effective as they could be. “In the upcoming NDA there are three different overarching campaigns which are not even consistent in themselves,” she said. Cai suggested that the advertising and messaging for the NDA has been broad but that it would allow various campuses and student unions to tie into the campaign, focussing on the cuts and issues relevant to them. “In the past the issues with education have been more about government policy, whereas today the cuts are coming from the universities,” she said, pointing to the University of New South Wales and the University of Technology Sydney moving to a trimester system. Despite Manning's criticisms, she stated that the UMSU Education Department is set to have a group of students attend the protest and that their department would be doing its best to properly engage students with the issues at the forefront of the protests. “UMSU Education is organising a day of activities to go alongside the NDA, this will include panel discussions and sustained conversations about education issues,” Manning said. Although Manning criticised the NDAs’ association with some extreme groups, she praised NUS Education Officer, Anneke D'emanuele, stating that her experience organising could encourage a larger turnout, with Cai also noting that the Education Department has been “a lot more active since the start of their term.” Anneke D'emanuele was unavailable for comment.

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BREAKING (THE) NEWS WORDS BY JASPER MACCUSPIE ARTWORK BY SELENA TAN

VICE-CHANCELLOR TAKES ACTION AGAINST JAYWALKING

recent Victoria Police crackdown on incidences of jaywalking in the outer CBD has caused discussion on increasing student safety at the infamously disobeyed crossing between the Swanston Street tram stop and the entrance to the main campus. Ten thousand students cross at the criminal hotspot every week. In a conference called by the Vice-Chancellor at the University of Melbourne, Glyn Davis, staff members from all faculties discussed possible solutions which will be funded using the generous budget afforded by the increasing service fees. While Farrago was not able to gain access to the meeting, some members of staff were available for comment. “The obvious solution is surely to build a zip-line to cross above the cars and trams,” Dean of Engineering Terry Nartin said. “Unfortunately, some other members of the committee were short-sighted, claiming that it would be inefficient to transport one student at a time. At least we managed to get Experimental Physics to withdraw their teleportation nonsense.” The Architecture Faculty are in strong opposition to the Engineering Faculty’s proposal and instead claimed a bridge would be the most practical solution to the safety concerns. The faculty have released early plans for a contemporary style bridge with a heavy focus on green spaces. “Building a bridge makes the most sense,” a spokesperson for the Architecture Faculty said in a comment to Farrago. The Music Department is set on encouraging civil obedience through an engaging campaign. “We see the problem not as one of a lack of mechanism to cross the road, rather as a lack of awareness from students about the dangers of jaywalking. We’d like to see a concerted musical campaign to raise the profile of this critical issue,” said Music Professor Ian Mack.

When asked how this proposal had been received, Mack asserted that the concept had been rejected outright. Despite the premature closing of the meeting, it is alleged that the Faculty of Arts elected to stay behind to discuss whether the depiction of a sole man on pedestrian crossing lights was an impediment to the feminist perspective of Mary Wollstonecraft. University administration have also raised concerns about the potential cost of the project, asserting that an increase in student service fees would not be enough to cover the costs of the proposals. “None of their ideas are financially viable,” the University’s Chief Financial Officer said. “In order to pay for this, the University would be forced to either cut wages or make staff redundant.” Following the University’s financial concerns, Student Representatives have questioned how seriously the University is taking student safety. “The University is more concerned with cost than they are with students getting hit by a tram on the way to their ECON10002 tutorial at 9a.m.,” University of Melbourne Student Union President, Yan Zhuang said. Students are concerned their interests will not be heard in the decision making process. When contacted, a representative from the Chancellor’s office rejected this concept. “We have a number of highly qualified individuals working towards a solution. We are confident that an appropriate and effective measure will be decided upon in due course,” a spokesperson said. The suggestion that students could simply obey road laws that apply to all pedestrians was immediately dismissed. 'Breaking (the) News' is Farrago's satire column and is not to be taken seriously.

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OFFICE BEARER REPORTS PRESIDENT | YAN ZHUANG I hope you all had an amazing time at SummerFest, diving into the underwater wonderland that is university! Our start of year shenanigans might be over, but UMSU has a whole shoal of exciting things coming up this semester. Keep an eye out for our weekly South Lawn stalls, running on alternate Wednesdays and Thursdays 12-2p.m., which are a great way to find out more about what our departments are up to. We’re also going to be campaigning around issues that affect students – whether that be penalty rates, harm reduction or safety on campus. Above all, UMSU exists to support you. So if you ever have any questions or concerns, or even just want to talk, swim up to level one of Union House where our school of friendly fish and sea creatures reside and we’ll sort you out. My door is always open, so feel free to drop by for a chat anytime!

GENERAL SECRETARY | YASMINE LUU Congratulations! You’ve made it through the first few weeks of semester! Firstly, let me tell you a really terrible joke about the ocean: Where does a killer whale go to get their braces? The Orca-dontist! Okay. So my ocean themed joke is done. Anyway, we hope you had an excellent SummerFest, and that you’ve had the time to get involved in UMSU, whether that be joining a club, signing up to volunteer, going to an event or simply picking up UMSU’s Guide to the Universe. As a student of the University of Melbourne, you pay the Student Services and Amenities Fee (SSAF), where a portion of that goes to UMSU. Make sure you get the most out of your SSAF by attending and experiencing everything UMSU has to offer.

EDUCATION (ACADEMIC) | CALEY MCPHERSON & ROGER SAMUEL Welcome to Semester One! The Education Department have a new guide, printed and online Counter Course handbooks, and an online SRN portal this year, to make the connection between students, the union and the University smoother than ever. If you didn’t receive either of our printed publications during Summerfest, drop by the Ed (Ac) office on Level 1 to pick one up and say hi! Submissions to the Counter Course online are open and encouraged; beyond the satisfaction of helping your peers, we may be offering more substantial rewards soon. This month, we had fun at SummerFest at our Education stall, the Human Library event, and the Union House sleepover, meeting new and not-so-new students and talking about education and uni life. If you share our passion, shoot us an email or get involved through the Student Representative Network (SRN)! Everything’s better, down where it’s Ed-er. Join our community!

EDUCATION (PUBLIC) | DANIEL LOPEZ & SINEAD MANNING The seaweed is always greener / In education’s lake / We’ve had lots of volunteers / Signing up, which is great / Just look at the world around you / With PEP you can do more! / Such wonderful things surround you / What more are you lookin' for? Under the sea / Under the sea / Darling it's better / When education / I-is free! Welcome deep sea divers! Make a splash with the General Education Forum. This is a collective space where jellyfish, squids, sharks and students can discuss education policy and teaching & learning at the University. Otherwise, dive in to our mailing list or social media to find out what’s making waves in Education, or come to the octopus’ garden that is our office (Level 1, Union House) to hear us sing these songs in person.

WELFARE | RYAN DAVEY & TERESA GORNALL Ahoy there! These past few weeks ‘ave been a busy time for yer fav pirates, Teresa the Terrible and Ryan the Redoubtable. A breakfast a mornin’ has been offered to keep ye young seafarers afloat – a crust o’ bread or a wee tinny of cereal. Ye’ll find us manning the docks every morning from the ungodly hour of 8am to 10am in the spirits cabin or out under the elements on a Thursday out on the Stern. You’d be a scurvy dog to miss our free classes for soothing the mind without need o’ rum, stretching the body to keep your ship-bound body limber and shaking that wooden leg to a lively jig. If you’re a lassy, learn to defend against villainous pirates! Come along and you’ll be hooked.

ARTWORK BY ELENA PIAKIS 15

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DISABILITIES | ALSTON CHU & CASSANDRA PRIGG It's Week 4 and you might be starting to feel the pressure. If your subject load is leaving you feeling like a fish out of water or some other metaphor mixture, remember that you can still withdraw from most subjects without incurring fees up until the 31st of March. Otherwise, regardless of whether you identify as disabled, don't be afraid to reach out to us if you're not getting the support you need from your peers (piers). You may also have noticed the National Day of Action coming up on 22 March. If you can manage it, it's an important way to ensure that your rights and interests are respected, as well as those of future generations. This year we're hoping to put in a lot of work so getting involved is more accessible. Get in touch and help us make a splash!

INDIGENOUS | MARLEY HOLLOWAY-CLARKE & WUNAMBI CONNOR Despite only just keeping our heads above water, the first few weeks are off to a swimming start for the Indigenous Department. We kicked off SummerFest with our Carnival Day stall which is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the exciting events we have planned for the year. We are very happy with how our first event went. The 'Welcome (Back) BBQ', had many in our collective drowning in lots of free goodies, food and drinks. But the fun doesn’t stop there – we are already planning for our next event. In the meantime you can listen to The Biggest Blackest Show on Radio Fodder for all things Indigenous. For all other regular updates follow us on Facebook @umsuindigenous and for all things Under Bunjil related email our head editor Serena Thompson at underbunjil@gmail.com.

PEOPLE OF COLOUR | ELLA SHI & HANANN AL DAQQA Whoooo lives in a pineapple under the sea? Not us, that’s for sure. Plus Ella hates pineapples. And deep sea creatures are fucking terrifying. But our office IS yellow (like a pineapple?!) – helpful to keep in mind if you’ve ever made your way to the UMSU offices but wasn’t sure which one was ours. SummerFest is over and the semester is in full swing but the excitement doesn’t stop here. Our regular collective and reading group are also continuing (as regular things do) and we always welcome new faces. See you around!

QUEER | BLAKE ATMAJA & EVELYN LESH Hi students, catering staff, that ex-boyfriend we all know and hate! We’ve arrived swimmingly into this semester with SummerFest finally wrapped up. If you didn’t check it out, while I’m a little disappointed (thanks mum for making that aspect of my personality so ~vibrant~) at least your Office Bearers have new, more daring plans to get you excited for university! We at the Queer Department are looking at having more interactions with you all through our gaming afternoons, a community-driven queer zine, collaborations and exciting speakers over the coming Diversity Week. We’re looking to move from being just a part of your world to being your whole world, so once you find your sea legs, you should check out the queer notice board on the Ground Floor of Union House! Or on Facebook if that’s easier. It’s probably easier, with less glitter if that’s your vibe.

WOMEN’S | ANJANA ABEYRATNE & HANNAH BILLETT The Women’s Department may still be recovering from SummerFest madness, but we are super excited that the Women’s Mentoring Network is kicking off again. The transition from high school to university can make you feel like a very small fish in a very large ocean. That feeling doesn’t necessarily go away after your first year either. That’s what our mentoring network is all about – hooking you up with a bigger fish (either an alumnus or a graduate student) who has swum in the same waters you are currently navigating. They can guide and support you, as well as advise you on how to beat the sharks (systematic discrimination, patriarchy and glass ceilings). To get involved head to umsu.unimelb.edu.au/communities/ women/mentoring/.

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ACTIVITIES | JACINTA COOPER & LYDIA PAEVERE 2017 has kicked off with a bang thanks to SummerFest. The first week was jam packed. On the Tuesday, we were a part of the UMSU Carnival Day and spent it selling tickets to the Start of Uni Party and the first ever Union House Sleepover, as well as handing out branded bottle openers. Friday came around quick and the sleepover went off with a bang! 600 people were there to enjoy the comedy, band, bar, UV disco, late night movies, roaming silent disco, crafts, student comedy, writing workshop and more. The event was super successful and a lot of students came back for more at SOUP to dance with 800 friends. Keep an eye out for our trivia nights on Facebook. Xoxo Gossip Activities.

CLUBS & SOCIETIES | GULSARA KAPLUN & KAYLEY CUZZUBBO A sailor went to C&S To see what he could C&S And all that he could C&S Was the wonderful events put on by C&S! (Specifically the Clubs Carnival on the Thursday of Week 5, with food, drink and merriment).

CREATIVE ARTS | HARRIET WALLACE-MEAD & SARA LAURENA We've been super busy! Putting everything in place for our first Pot Luck Open Mic night (PLOM) on 16 March, getting ready to give out our first round of creative arts grants (apply! you could get $500 bucks!) and settling in to some leafy greens with our free botanic drawing classes. WHAT'S MORE, there is a ripple in the big blue sea of UMSU Creative Arts activity. Something is moving far below and waves are gently tugging at the shorelines of creativity. Down in the depths a mysterious blue egg is hatching and out of it is emerging...................................................................................................................................................................................................................... .................................................................................................................................Mudfest! Applications for artist positions are now open, so keep your eyes open and start hatching your plans. We're almost ready to set sail.

ENVIRONMENT | ELIZABETH NICHOLSON & KATE DENVER-STEVENSON FernGully…...Fossil Free Convergence…...Enviro Collective…...Lockout Lockheed…….Cup Free Campus…...musustainabilitywatch.org…….Doco nights……..Play With Your Food JOIN US: https://www.facebook.com/umsuenviro/

BURNLEY | JESSICA PEELER

VCA | NICHOLAS LAM

Recently we’ve been making our Student Amenities Building (SAB) a little more homely. We now have revived indoor plants, our very own coffee machine (which makes REAL, delicious coffee) and a fresh batch of magazines from the Rowdy. We’ve also got an office to call home! Unfortunately, we’ve had some less-than-fun issues to deal with too, including changes to our undergraduate degree and the removal of our receptionist. We’ve been working hard to find solutions that allow ALL students to study with us and access the services they need. If you feel like the waves of uni are crashing down around you already, don’t despair! There are so many helpful services we bet you haven’t even heard of. Come and see (sea?) us for a coffee, a chat, and grab some zucchinis from the community garden – we’ll be upstairs in the SAB chilling out on our comfy new (recycled) couches. We’re super hyped to report that the O-Week camp and the Mini-SummerFest at the VCA has surpassed our expectations. It’s been too long since we’ve done anything for our lovely jaffies, but we’re gonna start now! In the coming weeks and months, we’re going to arrange for more at the VCA, like free food and more community bonding between the VCA and MCM. We share many of the same interests and compatible skills that have the potential to help each other get ahead in a highly competitive field… But that’s just an excuse to supply cheap booze and free drinks to everyone. Look out for the next VCASA event! P.S. Look where the Marxist posters were last year. Hope to sea you there!

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COLUMN BY MADELINE BAILEY ARTWORK BY REIMENA YEE

EDITION 2: THE GRIFFIN IN THE UNDERGROUND CAR PARK here is a griffin concealed in the carpark under South Lawn. His talons click on the concrete as he prowls between the pillars. His wings are grey, but in the dark they look silver. They are shiny like sheet metal. His feathers glint. The carpark under South Lawn smells like paint and cardboard boxes. Lights flicker in the ceiling, and pipes whir from all the walls. The vehicles park in clumps. There are tractors, porches, pushbikes. There are panel vans with the UniMelb logo. There are no griffins at Monash. There are also none at Swinburne, or even at USyd. There are groups hunting this griffin as they believe he’s the last. Classics professors from Canberra have been searching. They know he’s at the University of Melbourne but they think he’s hidden somewhere in the Ian Potter. They want him dead to display at ANU. This is why all gardeners are trained in combat. They also carry fertiliser infused with ForgetMix™, and at the end of every shift they fit their face masks and then spray each carpark entrance. The west entrance is framed by two concrete figures. One has cobwebs in his beard. The plaque says they were part of the Colonial Bank (on the corner of Elizabeth and Little Collins Streets). But the bank ceased to exist and they persisted.

The griffin lives in a corner fenced by plywood and wire. You cannot see inside and there’s a padlock on the gate. He guards the objects hidden with him. There are umbrellas and coat buttons and coins. There are student cards and cigarettes. Some might assume the griffin snatches these from campus, but he does not. Things gather under South Lawn. When the carpark was constructed in the '70s, the griffin appeared with it. Some believe that he escaped from someone’s back garden in Fitzroy, but no one knows where he came from before that. In the Baillieu there are books about Greek vases and some of the griffins on them have beaks that are bent like his.

A scene from Mad Max was once filmed underneath South Lawn. So was a ballet sequence broadcast on ABC TV. And an episode from series eight of MasterChef. If you pause in the right place you can glimpse a claw behind Matt Preston’s shoulder, so the gardeners keep tabs on downloads from the ACT.

The carpark is often empty, but sometimes there are stray students. The griffin tries talking to them, but can’t speak a human language. He cannot speak eagle either. This is why he borrows rhythms. His voice might whir like an engine, or rattle like tinny rock music floating from a car stereo (Freddie? David Bowie?). Each morning before collecting their wheelbarrows, the gardeners share breakfast with the griffin. When he sips their tea and chews their toast, his wings shine. He is extinct but they will still nurture him.

The gardeners feed the griffin. They trudge around in neon vests and work boots. When the griffin hears their keys clink, he begins swishing his tail. They feed him branches and vines from System Garden. They used to feed him rats that they had caught in the Old Quad but now there are not many left. Most of them moved to Monash when they heard about the griffin.

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FLUSHED AWAY WORDS BY CLAIRE MILLER ARTWORK BY CHARLOTTE BIRD-WEBER

THE BEST TOILETS TO CRY IN AT THE UNIVERSITY

hether you’re a freshly minted first year or in the depths of a PhD, the University of Melbourne’s toilets are spaces where students are able to release their tears, as well as their bowels. The assortment of toilets at the University's various campuses ensure that, wherever you are, the comfort of a cubicle is never far away. Union House, Basement, Parkville If you’re looking to cry incognito, the continuous drone of the student body and the constant gurgling of flushing toilets in the basement of Union House provide anonymity. Furthermore, Kendall Jenner recently asserted that Baker Miller pink – not unlike the shocking shade of pink in the toilets designated for women – is the only colour scientifically proven to calm you. However, the reinforcement of the gender binary through the aforementioned pink walls, in contrast to the soothing blue in the toilets assigned to men, may add to your sorrows. Arts West, Ground Level, Parkville Arts West and your inner self may not be so far apart. The building has a smooth exterior and the University views its latest property development as having great promise. However, once you’re inside, the exposed parts and strange textures overwhelm you. An architecture student once told you they weren’t sure it was structurally sound and because of this, you’re reluctant to ever visit the basement. Despite all the confusion, one can find solace in the austere toilets. The barren white walls allow for an undistracted sob session. Eastern Resource Centre, Ground Level, Parkville After hours of skimming through databases, practice exams and memes, these unisex toilets can act as an escape pod. Patrons are instructed to press a large cream button. Then, with one satisfying push, the door swiftly glides open. The toilets themselves are narrow spaces that either feel incredibly comforting or extremely cramped. Due to the foot traffic in the building – particularly during SWOTVAC – a short, economical cry is recommended. HUB Building, Southbank Campus Before entering these spacious toilets you’re confronted with a mirror wall which beams 'SEE YOURSELF HERE'. Following these directions could lead to viewing the reflection of your upset/ anxious/tired self. Upon staring at this vulnerable image of yourself, the inspiration to make art may hit you, or maybe just the urge to reach the bathroom a little quicker. Concerning the conditions of said toilets, a VCA student noted their consistent dampness, “They always seem to have puddles, but they’re still the most frequently cleaned toilets at VCA.” Baldwin Spencer, First Floor, Parkville Behind a set of unassuming grey doors lie some of the most peaceful toilets on campus. Featuring a low, green-tiled table and two chairs, this spacious toilet area is filled with natural light. The serene aura of these toilets may lead you from crying to a mindfulness session. It even has a scarily efficient hand dryer which will not only dry your hands but also your eyes. Redmond Barry, Levels 9 & 10, Parkville If you’re looking for a mournful stair climb or an angsty elevator ride then these toilets may be for you! If the endorphins haven’t kicked in from pulling yourself up the stairs, then the aggressively yellow doors of the bathrooms assigned to women will be sure to brighten your day. These toilets can also offer some perspective on your troubles by affording you a scant view of the campus from above. Though the windows are mostly shut, it’s rewarding to watch tiny figures playing tennis or rushing to their lectures before you take the elevator back down.

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NEGLECTED TIME WORDS BY JAMES GORDON ARTWORK BY CORNELIUS DARRELL

TWO MURDERS AND THE RUMINATIONS ON TIME

ulius Caesar was stabbed 23 times before he met his death. A later autopsy showed only one of the wounds had been fatal. Many of you may be able to relate to old Brutus and his pals. It’s this kind of irrational overcompensation that leads to a feeling of wasted study time after sitting a short exam. Wasted time that lolls in the swamp of our memories, soon to glue together with all the mud and the gunk. But how wasted is this wasted time really? John Lennon claimed time is only wasted if it was not enjoyed. Lennon also claimed “if it’s not okay, it’s not the end”, which I’m sure would have brought him great comfort as he was dying all alone by a gutter in a pool of his own blood. Unlike the daggers of Caesar’s assassins, all four of Chapman’s bullets caused fatal wounds. Still, both Caesar and Lennon had time to reflect on any wasted time as the life slowly slipped from the grasp of their bodies. What is truly wasted time and what are the moments we will regret upon death? Would the answer be the same now as it was two thousand years ago on the Ides of March? It is easy to fall into the trap of believing we are exactly as the Romans were. We are not. Yet like the fruitless gesticulations of Caesar’s assassins, there are hazy similarities. For example, archaeologists have discovered a school in Ancient Rome where a penis had been engraved into one of the desks. It is difficult to ascertain whether this phallic craft grew from the hand of an actual student in response to academic ennui. While it is tempting to believe Roman students reacted to dry lectures this way, there’s not enough evidence to support this assumption. But it does suggest that at least one person from Ancient Rome spent their time in this way for whatever reason. So, did a Roman waste their time drawing genitalia? I’m not sure. A clichéd iota of wisdom tells us to live in the moment. Goethe, referencing the Stoic and Epicurean philosophies of Ancient Greece, instructs that “Not backwards, (nor) forwards is the spirit’s sight, this moment now, alone, – is our delight.” He argues that many people cannot be content with the present in the modern world, unlike the representatives of Ancient Greece who learnt to live in the moment. The Epicureans believed a finite moment of happiness caused infinite pleasure and advised we could find it if we lived as though death would greet us within a day’s length. But how can we be so sure the Ancient Greeks were really happier than we are now? For all the pottery, literature and art the Greeks gave us, ideas of despair and grief appear frequently. Perhaps we don’t have to live in the moment all the time to avoid wasting it. If we were to truly live in the moment, spending our entire lives prepared to meet death, perhaps we would lose something along the way. Because if we only lived in the moment we wouldn’t invest in anything. Studying, helping a friend and learning a skill involves building towards a sense of greater satisfaction and wisdom. An awareness of our mortality could encourage many to seek only instant pleasure and refuse activities that detract from the moment. It is for this reason that Epicureanism is often misunderstood as a hedonistic philosophy. It’s not. But sometimes attaining true satisfaction and happiness comes through endurance and after long stints of discomfort in regards to relationships, assignments and skills. Many from antiquity certainly knew this. Their ability to build sturdy monuments and powerful literature, sometimes over the course of decades, shows their appreciation of delayed gratification. Their attention to detail in this architecture and literature also suggests they may have appreciated the small details of life too. Small, subtle bursts of joy that sometimes go unnoticed, but which can get us through the day without necessarily contributing to any overall happiness. Perhaps Lennon was wrong. While observing his last glimpse of light, the reflection of the moon in his spreading pool of blood, would Lennon have regretted the hours spent stressing over a particular lyric from a Beatles song? And would Caesar, after Brutus’ betrayal, have regretted the stress he inflicted upon his own mind during the invasion to Britain? That’s not to suggest we should focus narrowly on achieving goals. Perhaps satisfaction comes from the process of achievement too. After such a betrayal, Caesar may have regretted the hours he invested into his friendship with Brutus. Ending a friendship is never easy, but an ending does not reverse what preceded the end. The process of developing a relationship may allow seemingly futile acts to dwell in a well spent memory. Betrayal can cause pain in the moment, but sometimes it’s important to reflect on the past and not to forget the moments upon which friendships were built. Even if this memory is just drinking or aimless walking. Different people in different times have placed value on different parts of their life. It is ultimately up to the individual what makes up their wasted time. But living entirely in the moment can restrict the satisfaction we attain from life. Sometimes we can render ourselves so caught up trying to live in the moment that we become unaware of the world around us. We can miss something greater. As Oscar Wilde said, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all”. This may be our blazing regret while lying in the boggy mire of memories as we see our death approaching.

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MUSIC AS PROTEST WORDS BY ETHAN LOH ARTWORK BY NAKATE KAKEMBO

EXPLORING THE ROLE OF MUSIC IN THE BLACK LIVES MATTER MOVEMENT

CONTENT WARNINGS: RACISM, VIOLENCE & SLURS/SWEARING

nder overcast Sunday skies in Cleveland, police cars and protesters intermingle in a messy foray. Amongst the chaos, a singular chant rings out in a burning ritualistic reverberation: 'Nigga, we gon' be alright / We gon' be alright.' Rarely has a social movement generated as much controversy in America as Black Lives Matter (BLM) – the grassroots AfricanAmerican movement against systemic racism and violence born in 2013. The movement has exploded into American social consciousness as a mobalisation of both resistance and pride. In all this, Kendrick Lamar’s 'Alright' unexpectedly became one of the most influential songs of 2016 as it became a representative protest song of the Black consciousness movement in the US. For decades, even centuries, protests have used music as a medium to communicate their messages. Revolutionary anthems such as the French 'La Marseillaise' or the Chinese 'March of the Volunteers' represent some of its earliest widespread forms. Causes represented by musical protest have varied from war, such as Chicago’s anti-Vietnam War song, 'It Better End Soon', to feminism with Russian band Pussy Riot being a particularly notorious example after their imprisonment for ‘hooliganism’. However, the African American community has had a particularly long and rich history using music as a medium of protest. A relatively new genre of music, hip hop can trace its roots through distinctive bands such as De La Soul or A Tribe Called Quest. Jazz and blues music also found their origins from work songs, spirituals and protest music of Black liberation in the 19th century. Music was also a key feature of civil rights protests during the ‘60s in America. Hymns such as We Shall Overcome gained fame as unofficial anthems of the movement at the time, continuing the tradition of soulful music inflaming passionate protest. Therefore, it’s no surprise that hip hop has become part of the BLM movement in the last three years. Vice versa, music has and continues to be the Black community’s art of protest against the predominantly white establishment that is viewed as abusing their power over underprivileged Black communities. Deriving from these formative ideas of anti-establishmentarianism and rebellion, it comes as no shock that hip hop and BLM reciprocated influences between each other. It was the hip hop and R&B community, which stepped in as the creators of the ‘modern’ Black protest music, that have lit fires of unity in the BLM movement. The concepts of BLM arrived into hip hop and became the anthems of the movement as it rose in popularity. Many artists drew on the vibrant landscape of ideas that the movement had brought forward: of conflict, Black identity and pride. Vic Mensa’s album, There’s a Lot Going On, was saturated with influences of the BLM movement, which Mensa himself participated in by performing at a Chicago BLM art exhibition in April 2016.

Mensa’s song, '16 Shots', sampled reports of Laquan McDonald’s death – an African-American youth whose shooting by a white police officer caused public outcry as it was alleged that two clips were fired into the youth’s body. The song itself conveys anger once more boiling over from years of argued systemic discrimination and brutality from the law. This type of sample also appeared in J. Cole’s 'Be Free' in regards to the similar police shooting of Michael ‘Mike’ Brown. An eyewitness account of his death formed a haunting interlude between verses: 'Can you tell me why / Every time I step outside I see my niggas die / I’m lettin’ you know / That there ain’t no gun they make that can kill my soul.' Once BLM and its ideas came into the limelight, sparks of inspiration spread like wildfire. Jay-Z released 'Spiritual' as his wife Beyoncé came out with 'Formation' featuring Kendrick Lamar. Killer Mike dropped 'Hands Up' and 'The Game', as well as producing 'Don’t Shoot' – featuring 2 Chainz, DJ Khaled and Yo Gotti – a collaboration in the wake of Mike Brown’s death in Ferguson and the subsequent protests and violence. The BLM movement, and the deaths that sparked it, rallied hip hop to a common cause. Just as the unison of artists spanning generations and genres rallied protesters to the message, hip hop brought people together as a community. Others in the community however, such as Kanye West, Lil Wayne and A$AP Rocky made efforts to disassociate themselves from the movement. West and Wayne both argued controversially that there was “no such thing as racism”, though Wayne would later backtrack on this statement. On the other hand, Rocky questioned the necessity of his music being political “just because [he was] a Black man”. A$AP Rocky’s criticism of the movement as a “bandwagon” presents a valid point. Like him, there are many in the Black community who “can’t relate” to the movement, and for whom BLM is simply not their fight. Regardless of these divisions, a certain sense of unity remains. Music as protest seems to surge in the Black community when grievances accumulate to a breaking point. From the anti-slavery spirituals, to the songs of the civil rights movement such as Mahlia Jackson’s 'How I Got Over', and now to hip hop singles such as Kendrick Lamar’s 'Alright' or YG’s 'FDT'. In the interplay of BLM and hip hop, we witness something historical once more. Music has been a kindling and unifier for peaceful and powerful rebellion. In turn, that revolt has been a spark for some incredibly inspired music, in a renaissance of Black music as protest. “I think the Black Lives Matter movement is incredibly positive. It’s opened a lot of discussion and discourse about the problems in our society and communities and that’s important" said Mensa.

y boat series was inspired by the many days and nights spent at the seaside, where I am constantly struck by the surreal vastness of the sea and its calming, mesmerising effect. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s somewhere I go to empty out my mind, deflate and unclutter all the images that inhabit me."

n my watercolours I try to capture the whimsical scenes found on the streets of Melbourne which I come across while I wander aimlessly around the city like a Modernist flâneur (often handing out résumés to whichever busy place I could see myself running around, balancing stacks of pretty dishes). I am constantly struck by the eclecticism of the city with its constant flow of energy, whether it be cafes populated with bearded men, bikes stacked up in rows or damp walls in moody underpasses smeared with colourful graffiti and posters." facebook.com/ally.watercolourist/ allyandjackblog.wordpress.com

ARTWORK BY ALEXANDRA BURNS 23

COMMENTARY

STAND UP FOR WHAT? WORDS BY FERGUS NEAL ARTWORK BY ESTHER LE COUTEUR

FERG INTERVIEWS COMEDIANS ABOUT THE UPCOMING COMEDY FESTIVAL

a comedic exploration of Australia’s immigration situation and its success can be seen in its continued running one year on. Tom explores topics ranging from our racist federation to Tampa, to lighter topics such as Johnny Depp’s dogs. I sat in to watch it. It provides the perfect mixture of thought and laughter. Without giving too much away, I heard one of the largest laughs of the festival provoked by a Cher-inspired pun. The show itself offers tummy-nauseating hilarity. Tom brings a new show to this year’s festival, with one hour of completely new material. Problematic seeks to explore what the boundaries of political correctness are. “Please come,” Tom begs. Throughout Problematic, Tom discusses what it is to be a comedian, and more specifically, what comedians can laugh at. Can anything be funny? Tom should know. At nineteen, he won 'Best Newcomer' at the 2009 festival. But as he says, “It’s such a complicated topic.” If your grandmother falls over, is it okay or not okay to let out a giggle? These are some of the toughest philosophical questions of our time. Tom appeals to students via his intelligent humour, which does more than manifest laughter. He gets people thinking. He has used his platform to spark change for issues ranging from homophobia to refugee rights. On the way out of the interview, I dig at him for the nature of his dialogue with One Nation cofounder, David Oldfield, on SBS’s First Contact. Tom smiles, “That was an absolute nightmare.” I burst out with laughter, confident I’d do the same at both of Tom’s festival shows.

he Melbourne International Comedy Festival makes the air taste sweeter. The whole city seems to wobble with laughter as summer yawns its way into the colder months. It's a good belly laugh. One that stretches the rib cage, chisels a six-pack or turns a bad day good. It's a requisite for all of us in alleviating the apprehension and anxiety of a new academic semester. This year’s festival marks 30 years since Barry Humphries first announced the inaugural event in 1987. Since then, cackles, chuckles, giggles and all other varieties of laughter have trickled down Melbourne’s streets. I sought out three of our finest comics – Tom Ballard, Demi Lardner and Sammy J – to discuss their upcoming shows at this year’s festival.

Tom Ballard has the adorability of a baby elephant learning how to walk. His comedic prowess delivers witticisms to the left and right side of your head, until you’re stranded on the ropes with your face sore from smiling and accompanied with a new outlook on life. Tom’s smile dissolves any feeling of nerves I may have had before the interview.

Tom explores topics ranging from our racist federation to Tampa, to lighter topics such as Johnny Depp’s dogs. Since I last interviewed Tom a year ago, he has scaled the comedy ladder to be up there with the world’s best. His show last year, The World Keeps Happening, was nominated for 'Best Show' at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival and for the same award at the prestigious Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the largest comedy festival in the world. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Last year, Tom also undertook a second show, Boundless Plains To Share. It presents

Demi Lardner is an absolute gem of a comic. Her likeability and down-to-earth realness is contagious. “I don’t know what I look like, I’ve been here for as long as me,” Demi smiles. This kind of apprehension is quickly made redundant when learning of Demi’s accolades. Demi started comedy at the age of just sixteen. Three years later, she won Australia’s largest new

COMMENTARY

comics' competition: RAW. Half a year later, and still a teenager, she won the most prestigious comedy competition in the world, taking out ‘So You Think You’re Funny’, at the Edinburgh Fringe. Demi laughs nervously, “Yeah it’s a lot of pressure, a scary amount of pressure.”

Demi’s onstage presence is extraordinary. Her jokes weave through audiences like a feather tickling the back of your neck. That early success has taken Demi to the Montreal Comedy Festival, as well as to a part of Foxtel’s sketch comedy series, Open Slather. Last year, Demi’s show Life Mechanic was nominated for 'Best Newcomer' at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Demi’s onstage presence is extraordinary. Her jokes weave through audiences like a feather tickling the back of your neck, convulsing into action an inevitable howling of laughter from the large crowds that flock to her shows. Having been in and around the Melbourne comedy scene, Demi is the comedian’s comedian. Wherever you venture, she is talked about and loved. It’s probably for the way she can connect with people, taking life with a grain of salt and always looking for the next laugh. This year, Demi’s show, Look What You Made Me Do, is directed by Aunty Donna’s Mark Bonanno – someone who Demi both enjoys to rib and describes as a “comedic genius.” Demi thinks you “could kick her over a fence”, but this twenty-three year old’s talent at such a young age is worth watching now so you can add the time old smugness 'I was there' when Demi fulfils her potential as one of the most talented comedians in the world.

Sammy J was a law student at the University of Melbourne. He could be found in the library writing jokes, reading comic books and definitely not studying law. Sammy J’s long stretching career has been and seen everything in the world of comedy. This master of mirth may be remembered best for his comedic partnership with purple puppet, Randy. But an “amicable divorce” has seen Sammy J take a puppet-less path following the massive success of their Netflix series, Sammy J and Randy in Rickett’s Lane.

Sammy J, the musical comedian with two ARIAS, is also riding the wave of his highly acclaimed Playground Politics on the ABC. This series saw him parody Australian politics in a playschool setting with the likes of opposition leader Bill Shorten giving the “gift of democracy…to all the boys and girls of Australia”. This year, Sammy J’s show Hero Complex, veers slightly (still some wise cracks in there) to politics to 1996. This was the year that Sammy J developed a friendship with, and borrowed comic books from, his school gardener, which he assures me is, “not as dodgy as it sounds.” This would set off a chain reaction that would eventually lead to the birth of his daughter and a crime committed in Canberra that ended with a federal policeman searching the attic of his home. Hero Complex sees Sammy J look at his diary from Grade 6 to Year 12 hoping for the audience’s sake that the jokes have improved since then.

His passion for comedy is what makes Sammy so loveable, and is fundamentally what comedy is about. He is a comedian who thrives on the sounds of laughter. Sammy J looks like a comedian – all his movements and sounds are comedic in nature. His eyes radiate a colour of laughter, which draw me in until I’m telling him, “Sorry, I misread that horribly.” I can see the excitement in Sammy J’s eyes, as he details the new songs in his show, ‘What I Would Say To Myself When I Was 13’ and ‘I’ll See You in 17 Years’. His passion for comedy is what makes Sammy so loveable, and is fundamentally what comedy is about. He is a comedian who thrives on the sounds of laughter. He wants to see the world put aside its darkness and difference momentarily and get lost at his expense in the glories of nerdy existence past.

Tom, Demi and Sammy J’s shows run from the 30th of March at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Tickets available at www.ticketmaster.com. You can listen to Fergus interview comedians on The Ferg Neal Show, Thursdays 3-4pm on Radio Fodder at radiofodder.com.

TIPS AND TRICKS

TO BECOMING A MODERN, 21ST CENTURY WOMAN WORDS AND ARTWORK BY VERONICA DI MASE WORSHIP SATAN

Converting to Satanism is a fantastic way to prepare yourself for your journey to becoming a modern woman. Other religions are way too mainstream. Just don’t forget to shower yourself in pig's blood every night.

DATE SOMEONE INTERESTING

Formulating a relationship with a man is overrated. Take your dog on a date instead! Their skills include licking, biting and barking, but their greatest attribute is that they’re always up for a midnight stroll. Just don’t forget to bring a stick to throw for them!

HAVE A CONVERSATION

Before you were transformed from mundane woman to modern woman, you'd never actually had a conversation in your life. So start now by verbalising your thoughts and communicating for the very. First. Time.

GIVE A SINCERE APOLOGY

Since all the past apologies in your pathetic womanly life had been fabricated, start by apologising for your very existence. But don’t stop there, apologise for every single mistake that has taken place on Earth. Which of course are all your fault.

WEAR TRENDY SUNGLASSES

They will cover your eyes from bright rays of sun or any unwanted glares directed at you by the traditionally mundane.

CHANGE YOUR LOOKS

Dress yourself down. Throw out your make-up. Shave your head. Remove your eyeballs. You can even chop off all your limbs. Any one of these styles will allow you to seem like a genuinely original woman.

WEAR A NEW NAIL COLOUR

A bright red colour is a remarkable way to stand out. Just don’t tell anyone that it’s made from the blood of the men you refuse to date.

DRESS FOR YOUR BODY SHAPE

Many long to have the physique of an hour glass, pear or apple. Resemble the shape of a pizza instead! Try accentuating the triangle shape of your figure by wearing a tight jumpsuit.

SICK SAD WORLD COLUMN BY ED PITT ARTWORK BY HANNA LIU

INSIDE THE SHIT REDDIT SAYS COMMUNITY CONTENT WARNINGS: SEXUAL ASSAULT, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE & MENTIONS OF RAPE

t is one of the most hated communities on Reddit and consequently the internet. Whenever another Reddit community is banned, users cry out talking of double standards. What’s more, it is frequently compared to these banned communitiess, such as a forum to denigrate the overweight and a hub for the alt-right. However, its only crime, and what is arguably the purpose of the community, is calling Reddit out on racism and bigotry. ShitRedditSays, or SRS for short, is infamous on the website. The group is frequently accused of being an ‘internet cult’ in cahoots with the websites' administrators, responsible for brigading (the prohibited act of invading another community en masse) as well as doxxing multiple individuals (an act akin to internet stalking and blackmail). However, the cause of these allegations can only really be attributed to the group’s commitment to exposing the racists, sexists and bigots of Reddit.

Speaking about the point of SRS, Elle stated that "the purpose has always been to hold a mirror up to Reddit". On entering SRS there appears to be little in the way of organised action. Instead, there is a collection of quotations taken from other areas of Reddit. 'Most domestic violence can be traced back to a woman doing something so fucking stupid it drivers [sic] a man insane. I asked for chips from the store and my wife brought back Cheetos. That was almost the end of her [+57].' 'Nothing says anti fascism like bludgeoning people to death to silence them [+557].' 'Not really, only the US has this absurd idea that you should tolerate fascists. That's how you end up with Trump [-53].' And, of course, on the banning of a community dedicated to the alt-right: 'I wonder if the admins will ever start holding /r/shitredditsays to the same standard?' [+257].' The quotes have been taken from throughout Reddit, where numbers refer to the original post’s popularity. Generally, they come from more sanitary communities on Reddit – as it's considered far too easy to find questionable comments in certain parts of the website The wariness of outsiders and the vitriol they bring made talking with members of SRS difficult. Posts questioning individuals’ experiences were twice removed by moderators of the community, out of fear that it was a 'doxxing' attempt. However, speaking to Elle, a moderator of SRS, I can understand the concern. She had to delete her first account for that very reason.

Highlighting this issue is a mass of incredibly hostile posts made to SRS by outsiders: 'You people are the cancer of reddit,' 'Why are you all such assholes,' and 'Enough. E-fucking-nough. I've had it with you fucking harpies' (yes, someone actually wrote out 'e-fucking-nough'). Each of these are tagged with the caption 'Laughing My Butt Off', so SRS seem to be taking it on the chin. After convincing Elle I wasn't a 'madbro', she opened up about her role in SRS, and SRS' role in general. She's been moderating SRS for around six months, but has been an active member for far longer. Previously she spent six years moderating a forum for rape victims – a place to talk about what they had been through and provide advice. Elle stated that experiences moderating the two communities were similar – both received a lot of trolling, but the forum for rape victims received comments that were "grosser" and "more violent". I found it hard to believe that Elle was part of some cult-ish conspiracy to take down Reddit and kill free speech. Speaking about the point of SRS, Elle stated that '"the purpose has always been to hold a mirror up to Reddit". She noted that when she first joined the site there was "rampant" and "unacknowledged" misogyny and racism. Unfortunately, little has changed. On the rape victims forum, after Elle and others petitioned the administrators to provide better care for posters, the administrators began banning the worst offenders. Similarly, she says the Reddit administrators occasionally impose temporary bans on people for "spamming swastikas to our modmail". Moreover, Elle laments the role Reddit has played in fostering the "altright", suggesting that the website has become a hub for Stormfront (a prominent Neo-Nazi forum) recruitment. Most damningly, she alleges the managers of Reddit employed staff to trawl through "jailbait" (sexualised pictures of potential minors) to "determine which ones were real child porn". In response to frequent accusations made against SRS, Elle stated that whilst brigading was initially an issue, the community now discourages the behaviour. "There was one event that was borderline [doxxing] - a SRS user mentioned a Men's Rights Activist (MRA) by Reddit handle and actual name on their blog but that was the extent of it," Elle stated. Despite Elle’s low opinion of Reddit, she suggests that the website could be improved with sufficient staff, better relationships between the website's operators and the moderators of various communities and a clear policy on freedom of speech. On the tricky balancing of freedom of speech, she simply says she doesn’t see the value of rape and death threats, threats she has become all too used to.

COMMENTARY

DECREE 770 WORDS BY ELLEN MULLER ARTWORK BY LISA LINTON

ON THE REPERCUSSIONS OF ROMANIA'S SUPRESSION OF REPRODUCTIVE RIGHTS CONTENT WARNINGS: ABORTION & MATERNAL DEATH

ollowing the overthrow of Romanian dictator, Nicolae Ceaușescu, harrowing footage of overflowing state-run institutions for abandoned children shook the world. These frightened and severely neglected children were the product of a society that was forced to live with harsh pro-natalist policies. Romania’s suppression of abortion rights under Nicolae Ceaușescu’s leadership is arguably one of the most extreme case studies in the consequences of redefining population growth to a patriotic obligation. In current political debates concerning reproduction, references to the failures of these policies are still frequently drawn upon. The first formal action of the replacement leadership following the overthrow of Ceaușescu, was to revoke Decree 770 – the law which restricted birth control and abortion. From 1966 until Ceaușescu’s execution on 25 December 1989, Romanian women were required under this law to fulfil their assigned duty. It was decreed that ‘growth of an increased number of children, and the formation of healthy and robust generations is profoundly devoted to the cause of socialism’. To fully understand why Decree 770 was established, you need to be aware of what made Romania distinct from other Eastern Bloc states, this being Ceaușescu’s obsession with achieving stateautonomy. Although Romania was a socialist nation, Ceaușescu had the approval of Western leaders because he had openly severed ties from the Soviet Union. For Ceaușescu, rapid population growth was seen as necessary for strengthening Romania’s national presence. Pro-natalist policies were an investment in creating a future workforce for mass industrialisation plans. Additionally, the decline in Romania’s birthrate following World War II was incorrectly linked to legalising abortion in 1957. Decree 770 was introduced on 1 October 1966 – almost a decade after abortion had been legalised in Romania. Under this policy, women under the age of 45 could only be considered for a legal abortion under the following circumstances: · If she had already given birth and raised four children; · The pregnancy was the result of rape or incest; · The pregnant woman had a serious physical or psychological disability; · One parent suffered from a serious hereditary illness; or · The pregnancy endangered the woman’s life and no other alternative was possible. In these scenarios, approval for an abortion would then need to be granted by a medical committee. Moreover, this decree forbade any contraception which had not been manufactured in Romania, making birth-control virtually inaccessible. This change to legislation was announced the next day in Romania’s official newspaper, Scinteia. The Communist Party of Romania justified their decision on the first page with a statement: 'The particular social danger resulting from abortion and from its grave medical, demographic, and social consequences makes it necessary to punish all persons associated with effecting an abortion: the instigators, mediators and others involved in arranging an abortion as well as the participants themselves.' Comparable to other Eastern Bloc states, a fear of expressing any discontent was endemic within Romanian society due to the intense level of surveillance citizens were under. One could not openly challenge this law, and within two years of its formation

the total fertility rate grew from 1.9 children per woman, to 3.7. This increase, however, was not long-lasting as women began to seek illegal abortions. When the birth rate reverted back to its original figure, Decree 770 was modified to be more stringent, with divorce becoming highly restricted and other policies introduced. These included a monthly tax for all childless people twenty-five years or older regardless of marital status and mandatory monthly gynaecological examinations for every woman of a child-rearing age, in order to monitor for signs of pregnancy. “When the state usurps the private, the body is undressed in public,” a Romanian woman in Gail Kligman’s book The Politics of Duplicity said, summing up her feelings towards the political focus on family growth during this period. The state had not only assigned women a compulsory role, it had intruded on that which is most intimate and personal. What’s more, Ceaușescu’s extravagant spending on building The House of the People, an extravagant palace intended to declare the victory of socialism, mixed with his goal to immediately repay all of Romania’s international debt, made his expectations of women to raise large families even more unrealistic. Throughout the ‘80s, nation-wide rationing of food and heating was in place, and the majority of the population were of low socio-economic status. Although financial incentives were offered to families who had more children, these could not sufficiently cover the costs of raising a child. As a consequence, countless women lost their lives receiving illegal abortions. By 1989, Romania had the highest maternal mortality rate in Europe with 159 deaths for every 100,000 live births. The most distressing consequence of the pro-natalist policies was revealed following the death of Ceaușescu. In 1990, international journalists were permitted into Romania, and haunting footage began to emerge throughout the world of dirty and crammed institutions, never meant to be seen by the public. An estimated 100,000 abandoned children were living in appalling conditions in state-run orphanages. Starving, naked and neglected, they were forced to live in their own waste. The child-to-caregiver ratios ranged from 10:1 for infants, to as high as 20:1 for children over three, leaving these children severely deprived of any affection. Romanian citizens were oblivious to the plight of their abandoned children as the government had given the impression, through propaganda films, that the state system offered good care and education. Doctors were also known to encourage mothers to give their child to the orphanage if she was poor, if the child was fatherless or if the child had a disability. This footage triggered a public outcry. Some of these children were lucky enough to be adopted, yet immense flaws in Romania’s care of abandoned children remained a legacy from Ceaușescu long after the regime ended. The 23 years in which Decree 770 was in place remains much more than just a tragic example of the personal being invaded by the political. Its aftermath left countless women needlessly killed or infertile due to botched illegal abortion attempts and an institutional system for abandoned children which, despite vast improvements, is far from fixed. But one of the most poignant remnants of Ceaușescu’s regime is the lifelong struggle with severe trauma that the children who were forced to live in cruel conditions continue to face into adulthood.

COMMENTARY

DAVID UNNERVING WORDS BY YIANI ROMIOS ARTWORK BY ANWYN ELISE

CONSPIRACY THEORIES AND THE DANGERS OF MISINFORMATION

CONTENT WARNING: HOLOCAUST DENIAL

wo years ago, the wind symphony at Northcote High, my school, performed an impressionistic piece based on the 1945 Bombing of Dresden. It was jarring, atonal and harrowing – representing one of World War II’s most brutal events, where German civilians were slaughtered vengefully and indiscriminately by the Allies. To give the audience some context before the piece was played, our senior music captain introduced the item with a short speech, handed to him by a member of the music staff, in which he cited some figures of the bombing’s apparently extremely high death toll. Of course, nobody batted an eyelid. I realised only later that these figures had been sourced from the ‘research’ of English ‘historian’ David Irving – an infamous Nazi sympathiser and Holocaust denier. And no, there are no secret Neo-Nazis amongst Northcote High’s music staff. What had happened was that someone had quickly googled some info about the bombing and Irving’s figures had popped up somewhere near the top, pretending to be a reliable source. In times past, one might have consulted an encyclopaedia and found a valid figure relatively easily. However, on this occasion, the internet, inundated as it is with misinformation and paranoid conspiracy theories, had let nonsense slip through the cracks.

The case assumed a symbolic significance well beyond that of your average libel suit. It was as if the truth itself was being put on trial. What this meant was that the information conveyed to these poor parents had actually been manipulated by a reckless ideologue. Irving had, according to historian Richard Evans, reported the Dresden death toll at 10 times the most reasonable estimate, painting the Germans as the true victims of World War II, in line with his fascist and anti-Semitic worldview. Irving is so loose with the facts that he was even told by Justice Charles Gray in a highly publicised court case in the late 1990s that he had “persistently and deliberately misrepresented and manipulated historical evidence” by claiming that Auschwitz had not been used by the Nazis to exterminate Jews. This scathing assessment was the culmination of Irving’s failed attempt to sue historian Deborah Lippstadt for libel. Lippstadt had argued in a 1994 book about Holocaust denial that Irving himself was a ‘denier’ – that he had not lived up to acceptable standards of rigour by ignoring the vast body of evidence pointing to the extermination of millions of Jews. As such, the case assumed a symbolic significance well beyond that of your average libel suit. It was as if the truth itself was being put on trial. It was up to some of our esteemed formal institutions – namely, academia and the courts – to defend our basic understanding of an epoch-defining historical event. As it turned out, they did. Emphatically. What was supposed to happen thereafter was for Irving to fade into obscurity; disgraced and never taken seriously again. Unfortunately, he has never had more influence than he does today. He boasted recently to The Guardian that he is receiving

record interest from young people in particular – receiving “up to 300 to 400 emails a day” from fans who have been exposed to some of his several hundred YouTube lectures. He has become something of a cult hero, even receiving tens of thousands of dollars in spontaneous donations. He now drives a Rolls Royce and lives in a 40 room mansion gifted by an anonymous benefactor. In fact, being rejected by the world of facts and rigorous standards of evidence was probably a blessing in disguise. He now works in a realm where all that matters is being as provocative as possible; a technology-fueled world where mainstream academic and journalistic bodies are far less able to regulate people’s exposure to wild and unsubstantiated beliefs. Fanciful assertions are increasingly prevailing over intellectual rigour and David Irving is rich and famous. In fact, Irving exists amongst a plethora of ultra-conservative conspiracy theorists who have made their name online. American internet sensation Alex Jones, as one example, has put a more modern spin on classic right-wing anxieties. He has claimed on his website InfoWars that, among other things, the US Government has orchestrated a plot to make people gay by putting chemicals in food and fruit juice. There is, of course, nothing that comes close to qualifying as evidence to back this up – despite Jones’ claim that he has access to “government documents” which apparently explain their insidious plans. Stuff like this would be more hilarious and far less frustrating if it weren’t making a genuine impact on contemporary politics, and by extension millions of people’s understanding of the world around them. In the top 15 most read political news websites, far-right publication, InfoWars, which is highly sympathetic to America's notoriously dishonest newly-elected president – ranks seventh in terms of traffic. In fact, a BuzzFeed analysis showed that the top-performing fake election news stories were generating more Facebook activity than top stories from 19 mainstream news outlets. These stories had a generally right-wing slant and included reports that Pope Francis endorsed Donald Trump and that Hillary Clinton sold weapons to ISIS. Right-wing populists like Trump have been able to take full advantage of this decreasing role that facts play in people’s conception of politics and history. In a time of incredible inequality and global instability, not for a while has there been so much distrust for ‘the Establishment’ in Western countries. ‘Experts’ – people like Professor Lippstadt – are seen as a part of this. Furthermore, there has never before been such a perfect platform for filling this void, allowing new fears and old prejudices to bubble to the surface, the internet. David Irving is, after all, incredibly old-school. He espouses conspiratorial hatred of what he terms the “traditional enemy” (the Jews) as if it were the 1930s, drawing on centuries of distrust for Jews in Christian Europe. Ironically, his plight so perfectly encapsulates the insanity of the 21st century. His trajectory says it all – relatively obscure before his academic pretensions were shot down, the anarchical online realm has turned him into a hero. He is, perhaps, the perfect figurehead of our post-truth age.

COMMENTARY

EATING OURSELVES INTO EXTINCTION WORDS BY ESMÉ JAMES ARTWORK BY KYAW MIN HTIN

THE IMPACT OF THE LIVESTOCK INDUSTRY ON CLIMATE CHANGE

t is no secret that we are heading towards an apocalypse that would give even Buffy the Vampire Slayer a run for her money. The 21st century has nine out of the ten warmest recorded years of history. We are well on our way to securing the two degrees Celsius increase in our global temperature. One only has to spend a day in Melbourne to see that we are already living with the erratic weather patterns that mark the beginnings of our spiral into global weather chaos. In fact, this is the best possible outcome that we can hope for. Australia’s National Centre for Climate Restoration believes that even if we stopped emissions at this very moment, there is still a ten per cent chance of us exceeding a two degree increase. With the fossil fuels we have already farmed, we can meet this limit five times over, and it does not seem that we’re going to stop farming any time soon. The effects of global warming are no longer something we can fear happening in the next hundred years. They are taking place right now. At the rate we are going, it is unlikely the effects will be reversed and, if anything, they will be accelerated.

We go on the attack as soon as someone starts flashing pictures of animal cruelty outside our favourite steak joint Not only this, but climate change will have a massive impact on small island nations. Professor Mike Beners-Lee, the Director of Small World Consulting says, “Climate change will result in huge droughts, massive wildfires, loss of many species, the collapse of cultural productivity, and the rising sea levels could make our coastal cities uninhabitable.” During my last family gathering, my cousins, aged eight and nine, looked at me in disgust when I began eating a burger made

of chickpeas and chia seeds. In an attempt to explain my dietary choices, I asked them what they knew about global warming and its leading causes. The answer for them both was obvious; plastic and transport were to blame for the Earth’s heating. The idea that their delicious burger could be to blame was completely unfathomable to them. I had to ask myself why on earth any school would fail to teach children about what the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation now believe to be the second largest source of greenhouse gas emissions – the livestock industry. There is a strange taboo about talking about vegetarianism in public. The attitude that ‘it is my business what I choose to eat’ prevails and so we go on the attack as soon as someone starts flashing pictures of animal cruelty outside our favourite steak joint. Unfortunately, that attitude no longer applies. What you choose to eat has become everyone else's business, because these decisions are going to impact not only the current generation, but the future of human generations to come. Conversations about the meat and livestock industry should be encouraged at the dinner table, rather than shunned, because at the moment, a vegetarian diet may be the easiest and most efficient way to prevent the impending apocalypse. Peter Singer, well-renowned moral philosopher and Professor of bioethics says, “Cutting out meat would do more to help combat climate change than any other action we could feasibly take in the next 20 years.” Conservative estimates say that the livestock industry is answerable for one third of greenhouse gas emissions. More recent accounts by Robert Goodland and Jeff Anhang have found the industry to be accountable for an alarming 51 per cent of total emissions. The facts are all there in the public eye, but we continually ignore them in the Western world. As scholar Vaclav Smil

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explained, if those in developing worlds modelled a diet off our meat based one, the Earth would require 67 per cent more agricultural land than it currently possesses. A meat-based diet simply is not sustainable. Forgetting the excessive amount of methane that is released from the amount of cows we breed for consumption, the act of farming meat is utterly wasteful. In order to raise an animal for consumption, they must be fed a large amount of grains and soybeans – food that we could be eating directly for our own nutrition. For every pound of boneless meat produced from beef cattle, 13 pounds of grain must be fed to it.

Our decision to stop eating meat could solve not only world hunger, but also overpopulation, droughts and global warming. According to the United Nations, 795 million people on this earth are malnourished. The reality of this wasteful behaviour should hit us hard. On top of that, the water used by farms raising livestock for consumption is accountable for nearly half of the water used in developed countries each year. This is water that could have been used for countries struggling with droughts and excessively dry areas. In a world currently facing extreme problems of overpopulation, it also seems utterly stupid that 30 per cent of our total land mass is going to growing food for land stock, and raising and slaughtering it. Our decision to stop eating meat could solve not only world hunger, but also overpopulation, droughts and global warming. From switching to a plant-based diet, one person can save the world 1.5 tons of greenhouse gas emissions per year. This number greatly exceeds the emissions that would be saved in switching to a fuel-efficient car, or remembering to turn light switches off when you leave the room. Undeniably, this is the biggest impact that an individual can make towards creating a more sustainable world. It is completely fair to admit that if all the world’s population decided to boycott the meat-industry today, the world would fall into economic chaos. Instead, to ensure this pattern doesn’t continue, we have to acknowledge the dire impacts that eating meat has upon

the world. All of this starts with education. It is our generation that will be most heavily hit by the consequences of global warming and it is our generation that must so desperately be made aware of its leading causes, so that we can find a solution. As it is, eating meat is an unnecessary privilege in the Western world, as we have so many other meal options available to us, with equal, if not greater, nutritional value. We are fortunate enough to have freedom of choice over what we consume ever day – a freedom that is not available to the majority of the world. As a result, we make an ethical decision with every meal we choose. As we enjoy such a comfortable lifestyle, we have a responsibility to make decisions that will positively impact the rest of the world, especially if eating meat has no real benefit upon our lifestyle. Sadly, it is people living in extreme poverty that will be most greatly impacted by the effects of global warming. For example, many of these countries lack the technological advancements that we freely enjoy. Agricultural practices rely greatly upon the predictability of the weather. If weather patterns become more erratic, the effects may become disastrous for food harvests, as farmers have no way to combat changes to the seasonal cycle. If the decisions over what we eat can help to counter the catastrophic changes to others around the globe, who already lack the endless options of food we enjoy, it is without a doubt our responsibility to choose that which will benefit the natural world and survival of the human race. It may be the case that we just forfeit eating meat until more sustainable means can be found to farm livestock without killing our earth in the process. Advances in this area are already being made at the Maastricht University in the Netherlands, who have found a way to create meat in a laboratory by using an animal's stem cells. The fatal effects for humanity greatly outweigh the positive taste experience of biting into a burger. Especially since there is now countless vegetarian alternatives available, with the same, if not better, taste experience and twice the amount of required nutrition. Unless you can find a way to defend the disastrous environmental, ethical and social impacts of meat consumption, it's time to put the burger down and kindly encourage others to do the same.

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S S E N E G N A R T S F O IN ON THE ORIG COLUMN BY TESSA M ARSHALL ARTWORK BY EDIE BU SH

'I ATE MY TWIN IN THE WOMB'

s a child, the highlight of every trip I made to the Melbourne Aquarium was the ‘oceanarium’ – a 2.2 million litre tank encircling the viewing space. Being immersed in the watery world of its marine inhabitants, with bright coral climbing up the sides, stingrays gliding above and fish of every hue swimming by was a magical experience. In particular, I remember watching scuba divers feed the grey nurse sharks. Despite their ferocious appearance, the sharks obediently accepted fish from the hands of the divers. Far from being the vicious man-eater that its menacing appearance suggested, the information board assured me that the grey nurse shark is actually a gentle mermaid with a placid nature. In fact, no one has ever been killed by a grey nurse shark and they will not attack a human unless provoked. But if you’re a shark embryo trying to survive until birth, it’s a different They must fight to the story. Remember Lilly Okanakurama, death just to be born – and the quiet one in Pitch Perfect with the they don’t just eat one twin, creepy whispered confessions? The they eat almost all of their one who murmured ‘I ate my twin in siblings before birth. the womb’? Grey nurse sharks are the aquatic equivalent, literally murdering and eating each other while still in their mother’s uterus. They must fight to the death just to be born – and they don’t just eat one twin, they eat almost all of their siblings before birth. If you thought that time you cut the hair off all your sister’s Barbies was vicious, think again. A grey nurse shark’s uterus is a bloody battleground that turns sibling against sibling until only two remain, through an extreme form of intra-uterine cannibalism known as adelphophagy (literally: ‘eating one’s brother’). When a female becomes pregnant, she initially carries up to 50 eggs. These eggs hatch into embryos that swim around the uterus feeding on the yolk sac left behind. But when this precious source of nutrients runs out, things turn sinister, and the Hunger Games begin. Using their sharp little teeth, the siblings murder and eat each other in the womb, until only two remain. Like Katniss and Peeta, these two reach a truce, and spend the rest of their gestation eating unfertilised eggs. After a year of pregnancy, the mother gives birth to two ‘pups’ that are large enough to be independent of their mother. So why does nature bother with this vicious and wasteful process? The answer Like Katniss and may be more than simple sibling rivalry, Peeta, these two reach according to scientists who analysed the a truce, and spend the DNA of embryos from 15 sharks at various rest of their gestation stages of pregnancy. They found that, while eating unfertilised eggs. the initial embryos often had a range of fathers, the two pups that survived until birth were likely to have the same father. This suggests that the embryos’ cannibalism may act as further competition between the males. By fathering stronger pups, males can assert genetic dominance and defeat their rivals long after mating has occurred. Another advantage may be that the female doesn’t need to be too choosy about who she mates with, as she knows only the strongest will survive. This is sexual selection at its most violent. So next time you see eager divers entranced by a seemingly docile grey nurse shark, remember that shark’s violent beginnings – it isn’t as innocent as it seems. And cut your brother some slack next time he hogs the TV – if you were a grey nurse shark it could be much worse.

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A SEA OF ISOLATION WORDS BY TILLI FRANKS ARTWORK BY RUTH SIMONE RATHJEN-DUFFTON

A MOMENT OF HUMAN CONNECTION AT BERLIN'S HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL

t is cold. The sky is endlessly grey, and light snow falls lazily, catching on the cuffs of my jacket. A few scattered mounds of scuffed ice cling to the pavement. I tuck my chin into my chest, ducking my head against the bitter wind that weaves between the buildings of a restored city. I am standing on the edge of Berlin’s Memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe. My tour guide is gathering the frayed edges of our group in closer. He does not want to shout. Two friends and I have spent the morning walking around the city with John, the tour guide, and 15 or so other English-speaking tourists. We have passed museums that house antiques from the gates of Babylon to the bust of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti. We have touched the patched pillars still indented with the marks of Soviet bullets. We have pressed our toes against the brass plaques which commemorate the Berlin Wall at Checkpoint Charlie. Yet it is here that I feel the true weight of Berlin’s history. Standing amongst the concrete blocks which fade into the the city, as much a part of its monochromatic landscape as its history. Minutes before, I stood on the edge of a patch of muddy grass in an emptying carpark, surrounded by tall, brown-bricked apartment blocks. A swing set was tucked between two of the tower blocks. The only indication that this site was ever anything other than a car park, home to shabby flats, people movers and rusting bicycles, was a sign detailing the plot’s much darker history. I was told that eleven metres beneath me were the sand-filled foundations of Adolf Hitler’s bomb shelter. Eleven metres beneath me, seventyone years ago the world’s most infamous mass murderer instructed his servants to burn his body. They levelled his gun against his temple, and pulled the trigger – a far more dignified death than he bestowed upon his millions of victims.

I tried to sum up some sense of understanding, some reaction, but all I saw was a grubby car park. All I saw was a sushi sign. To our left, our tour guide directed our gaze to a sandwich board advertising a sushi shop. This, he told us, was approximately where Hitler’s servants partially burned his body, alongside those of Eva Braun and the Goebbels family. I tried to sum up some sense of understanding, some reaction, but all I saw was a grubby car park. All I saw was a sushi sign. It was mundanity at its blandest, an average slice of Berlin life. Is this what Hannah Arendt, a Jewish philosopher, meant when she spoke of the banality of evil? A normal façade hiding a history of unfathomable cruelty? It was normal men, with wives and children, who massacred the ‘enemies’ of the Volk (German race). Soldiers were told that they were fighting for their Fatherland, for the future of their children, so they could and would kill the children of those whom they believed threatened that. Disillusionment is the darkest rationalisation.

Years of poverty, inflation and degradation from the Allies meant the promise of something more mobilised the most normal of men: men who were not born evil or insane. It set fire to a mentality which extinguished the lives of six million Jews. Hannah Arendt’s words must have rung in the minds of the Berliners as well – the street bordering one side of the Memorial is named after her. Yet standing here, waiting for John to speak, there is nothing commonplace or banal about the grey towers set out methodically in blocks. From the outside there is an illusion of uniformity, yet just inside I can see the cobbled ground dip as the rectangular slabs climb higher towards the centre. While it blends with the city, this is not hidden behind the recommencement of life. It is not beautiful, like Kathe Kollowitz’s statue in the Neue Wache, the Central Memorial of the Federal Republic of Germany for the Victims War and Dictatorship, just fifteen minutes away. It is angular, it is confronting. It’s not just a memorial, it is a reminder; a physical representation of an ugly loss.

The appearance of order mimics Hitler’s Third Reich: outside organised, inside chaotic. Our tour guide tells us, as everyone crouches closer in the cold, that the artist, Peter Eisenman, never completely revealed the true meaning behind the design, other than that the appearance of order mimics Hitler’s Third Reich: outside organised, inside chaotic. John remembers a little boy on a school trip once noted that you could only walk between the blocks one at a time, making him think of how it was a walk each victim took alone. Eisenman’s work evokes this disconnect with humanity, a separation between regime and reason. Other than this, interpretation is largely personal. To John, the rise and fall of the blocks signify the rise and fall of the Nazi Party, and the fleeting glimpse of another person in the gaps between the structures reflects the anonymity, the isolation, of the Holocaust victims. A flash of a face, and then they’re gone. I find it all of these things. The giant slabs of concrete remind me of tombs. They grow taller, and I think of how the bodies were thrown in piles, stacked. The numbers amass, reaching higher, until I feel very small, shadowed by grey gravestones twice my size on each side. They are impersonal: they are the personification of the six million statistic. I am suddenly overwhelmed. It is again a reminder, this time of the victim’s irrelevance in death, their final existence as a faceless mass. I continue to walk between the towers of grey. Turning my head to look around the maze of blocks, I see a girl, two aisles across from me. It is barely time to take a breath, but she wears her curly hair under a beanie like mine, and for a split second, I think she is my reflection. It’s a brief human connection in a sea of isolation. And yet, I don’t know if I am comforted or if it is just a stark reminder that human connection couldn’t save six million people.

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LITTLE RED SCARS WORDS BY STEPHANIE ZHANG ARTWORK BY JAMES GOH

ON THE LASTING EFFECTS OF THE CHINESE CULTURAL REVOLUTION

CONTENT WARNINGS: VIOLENCE & SELF HARM

s a child, I remember sneaking into my parents’ storage closet to look at piles and piles of documents and photos. What I didn’t know then was that among all of those forgotten memories sat a family heirloom that held generations of pain and trauma. It was a pair of Qing dynasty ceramic plates, yellow glaze falling off and the flowery patterns fading. There was a small, square stamp on the bottom with unintelligible Chinese characters. When I asked my mother about them she said they were very valuable and that they’d belonged to my great-grandmother. They were part of her dowry. They were all that was left of her dowry. My great-grandmother was a wealthy lady and part of Chinese old money. She married my great-grandfather, a small-town boy who had, through hard work and determination, managed to go abroad to study mathematics under Fréchet in France. He returned to China after achieving his PhD to do research but their peaceful life was violently disrupted when the Japanese invaded China. The day of the invasion – the Marco Polo Bridge incident on 7 July 1937 was the day of my grandmother’s birth.

They carried their little red books, quotations from Chairman Mao and attacked churches, schools, universities, libraries, museums and temples. Like much of the rest of China’s population, their family was forced to relocate, from Qingdao to Hunan to Chongqing and finally to Shanghai after the Japanese were defeated in 1945. Throughout this time, Chinese soldiers fought off the Japanese in the Sino-Japanese War, then fought each other in the immediate resumption of the Chinese Civil War.

All through these years of suffering, my great-grandfather never lost his spirit. He refused the lure of politics and continued his role as a professor and mentor to younger generations. When they settled down in Shanghai he became the head of the Mathematics Department at Fudan University. Unfortunately, this peace would soon prove to be short-lived. In 1949, Mao Zedong established the People’s Republic of China and became Chairman. His long journey from son-of-a-farmer to revolutionary leader and finally to founding father of the PRC was admirable to the people but wasn’t enough for himself. He initiated the Cultural Revolution in 1967, most likely to satisfy his evergrowing megalomania. On paper, however, its aim was to 'preserve true communist ideology' by purging the remnants of capitalist and traditional elements from Chinese society. The target was the 'Four Olds': old customs, old culture, old habits and old ideas. Students all over the country joined together to form the Red Guard. With them, they carried their little red books, quotations from Chairman Mao and attacked churches, schools, universities, libraries, museums and temples. They roamed the streets and created an atmosphere of mass hysteria as they broke into the homes of teachers, cadres, foreigners and others with 'bad class backgrounds' to seize and destroy old books, genealogies or art treasures. As such, my great-grandmother’s inheritance of 'old money treasures' were seized. The rumour in our family is that there were many valuable items but all that is left are the two plates. In 1966, a People’s Daily editorial wrote, “With the tremendous and impetuous force of a raging storm, the Red Guards had smashed the shackles imposed on their minds by exploiting classes for so long in the past, routing the bourgeois ‘specialists’, ‘scholars’, and ‘venerable masters’, sweeping every bit of their prestige into the dust.” It was also during this time that the cult of Mao grew almost exponentially. My mother said she watched her neighbours

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scramble to show their appreciation and enthusiasm for the great Chairman. One man even attached a Mao pin onto his bare arm. Because my mother’s family lived in a university community, it is hard to discern whether these people truly worshipped Mao to such an extreme extent or if they simply put on masks to distract away from their personal views.

One mother was snitched on by her son and publicly executed for making an offhand comment at home that went against the communist ideology. The Red Guards pledged their allegiance to the little red book and thus threw away all other interpersonal relations, seeing loyalty to Mao as the only objective. Students were encouraged to tell on their teachers, neighbours encouraged to tell on each other and even children were indoctrinated to report any anti-revolutionary rhetoric at home. One mother was snitched on by her son and publicly executed for making an offhand comment at home that went against the communist ideology. Schools all over the country were closed and up to 12 million people were sent to the countryside to learn how to be revolutionary from the peasants. My aunt was one of the many students who had participated in this program and I suspect it is for this reason that she seems to be the most distant family member. My grandmother still has a difficult time speaking about this. It was distressing for her to separate from her youngest daughter for years, knowing that my aunt’s education was sacrificed and replaced by manual labour, but at the same time, perhaps the rural environment was preferred to the mass hysteria in big cities like Shanghai. Many intellectuals were sent to rural labour camps as well and the ideology at the time meant almost anyone with skills over that of an average person was made the target of political struggle. It was like a national witch-hunt. Naturally, my great-grandfather had become a target. He was seen as part of the old establishment and since he was relatively well off, they’d labelled him a corrupt landlord, accused him of conspiring against the country by taking

part in spy organisations and stripped him of his ranks in the Communist Party. It is impossible to assess the damage done to Chinese culture and tradition during the Cultural Revolution. Many of my friends’ families lost their old genealogy books during this time and this is only one of many Chinese traditions that have since fallen out of practice. Religion was shunned, as Buddhism became a symbol of dangerous superstition. Even to this day, the Chinese people disapprove of any sort of religious practice. The cemetery of Confucius was among the hundreds of thousands of invaluable Chinese temples and treasures damaged or destroyed, despite Confucius’ teachings being the cornerstone of Chinese principles. The Cultural Revolution not only ruined China’s past but also cursed China’s future. It destroyed culture without attempting to replace it with anything else. It became a vessel for the destruction of social trust. Its aftershocks continue to resonate in Chinese society today, and as such, it is often difficult for Chinese families to talk about their histories. There are scars that run deep into the early decades of the 20th century and wounds that are still healing from the years of Mao. For my parents and my grandparents, these wounds are still very much fresh. In my mind, my family’s history is foggy and pieced together, like a jigsaw that doesn’t quite fit. It’s a topic that often comes up during family dinners, but is always immediately averted, as so many family members still have strong memories of those days. My grandparents still hold a deeply suspicious attitude towards everything. It is an integral part of Chinese culture to be proud of our history: 'What are America’s 500 years of history compared to China’s 3000?' many will scoff. Of course, every country is proud of their path to the modern world. But I’ve found that China’s pride in its history has become somewhat of an empty mantra. I am lucky to have grown up in a warmer society, but nevertheless the pain is still there in China everywhere you look. My only hope is that in a few years, more will be able to talk about the shared pain of our history and those old family heirlooms, hidden in the back of basements and storage closets, can finally be taken out of the dust and displayed proudly.

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THE AGE OF MONSTERS WORDS BY ALISON TEALBY ARTWORK BY NELLIE SEALE

ON MEGAFAUNA AND THE SECOND WAVE OF GIANTS TO POPULATE THE EARTH

here was a time when giants ruled the Earth. I do not mean the muscular figures of mythology – the ones with the raggedy underwear and tree-sized clubs, facing down pint-sized heroes that carry golden swords. I mean real giants, as tall as your house. Giants who once roamed the land and that afterwards left a pretty collection of bones and teeth for us to remember them by. You’ll be familiar with some of them, if not by size then by shape. There was the Diprotodon, a hippopotamus-sized marsupial that looked like a cross between a grizzly bear and a wombat. Also, the Varanus Priscus, the venomous seven metre goannas that used to range widely throughout Australia’s East. There was the aptly named Gigantithicus, a three-metre tall ape that lived in Southern Asia, the Megatherium, the South American sloth the size of an elephant and my personal favourite: the Siberian Unicorn or Elasmotherium, a horse-like rhinoceros the size of a mammoth with a two-metre long horn sticking out of their enormous forehead. The monsters that I am speaking of are known as megafauna, Earth’s second, lesser-known wave of giants that reigned in the space left behind by the dinosaurs. Following the dinosaurian extinction, mammals, reptiles and birds now had room to grow into impossibly enormous sizes; giant supremacy lost in one form only to be snatched up by another. It was an age of monsters, creatures of incredible size and shape roaming an impossible, lost world. There is one vital difference between the terrifying reign of dinosaurs and megafauna. We never met the terrestrial dinosaurs. We are blocked by a 65 million year gap between their existence and ours, and everything we know about them derived from bones and imagination. Megafauna, on the other hand, are much closer to home. Many of their smaller, closely related counterparts are known to us, albeit as much more cuddly versions. Moreover, there was a moment in time when we coexisted alongside them – although that moment was very brief, and its end was most likely our doing.

The annihilation of megafauna is part of what is known as the Pleistocene or Ice Age extinction event, which occurred roughly over the last hundred thousand years. Their extinction itself is not altogether unusual. The death of a species is a natural process of evolution, an inescapable facet of biodiverse life. What is unusual about the Pleistocene extinction is this: for every habitable continent, bar one, the disappearance of the vast majority of megafauna has coincided very closely in time with human migration to that continent. The only exception to this is Africa, and the continued survival of Africa’s giraffes, elephants, and rhinoceros are likely due to the fact that these animals evolved alongside our ancient ancestors and soon learnt to avoid us. Our hippopotamus wombat had no such insider knowledge.

As for why we killed off the largest land animals alive for us to encounter, it is impossible to know with certainty. Possibly, it was by mistake. Perhaps we simply outcompeted them, their deaths inevitable for our survival. Maybe, as some still suggest, it wasn’t

COMMENTARY our fault at all and climate change was to blame, the timing of our migration coincidental with their deaths. I suggest, a little cynically perhaps, that we overhunted these giant species to extinction for the reason that we human beings have always given – because we could. Human beings, it seems, have always had a flair for destruction. It permeates our history, our narratives, our lives. When Cecil the lion was killed by an American dentist last year, we humans were united in our outrage. Social media exploded over the injustice. Protesters gathered outside the hunter’s dental clinic. Music was composed for Cecil, artworks dedicated in his honour. But in reality, Cecil was just one of the billions of victims destroyed every year by ceaseless human bloodlust.

Is there something horrifically, indisputably human about the destruction of another species? We certainly seem to be very good at it. Alongside the extinct megafauna species, there is ample evidence that we killed off the rest of our hominin cousins as well, leaving us the unique human conquerors of the world. I barely need mention the ever-famous dodo, a one-meter tall pigeon killed off in the 17th century within less than 100 years of encountering human beings, lost so quickly that scientists believed it to be a mythological creature for 200 years after. Nor the Tasmanian tiger, or thylacine, a dog-like marsupial ruthlessly hunted down by European settlers in the 19th and 20th century. The last known wild thylacine was shot dead by a farmer in 1930. The last captive thylacine died in 1936 in the Hobart Zoo, due to neglect, locked out of its sheltered sleeping quarters and exposed to freezing temperatures overnight. This was two months after they were granted 'Official Protection' by the Tasmanian government. When Darwin first used the expression 'survival of the fittest', another myth was born. Darwin, and the biologist Herbert Spencer who coined the phrase, intended to explain the evolutionary process of natural selection more clearly. Those with traits better suited to their environment left behind more offspring than those without, and were therefore 'fitter'. On these terms, creatures such as earthworms, cockroaches and rats are some of the most evolutionarily successful species on the planet. But since then we have incorporated their work into our own gladiatorial narratives, our own myths of human superiority. 'Survival of the fittest' has become a warrior’s competition. The deaths of other species have become justifiable. We can say we are surviving, and they are dying, because we are tougher, smarter, inherently better.

When we kill big animals, we’re doing it for fun. To be the hero. To slay the giant. It is hardly surprising that the world’s largest remaining animals – rhinos, gorillas, elephants, whales – are some of the most at risk of being lost. Anti-hunting activists speak of the hunter’s “lack of humanity”, but I fear it is the excess, rather than “lack of”, that is the problem. Hunters have paid good money for the chance to hunt a large animal. The value is raised the more endangered the animal is. In 2014, a Texan hunter bid $350,000 for a permit to kill a black rhino, of which there are less than 5000 left alive. In the words of one such hunter, the killing “satisfies something deep within me that is beyond my ability to explain”. There is something seductive in the killing of a giant.

We love monsters, and we love them most of all when they are huge. The breath-taking enormity, the power held in a body of impossible size and strength, the power involved in the destruction of such a body. We are raised on bedtime stories about monsters, and above all else, we are raised on our vanquishing of them. David and Goliath. Hercules and the Nemean Lion. The Ghostbusters and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. The mythic hero with his golden sword never loses, and we are left all the more powerful with the giant’s defeat.

The number of species extinctions caused by humans has been escalating in our short, short history on this land. The planet has now entered its sixth mass extinction in a 3.5 billion year old life, a mass extinction driven by the actions of the human race. We have crept around the world like a virus and with us, brought a plague of senseless destruction. We have been decimating not only the giants in our path but also a countless number of smaller species, systematically slaughtered via deforestation, pollution, global warming. They are collateral damage in our quest to choke the life out of this planet. The last time Earth’s species faced extinction on such a scale was 65 million years ago, and it was because a 10km wide asteroid had slammed into its side. Make way for the humans! Our mythic hero isn’t mythic and with this sword we are carving away the biggest animals on the planet for piano keys and jewellery. Make way for the humans! The rate of species extinction is 1000 times higher than it would have been had we never evolved to destroy everything in our path. Make way for the humans! The age of monsters has been handed down to us, and we are living up to the title far better than any oversized goanna ever could.

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MY NAME IS NOT EMILY WORDS BY EMILY LI ARTWORK BY SARAH LEONG

used to work part-time as a waitress in a place where customers questioned my identity. My time there has become extremely quotable, and one I take advantage of whenever people ask if ‘Emily’ would like to change her mobile provider, or if ‘Emily’ can do the dishes tonight. Mum, the customer is always right – my name is not Emily, I can’t help you. The following exchanges I’ve had prove this: (1) “Hey, I’m Emily and I’ll be your server for today. Can I get you anything to drink tonight?” I hand her a menu and indicate where the drinks are found. “Hello, I’m Miranda. You must be new. I’m a regular here. Just tea please.” Miranda has a fake flower tucked into her big blonde curls. She tells me she’s with a table of three or four. She’s waiting for her husband, her son and possibly her son’s girlfriend too. She observes that it’s quiet tonight. I agree but optimistically suggest that quiet nights aren’t always necessarily bad before leaving to fetch her tea. When I come back she asks me about myself. “Are you in university? – Oh! Really? – Which one? What are you studying? Oh, my son’s girlfriend is going there next year. My son does maths. He’s a maths genius. He’s not worried about the year 12 exams at all.” Miranda slowly shakes her head in bewilderment. “It’s so bad that he doesn’t even try.” I am holding the teapot at a bad angle. Hot liquid leaks from the lid and burns my hand. She is oblivious. I set the pot down with the handle facing her. “So, what’s your name?” Miranda peers at me through her glasses. “…Emily.” Maybe she didn’t hear me the first time? I study her face. No, that’s definitely not the answer she’s looking for. “No…eh…what’s your name?” She tries again, raising her thin eyebrows for added emphasis. “Emily.” I tap my name tag and try to conjure up some acceptable social cues indicative of my desire to leave this conversation. I do none of them. I don’t want to be rude. I cannot be rude. I am also a wimp. She makes a pained face, “No, like your real name.” Her mouth is pinched into a weary smile. “Emily is my real name.” She cannot be serious, right? She cups her tea in her hands and stares at me pointedly. I relent. “…Do you mean my Chinese name?” “Yes! Like, your Chinese name,” she lets out a relieved sigh and leans back. “What is it?” My hand throbs.

(2) It’s the start of an evening shift. My mind feels numb. I am serving a young couple wearing matching leather jackets. They look very stylish. “So… is Emily your real name?” The man shifts his beer glass closer to me. His partner does the same, but she does nothing else to acknowledge my presence. She’s reading over our rice and noodle dishes. The amber liquid initially hits the side of the glass with too much force, but I manage to execute a decent pour. “You got me. I’m actually Stacy.” I laugh when he laughs. “Seriously?” “Nah, my name’s actually Emily. Really.” I top up the woman’s glass. She’s flipped back to the start of the menu. “Don’t lie. Don’t you guys just pick up any old name tag from the staff counter and wear it?” He grins widely. His teeth are nice and neat. The woman finally looks up and takes a sip of her beer. “Can’t say I’ve ever done that before.” I hold the serving tray behind my back. “But hey, maybe I’ll try that sometime. Keep you all on your toes.” He’s delighted with this response. A party of five and a pram walks in. My colleague seats them by the window. There are still a couple of tables in the process of looking through their menus. It’s not too busy yet. “And are we also just about ready to order?” I take out my pen and notepad. “You ready?” He addresses his partner. She closes her menu and nods. I wait for her to begin, but she never does. Her partner chimes in. “Lemon chicken for me, sweet and sour fish for her and a small fried rice to share,” he checks off each dish with his fingers. “Right, and that’s all for today?” I confirm their order on paper. L chi, s/s fish and small fri. It’s crude but it works. “Yup, thanks Emily. Xiè xie (谢谢)!” “Thanks.” The woman speaks to me for the first time when I grab her menu. She’s indifferent, but her voice sounds pleasant. “No worries,” I smile back, adding as an afterthought, “méi guān xi (没关系).”

CREATIVE

ONSRA WORDS BY TZEYI KOAY

ARTWORK BY MORGAN-LEE SNELL

CREATIVE

DELICATE TREATS WORDS BY NATALIE FONG ARTWORK BY ANWYN ELISE Suddenly, a gust, wind and sonnets all fulfill the sweet sanctions of an old orange nightmare. Songs sweeping, stripping fences, fallen auburn leaves have no place in a midsummer night’s dream. “Grow your way back into Father Autumn,” space whispered, gently by the lobe of a bronzed ear. Fin is not a body, the same way skin is not a soul. A soul dances. Dancing is a form of explaining no hate could resolve or reveal. It has no tongue that lies, no teeth to break, no mouth to kill. You can’t dance, it’s not a skill; you can only fall, like a leaf or a bill.

CREATIVE

BEES WORDS BY SARAH PETERS ARTWORK BY ELOYSE MCCALL

I think I worked it out – why I admire and fear bees so much. It’s not that they make the world grow, dancing on daisy tops, pollinating, creating, circulating honey. (Though that in itself, reminds me of little golden lights turning on in a row around a garden.) It’s the power they have one sting, and they’re gone. They live so close to suicide, but keep on keeping busy, busting and blazing, flying through fields. We’re both so close to death that we can hardly stop, until we’ve tried to paint each rose, and spread nectar (the sweeter things in life) everywhere, until we finally just drop.

CREATIVE

COLUMN BY DANIELLE SCRIMSHAW ARTWORK BY SAM NELSON

PART 2: TINDER SURPRISE

The phone connected to the internet instantly as I switched on mobile data. Not stopping to wonder how or why, my thumbs went into overdrive. In spite of himself, George peered over my shoulder. “Tinder?” he hissed. “What the fuck are you logging into Tinder for?” “I am searching for survivors,” I mumbled. “To eat you out?” “Shush, they’ll hear you.” He shut up, and glanced around wildly. Some of the profiles were old, dating back to the early days of the Apocalypse when we still had Wi-Fi.

heard George before I saw him. After waiting twenty minutes at our rendezvous – the barely-standing Mordialloc College – I had begun to think something had happened. Glancing up to see him frantically waving his arms, being chased by four of the YOMG kids, I realised I was correct. “Ro, MOVE!” I snatched up my bags and ran into the college ruins. Ducking under loose ceiling panels and leaping over mounds of brick, I ran through the corridors toward the darkest corner of the building, where the roof was still partially intact and provided shadows for cover. I curled up into a ball, grabbed a sharp piece of wood as a potential weapon and waited within the locker bay. At the sound of footsteps running toward me, I stiffened. Only when I peeked through a gap in the wall and saw that it was George did I relax. “Fuckfuckfuck.” He collapsed beside me and leaned forward, his face close to the ground. I thought he was going to puke. “Why did you lead them here? I thought you were going to lose them by the creek.” He ignored me and continued trying to slow his breathing. Besides the flushed cheeks, he looked pale and was damp with sweat. If the two of us weren’t so unfit, we could have outrun the YOMG kids and lost them on our way back to camp. Alas, the run from main street to here alone had already given me some seriously traumatic flashbacks to the beep test. A yell and some manic whoops at the other end of the school told us that the kids had made it into the front entrance. I felt like we were in the damn Hunger Games or something, half expecting a parachute to float down from the sky and bless us with Gatorade. “What do you think they’ll do if they find us?” George whispered. I shrugged, beginning to eye the metal locker beside me. “Steal our lunch money, I guess.” I shifted closer to the locker, ignoring the yells that seemed to be getting louder and closer. I opened the locker and pulled out a burnt backpack, George wincing as I unzipped it. He mouthed to me, “Shut up”, but I ignored him and rummaged through the bag. Decomposed fruit. A mouldy sandwich with maggots crawling inside. Fragments of Hamlet. A Nokia smartphone, without a single scratch on its screen. The sight of the phone filled me with an almost religious joy. I thought I would faint when I pressed the power button, and its screen illuminated into life. I elbowed George and showed him, enthusiastically pointing out its nine percent battery life, but he was more preoccupied with the preteens whose shouts were closing in on us.

Living in an old Subway – I’ll show you more than one six-inch. This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a – lol jks it will end with us banging. Please someone get me some nugs my Maccas has just been bombed ty xo I sniggered at some of these and tried to show George, whose eyebrows only rose higher with each 'please shut up Ro we are going to die' he attempted to convey. We both froze as voices came echoing from the corridor beside us. “Hey! I think I heard a chick laugh.” “Aw, fuck off Harry, you did not.” “Mate, try me. They’re down past the library.” George and I stared at each other. Shit. I shoved the phone into my pocket and grabbed George’s arm. I think he was in the middle of a prayer, to one of his precious but most likely dead glam rock idols, when I shook him and spat out, “The bike shed!” His eyes widened and we scrambled up, jumping through a hole in the wall and racing to the furthest part of the college. Only one bike in the forgotten shed seemed okay to ride and that didn’t even have a seat. George sat on the handlebars and I rode standing up, grinning as we heard the angry shouts of the YOMG kids from behind us. It was only after we had made it back to our train and Mum had pulled us in, hugged us tightly and warmed our soup, while Susan sneered at our close call and suggested our general incompetence as scavengers, that I remembered the Nokia. Curled up on a six-seater, I turned the phone on to check for games but was distracted by a notification. Frowning, I wondered if it were a software update. Roella and Hazel: it’s a match!

CREATIVE CREATIVE

KIDS TODAY

WORDS BY CHRISTIAN GEORGE TSOUTSOUVAS ARTWORK BY SARAH FAN-NING LIN

hen I visited my grandchildren the other day, the little ones were all frolicking outside. I was about to join them when I saw the two eldest ones, Elias and Margaret, sitting immobile at the coffee table. They were playing that damn game again – chess, or whatever it’s called. That one where the queen runs around looking for the king or something like that. They could have been helping their poor mother with the housework or their spent father with the shingles (the roof was riddled with holes). Instead, they sat transfixed by a flat of piece of wood, deciding whether the pope was going to jump over the soldier with the prawns. As a lad, the only game we ever concerned ourselves with was the game of life. We would stare at things worth staring at, magnificent things like the sun. We’d take breaks when our eyes got sore but then get right back to business because we were tough back then. After the sun set, we’d keep gazing at all the stars dancing around this wonderful world of ours and wonder about the real mysteries of life: who are we? Where do we come from? What’s for dinner? Of course, this was only after all our chores were done. My dear Lily, the poor mother of these two rascals, was slaving away while Elias and Margaret stared at their wooden horses and princesses. She washed the dishes with one hand, tended the stove with the other and rocked the screaming baby’s crib with her right foot. Elias and Margaret wanted their hot meals as soon as the sun went down, but they refused to help with the task. They weren’t even doing their homework. They said they’d already finished it, in half the allocated time no less. Apparently they’re the top of their class, but I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen them away from the chessboard. Lily was so exhausted she actually believed them, but those little tykes had nothing on me. I leant back and watch the sun peak through the holes in the roof. I’m old enough to know how the world works.

ARTWORK BY CORNELIUS DARRELL

CREATIVE

CLEANER, OH GLORIOUS WORDS BY SAM HANSFORD ARTWORK BY EWAN CLARKE-MCINTYRE

old Fields was an institution. Ero was told that on his first day at the Daily Deployment Office. He was brought onto the Gold Fields team as the Executive Internal Maintenance Officer; the EIMO. It was Ero’s duty to ensure the broad and bright houses of Gold Fields retained the pristine sheen for which they were celebrated. Ero began at Gold Fields on day one, after the opening ceremony. He reported for duty and was equipped suitably for his title: a mop and bucket, a back-mounted vacuum, a crate of chemicals, cleaning supplies and a master key. Gold Fields was surrounded by a barren expanse of dead earth. It was on this bed of husks and needle-grass that the opening ceremony had taken place. It was a splendid affair: rides, tents and food-stalls went up the day before along with a towering podium for the President General. The fair-grounds were erected next to one of Gold Fields’ crowning achievements: its carpark. Five acres of flush concrete – polished like glass – housing five hundred and fifty perfectly demarcated spaces. One hundred and ten identical light posts standing at attention, reflecting the sun like crystal. Like all of Gold Fields, the carpark was industry-made art. The President General said during his dedication to the glory-winning lot: A testament to the industry and luxury that we have cultivated for generations. A nexus of beauty, purpose, and above all accessibility to one and all. The lot was cordoned off by nineteen hundred feet of velvet and gold bollards. Years later, Ero would still walk past those bollards every day on his way to work. They were weather worn now but their vigil never ceased. The carpark was unchanged, untouched and untouchable. Ero’s master key was perfectly rectangular and smooth. It fit seamlessly into every perfectly rectangular and smooth keyhole in Gold Fields. As EIMO he was responsible for Mainstreet, his inferiors trusted with the less-visited attractions. Every morning before the crowds poured in, Ero worked through the 48 houses on Mainstreet, meticulously cleaning until they were void of dust, mark or mite. Dran, another executive, mowed every lawn, swapped the lights on every lamp and swept every street. Their final duty of the day was to polish the billboards on either end of Mainstreet that proclaimed in glistening white text: MAINSTREET: HOME OF THE CLEANEST HOUSES

in the bird’s beak. The blackbird continued to sing and took flight. It flew high and higher until Ero could not hear its song any more. He sat motionless for many hours after that. When he returned to the compound where Gold Fields employees sleep, he was reprimanded for missing Evening Leisure Time.

The signs had once read: THE CLEANEST HOUSES IN [REDACTED], however the name had since been painted over. Ero struggled to remember when exactly the signs had changed or what they had read before. At 10a.m. the gates to Gold Fields opened and hundreds of patrons entered to see the most perfect neighbourhood there was. Mainstreet was, of course, the most popular attraction in the park. All day the thoroughfare was packed with families photographing the cleanest houses. They would track mud through shining tiled kitchens, touch grime-crusted hands to unblemished plaster. In the bathrooms they would stare longingly at broad shower-heads and stainless steel faucets. Ero would stand idly by the cleaning closets of these houses. He would smile at the families and sometimes answer questions about how the houses are kept so perfect. He occasionally recognised an employee who had drawn Filler out of the Daily Duties Lottery. Fillers’ task was to move through the crowd and photograph the sights, to encourage patrons to do the same. They walked through with dumbstruck awe on their slack mouths. With practiced precision they lifted heavy and expensive cameras to their trained eyes and flashed the moment into an eternal I was there. It worked like a charm and whenever a Filler moved through Mainstreet a chorus of shutters followed in their wake. To save money, the Fillers’ cameras did not hold any film.

The Gold Fields Employee Compound was surrounded by a dull chain-link fence. Those with a south-facing window saw the sickly-yellow haze of Metro Proper. Ero’s window faced north and he could watch Gold Fields glitter as he fell to sleep. He stared as a bird circled high within his window’s frame. It was little more than a shadowed smudge against the night. It flew away and faded into obscurity. The compound was the only shelter on the railway between Gold Fields and Metro Proper. Gold Fields was built fifteen miles out of the city. A two hundred and forty-five building oasis of weatherboard homes and lush lawns that sat on a dead plain, ravaged from the sun and poisoned soil. The President General had declared the amusement park as: The economic stimuli that will save our Nation. A national project which I know will win our hearts and souls. Ero eagerly signed up to be part of this great work. It was exhaustive, unforgiving labour that exposed him to many damaging chemicals and dangerous work environments. But as he laboured, Ero filled his mind with the smiling faces of the guests and every night he felt fulfilled knowing that his life was well-spent here. A lifetime ago, before Ero had become an EIMO, he had lived in Metro Proper. Once, the Daily Duties Lottery awarded him the task of Dirtier. He was loaded onto a train and travelled 20 miles south to Emerald Waves: a coastal town with broad, bright houses, wide streets and enormous courtyards. He was ordered to track mud through the spacious sandstone houses, touch his grimy hands to their walls and stare longingly at the broad shower-heads. Ero struggled to remember when he had visited Emerald Waves or what it had been like there. But he did not need to. Every day he saw the smiling faces of his guests, and he knew that there was beauty in his purpose.

By the end of each day Gold Fields was a dishevelled mess. Ero’s chest would swell with anticipation as he stepped through the filth that now inhabited Mainstreet. In the peak season he would use the evening to get a head start on the next day’s cleaning. Ero often walked through Gold Fields in the still of the evening. The hint of cool seeping into the air as the blistering sun lit up the Town Square’s enormous brass bell gave Ero the feeling of – something. He could never name the feeling. Some days it was distant and bittersweet, others it was an immediate but satisfying ache in his lungs. One night a blackbird avoided being caged and stored for the night during close. It sat in a pruned oak in the Town Square where it sang and sang, sending its call out into the peaceful sleep of the most perfect place. Ero sat on a park bench and watched the rogue creature flutter from branch to branch. It flew to the ground and sniffed the air, plunging its beak into the grass. It surprised him to see a small animal that seemed to be shiny and entirely legs being crushed

ARTWORK BY SOPHIE SUN

CULTURAL DECOMPOSITION

hese are snapshots of my recent trip to the Americas. The series is a collection to showcase culture on the other side of the globe. These are vivid depictions of the facets of different cultures in the Americas."

ARTWORK BY SHERRY TE 57

CREATIVE 1

INT. X-MEN LAIR - NIGHT

MONTAGE - VARIOUS

CHARLES XAVIER sits opposite CLEMENTINE.

A) EXT. HOLLYWOOD STUDIO - DAY - Clementine spear-tackles James Cameron.

XAVIER How do you feel Clementine? Have you gained the powers I promised you? CLEMENTINE Bitchez watch out. XAVIER And now, you must uphold your end of the bargain. Tell me where the large brown sack with a dollar sign on the front is! CLEMENTINE Huh? XAVIER Oh, right. David Bowie promised me that in return for eternal life. I must get onto him...

B) INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT - James Cameron is tied to a chair and Clementine tears a bag off his head. C) INT. SUBURBAN KITCHEN - NIGHT - Leonardo DiCaprio walks around his home and Clementine springs from the darkness to punch him in the face. D) EXT. THE OCEAN - NIGHT - Clementine and Leonardo DiCaprio re-enact his death scene from Titanic while she holds a gun to his head and James Cameron fearfully films. Leonardo DiCaprio climbs onto the floating door to discover that, yes, there is enough room for both of them. END OF MONTAGE

CLEMENTINE I never promised you anything. XAVIER How about an alternate ending to Titanic?

INT. X-MEN LAIR - NIGHT Charles Xavier sits and Clementine runs in with a black DVD case in her hand. She slams it onto his lap.

JOEL I’ve been trapped up there for days, screaming. XAVIER I thought that was a raccoon asking for sweet death to lay its ﬁnal kiss!

CLEMENTINE No worries Professor. XAVIER God, I want to eat Leonardo DiCaprio’s face. CLEMENTINE What, Professor?

XAVIER Joel! How did you get here!?

JOEL Oh, no, that was a raccoon. I screamed more vengeful things regarding the insulation and wiring. XAVIER Must have been so awful I blocked it out.

XAVIER Uh... nothing! CLEMENTINE Hmmm, while that is a convincing cover, I can’t help but wonder why your beef jerky looks so much like Leonardo DiCaprio’s face.

JOEL Hey! Where did Clem go!? Clementine has vanished.

We see Xavier chewing on Leonardo DiCaprio’s face in jerky form. JOEL blasts through the ceiling and into the room.

COLUMN BY LINUS TOLLIDAY ARTWORK DARUS NOEL HOWARD 58

sequel to Michel Gondry’s film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), this film will be the older, darker, disturbingly erotic brother of the original. The ex-boyfriend of Clementine Kruczinski (Kate Winslet), Joel Barish (Jim Carrey), has recovered his memory lost in the first film and has one thing on his mind: revenge. Similar to The Terminator, Joel stalks through night streets to find Clementine, who broke his heart, so that he can break. her. spine. Clementine will be the protagonist of the story, who has gained superpowers from a secretive operation, which she uses to fight Joel. Above all though, the film will be a romance about two lost souls coming together in the most unlikely of circumstances: violent murder. I understand that sequels aren’t in vogue this season… yet! Now I’m not saying that this film can singlehandedly change a centurylong critical disdain for sequels – particularly those sequels that are totally unrelated to the original and solely exist to cash in on the intelligence, creativity and hard work of others – BUUUUUT Eternal Darkness will shine a light (yes, a light, despite the title being about darkness, ha-ha funny funny) on the great potential held by sequels to not only surpass, but annihilate the originals. And yes, that is an allusion to the scene in which the cast sets fire to an effigy of Michel Gondry and potentially the person Michel Gondry too. You’ll have to PAY THE DOLLAHS to see if Frenchy gets it!

CREATIVE

THE PASSENGER WORDS BY DARCY CORNWALLIS ARTWORK BY CLARA CRUZ JOSE

1 n the north, sun-baked roofs burn like kilns against the sky and I finally resolve to go on a pilgrimage to see what this curious city is really about. April’s cruelty lies in the first wink of an evening star. The flaming houses and their autumnal cladding hurl past and melt into bushfires, blazing formlessly against a fading sky. Things are simpler inside the tram. Reality, for the time being, is segregated neatly: through the window the world swirls like a drunken impressionist, and inside the carriage all seems reassuringly solid. That doesn’t last, of course. Already sound slips through the open doors as we pass the bars and cafés; people jump aboard to christen the evening. Their chattering sweeps us up and we are taken on the journeys of others. The fires die back and the city lights begin to twinkle like stars on the rocks. The night is tinged with purpose. 2 I hear that Graeme is dead – Graeme, or Peter, or Ron, or any one of those dying names that smell of soap and tea-cosies; it could be any of those names which has left a hole in time through which his shadows and shades now tumble. Graeme had a stroke. I know Graeme had a stroke because that is what the woman beside me whispers into her phone. We have this weird, remote intimacy, she and I, as I’m crushed into this little plastic cubicle with her – her, and the memory of Graeme. I’m invited to brush shoulders with death. Isn’t it strange? My passage through the flaking city has, for a time, thrown my lot in with this woman’s. And Graeme’s. I met his passing; I know him for the gap he leaves in time, and the little shelf he’s claimed in some person’s mind. My phone shouts something stupid and incoherent at me, and I guess I’m like Graeme too, in a sense. Known by hundreds for my thousand online splinters, my million shards of soul. 3 Now the window is dark and the night teems with visions. They swirl against the glass as different shades of shadow, impossible to pin down. The tram hurtles down, down and Inanna flings her body across the seat in front of me and grins worryingly. We slip into the yawning nothing and she promises me that things are about to get freaky. I’m tempted to agree, because I can see the chemicals brimming in her eyes. The light blanches. Everything is so pasty and yellow. This way of thinking is exciting, but sick. Idiot. I chose this; we shape things as we will. The weird light steals the fire from the faces of the commuters. Inanna offers me some slice of abnormality and I take it. The thundering tram screams so loudly that anything must be better. Down. Further down we roar, and the metal and the plastic wraps around me so tightly that I can barely breathe. Laughing, Inanna suggests that we name our vessel ‘The Nutshell’ and I concede she has a point.

CREATIVE

Dreams are crawling out of the eyes of passengers. Their spindly black fingers push out of gaping sockets and they pull their thin bodies along after them. The flickering lights cut their movements into fragments. “Look,” Inanna whispers gleefully, pointing at one the disgusting things. “He’s worried she’s leaving him! Is he scared of the dark, do you think?” We’re rattling so violently, thundering so violently, that my brain is slamming against my skull. Cold fingers are creeping around my neck. This awful tube, its metallic clinginess, the air shimmering with fantasies, it’s all way too fucking much. I twist this way and that, searching for distraction. The crowded interior casts frightful reflections against the pitch-black windows. Those pills of Inanna’s have weakened the imposed order and I’m worried that the chaos bubbling under the surface might be getting ideas. The air is flashing sickeningly again, and the noise is pain, and the metal and the plastic and the people and the unhinged wail and the This and the That – those points of reference one tries to cling onto where am I well I’m here I know that much at least, thank God, why am I here back to first principles etcetcetc, well they’re not really working this time etcetcetc think you fool think, I can’t explain it – and Christ Almighty the noise is so loud – it’s all writhing in my head, all of it – and then of course there’s the hideous gaping hole in Inanna’s front from where the hook savaged her breast, rotting, spurting, the sheer great big FACT of it is unavoidable – but here’s the Poet in his robes; burning, burning so bright from the end of the tram – he shines through the din – he switches on the stars – which sparkle from the buildings – and the great shimmering circles hum and flare all around, at last at last at long long last. 4 Dawn breaks across the bay. It’s cold and clear down by the water, watching the dirty tankers as they sit quietly by the pier. The sky is so pale, so fragile, that for a moment I’m afraid it will shatter and let that terrible night back in. But it doesn’t; it holds, and though the morning seems empty now, I trust that it will flesh itself out as the day grows. After a few moments it occurs to me to pull myself off the pavement, which is as cold and hard as one can reasonably expect it to be, and stumble over to the edge of the water. The concrete starkness of the bridge cuts the horizon up. The western baths shimmer out there somewhere, I like to think. My passage through the metropolis has left me shivering here and wondering how long it would take me to sail out to where the stars touch the sea. The meaning of this city is splintering too quickly to grasp. It’s natural to seek that bright purity of an idea, to just keep going until everything becomes a little more solid. The morning cars honk in the distance, fleetingly. Soon the day will grow strong and I’ll have to accept the reality of my situation: that I’m far from home, tired, dirty, and cold, and that I need to journey back – forwards not being an option right now. Until then, however, the city is in that in-between little instant, neither day nor night, where it makes perfect sense to just stand in the chilly air and stare out. If everything splinters, then I guess that’s just how it is. That cold, bright purity of purpose might not be out there at all. Back is forwards. Why not. The destination is endlessly vast. And the night? Well, “All of it is yours and mine.”

CREATIVE

FIONA WORDS BY MORGAN-LEE SNELL ARTWORK BY RACHEL MORLEY

iona the Monkey woke up alone, discontented and tearful, for she had dreamt of her beloved, who loved her no more. The pair had been running in a field, spinning in messy circles amongst the tall grass, Fiona swathed in pink cloth and her lover dressed in yellow. How beautiful they looked together in the dreamscape, lips painted red and toenails painted emerald. They tamed wild horses and rode down the rocky mountainside together and everything smelled of lemons. When she awoke, twisted tight and alone inside her blankets, she could not help but shed a tear. The seclusion was overwhelming. She lay there listening to the kettle boil and the shower running and the toaster popping, until her housemate left for work. Then she lay there for a little while longer, listening to the cold and the empty. Cold and empty. That’s how Fiona had felt since Margaret had left her. Disconnected from everyone and everything, but too exhausted to connect. Isolated in her treehouse, but too tired to traverse the treetops and visit her friends in their treehouses. When she finally pulled herself from bed, she discovered her housemate had used all the hot water. She stood shivering in the corner, splashing cold water into her fur, thinking of the way her girlfriend used to giggle and smirk whenever she’d used up all the warm before Fiona could get to the shower. “Not my fault you’re a dumb sleepy baby,” Margaret would laugh, and Fiona wouldn’t even be mad because Margie’s big white teeth would flash and her eyes would crinkle up at the edges. Fiona would wash herself with her hands tucked under her pits and a grin on her face because she loved Margaret ever so much. Now that her lover was gone, Fiona thought she looked older. Standing before the mirror, all wrapped up in her towel, she inspected her face. It did not appear that she had acquired new wrinkles, but without the flush of love, her skin looked an off shade of grey and her fur lay weird and flat. Before Margaret left, you could have almost smelt the joy emanating off Fiona’s skin.

But now the whole house just reeked of sad – the couch cushions stank and the clothes in her wardrobe and when you opened the oven the smell would seep out. The scent had been sticking around ever since Fiona had bumped into Margaret’s mum in the supermarket. She had asked how Margie was doing, and Margie’s mum had told Fiona about Margie’s new job and her new life and how great she’d been. Fiona clutched a bag of oven fries to her chest as her eyes glistened with tears. She had been clinging to the idea that Margaret was hurting too. That she missed their love too. Fiona had drunk a Coca-Cola with her breakfast every day since her lover had left. She ate her dinner watching the TV. Put her feet on the coffee table. Made a conscious effort to perform all the acts Margaret used to hate. These things did nothing to ease the ache. Nothing to fill the space Margie left. This particular morning, Fiona slumped onto the couch, Coke in one hand and banana in the other. She had grown weak. She was hollow. And on this particular morning, once Fiona had downed her Coke and nibbled half-heartedly on her banana, she decided that she did not have the energy to get up. And she sat there, for the entire day and for the entire night and for the entirety of the next day and the next night. And soon enough, a whole week had passed. And a month. And eventually Fiona got so good at keeping still that tiny asteroids started mistaking her for a small planet. They circled her wrists and danced along her fingertips and occasionally crashed into her. Soon enough her whole body would be covered in cavities. Tears began to catch on the crevices in her face and turn to rivers, and the half-eaten banana turned rotten in her lap and had grown into a small forest of moldy trees. Insects started laying their eggs inside her and their children built clubhouses in the hinges of her bones. She could hear them playing Pink Floyd on their tiny insect radios and running in the streets wearing their tiny insect sneakers and whispering “I love you,” as they tucked their tiny insect babies into bed. She never had to feel lonely again.

CREATIVE

PEACHY WORDS BY LINUS TOLLIDAY ARTWORK BY LAUREN HUNTER

CONTENT WARNINGS: REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT & ANXIETY

y watch starts beeping at 11a.m. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom. I find a cubicle with a working lock and inspect my nappy. Some spotting, kind of orangey-yellow, like peaches. Well, I haven’t been drinking much this morning and hydration is the key to a clearer flow. But this is a good amount of leakage, even if the colour is a little off. I will reward myself with a caramel slice from the café across the road once my appointment is done. Two caramel slices, perhaps. Although I may buy one caramel slice from one café and one from another, so that the waiter doesn’t think I’m some kind of fatty. He doesn’t realise that I haven’t had caramel slice in at least two weeks, so I deserve two, if not more. When I return, Robin is on the phone talking about another Job Seeker she is dealing with. “The thing with Bruno is – and he’s a great guy, he’s a really great guy. But the problem is that he’s ugly – which isn’t at all to do with his ability or his effort, you gotta understand. But he’s one ugly ducko. Great guy, really great guy. And he works hard and has a good resume.” I step into the room and Robin sees me. She smiles and mouths a greeting before continuing on the phone. “But have you seen his nose? Really wide, really long – like a droopy, fat penis. It’s like that really ugly fish, the elephant-fish or some shit – the fish with the penis-nose. Lots of pock marks too.” She sees me glancing at the clock and rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I have an appointment right now, I’ll talk later. This is with Phil, the guy with the you-know-what. Yeah, that one. Yeah, that one. All right, talk later.” I haven’t told Robin about the nappies and wonder what could be the ‘you-know-what’. My nose is wide but not that wide. And I’m not ugly for my age. In fact, if I looked like this in ten years’ time I’d probably be a catch. “Siddown, Phil,” she tells me. “What have you been up to lately?” “Not much,” I say. She laughs. “Ho ho, not much! Me neither, Phil. Me neither.” Then I ask if we can stop pussyfooting around; as my Employment Officer she should know I have an interview in less than an hour. Robin says she does know. “That’s half of the reason for this surprise meeting,” she says. “For you see, you’ve been seeking employment for some time now. Quite some time.” “Yes,” I say. “Two and three-quarter years.” “And recently, regulations have changed. Now you can only be registered as a Job Seeker and earning money from the government for two years at a time.” She starts eating an apple and I ask her what does she mean. She tells me through crunches, “Basically, it means we’re cutting you off.” “What?” I say. “You can’t do that. I have to pay rent. I have to eat!” She stares at my gut.

Without moving her eyes, she says, “You have two more weeks before you’ll stop receiving payments altogether. Are you okay? Would you like a coffee or a tea?” I say no, I’m not okay and ask for tea. “It’s not complimentary. Just so you know.” I gulp. “Never mind.” I can feel the small change in my pocket, and I think about my empty bank account. “In other news,” says Robin, “good luck with your interview!” I vomit in her lap. *** I wriggle on my seat and rub my groin with my elbows. I hope the employers can’t see into the waiting room. I’m sure they’d be understanding, being professionals and all, although I wonder how many 35-year-olds can complain about nappy rash? I’m sure they’d be understanding if I just told them the circumstances. About how some people just have smaller bladders, totally unrelated to their own personal decisions, totally a freak occurrence at birth. Like a mole, or a birthmark. Like my birthmark, the one that’s spotty and faded like a day-old dirt smudge. Which people accept as normal. Even though I consider it very detrimental to my bodily appearance. I’m no beauty queen, sure, but I’m no freako – and a blemish is a blemish. A small brown blemish on the hip, sitting and staring like an Easter egg to any sexual encounter. And while not expressly indicative of poor hygiene, it certainly does have the potential to put the idea in the mind. A repugnant idea from a repugnant birthmark. But somehow the point of turn-off is always the nappy, which also smacks of poor hygiene. Again, falsely. But job interviewers are far more understanding than potential boyfriends. They get that this stuff happens, they’re professionals, they’ve dealt with all sorts of people and problems and idiosyncrasies. Which is all this is: an idiosyncrasy. They won’t get into bed with you and then start sniffing and go, “What’s that smell?” and “Why is there plastic under your sheets?” They certainly won’t leave in the middle of the night without touching you. Because it’s not a freaky thing. Nothing that affects more than one in ten of all Australian men can be that freaky. That’s at least a couple for every extended family. Three, four in a crowded tram; more in a train. I am called into the interview room. A man and a woman sit behind a desk and stare at me with wide grins. “Hello, my name is Sandra.” “Hi,” I say. “Phil, is it?” she asks. “This is Sam.” Sam grunts. “I’m Sam.” “Pleased to meet you both,” I say.

CREATIVE

They seem pleased by my politeness and tell me that they value manners at their firm. I say that I value manners also. “Manners are telling,” says Sandra. “Yes, telling,” says Sam. “You could have a great worker, sure,” Sandra continues, “doing all the work and such. But as soon as you turn your back on them, they’re taking the mickey.” “The absolute mickey,” says Sam. “Taking the mickey. And taking it out of you – doing impressions, making observations. And they deceive you, which is not on. Deception is not on. Lying, coercing. And it’s all in the manners, that’s how you can tell. You get that, Phil?” “Well,” I say, “as my father always says, with people, the teeth may bite, but it’s the tail that’ll trip you up.” Sandra says she doesn’t understand the metaphor and frankly is confused about why I brought it up. She says that it was strange of me to use a metaphor in everyday speech that is so clearly esoteric. “Doncha think it’s esoteric, Sam? Doncha?” Sam nods. “Uh-huh. Esoteric is the word I’d use.” “See,” she says. “A very esoteric metaphor. Esoteric and strange.” Sam leans towards me. “Esoteric and asinine.” “Ooh,” says Sandra. “Now that’s a word. You get that, Phil?” “I did,” I say. “Isn’t it a word?” “Yes, it certainly is a word.” “It is,” says Sam. Sandra pours a glass of water and slides it to me. She then explains the mechanics of biting to me as I drink. “See, it’s not teeth that bite, as your charming little number would suggest. It’s the jaw.” “Uh-huh,” says Sam. “The jaw.” “You get that, Phil?” I try to smile. “Yes.” “So that is why your metaphor didn’t work, you see.” She pours her own glass of water. “I’m assuming your father never had an education.” “Well—” Sandra turns to Sam, “I’m sure he could still operate the Bifurcated Skywriting Gun.” “Even with an education, the Gun can be tricky,” says Sam. “It’s two buttons and a small rounded lever, Sam.” Sam turns to me. “What do you think, Phil? Two buttons and a small rounded lever?” “Yes,” says Sandra and then she freezes. “Oh Jesus,” she says. “Are you okay? Are you chafing down there?” Sam sits back. “Oh Jesus. Do you need some privacy?” I notice that I’m scratching my groin at this point. Chafing, certainly. “Oh, shit,” I say. “Sorry. I didn’t realise. It’s become a bit of a nervous tic.” They ask me what I am talking about and say that’s ridiculous and am I crazy? So I explain that I get nappy rash sometimes. They ask how

can I get nappy rash unless I wear nappies? I get flustered and say I do not know and elaborate that a skin specialist would be more equipped to answer their questions. There is a long gap in the conversation. Sam clears his throat. “Well, shit. Looks like they’re sending them from the farm now.” “Hell,” says Sandra, “the fuckin farm. Should’ve guessed by the way he walks and that metaphor.” “Yeah,” says Sam. “That metaphor.” I wonder to myself what ‘walk’ they’re talking about and if the chafing has anything to do with it. I explain that I am not from the farm. We talk for another couple of minutes before they tell me the interview’s over and that I probably won’t get the job. “But when a door closes,” says Sam, “a window opens.” Sandra grins and looks right at me. “You get that? Now that’s a metaphor. But don’t let this discourage you from applying for future opportunities,” says Sandra. “But also, if you don’t apply, we won’t be upset.” Sam smiles. “Ah,” I say. “So what you’re telling me is: Don’t apply.” “My heavens no!” says Sandra. “Of course not.” “But,” cuts in Sam, “we won’t be upset if you don’t.” I smile and thank them for the interview. As I stand I rap my hands on the desk, as if my percussive use of the hunk of wood will impress them or give off the impression that I am confident and laidback. They point out that my tie has been crooked for the last five or so minutes. I laugh and walk out without fixing it. I think about them fingering through the applications later and finding mine. “Hmm… Phil P. Stenders – do you remember this guy?” Sam would say, and Sandra would say, “Why yes. He was the fellow with the nappy.” “Ah yes, quite the intriguing idiosyncrasy.” Then Sandra would read my cover letter before regaling Sam with how I did not fix my tie when prompted to. And then Sam would say, “Yes, I too noted his nonchalant regard for the superficial.” And Sandra would say, “That’s the kind of guy we need at our firm. A man of priorities.” I overhear them talking about the colour of gumtrees as I close the door. I run home, which hurts my bladder. *** At midnight, I wake to thumping a few doors down from my apartment. “What’re y’doing?” I ask the maintenance man. He smiles without turning. He is a kindly old man whom I secretly love. He, like me, is different from other people. He is Indonesian and when he got here could only speak broken English. Very few coherent sentences. It made him sound like he had a stutter, which I had as a child. “Oh,” he says, still examining the doorframe, “old Mrs Carradine was complaining about rot above her door. So I have to assess the exposed timbers.”

CREATIVE

He thumps his fist against the wood. I try to think of an uncondescending way to explain that he is at Ms Leftowitz’s door. “Well,” he says, “it seems fine to me. But you know Mrs Carradine.” I do know Mrs Carradine, four doors down from me. She used to have a cat, Bon Spott, even though pets aren’t allowed in the building. She told the landlord that she needed it because otherwise she would become very depressed and lonely and he wouldn’t want that now would he? He told Mrs Carradine he’d give her a month to find a new home for the animal. She then threw a small pink dumbbell in his direction and said he could pay for her therapy when she goes batshit crazy from loneliness. Once she said to me that her cat was truly man’s best friend and that the landlord isn’t a man but a monster. I told her that I thought Bon Spott sounded like a dog’s name and she told me to go shit my pants. “Remember when Mrs Carradine used to have a cat?” I ask the maintenance man. “Yes,” he says, “I had to evacuate and relocate the stupid animal.” He packs a hammer into his toolbox and turns to me. “How’s everything with the bladder, Phil? Get that surgery?” I shake my head. “Turns out it was a scam. Or a prank. Not sure which.” “Boy, oh boy,” he says, walking towards me. “That’s not something to make fun of. It’s a serious condition. Are you okay?” “Yes,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m used to it.” He knows how I feel and is kind to me because his niece who is around my age has the same thing. He compares my story to his niece having her car vandalised with the words, “pisspants whore”. “Imagine,” he says, “having to explain those words to neighbours or work colleagues. Not that anybody asked or thought it was anything beyond mindless graffiti. Although she lost her job a month later for antisocial behaviour.” I tell him gee, that’s too bad. He tells me peaks and troughs and that this is a trough. I agree. This is a trough. “But,” I say, “I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” I pat him on the arm and he gives a big smile to my face. I tell him I like him and he reciprocates. This is it. I lean in to kiss him. “What the hell are you doing!” he says. “Nothing,” I tell him. “Oh, hell!” he says. “Hell! Is this how you’ve seen me all along? Oh, hell, this better not be how you’ve seen me all along! Is this what you do when somebody’s nice to you? They said you were the weird guy in the building but I thought, give him a chance. Give him a chance! Not like he’s going to try and sexually assault me when I’m on the job!” “It wasn’t assault! I’m not some kind of sexual assaulter!” He winces. “My niece! I told you about my niece! God knows what you’ve thought about her!” Through tears I ask him to stop and please love me and potentially consider financially supporting me through this difficult period. “Oh, hell!” he says, “what the hell!” and shoves me back. “Please,” I say and dive forward, but he backs away and I fall to

the ground. I say wait and he kicks me in the face and leaves. He rambles angrily in a mix of Indonesian and English on his way down the stairs. *** I have my next job interview in the morning. I think about the job title as I walk there: Product Tester. It makes me think of those old pictures of monkeys with lipstick on – the animal rights ones. But this is testing on people and it’s okay to put lipstick on people. Although lipstick is difficult to get off. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the interviewer will tell me they’re testing nappies or cream for nappy rash. “We need someone who wears nappies for this one,” they’d say. “Someone who has experience – an adult.” And of course I’d confide in the interviewer that, yes, I wear nappies and, further, am happy to wear a variety of nappies for the job; I have worn them for my whole life and thus have personal experience. They’d say that nappy-wearers are rare and undervalued – an asset to society. That more people like me ought to exist. That the more soiling the better because then they can test the fabric to its limits. Or maybe less soiling would be good too, because I can do both. Maybe they’ll ask me to be their head of nappy testing based on my personal experience and flexibility with soil-level. All this thinking and walking has made me tired and short of breath. I used to catch the tram to interviews. But not since this one time when a guy started having a seizure and everybody kept asking if there was a doctor on board. I felt so useless, I couldn’t go through that humiliation again. I arrive and take a seat. Soon I get called in from the orangeyyellow waiting room by a receptionist with strange glasses who keeps on scratching his elbows. I smile but he does not smile back. Inside the interview room there is a small ceramic bowl stacked with rectangular pieces of gum, which I restrain myself from going wild on. The interviewers mention testing for pharmaceutical brands. I smile and nod and wait for a silence and then I mention nappies. They seem confused and it goes the same way as last time. “Please,” I say, “I need the money. Please consider my idea.” One of them clears his throat and tells me they will not be considering my idea. “We will never hire you. Please, see yourself out.” I grab a piece of gum and chew it quickly. As I trudge out I can feel the small change in my pocket, and I think about my empty bank account. I think further. I think about the mould developing at the back of my fridge. About my apartment falling apart at the corners of the ceiling. About when I moved in and found it small even then. And I think about how desperate I am to be able to keep living there. I think about the maintenance man. My swollen jaw. And all the added expenses of nappies and talcum powder. I think hard and for a while and walk through the streets until midnight. I repeat to myself: Things need to change. Things need to change.

CHROMA BLUE ARTWORK BY EWAN CLARKE-MCINTYRE CURATED AND DESIGNED BY ILSA HARUN

Each edition of Farrago will include a photoset of a diﬀerent colour. Check out the next edition’s colour on the content list tab of facebook.com/Farragomagazine. Submit your photos through farragomedia2017@gmail.com.

CREATIVE

THE SHORT AND MELANCHOLY TALE OF GHOST BOY AND HIS EVER-VANISHING DREAM

Little ghost boy dreamt That he might be Accepted to college; Maybe two! Maybe three! But every reply Without fail read “We cannot accept you Because you are dead.”

WORDS BY ESMÉ JAMES ARTWORK BY ELLA HOPE BROADBENT 69

FOR AND AGAINST FRIENDS

ARTWORK BY MINAHIL MUNIR HAMDANI

FOR BY CALEB TRISCARI

he fact that I have to argue a pro-friends stance is absurd, but I’ll play along. As someone with the “emotional range of a teaspoon” (Rowling, 2003), friends play an important role as the decoders of my many uninterpretable attitudes. I get the warm and fuzzies when a pal is able to decipher a passing look I give to them which eloquently describes how the guy I’m trapped in a conversation with is an absolute douchecanoe. Bonus points if they can pass me back an ‘I’ll chuck you a sneaky fake phone call’ glance. Then there are the forgotten moments. Those which fall out of memory in two days time. A head resting on another’s shoulders. A fleeting conversation over a coffee to pass time. A shared bottle of wine on a couch at 2a.m. They’re fragments of the greater story but they fill the vacant space with side-plots and white noise. It’s cliché to say the little moments in life are the most important but it can’t always be one great adventure after the next. The people with whom I share my life are my saving grace(s). By that, I don’t mean the ‘I’ll always be there for you’ bullshit because frankly my dear, that’s not true. There are going to be cracks in the porcelain. Hopefully they’re just superficial but sometimes it takes a little more effort to mend. To hurt one another is human, and those closest to you are no different. It’s a sad reality, this unfortunate by-product of needing to put one’s self first. It doesn’t take too long to discover that this won’t get you far.

It’s cliché to say the little moments in life are the most important but it can’t always be one great adventure after the next. The difference lies in the action taken after the fact. There are people who will do whatever it takes to make it better and they’re who we should have in our lives. Someone who cares about you enough to change a part of themselves is someone not worth losing. You challenge them to be better as they should you. This is a twoway street, remember that. That’s why you, I and the rest of the world have an unspoken responsibility to act as sounding boards, confidantes, counsellors and guardians. After all, each one of us is trying to clamber through this fucked up plane of rhetorical questions and ephemeral actions. We don’t deserve to go through that alone.

AGAINST BY MONIQUE O'RAFFERTY

riends are the worst. You could be in bed, watching Netflix, but instead you’re at a shit club with shit music wasting your money on overpriced, diluted alcohol because your friend just broke up with their partner and wants you be their wingman/ woman for the night. Friends ask you vague questions about your life in order to have an excuse to talk about themselves for two hours. They convince you to do stupid shit like spend all your money on that new jacket that looked 'great' in the store, but that, realistically, you will never wear. You know what’s not the worst? Pets. Your pets won’t talk back, sleep with your ex or highlight your insecurities. Pets will always want to hang out, eat food and binge watch your guilty pleasure television show until 3a.m.

Your pets won’t talk back, sleep with your ex or highlight your insecurities. Dogs won’t borrow your clothes without asking and never give them back and you know why? Because dogs don’t fucking wear clothes. They are loyal, always happy and light up every time you walk in the room. You can’t put a price on that kind of companionship Don’t forget how great cats are. No need to blow all your money on an expensive birthday gift, just throw a piece of string their way and they will love you forever. They will never judge you when you nap to avoid life’s responsibilities. In fact, they will probably join you. Don’t goldfish have a memory of three seconds? You could tell them all of your secrets and never have to worry about them blabbing. (After further research it was found that goldfish in fact have a much longer memory than three seconds. You know who probably told you that extremely offensive and incorrect rumour? Your friend.) The pinnacle of friendship and loyalty is the pet rock. You could accidentally push them out of a window and they would still give you that creepy smile you drew on them with permanent marker when you were five and weren’t quite sure what faces were supposed to look like. They wouldn’t have judged you on your artistic ability, or lack thereof, and they certainly wouldn’t have scribbled all over your bead and macaroni masterpiece to win the Caramello Koala art prize in primary school. Contrary to the idealistic portrayal of friendship in the F.R.I.E.N.D.S. theme song, your friends will not always ‘be there for you’. They will let you down, stab you in the back and never give you the kind of loyalty and undivided attention that pets can.

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