9 minute read
IDENTITY IN A WORLD OF PRECARIOUS WORK
THIS IS NOT A FABLE
GERARD STARLING
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When will be today That the cat mews out no longer That the knife gleams in the corner On a box placed in the kitchen
When will be today That the wisdom teeth cease conflict For an estate with the molar Or the neighbour in their backyard Breaks their captor’s bones no longer
When will be today We can all sit down bare naked With no shame from Christian fodder Or a palette treading lightly To a tone so dark and shattered
When will be today That the great white shark that breaches From a seat atop the country Calms a boat in storms that’s rocking Like a lynched man in the Delta
When will be today That the hands of all our children Are raised in celebration To a world that’s painted even Not clenched frightened for a future
When will be today That the air we breathe is garnished With the faces of the suburbs Gleaming teeth not used for fighting As you’re waiting at the station
When will be today That the hand that grips the fence line Can be hoisted by another From both arms that reach out kindly, As it welcomes humans over
When will be today That the biased clouded sources Will be broken by the sunlight In a gentle dissipation From collective hands that guide us
When will be today Women walk the street at midnight And pursued only by wonder Of the options they’re presented Of equivalence to mine.
When will be today, That the towers made of suffering In the quest for domination And the phallus of hierarchy Are sent topping down in flames
KELLY LIM INFINITE
IDENTITY IN A WORLD OF PRECARIOUS WORK
ALEXANDRA LINEHAN
I am now entering my final year of university, and as I realise that I will simply not be returning next year, new complexities emerge on my horizon. This summer, I have found myself hunched over my keyboard writing endless cover letters and job applications; embellishing my LinkedIn profile; and researching graduate programs. However, it has slowly become apparent to me that nothing is guaranteed. The weight of uncertainty hangs over me and many of my friends as we enter the end of our time at university. Unlike the regular rhythm of returning to university every year, the future now stretches out before me -- an intimidatingly unknown and vast landscape.
Although I am powerless to predict what lies ahead, I want to retain some sort of agency as I start a process where my future is decided by seemingly everyone, but me. So I decided to spend time investigating and trying to make sense of what I have experienced during my studies.
One thing has been made ardently clear to me since I started university in 2017. In many professions, even some traditionally considered stable, a degree is no longer enough. In the vast pool of job applicants, you have to be unique. To acquire a job you seemingly need it all: internships; part-time work; volunteering; studying abroad; connections; a network; and a sparkling LinkedIn profile which displays your achievements to the world.
I’m sure everyone reading this will be somewhat familiar with what I am talking about. It’s when people volunteer in order to put it on their resumé; stand for club committee positions to gain ‘professional experience’; or complete co-curricular activities to get certificates. I saw this concept in action many times, but didn’t understand how to name it until one of my lecturers, Patrick O’Keefe, introduced me to the notion of ‘performativity.’ Performativity is the
name given to the way you must act to construct a version of yourself for the job market. It’s the idea that the things you do outside of university signal your ambition to future employers.
To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with doing any of the things I have mentioned. It would be immensely hypocritical of me to claim that I have never partaken in anything for the benefit it would bring to my career. In the end, we are all just scrambling to find decent jobs in an economy where jobs are scarce and only getting scarcer. I long for the stability and financial independence of full-time work, but understand that I must devote time outside of my degree to attain it.
However, I also understand how damaging this need to perform is. The problem with performativity is that it begins to blur into your spare time; to influence how you spend your days, who you interact with; and how you perceive yourself. We are a summary of our experiences. Our identity is often constructed from what we do, which reflects who we are. So how do we reconcile this with the fact so many of us are only doing things to obtain employment? is a powerful antidote to performativity. I also want to emphasise the importance of still doing things you like, regardless of their ‘value’. Spending time with loved ones will not help you get a job, but to abandon it risks our mental health, relationships, and identity.
Ultimately, the solution to this crisis is stable, abundant and interesting work. But in a world of increasing job fragmentation; diminishing value of education; further social stratification; and declining labour protections, this seems unlikely.
However, to embrace pessimism is to underestimate the capability for change. Economic and social reforms can create a future of fulfilling and stable work.
Most importantly, we must remember that our worth as a people is not the same as our value to the job market. Failing in the marketplace is not the same as failing as a person. We are all unique people who offer unique talents and perspectives - regardless of whether these can be monetised. Despite the massive emphasis on individual responsibility in modern Australia, failure in the job market is not a personal failure.
The economy requires us to spend our time and energy cynically shaping ourselves to even break into the job market. However, the lack of meaningful jobs, and an inability to live up to this ridiculous standard, is not our fault as young people.
It’s the system which is broken, not us.
I don’t have an answer to this deeply troubling question. But I do believe there are things we can do to ease the toxic stress of performativity. As students, many of us are forced to participate in the identity charade - yet a happy medium can be possible.
Compartmentalisation of our personal identity and our work identity is necessary. If you want to volunteer outside of university -- do something genuinely useful. This will benefit you regardless, as a ‘helper’s high’ is a well-known psychological phenomenon. Try to construct, if possible, a sense of self from outside of the workplace. Many busy students find ourselves fundamentally lacking hobbies, so having meaningful pastimes
ROLLER SKATING IS BACK — BUT IT NEVER LEFT
BEATRICE MADAMBA
For those itching for a chance to get back outside, it has become apparent that roller skating has made a massive comeback. Escapism from the stagnancy of monotonous screen time and constant news coverage is something that we all craved, which for many, meant basking in the simplicity of past times. After interminable months spent caged in our homes, it is no surprise that this inherently cool, lively hobby of yesteryears has made its way into the mainstream consciousness once again.
Like many other ‘trends’, its current resurgence in popularity is no doubt a product of its virality across multiple social media platforms. If you’re an avid social media user then you have probably been met with a myriad of roller skating videos circulating online, with the likes of skaters such as Oumi Janta, a Berlin-based skater, who has recently been propelled to viral stardom on account of her stylish skating videos.
Countless videos show teens and millennials alike taking to the streets in eye-catching fashion, gliding and dancing on wheels to tunes new and old. The rise of TikToks and later, Instagram Reels have not only rendered roller skating more accessible to the mainstream masses more than ever before, but in doing so have also epitomized and moulded its trendy image that continues to saturate social media to this day. That is, a skating scene that oozes a certain ease and coolness, with echoes of a vibrant past.
Australian skating instructor, Samantha Trayhurn created a roller skating edit during May 2020 born at the height of COVID-19 isolation. ‘Making Gravy: An Australian Roller Skating film’, showcases what this community is all about. “Sometimes it also feels like we are underrepresented in skating, but I know how much talent is here, and how much fun we have, and I wanted everyone to be able to see and feel that.” The result is —
Rollerskating’s current resurgence is one of many waves of popularity ebbing and flowing throughout history. Roller skates were first introduced in the 18th century. Their initial design was quite flawed as their inline model of small wheels proved maneuvering to be a trying task. It wasn’t until 1863 when James Leonard Plimpton patented the first quad skate, which featured the four wheels we know today.
In America, the ‘Golden Age’ of roller skating endured from 1937 to 1959, characterised by the need for escapism during the Second World War. This period emerged a range of new skating forms such as speed skating, skate dancing and roller derby.
It was during the 70s and 80s, however, in which the all too popular roller disco first emerged as a cultural phenomenon. This era is marked by the groups of skaters who flocked to roller rinks, dancing and skating to the pop music of their time. Roller skating also trickled heavily into popculture, withfilmssuchasR ollerBoogieandXanadu showcasing their actors on wheels. With hip hop gaining prevalence in the 80s, roller rinks also became the home for emerging artists and DJs.
Such waves in popularity encapsulate the symbiotic relationship between roller skating and music - one that is still inherently present in today’s roller skating scene.
However, I think it is worthy to note that there is a danger of referringtorollerskatingasamere‘trend’.T hetruthremains that beneath this white-washed, gentrified skating scene predominantly viewed on social media today is the reality of a longestablished and diverse skating community. And for this crowd, skating is not ‘back’ - it never really left.
Roller skating is, and always has been, deeply rooted in Black culture; or rather, Black culture is deeply ingrained in the skating itself. Skating styles such as jamming and gliding (similar to moonwalking) all originate from the Black roller skating community - even before TikTok shone a spotlight at it.
To label it as a ‘fad’ or a ‘craze’ fails to recognise its long existing community and dismisses its cultural and political significance throughout history. Although its history is tainted by racial prejudice, roller rinks offered a refuge for marginalised people. “During those times, skating kept the Black community together,” says Terrance Brown, a Santa Barbara-based skater. “Once you unlace those skates, it’s back to reality. But when they were skating, they bonded... It was a foundation.”
With this in mind, there is no better time than now to pick up a pair of skates. As teens lace-up their pastel Impala roller skates, it’s important to recognise that the freedom in which they reap from skating is derived from a history of marginalized communities that fought and struggled for that same liberation.
