HONI SOIT
Lotte Weber Feature, page 6
Eliza Crossley Analysis, page 10
Audhora Khalid Analysis, page 8 Silicon Valley’s Invisible Empire
Acknowledgement of Country
Honi Soit operates and publishes on Gadigal land of the Eora nation. We work and produce this publication on stolen land where sovereignty was never ceded. The University of Sydney is a colonial institution. Honi Soit is a publication that prioritises the voices of those who challenge colonial rhetorics. We strive to continue its legacy as a radical left-wing newspaper providing students with a unique opportunity to express their diverse voices and counter the biases of mainstream media.
In This Edition...
Self-curatorship
Silicon Valley
Unethical AI
Life with no SIM
Spotify Surveillance
Digital Aesthetics
iPad Babies
SRC Casework
Puzzles
Digitality is the condition of living within a digital culture. It poses the idea that today, technology and media are not just a part of life, rather they are life, and we crawl around blindly within them. The great, technicolour tangle of transmissions, captured by Sienna Moth on this edition’s cover, is a testament to how broadly and deeply these phenomena shape our worlds.
In this edition, Honi Soit explores what it’s been like growing up with screens all these years, and where we are accelerating towards in the future.
It trades in musings on dumbphones, Wattpad, virtual reality, and iPad babies. In the feature, I explore my own anxieties surrounding selfcuratorship on social media and what it means for Sydney’s young creatives.
On page eight, we explore Silicon Valley and big-tech’s relationship to colonialism with Audhora Khalid. Eliza Crossley then introduces the clickworker trade and raises crucial questions around ethical AI. On pages twelve and thirteen, Imogen Sabey shares her life without
Companion Piece, Sienna Moth
The STUPID fluffy ball sits USELESSLY in the middle of a room. It sits like a soft LUMP. It doesn’t know that the wires around it pulse with SOMETHING. An entity? Something less soft, probably. Yet, the fluffy ball contributes NOTHING. It just consumes and consumes, staring at ME like it’s MY FAULT! It can’t even MOVE. It sits there surrounded by screens, buttons, sound systems, and various technological apparatus. It’s BEHIND on RENT. Someone, PLEASE tell it to get it together!
a SIM card, while Marc Paniza analyses the hidden meaning of Spotify Wrapped.
As you eat through these pages, I urge you to put your phone on silent, or throw it out a window, and observe quietly, this humble luddite tablet lying in your hands.
Yours, Lotte Weber
Sienna Moth is a third-year student pursuing a Bachelor of Visual Arts. Sienna is interested in debates surrounding technology and humanity, like the ethics and ramifications of AI. ‘USELESS BALL’ is a lighthearted representation of the negative effects of language model chatbots on the brain’s development and how reliance on them diminishes the ability to think critically.
Editor-in-Chief
Lotte Weber
Editors
Purny Ahmed, Emilie Garcia-Dolnik, Mehnaaz Hossain, Annabel Li, Ellie Robertson, Imogen Sabey, Charlotte Saker, Lotte Weber, William Winter
Contributors
Sophie Bagster, Eko Bautista, Eliza Crossley, Lila Daly-Hyatt, Alexandra Dent, Lachlan Griffiths, Audhora Khalid, Ramla Khalid, Alicia Lee, Jessica Louise-Smith, Ella McGrath, Kiah Nanavati, Cassidy Newman, Emily O’Brien, Marc Paniza, Ananya Thirumalai, Shayla Zreika.
Purny Ahmed, Naomi Binga, Emilie Garcia-Dolnik, Deepika Jain, Amelia Koen, Sienna Moth, Ellie Robertson, Lotte Weber, William Winter
Eliza Crossley, Celina Di Veroli, Hamish Evans, Leanne Rook, Anu Khulan, and Norn Xiong.
the
or
nor does it endorse any of the advertisements and insertions. Please direct all advertising inquiries to publications.manager@src.usyd.edu.au.
Dear Honey
Back in high school, I once fell in love with a guy who I never confessed my feelings towards, mostly because of the fact that I didn’t feel safe coming out at that time. After we both graduated, as fate would have it, we ended up getting into different unis, him into UNSW and me into USyd, and we eventually lost touch with each other. Ever since we lost touch, I’ve been trying to move on from him so that I can move forwards in life. However, I happened to meet him again by chance a while back before we yet again parted ways and I came to realise that in spite of everything that has happened, I still have feelings for him. What do you think I should do here?
From,
First-year Student
To First-year Student,
Oh, to be young and hopeful for your first love. I hope you know that this life is long, unbearably so. Love often feels never-ending, even when it’s not. You’re in uni now, the playing ground is much larger than your former school grounds, and the world is vast. You will experience many special loves before you find someone who stands out from the rest.
You say its fate when you two were separated, but chance when you were reunited. It’s up to you now to decide which path to take — ironically, the choice is yours. I wonder which one has more sway over you, fate or pure chance?
I am usually the more cynical type, and a part of me does want to tell you to walk away and to move on (read below). I’m not going to do that this time (jokes!); if you feel safe to do so, ask him to coffee or whatever it is you young people do. Become friends again, mend the wounds that might still remain. I’m not guaranteeing anything, only saying that first loves are reckless and they are meant to be — do the things that bring butterflies to your tummy, and try not to regret it when it’s over.
Remember, love is never a waste.
That being said, if any of that made you queasy rather than excited, well… You have your answer. Walk away. You have given yourself…what? Three, maybe four, months to move on? If it’s love, like you say it is, it’ll take a little longer to move on. If that’s what you want/need, don’t give up on it just yet. Only allow people into your life who enrich it, rather than weigh upon you. Cut your losses while you can. Listen to fate, and start fresh.
Good luck,
Honey
So in the span of a year, I:
•Was working with somebody who expressed interest in me, and I fell, and then it turned out he never cared
•Got into my dream school (FAR away from Aus) and then realised I could not afford to go and was stuck here
•Moved interstate
•Battled with my health (mind and body)
and despite it all, I still worry I’ll never be kissed. Sydney has not been too kind to me and I worry I’ll never feel at peace here. I certainly have not found my people.
From,
Hopelessromantic
Dear Hopelessromantic,
Everything sucks right now, but it won’t always. I won’t say that everything happens for a reason — it’s a stupid consolation that helps no one — but I will say that when the life you’ve been wanting finds you, you’ll feel it, and it will mean so much more.
I can’t make promises, I can’t work any magic here. I can only tell you from my own experiences that dreams shift, evolve, transform, and come true in their own ways. You might not have found your people or your peace here yet, but maybe one day you will. Or maybe, one day you find yourself far away from here, and it will all have been a bad dream. The point is, it will be okay… eventually.
Oh, and you will definitely be kissed! Stop thinking about it so much, it will happen exactly when it is meant to.
With love,
Honey
Art by Ellie Robertson
Honi Soit Pitch ‘n’ Bitch
Thursday, 13th of March at 12pm Courtyard Cafe
Queer Societies Drag Bingo
Thursday, 13th of March at 6:30pm Manning Bar
Culture Walks: Student Spaces
Friday, 14th of March at 10:30am Verge Gallery
USU Disabilities Welcome Night (Autonomous)
Friday, 14th of March at 6pm Hermann’s Bar
She Matters Stop! Killing Women Rally
Saturday, 15th of March
ANZAC Memorial, Hyde Park
The Moors by Dancing Dog Productions 7th-16th of March
Waterloo Studios Theatre
Australian universities adopt contentious IHRA definition of antisemitism
On February 25th, Australia’s 39 public universities agreed to unilaterally endorse a contentious new definition of antisemitism.
The definition was drafted by leaders of Australia’s largest universities, the Group of Eight (Go8), in consultation with the federal antisemitism envoy, Jillian Segal. Universities Australia (UA) convened on Monday and agreed to implement the definition nationwide.
This comes after a series of recommendations from the parliamentary Inquiry into Antisemitism at Australian Universities were released last month, among them the need to adopt a “clear definition” of antisemitism that “closely aligns” with the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition.
Since its inception in 2005, the IHRA definition has faced global backlash from academics and activists for problematising criticism of Israel.
Public furore over the IHRA definition has prompted the creation of alternate definitions such as the Jerusalem Declaration, which draws a clear distinction between antisemitism and legitimate criticism of Israel and the crimes against humanity that the state has perpetrated against Palestinians. Pursuant to the IHRA definition, the new UA definition states that “criticism of Israel can be antisemitic when it is grounded in harmful tropes, stereotypes or assumptions and when it calls for the elimination of the State of Israel or all Jews or when it holds Jewish individuals or communities
responsible for Israel’s actions.”
“All peoples, including Jews, have the right to self-determination. For most, but not all Jewish Australians, Zionism is a core part of their Jewish identity, substituting the word ‘Zionist’ for ‘Jew’ does not eliminate the possibility of speech being antisemitic.”
In a press release, the Australia Palestine Advocacy Network (APAN) slammed the definition as ”McCarthyist.”
“This move manipulates genuine concerns about antisemitism to silence political dissent, shield Israel from accountability and shut down Palestinians and their allies.”
The Executive Council of Australian Jewry (ECAJ), a leading Jewish advocacy group, has not yet commented on the UA definition, but endorsed the Inquiry’s recommendation to draw from the IHRA definition.
However, the Jewish Council of Australia (JCA), a newer representative body that formed in early 2024 for a more pluralistic representation of the Australian Jewish community, has called the definition “dangerous, politicised and unworkable.”
Dr Naama Blatman, a Jewish-Israeli academic who researches and lectures in settler-colonialism in Israel and Palestine, said that the definition “could very well be weaponised to silence the work of academics in this area, including my own.”
Mohamed Duar, a spokesperson for Amnesty
Ella McGrath reports
.
International Australia said in a statement released on Thursday, “by adopting this definition, universities will be characterising peaceful protest as a punishable offense. This sets a chilling precedent where students exercising their political rights are vilified and silenced.”
“If universities are truly committed to combating racism, they must adopt a comprehensive, rightsbased approach, one that protects all students without eroding fundamental freedoms and rights.”
Universities across the globe have seen a suppression in Palestine activism swiftly after adopting the IHRA definition of antisemitism.
After taking up the IHRA definition in 2021 against the backdrop of the Sheikh Jarrah crisis in Palestinian East Jerusalem, universities across the UK saw the banning of fundraisers and events related to the Palestinian cause.
Following President Donald Trump’s executive order against antisemitism to enforce the IHRA definition in 2019, American universities were subjected to legal action related to student actions supporting Palestinian human rights. At the time, the definition was rejected by one of its authors after observing the “chilling effect” of its application on campus.”
The University of Melbourne was the first tertiary institution in Australia to publicly adopt the controversial definition in 2023. Macquarie University and the University of Wollongong had already quietly adopted the definition in 2021.
USU expands sanitary product distribution across campus following USyd Executive’s rejection of spread into non-USU buildings
The University of Sydney Union (USU) has implemented plans to expand its 2021 program for distributing sanitary products across campus using Student Services and Amenities Fees (SSAF). This follows the University Executive declining to expand the service to general university buildings.
Starting in 2021, the USU’s sanitary distribution program provides students and staff access to free, sustainable, and organic sanitary products. 51 dispensers are currently installed in USU-operated buildings, and over 50,000 pads and 45,000 tampons have been distributed across campus. The USU has plans to order the products in larger quantities in future due to recent supply issues.
Following a positive response from students on campus, the Campus Operation Services recommended the program’s expansion into university buildings that are not operated by the USU in 2024. These recommendations were rejected by the University Executive on the basis of the cost and logistics.
At a USU Board Meeting on the 28th of February, USU Chief Executive Officer Janina Jancu stated “USyd executive was considering roll out but the motion did not proceed – some agitation and interest in re-invigorating that from the USU is on the table at some point this year. The USU is supportive of greater sanitary access”.
The initial expansion recommendation, which was rejected by the University Executive, was estimated to cost roughly $1.5 million annually, with additional concerns regarding the logistics of distributing the products to more than 1500 bathrooms.
Ellie Robertson and Will Winter report.
The USU’s improvement and expansion plans include installing new dispensers in the Queer Room and Women’s Room in the Manning building, as well as implementing a QR code system on current dispensers to allow users to advise when facilities are emptied. As of semester 1 of 2025, the USU has also been providing sanitary products to the SciTech Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Study Space, and the Gadigal Centre. They’ve also provided additional sanitary products to the Dubbo campus, with plans to also include the Conservatorium and Camden campuses moving forward.
University of Sydney announces amendments to the Campus Access Policy
The University of Sydney has announced amendments to the Campus Access Policy 2024 (CAP).
In an email to staff and students on the 27th of February, Provost and Deputy Vice-Chancellor Annamarie Jagose outlined amendments made in response to 111 community feedback submissions received in October 2024. Jagose noted a “reduction in the complaints and expressions of unease that had marked the previous semester” after the implementation of the CAP.
Jagose flagged multiple amendments in her email, including the removal of the 72-hour notice requirement for demonstrations. Organisers are still required to notify the University of a demonstration “no later than when first communicated to people other than organisers”.
The ban on outdoor megaphones has also been lifted, with the amendment allowing them for “crowd management” but not to “harass or harm others”.
Mehnaaz Hossain reports.
The CAP still maintains the ban on megaphones indoors and the rule that “any stall, booth or similar structure will require a space booking so that we can avoid clashing claims to the same space”.
In 2024, during the Gaza Solidarity Encampment, the University wielded the Inclosed Lands Protection Act 1901 (NSW) against protestors to revoke “permission…to be on our lands”. Following the amendments, individuals may now request a review from the Vice-Principal of Operations.
In the CAP document itself, further amendments can be found. Section 2.4, titled ‘Unacceptable Activities’, explicitly outlines an “exception for weapons permitted by law”.
This is in conjunction with Section 2.7(4)(b), which allows campus Protective Services to “require any user to provide…photographic identification” if they do not have staff or student identification. Previously, Protective Services requested only “name and address”.
Chau Chak Wing Museum returns human remains to Papua New Guinea
The Chau Chak Wing Museum announced that it has repatriated human remains to Papua New Guinea.
The return included 16 human crania, which were taken from Papua New Guinea’s Rai Coast in 1876-1877.
The skulls were returned within a ceremony at Gorendu in Madang Province held on Wednesday 19th February.
Representatives from six local villages were present at the ceremony, as well as the festivities across the day. The local villages were home to the people whose crania were returned: Inglam, Sandingby, Bilibili, Bongu, Ibor, and Gorendu.
Museum staff have been in contact with descendants on the Rai Coast for more than 40 years regarding items from the collection, including the skulls. The repatriation follows a formal request made in April 2024 for their return to Papua New Guinea.
Chau Chak Wing useum Senior Curator Dr Jude Philip accompanied the crania on their journey.
The crania were given to Russian scientist Nickolai N. Miklouho-Maclay in the late 19th century, when he undertook a scientific expedition in Papua New Guinea. According to Miklouho-Maclay’s journal, the skulls were acquired only when freely given and were not exhumed remains.
Jack Simbou, Deputy Secretary at Papua New Guinea’s Department for Community Development and Religion commented, “These ancestors were taken by Nickolai almost 150 years ago, to support his work promoting one shared humanity… Their journey spans time and distance and we extend gratitude to the Chau Chak Wing Museum for reuniting us.“
“Like many other institutions, the Chau Chak Wing Museum is reckoning with
Emilie Garcia-Dolnik and Purny Ahmed report.
its past collection practices,” said Chau Chak Wing Museum Director Michael Dagostino. “We work with communities across the globe to connect them with objects, artefacts and remains that once belonged to them.”
The crania was an addition to the collection of the Macleay Museum in 1888; it was a constituent collection in, what is now, the Chau Chak Wing Museum.
Photo credit: Norman Ketan, NKW Photography
Self-curatorShip: the Digital ego of the Young creative
Lotte Weber scrolls.
Last year, I had my creative writing showcased in the University of Sydney Union Creative Awards at Verge Gallery. I found myself unable to choose how to share this on social media. It was too creatively irrelevant for LinkedIn and too uncomfortably selfpromotional for Instagram. While I entertained the idea of constructing a Substack or second Instagram devoted just to my writing — as many young creatives now do — this felt like splitting myself in two, which made me realise how seriously we have begun to take our digital personas; or, as Kyle Chayka, columnist of The New Yorker’s Infinite Scroll, calls them, our “shadow selves”. These alter egos must be crafted, fed, curated, and they are a direct phenomenon of the corrosion of social media boundaries, between real and digital life, and between inter-app limitations. I wonder if they’re really supposed to be us anymore?
For the first time in history, everyday people are faced with the same liberties and anxieties surrounding public image that were once reserved only for the famed and gloried.
“The curated self,” Bruce Wilson, tells Psychology Today, “is a product of the technological revolution.” In a time when almost every facet of our lives has been touched by digitisation, the way we curate and present ourselves has transformed. From social media profiles to personal blogs, digital archives, and AI-generated avatars, the ability to craft, manage, and refine our digital personas has never been greater. And, for the first time in history, everyday people are faced with the same liberties and anxieties surrounding public image that were once reserved only for those famed and gloried. This intersection of technology and selfrepresentation raises critical questions: How does digitisation influence our self-image? And what are the implications — both empowering and troubling — of this newfound agency over our identities?
These questions are both new, and not so new. Narcissus withered away by his lake, long before we downloaded Facebook. We know that thinking too long about oneself can be destructive, and that revealing too much in vanity can come back to bite. Self-branding asks the individual to adopt an unusual role as not just creator, but curator of identity. When we craft our alter-egos, our digital, larger-than-life selves, we are saying: these are the colours I like; these are the past-times I pursue; these are the artists, brands, and bands I feel aligned with; this is how little and how much I care. Thanks to the swell of media we now swim in, and
the permeability of those dividing walls we call ‘real life’ and ‘online’, this self-branding extends to our most intimate personal lives. Social platforms are the battered purple diaries hiding under our beds, only to record memories, only to be read aloud to friends. Except there are more friends than one can fit into their bedroom, and they want, or rather you feel they want, only the very best stories. It impacts our deepest, most personal selves.
The digital revolution has enabled an unprecedented level of personal expression. In the past, self-presentation was largely constrained to the physical world — what we wore, how we spoke, and where we positioned ourselves within social circles. But today, we exist simultaneously in physical and digital spaces, with the latter often taking precedence. When we have access to everything, selection of anything becomes a significant symbol of our own palette, rather than an indicator of what we have geographic, social, and cultural access to. Social media platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and LinkedIn allow individuals to curate their lives down to the smallest detail, from the way they appear to the thoughts they choose to share with the world. Unlike traditional forms of self-representation, which relied on external validation from family, friends, or colleagues, the digital self is increasingly under the control of the individual. Through selective posting, photo editing, and algorithm-driven content amplification, we have unprecedented power over how we are perceived.
Art by Lotte Weber
Instagram. Vice versa, the death of the soulless professional affords leverage to more personalised, casual content on professional platforms. Audiences want an all-access pass to the ordinary people they follow in the same way they do public figures, and to satisfy that demand is to dissolve platform boundaries by curating content across all platforms, for all digital environments. Concurrently, 2024 saw significant critique of the state of LinkedIn, with many headlines echoing
As the digital sphere grows, boundaries between social platforms collapse, meaning that business-specific content which may have once only had a home on LinkedIn, now has relevance to an increasingly monetised and business-populated Instagram.
Our Digital 2024, showed a new milestone of 5 billion social media users, increasing by 266 million since 2023. As the digital sphere grows, boundaries between social platforms collapse, meaning that business-specific content which may have once only had a home on LinkedIn, now has relevance to an increasingly monetised and business-populated
Since navigating the digital, public transition from student to artist, she has voiced a number of concerns with the way she curates herself online. In a guest article for Elle she writes, “Before my first novel came out in 2021, I purged my Instagram grid… I’d maintained a sparse, strictly professional presence for so long that even re-sharing one Instagram Story of me and my friends at drinks felt, as dramatic as it sounds, like self-betrayal.” More optimistically: “we can find authenticity within the very act of curation: in recognising that we will, inevitably, change and in trying to change thoughtfully, for the better.”
One student from the Australian Film Television and Radio School (AFTRS) unearthed the digital subculture of Sydney’s young creatives on Instagram. “It’s very intense,” she tells me. “A lot
projects as permanent posts and personal content in disappearing stories. “There’s definitely an element of curation that goes into choosing how you want to put yourself and your work out there, but at the end of the day, that’s creative freedom.” Is that the price we pay for self-determination?
Self-curatorship, as a process of fragmenting and picking, is essentially an incomplete dream.
Increasingly, art exhibitions are moving towards trends of self-curatorship, often digitally, rendering online personas all the more significant. According to creatives YuJune Park and Caspar Lam, “the post-pandemic world is one of ‘phygital’ spaces, augmented realities, and new experiments in the gallery-from-home experience”. They reveal that self-curated digital experiences are on the rise, and this could alter the boundaries between consumption of the artwork and the artist. In one piece from Infinite Scroll, Kyle Chayka shares that, “my online presence increasingly felt like a carefully crafted display of what I wanted to show off, rather than a reflection of my unfiltered curiosities. I accrued a reasonable number of Twitter followers and came to see tweeting as a professional necessity, part and parcel of building one’s ‘brand’.”
So what does all this preoccupation with selfcuratorship and digital image do to our sense of identity? What is it like growing up in the age of the “shadow self”? Social psychologist Kenneth Gergen warned of “multiphrenia” — a technological saturation of the psyche to the point of complete fragmentation and loss of the individual. I was thirteen when I first downloaded Instagram and I calculate I’ve had around six different accounts since then: a personal account just for close friends, a larger account, an account for writing, an account for photography… The anxiety I felt to curate and present my fluid, developing identity in just the right way was apparent. I learned a lot about curating in my first formative Instagram years. I learned the words “vignette”, “archive”, and “aesthetic”. I learned the best kind of filters for different shots, the right time of day to feed the beastly algorithm. To give an adolescent, unsure of themselves and their place, a tool to express that to the world and their peers can offer salvation or destruction.
A new study, ‘The Psychophysiology of Instagram’, revealed that social media withdrawal symptoms mimic those associated with serious drug usage. However, there was a crucial difference. Observing 54 young people’s usage, it noted that unlike
drugs, “social media taps into basic human needs: we all want to belong and to be liked”. Correcting the term “social media addiction” to simply “friendship addiction” as a way to normalise and destigmatise this phenomenon is to acknowledge that worrying over our digital appearance is standard. It is a quest for the validation that comes from being seen and affirmed. In any conversations about self-curatorship, we must remember that it is happening for the viewer on the other side of the screen. Thus, our self exploration exists not only in the bounds of our autonomy, but as a dynamic relationship pushing and pulling to satisfy the follower — our voyeur, our friend.
Social psychologist Kenneth Gergen warned of “multiphrenia” — a technological saturation of the psyche to the point of complete fragmentation and loss of the individual.
Self-curatorship, as a process of fragmenting and picking, is essentially an incomplete dream. When social media is used as a time-capsule for archived memories, there is a sense of fullness and access. However, just because this generation is more visually documented than ever before, does not mean it is a true way to store memories. Digital amnesia questions whether social media is really the right way to remember the development of the self. A friend of mine has Instagram highlights tracing back five years, organised thematically. She shared, “When I can’t quite remember what happened during a certain time period, I know I can scroll back far enough and get a semimanufactured glimpse into my reality at the time. Whether this is a feature of digital technology or a progressive corruption of my own working memory is the question. The problem is, the digital is vulnerable.”
I am fortunate I will likely only ever have to worry about how to use social media to document myself — unlike the hundreds of thousands in other parts of the world using it to document the destruction of their worlds, homes, and families. I am fortunate to feel creeping anxieties over my very ordinary Instagram page. If you go there now, you can see a smug photo of me in a black wool turtleneck and skirt smiling into the Verge Gallery headphones, listening to my writing, and deduce what choice was made.
Silicon Valley's Invisible Empire: The New Colonialism
Once upon a time, colonial powers roamed the earth, planting flags, enslaving populations, and extracting natural resources to fuel their insatiable greed. The British had tea and orchestrated famine; the Belgians had rubber and mutilation; the Spanish had gold and genocide. Fast-forward a century, and the colonial game remains unchanged — only this time, the plunder happens at the speed of light, through fiber-optic cables, cloud servers, and Artificial Intelligence (AI) models trained on the labor of the world’s poorest. This is digital colonialism, led by Silicon Valley’s titans — Alphabet (Google), Meta, Amazon, OpenAI, and more.
Let’s be clear: Big Tech’s dominance isn’t about innovation or the mythical ‘free market’. It’s about power — economic, political, and infrastructural — accumulated through the systematic exploitation of developing nations.
Behind every algorithm, search, and prompt pumped into ChatGPT, is a hidden workforce — underpaid, overworked and exposed to trauma, all to keep Silicon Valley’s hands clean. This is the new face of colonialism, binding the Global South in a system of exploitation while touting itself as progress. This is the raw deal: digital sweatshops powering the AI revolution, moderating the darkest corners of the internet, harvesting the data that fuels the global economy, and maintaining the infrastructure that keeps the world connected — as the wealth flows back to the Silicones.
Take Facebook’s Free Basics, a program supposedly designed to provide free internet access to low-income users in India, Nigeria, and dozens of other countries. It sounds generous, except that Free Basics wasn’t the internet — it was a Meta-controlled walled garden, where users could only access Facebook-approved websites, ensuring that every interaction, every click, every piece of digital behavior was meticulously harvested for profit. India, in a rare moment of regulatory backbone, banned the program in 2016 for violating net neutrality. Meanwhile, Google reigns as the world’s de facto information overlord, controlling 90.14% of the global search market. If you live in the Global South, chances are your digital life is conducted through an Android phone — an operating system that not only preloads Google services but
locks users into an ecosystem designed to siphon as much data as possible. All this data, produced by users in Africa, Asia, and Latin America, is monetized in Silicon Valley, with zero revenue-sharing, no reinvestment, and no ownership for the very people generating it. Sound familiar? It should. This is how colonial economies were structured — raw materials extracted from the periphery to be refined and monetized in the metropole. Maybe all of this doesn’t sound too bad — it’s just data. Silicon Valley loves to sell AI as an autonomous, magical force — a self-improving, godlike intelligence. But here’s a dirty little (not so) secret: AI runs on human exploitation. It runs on the underpaid, invisible labor of thousands of workers in Kenya, the Philippines, India, Venezuela, and beyond. When OpenAI’s ChatGPT was in development, it needed content moderators to clean up its datasets — to scan through the most horrific, violent, traumatizing material imaginable so that the final product wouldn’t parrot genocidal rhetoric back at users, which it still did anyways (ChatGPT gives great advice on how to carry out a terrorist attack). Who did all this work? Kenyan contractors, paid as little as $1.32 an hour, forced to read graphic depictions of murder, torture, sexual violence, and pedophilia without psychological support. Some workers developed PTSD. OpenAI, now a multibillion-dollar company, shrugged and moved on. Wait, no, they did increase the wages of Indian moderators from $1400 to $3500 per year. How lovely.
The AI economy thrives on the same logic as the old colonial regimes of the 1800s — cheap, disposable labor in the periphery of the Global South, unimaginable wealth at the Silicon Valley center.
But what about your iPhones and Macs? Congo supplies 70% of the world’s cobalt, an essential mineral for making the batteries sitting inside our indispensable devices. Fourteen families in the Democractic Republic of Congo are now suing Apple, Tesla, Alphabet, Dell, and Microsoft for benefitting from child labour in mining for this precious blue mineral. And lithium? Here are the stats for wages in the top 3 lithium reserves in the world: in Chile, miners earn about $1430-$3000 a month. In Argentina, it’s between $300 and $1800 a month. Australian miners earn around $9000 a month, and can reach $200,000 a year. How surprising.
Amazon Web Services and Google Cloud are the backbone of digital economies worldwide, hosting the data of businesses, governments, and entire nations. In Africa, most major institutions rely on foreign cloud storage — meaning that their most sensitive data is ultimately at the mercy of U.S. tech giants. When Google unilaterally decided to withdraw free cloud storage for universities in Latin America, entire academic systems were thrown into disarray. The message was clear: if you depend on Silicon Valley’s infrastructure, you play by their rules — or you scramble to find an alternative that doesn’t exist.
Meanwhile, Western governments ensure that no viable alternatives emerge. When Huawei, a Chinese technology company, attempted to build 5G networks across Africa, offering a rare chance for infrastructural autonomy, the U.S. waged a full-blown diplomatic war to crush it, citing “national security concerns.”
Translation: only American firms are allowed to dominate digital infrastructure.
Of course, Big Tech isn’t just an economic force — it’s a political one.
These corporations have more lobbying power than most sovereign states, shaping global regulations to protect their monopolies.
Google, Meta, Amazon, and Microsoft collectively spent over $50 million on lobbying in 2024, ensuring that data privacy laws, AI ethics debates, and digital sovereignty discussions always skew in their favor. I don’t think we even need to go over Zuckerberg and Musk’s comments and policies on Meta and X (Twitter was always a better name).
Silicon Valley doesn’t just protect its own interests, it actively collaborates with Western governments to maintain digital and political hegemony.
The Snowden leaks revealed that Microsoft, Yahoo, Google, Facebook, and Apple all provided backdoor access to U.S. intelligence agencies, facilitating mass surveillance of the world. Governments in the Global South remain powerless to stop this data extraction, their citizens treated as nothing more than surveillance fodder for the US National Security Agency’s ever-expanding databases.
In writing this article, I read through personal stories and sensationalized ones, I read articles that turned these lives into statistics and academic conclusions, and I did my best to put them forth into this piece of writing.
Audhora Khalid is feeling reflective.
My anger towards a system that I myself find inescapable makes me feel powerless, and any solution I find seems radical and superfluous in the face of something so much larger than any of us.
The ongoing genocide in Palestine at the hands of Israel has revealed some of our collective humanity, yet even that has been branded as controversial in professional, political and even academic spaces. No amount of International Court of Justice calls for arrest or United Nations sanctions and votes seems to topple this. The irony of living in the age of information is that its accessibility is controlled simply because of its accessibility.
One would think that this incomparable access to unlimited knowledge would lead to a profound understanding of coexistence, but how can world powers expect to have power unless the power of knowledge rests in their palms?
It is indeed our responsibility to hold ourselves accountable. Accountable to our decisions regarding our beliefs and values, yes — but also our decisions in the workplace, in consumption, in voting, in friendships and what we choose to communicate, what we choose to advocate. Perhaps we alone cannot revolutionize Silicon Valley, but we can and must draw awareness to their practices.
Quite simply, it is a privilege to be able to read about these issues while being wholly unaffected by it (albeit whatever guilt or sorrow one may feel). The privilege must not be entirely cited as problematic, because that only results in the designation of these issues being labeled as ‘uncomfortable’. Rather, this privilege is what it simply is: power, ability and capability. You have the ability to engage in this discourse with no repercussions. Ask yourself what the true cost is in you speaking up, going to protests, not using ChatGPT?
Whatever you choose to do with the knowledge you have acquired, or been reminded of from this article, is up to you. In truth, our lives are the longest things we have, no matter if you think it’s too short. In this very big thing that is existing, there are some infallible truths and injustices that make us wring our hands, or force us to turn a blind eye to cope. We are, at the end of the day, at the mercy of our own volition and ethics. But I will say, do not let discomfort sway you from hope, discourse, effort, and change. Just because the road is unclear does not mean a path does not exist; it will just take us all a bit of time and hard work to find it.
Art by Ellie Robertson
How The Virtual Fits Into Our Reality
“I want to go to Kichijoji,” she said. My friend searched my face for some kind of reaction and I nodded like I had a clue where that was. Maybe it was my blank stare or the lack of any real substance to my response that gave it away. Generously clueing me in, she explained that it was a hip little neighbourhood in Tokyo.
“I wouldn’t even have a hard time getting around. I have a good idea of the town’s layout.”
The year was 2016 and Persona 5 had just been released. In line with the trend of many other video games which came before it, the various locations within had emulated the pockets of real-world places: specifically, Japan. Whether it be after school, on a lazy Sunday, or late at night, thousands of players log off of the physical realm and immerse themselves in Atlus’ virtual rendition of the Shibuya district. As video games continue to facilitate an extension of our reality beyond the physical, this puts into question how the future of movement takes shape.
uates that the player is elsewhere despite being physically stationed in their room or at a PC cafe. From this, it is understood that these video games are not activities, but virtual spaces in which they take place.
With these advanced developments in the realism of video games, many may speculate a reduction in physical travel and tourism due to the overwhelmingly accurate and accessible substitutes that video games offer. After all, if one had already ‘been’ to the place, albeit digitally, what would be the point of spending thousands of dollars to experience the same thing in real life?
lost on businesses and national agencies either. Assassin’s Creed has taken advantage of this social phenomenon by acquiring sponsorships from Tourism Ireland in the release of Assassin’s Creed Valhalla and from Italian tourism boards for Assassin’s Creed II, putting their rugged terrains and idyllic canals on the map.
ble price of $9.99, and VR experiences of global exhibitions housed by galleries and museums.
Whether it be the increased accuracy in maps, or an immersive experience, the technological advancements of gaming companies make playing pretend feel more and more real. Such an effect is evident in the very diction of video game culture, which is inundated with the notion of movement. The very idea of an online lobby, the act of ’‘jumping onto the game’ or ‘landing’ in a particular location, insin-
However, there are certain elements of travel which cannot be enjoyed through a screen, nor when you are in an active pursuit to stay alive. For instance, video games only offer superficial cultural immersion through oversaturated stereotypes. It would be laughable to say that Chun Li from StreetFighter is a paradigmatic representative of Chinese culture. They are also limited in routes for exploration and lack the authentic sensory experience of real travel. In fact, the trends of the wider population have shown that video games inspire more trips to wellknown and obscure destinations alike, rather than serving as substitutes. Take Chernobyl in Ukraine, for example. Until the recent conflict, tours of this power plant were popular as an item on the travel itineraries of many Call of Duty fans.
The advent of video game tourism is not
Furthermore, I argue that these travel destinations have a certain appeal, as rather than seeming new or foreign to the visitor, video game familiarity would invoke nostalgia for the place beyond the screen. After all, even if a fan of Assassin’s Creed visited contemporary Rome, it would not entirely satiate the desire to visit the version of Ancient Rome that they experienced in the game. With the development of technologies, travellers may even prefer to go to these virtual ‘places’ rather than tangible destinations.
The line between the virtual and reality has increasingly blurred as the rapid development of VR playfully toes the line. The rise of VR has made evident that the digital sphere is no longer something to be observed; walled off by the screen, but a place in which one could be immersed. This has provided an arguably more effective method of marketing for travel and tourism agencies as users are able to test out the terrains more freely than what was previously afforded by video games. We are already seeing the rise of virtual travel through the development of these programs such as National Geographic’s Explore VR which comes at the agreea-
These avenues of digital tourism have remained a facet of stimuli to the travel industry, however it is difficult to forecast whether this symbiotic relationship will continue in the face of rapidly advancing technologies. We complain that these digital replicas are ‘not the same’, but as virtual ‘places’ increasingly become an extension of reality, it puts into question what will happen to travel and tourism when such shortcomings are answered. Not only could the future see the resolution of these flaws, but an improvement of the overall tourist experience. It could extinguish the downside of real travel; long lines to big attractions, deceptive airbnb’s, and the constant watch for pickpockets. Would the long journey across oceans be worth the trouble when more favourable replicas of travel destinations are only a touch away? If we could climb Mount Everest in our living room, perhaps fewer people would risk being one of the 340 (and counting) who did not make it down.
At some point in our youth, we have all been asked, “if you could have one superpower, what would it be?” If your answer was teleportation, you may be in for a treat in the next century, as science fiction begins to develop an uncanny resemblance to the real.
‘Access over Ownership?’ What is build-to-rent, and who is it for, really?
About a year ago, I entered a lottery to win a home. It felt like gambling, though I didn’t have to pay a cent.
I slipped my name into the ballot for Nightingale Housing in Marrickville: an affordable, build-to-rent housing development on Illawarra Road.
Nightingale Marrickville boasts 54 eco-conscious micro-apartments, rented at 20% lower than market value. The apartments are assigned through an equitable ballot system which prioritises low-income earners, essential workers, single women over 55, First Nations peoples, and individuals with disabilities. Built in partnership with not-for-profit, faith-based organisation Fresh Hope Communities, Nightingale Marrickville combines small-space, sustainable living with architectural design.
So, what exactly is ‘build-to-rent’, and is it always synonymous with affordable housing?
According to the Australian Housing and Urban Research Institute (AHURI), buildto-rent refers to “the process whereby developers and their financiers build multi-unit buildings and, instead of selling the units, retain them to rent to tenant households.” Unlike traditional rental housing owned by private landlords, build-to-rent developments are professionally owned and managed, with an expectation of greater security for tenants through longterm leases.
Increasingly positioned as key to tackling the housing crisis, build-to-rent devel-
opments have gained significant backing from the NSW Government. Since 2020, the state has offered a 50% land tax discount for qualifying developments, and is now entering the sector itself.
At the start of February, the Minns Labor Government announced a $450 million investment in build-to-rent units in Camperdown, aimed at providing affordable housing for essential workers. But how affordable is this so-called “build-to-rent, affordable housing”?
Even at Nightingale Marrickville, often framed as the most ethical model, rental prices for studio apartments range from $395-445 per week — set at 20% below market rates. While this includes all bills, access to large communal spaces, outdoor areas, and car-share options — all within a light and airy Scandinavian-chic building — affordability remains a barrier, particularly for students and young people.
For those students relying on the maximum Centrelink Youth Allowance payment of $663.30 a fortnight, even factoring in a meager amount of Rent Assistance, renting at Nightingale remains out of reach without earning a substantial supplementary income.
If affordability is a challenge for even build-to-rent’s most progressive, not-forprofit examples, what does that mean for larger, corporate developments entering the sector? Are we seeing a privatisation of public housing?
A new application for the biggest build-torent development in the state was recently submitted to the NSW government by
Lila Daly-Hyatt browses realestate.com.
‘Rent to Live Co’, an offshoot of the controversial student accommodation company Scape.
Large, purpose-built student accommodation developments are, in effect, one of the earlier forms of build-to-rent housing in Australia — though affordability has rarely been a defining feature.
Scape, in particular, has a reputation for excessive rental prices and restrictive lease conditions. At its University of Sydney location, a single bed in a shared twin room — within a 6-8 person apartment — starts at an exorbitant $535 per week, while studio apartments begin at $886 per week.
Scape’s tradition of inflated rental prices raises concerns about the affordability of its build-to-rent spin-off.
Their latest venture, Rent to Live Co, claims to “address the current housing shortage and housing affordability crisis in Sydney” and prioritise “access over ownership”.
Yet to be approved by the state Government, the proposed $1.5 billion development will take over Marrickville Timberyards on Victoria Road. The project plans to deliver 1188 build-to-rent apartments and just 115 “affordable housing units”, along with communal areas and retail space.
Despite these commitments to “affordability”, Rent to Live Co has yet to disclose rental prices or allocation criteria for its dedicated ‘affordable housing units’, which make up a mere 9% of the proposed housing supply.
Public sentiment towards Nightingale Marrickville remains largely positive, now a year after its opening. But just a few streets over, some members of the Marrickville community have expressed their skepticism about the proposed Timberyards development online.
“A money grab dressed up as a solution,” one local expressed.
Another criticised claims of affordability, stating “Developers [are] just making more fistfuls of cash with no actual housing within a realistic budget for anyone less than middle to upper class.”
Others, however, welcome the new development, particularly as an alternative to housing dominated by small, private landlords. “More housing is desperately needed and as a society we should be open to all types of housing,” one resident said. Another added, “It’s not an either/or scenario.”
Unfortunately, my name wasn’t drawn in the ballot. But even if it was, Nightingale would be out of my budget, and many other student’s as well. Affordability is not a buzzword, but a commitment.
The type of new housing supply matters. While government and not-for-profit build-to-rent developments that prioritise sustainable, equitable, and truly affordable housing represent a step in the right direction, they are, at best, just that — a step, not a solution.
Alicia Lee takes a trip in virtual reality.
Ethical AI in an Unethical World
Eliza
Crossley clicks.
We are entering an age of automation. Artificial Intelligence (AI) is becoming ever present in our lives; it now powers autonomous cars, content moderation algorithms, and large language models ostensibly operating of their own volition. However, as Phil Jones explores in his book Work without the Worker, AI comes with a dark secret: machine learning does not exist without human exploitation. See, to train AI, vast quantities of labelled and categorised data are necessary. This labelling is not automated, instead, it is performed by ‘clickworkers’.
This labelling is not automated, instead, it is performed by ‘clickworkers’.
Clickworkers complete ‘microtasks’. These could include: trawling through video footage differentiating between pedestrians and street lights to calibrate autonomous vehicles; completing surveys identifying what specific combination of words make up violence, sexual abuse, and hate speech to train language models; or classifying facial expressions to refine facial recognition cameras. While microtasks vary, clickwork is consistently monotonous, repetitive work with low wages. With the development of AI, clickwork has become one of the fastest-growing workforces, with estimates suggesting there are over 20 million clickworkers across the globe. However, since most people assume this work is performed by machines rather than human workers, the exploitative practices of this industry have largely gone unchecked.
Big Tech companies that are dependent on clickwork argue that it provides ‘opportunity’ for impoverished individuals. However, this obscures the reality of these schemes, which primarily serve to generate profits in the Global North by exploiting workers in the Global South. Data labeling for tech companies in the Silicon Valley is most often outsourced to people living in poverty in India, Uganda, Venezuela, the Philippines, Kenya, and Lebanon. For instance, Samasource, the company that provided clickwork to ChatGPT and Facebook, pays refugees in Kenya $1-3 an hour to label data. Despite labeling itself as an “ethical company” and claiming to have lifted over 50,000 people out of poverty, Samasource pays its workers less than a livable wage. Ultimately, this so-called “opportunity” is an illusion.
Clickworkers receive no opportunities for promotion, and because clickwork is considered unskilled labor, it does not help people transition to stable jobs.
Therefore, with profits going to companies in the Global North and the cost borne by workers in the Global South, these organisations are not benevolently providing jobs to people in need. Instead, they are assisting in neocolonialism to exploit cheap labour.
Wherever clickwork occurs, it is based upon exploitation. In the Global North, clickwork is predominantly performed by prisoners, elderly people who cannot afford to retire, and people who cannot secure other jobs due to health, disability, or education. Except for prisoners, clickworkers in the Global North are self-employed, finding microtasks through online platforms like Amazon’s Mechanical Turk or Crowdflower. Since clickworkers are classified as self-employed, they have no permanent contracts and do not receive guaranteed hours, or sick leave.
While clickworkers are promised flexibility, this too is a scam that, in effect, creates a 24/7 work week. Since clickwork requires instant availability and responsiveness to receive jobs, it can be detrimental to an individual’s mental health.
Sônia Coêlho, a 45-year-old clickworker in Brazil, described feeling, “hostage to the screen,” but unable to, “leave because the job market doesn’t… have a place for [her]”. Coêlho works over 12 hours a day while caring for two children and sets alarms in the middle of the night because it improves her chances of securing microtasks. Coêlho’s story is one of millions impacted by these working conditions. Such undefined work hours are typical for gig economy workers and can lead to overwork, sleep deprivation, anxiety, and depression.
Clickworkers’ mental health can also be impacted by exposure to traumatic subject matter. For instance, when ChatGPT was trained to detect prompts that contained violence, Samasource clickworkers in Kenya categorised graphic depictions of a world of terrors — child sexual abuse, bestiality, murder, suicide, torture, self-harm, and incest. In December 2024, over 140 Samasource workers launched a class action lawsuit after being diagnosed with significant mental health issues including posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), generalised anxiety disorder (GAD), and major depressive disorder (MDD). They argued this was a direct result of spending over 10 hours per day sorting
through footage of the worst horrors that humans are capable of. Despite performing such harrowing work, they were provided with woefully inadequate and inconsistent mental health support. While some clickworkers had sessions with wellness coaches, these were professional life coaches rather than trained psychologists. At best, these coaches provide useless platitudes; at worst, they fuel overwork by urging their ‘patients’ to simply work harder.
Ultimately, exploitation is not new.
While manual labour conditions have improved with unionisation, since clickworkers work remotely, this isolation makes collective bargaining near impossible. Currently, just 5% of clickworkers are protected by a union. Furthermore, unlike traditional workers, clickworkers take commands generated by algorithms instead of people. This means there is little room to negotiate, thus subjecting clickworkers to more demanding workplace control.
Those who advocate for AI argue that the potential benefits are world-changing. It has been claimed that AI will reshape society, cure diseases, and solve the climate crisis. However, the benefits are not felt equally; in the hour it takes Jeff Bezos to make $8 million, an Amazon clickworker worker receives less than $2. Furthermore, despite clickwork being essential for Tesla’s market capitalisation of $550 billion, the workers responsible for labelling over 75% of Tesla’s data were paid less than $1 an hour. This is not a livable wage and is certainly not enough to ever afford a Tesla.
Clickwork represents a cheap instrumentalisation of humanity and allows large corporations to treat people as merely a means to a profitable end. A small step in reducing this exploitation is to broaden the definition of employees to include those in the digital gig economy, ensuring they receive vital protections like minimum pay, maximum hours, and superannuation.
However, if we want to continue to dream of “ethical AI”, we cannot simply tinker within the existing capitalist framework; we will need a radical overhaul of the current system of AI production.
A knock at the door. A subtle and yet distinct sound. I’m thinking, who could it be at this hour? Who has come to bother me on my personal digital echochamber? Who dares know my address? Do they not know this is my explore page they are knocking on? A full house. Crowded, if you’d like. Vivienne Westwood runways from the 1990s and raccoon-tail hair-dye videos, senseless create-mode memes and advertisements for AI girlfriends. Who let it in? Upon which algorithm did I confess to my insatiable need for a .png copy-paste girlfriend? On the one hand, Camus assures me that perfection and beauty are at odds with one another, that “...at the heart of all beauty lies something inhumane.” On the other hand, Wolf warns “...the machine is at the door. Is she the future?”
Perhaps no longer the future, but the present, a generated kind of woman - carefully concealing her charging port. It is true that we have, in the crux of a sopping epoch of digitalism, mistaken the pursuit of beauty for the bloodthirsty pursuit of perfectionism. A mirage of thousands of female faces, accumulative perfection weaved through our feeds. We want filler, and we want it now. We want to stamp out our crows feet and wrinkles and thin-lips in exchange for a luscious, cosmetically enhanced kiss. We want the fat taken from our stomach and planted straight into our ass and we crave small, upturned noses. We want Face Cards and filters. We, and the rest of our nation, want to mock the women on Married At First Sight for looking unnatural, and to spend hours generating different hair colours on ourselves.
We want AI girlfriends, AI porn,
AI beauty.
We want visuals so far removed from basic human anatomy we forget what the human is supposed to look like, beyond something flawed, something to be fixed. A dear friend scans her face into an AI generator. It is her face but… different. Newer. The audio automatically assigned to the video she created says “me finding out that instead of mysterious and cool, people think I’m autistic and a lesbian.”
We are living through the genesis, the birth of the manmade woman. A notion in which this kind of beauty — this ‘perfectionism’— is not only mass-produced, but largely accessible. No longer is the self care day splurging on a fresh set of acrylics, but getting lip filler from a walk-in clinic. A woman’s beauty ‘maintenance’ becomes assisted self-mutilation in the image of artificially generated women. We put our money back into the machine to continue creating what created us.
The
beauty standard
has deviated from the ideal woman to the ideal woman-shaped machine.
We desire a sterile beauty, a too clean, too common, too symmetrical perfection that disappears unto itself entirely. Everybody begins to look the same, and it is that manufactured sameness that creates a beauty that is so beautiful, it is no longer beautiful. Was it not Wilde who demanded rather, that life imitates art, far more than art imitates life?
And yet is this not it? Art being the ultimate defense against the mass-manufacturing of the body? The abscess stuck to the face of beauty is humanness. For, what does the mechanical sex-dolly have that we don’t but for a metal skeleton?
There is a rule about beauty, in which it must coexist with a kind of ‘ugliness’, something macabre and irregular, in order for beauty to be the most beautiful it can be. It is a rule that is found everywhere: from nature’s sublime imperfections to the Gods we’ve created in our image.
Imperfection breeds beauty. It’s what William Morris spoke of in The Lesser Arts of Life, that “production by machinery is all together an evil,” because the machine can physically only produce sameness and perfection. There is no craftsmanship, no careful artistry, no asymmetrical, blue-tinted wine glasses: just the 4-pack of champagne flutes from Kmart that end up in every single Vinnies. The machine, Morris argued, prohibits the creation of art, due to the sameness and perfection of the material it produces, and also the speed at which it does so.
Is this not the age of the man-made woman? A quick, efficient trend cycle that values mutilation as self-care and sameness as beauty. The mathematical perfection of AI generated women on social media has nothing to do with true beauty; it does not rest on the shoulders of perfection, it actually outruns it.
The machine lacks flaws, which really are just defining characteristics of beautiful things. Think of adored models in the 1990s; like Kate Moss and her lazy eye, which was a defining characteristic of her beauty, a beauty so fervent because of its strangeness, imperfection, and disharmony. Anomaly is not effortless to look at: these defining flaws that make up true beauty is beauty that takes time to observe, more than 0.5 seconds in the digital sea of manufactured symmetry. Truly arresting beauty is balanced with the ugly, the mutated, and the macabre. They are intrinsic to our experience of the world: of each other, of ourselves.
I used to think of myself as a perfectionist, I guess I’m a little impartial to the idea now. My face need not be scrutinised by AI-scanning, product-recommending databases to assess the perfect and most exploitative skincare routine. I need not save reels for outfit inspiration, nor to peruse the ins and outs of stylised and generated man-made women. What can these apps, this perfection, give to me that I cannot already give to myself? I am made up of an intricate network of imperfections, mutations, flaws, and ugliness that are defining characteristics to a beauty I call my own. I know I am beautiful, because I am me.
As you, dear reader, are you.
in the Machine
Art by Deepika Jain
Sophie Bagster unfiltered.
I Don’t Have A SIM Card
Hello! I don’t have a SIM card. Does that offend you? Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Many people have tried to convince me to get a SIM card, and none have succeeded. Go ahead and try, if you’d like. You could call me the Sleeping Beauty of the tech-saturated 21st century, except I don’t get enough sleep to qualify for that.
How, you might wonder, can anyone function without a data plan? Without a phone number? Without the ability to instantly summon information at the click of a button? One theory put forth by a co-editor is that I am “a time traveller from the 17th century.” Sorry to disappoint, but this is not the case.
Imogen Sabey goes old-school.
modern marvels that we likewise depend on, but few whose advantages are so thoroughly and surreptitiously compensated by other coexisting technologies.
One crucial technological development in recent years is the introduction of offline maps, downloadable on the Apple Maps app. This is only necessary when travelling, and can be downloaded ahead of time at no cost whatsoever, to the consequence that if I ever get lost, I may only blame my own poor map literacy.
It is a source of fascination to a great many people that I have survived thus far without a SIM card. I find it fascinating how billions of people can take for granted such a thing which is withheld from many billions more in developing countries, or from the global population of millennia past. That this device which has ensconced itself so rapidly in our society has gripped our collective minds to the extent that we forget how to cope without it; what does that say for our independence? Yes, there are plenty of
However, in Australia there is another particularly useful tool which is thoroughly underappreciated by the rest of the population: the Telstra phone box. Who has used one of them recently, or taken a moment to be grateful for their service? They provide free calls nationwide and bubbles of internet which sprout all over the city, without a word of appreciation! It does, at least, make up for the appalling cell service that the rest of you have to endure. Hang in there.
The thing about needing information to be immediately available is that it rules out the potential to be frustrated, to be left in the dark, to have something withheld from
you. Instant gratification does not equate to pleasure, and the satisfaction of discovering something after searching for a long time is immensely greater than receiving the answer seconds after the question is asked. Like the time I forgot what the capital of Madagascar was, and I refused to Google it and wracked my brain for an hour until I smacked a table and shouted “Antananarivo!”
Tangentially, I didn’t have a phone until a little over a year ago. And then it was only because my trusty iPod had a scant 32GB of storage. All the same, I was loath to replace it. It was so much more compact and lightweight than my current phone, which was the smallest and most similar model I could find. And it did everything that an iPhone did, but less obnoxiously.
Art by Amelia Koen
Disclaimer: The author of this piece acquired a SIM card around 48 hours after writing this. But it was for Mardi Gras, so it doesn’t really count.
The financial benefits would be more evident to you than to me; I can’t remember the last time I paid for a data plan. How much is it again? And you have to do that every month? Gosh. Although I get to spend the money I’d save on data plans on chai lattes to get me through the weekly Honi layup, so it probably balances out in the end. Ah, I’m pulling your leg, you’ve definitely drawn the short straw here. Despite lacking a data plan, I do possess a landline. It seems to have escaped everyone’s notice that mobile phones aren’t really designed for calling; they’re designed for tapping on. Nobody who holds a glass screen to their ears can remark that the shape seems designed to fit to their face. But a landline, that trusty old gizmo, has a spot not only to listen from, nor even to speak into, but a solid handle! The Samsung Galaxy S24 could never hope to emulate that. What else can a phone plan do that I can’t? Very little, when you think about it. In fact, I’m currently blanking. Wait! It allows people to wake me up at three in the morning to tell me that there’s a new celebrity scandal going down on TikTok (I jest; I don’t have TikTok either).
Low Tech Living
I watch a small child expertly navigate his mother’s iPhone 12. He is a master at declining incoming calls, yet he is a slave to YouTube’s auto-play function. I see a high school student walking to school, juggling a backpack and a sports bag, her hockey stick protruding. Despite these obstacles, she still manages to scroll. Is this an inevitable feature of our evolution? Is the separation between self and smartphone really wearing so thin?
Philosopher Byung Chul Han writes of multitasking, positing that it is “commonplace among wild animals. It is an attentive technique indispensable for survival in the wilderness”. He goes on to state that “the animal cannot immerse itself contemplatively in what it is facing because it must also process background events”.
In a sense, we are like these animals. When our day-to-day lives are punctuated by notifications and elongated periods of endlessly scrolling, it is unsurprising that we struggle to “immerse [ourselves] contemplatively” in what we are experiencing.
Early last year, both the ABC and the New Yorker confirmed this rumoured rise in interest in low-technology, indicating that there’s a growing attraction to the idea of trading in smartphones for dumbphones (though dumbphone sales are still dwindling). Over the past decade, we’ve been hit with a barrage of anti-tech
Alexandra Dent checks her screen time
rhetoric denouncing smartphone use. The digital detox movement has been steadily gaining traction, with figures like author and professor Cal Newport at the helm. Documentaries like The Social Dilemma have also increased our awareness of the consequences of excessive screen time.
It feels as though low-technology, a modest screen time, and a sparse social media presence have all become synonymous with intellect, self-discipline, and moral superiority. Those who have abandoned their iPhones and resisted the pull of short-form content have seemingly ascended to a superior status. Dumbphone use in particular has come to represent restraint and autonomy. It’s chic to carry around a brick phone.
This hasn’t always been the case. Andy Sachs, the protagonist of the 2006 film The Devil Wears Prada, tosses her T-Mobile Sidekick 2 cellphone into a fountain after incessant messaging and calls from her tyrannical boss. Take Greta Gerwig’s Ladybird. Set in the early 2000s, Timothée Chalamet’s character Kyle condescendingly praises Ladybird for not owning a cellphone. He calls her a “good girl” and muses that “the government didn’t have to put tracking devices on us. We bought them and put them on ourselves”.
As we become further entrenched in the digital world, we begin to feel nostalgic for the halcyon days where our tech was
tethered to physical locations. Or at least to a time in which our handheld devices were only capable of executing a few basic functions. For those of us who feel fatigued by our constant availability, and the ease with which we can turn our brains off by consuming rapid-fire short-form content, the allure of the dumbphone is at times overpowering. But is switching to a dumbphone enough to emancipate us from the online world, and is this emancipation necessary?
The online world, for all of its drawbacks, is still important. A full separation from it would deprive us of the connectivity and creativity that it can offer. Admittedly, much of my personal taste has been shaped by my internet use. Through my introduction to social media at a very young age, I was able to discover countless albums and novels that I would never have found. I’ve also maintained friendships throughout the years that would have otherwise withered.
What this nascent interest in lowtechnology suggests to me is not a desire to delete smartphones and the online world from existence, but rather a desire to drive a wedge between ourselves and our devices. The digital sphere, and our connection to it, will continue to exist regardless of whether it’s in our pocket or not. Maybe the dumbphone is insufficient in fully liberating us from a world which demands our attention and perpetual availability,
Photo credits: Mehnaaz Hossain & Imogen Sabey
Art by Amelia Koen
but what it represents is important. The dumbphone’s resurgence is a reminder of the need to set boundaries with technology. It is imperative, now more than ever, that we begin to assert a clean division between our online and offline lives.
The Algorithm Giveth, the Algorithm Taketh Away
Every December, millions perform the same digital ritual. We share colourful slides of our Spotify Wrapped, broadcasting our individualised musical milestones to friends and followers. Though it began as a novelty, Spotify Wrapped has transformed into a cultural touchstone: a moment when our private listening habits become public performance. This annual celebration, however, masks an intrusion into our right to privacy: the ostentatiousness and interactability of digital platforms have quietly transformed personalisation into a vehicle for an increased state of surveillance. This is digitalisation’s peripeteia. The sudden reversal of fortune reveals the true nature of our relationship with technology.
Spotify Wrapped doesn’t merely reflect our listening habits. It actively shapes them. Users now consciously curate their listening throughout the year, aware that their choices will eventually be packaged and presented to them. “I can’t listen to that guilty pleasure song too many times, or it’ll show up on my Wrapped,” has become a common refrain. We’ve begun performing not for ourselves or our peers but for the algorithm, adjusting our authentic preferences to ensure a more socially ‘acceptable,’ or culturally capitalised, year-end summary.
This gamification of taste represents a subtle but significant shift in our relationship with culture. Rather than organically engaging with music, we increasingly filter our experiences through the lens of how they’ll be quantified, categorized, and ultimately judged. The algorithm has become both audience and curator, with our participation increasingly resembling a performance for a digital panopticon that never sleeps. We are being called into existence, or “interpellated,” as subjects of algorithmic surveillance who willingly participate in our own monitoring.
Particularly insidious about this algorithmic interpellation is how it transforms our relationship with culture from spontaneous enjoyment to calculated consumption. Music, once a refuge from metrics and productivity, becomes another sphere of life subjected to optimisation and datafication. We might listen to more obscure artists in December to appear sophisticated, stream fewer Christmas songs to avoid embarrassment, or carefully balance guilty pleasures with critically acclaimed albums. These micro-decisions establish a dangerous precedent: corporate entities can effectively surveil
our most intimate habits and preferences as long as they package this surveillance in visually appealing, shareable content once a year. The colorful aesthetics of Wrapped conceal its true function as a massive data collection operation normalized through gamification.
Behind Wrapped’s playful interface lies a sophisticated data extraction operation. Each colourful slide celebrating your ‘top genre’ or ‘minutes listened’ represents thousands of data points harvested, analysed, and monetised. Spotify doesn’t create Wrapped as a gift. It’s packaging your own commodification as something to celebrate and share, extending the company’s marketing reach through your social networks while normalising surveillance capitalism.
This contradiction became particularly stark in December 2023, when Spotify released its annual Wrapped campaign while simultaneously laying off 1,500 employees—17% of its workforce. CEO Daniel Ek later admitted these cuts “disrupted day-to-day operations more than anticipated,” even as the company reported record profits. In the same earnings call, Ek explained that too many employees were “doing work around the work rather than contributing to opportunities with real impact.” Corporate speak that reveals the company’s priorities lie with algorithms and data harvesting over human creativity and curation.
Users noticed. The 2023 Wrapped rollout faced unprecedented criticism, with many describing it as “low effort, ugly, and incomplete.” One user reportedly felt “genuinely embarrassed for the team that worked on it.” This disconnect between Spotify’s business decisions and user experience reveals the underlying tension in digitalism’s promise: while algorithms can process vast amounts of data, they fundamentally lack the human creativity, intuition, and cultural understanding that make genuine personalisation meaningful. The mass dissatisfaction with Wrapped highlights what we already intuitively know: AI-driven automation produces hollow experiences that feel generic and unimaginative compared to humancurated content. Corporate cost-cutting may favor algorithms, but users crave the irreplaceable human touch.
Spotify’s business model illuminates this tension
further. The company distributes revenue based on “streamshare,” that is, the proportion of total streams a particular rightsholder controls. This system inherently favors major labels and heavily marketed artists, despite the platform’s promise of discovery and diversity. Meanwhile, the actual payment mechanisms remain opaque, with Spotify itself stating on its website: “Spotify has no knowledge of the agreements that artists and songwriters sign with their labels, publishers, or collecting societies, so we can’t answer why a rightsholder’s payment comes to a particular amount in a particular month.”
This opacity extends to the algorithms themselves. When we open Spotify, the choices presented feel personal, but they’re selected from a limited range of options determined by unseen factors. Commercial partnerships, promotional deals, and the statistical patterns of millions of other users, to name a few. The apparent freedom of unlimited music disguises a narrowing of our cultural horizons.
The question remains: have we lost the ability to engage with culture organically? Perhaps not entirely, but the path forward requires conscious effort. Recognizing the performative aspects of our digital lives is the first step toward more authentic engagement. Understanding that “free” services extract value through surveillance is essential to making informed choices about our digital participation.
Digitalism’s peripeteia, the moment when convenience becomes constrained, doesn’t have to be the end of the story. It could instead mark the beginning of a more conscious relationship with technology, where we understand the tradeoffs and make choices that align with our values rather than corporate interests. The algorithm may giveth and taketh away, but we still decide how much of ourselves we’re willing to surrender to its calculations.
Marc Paniza re-curates your algorithm.
Should we Invite Dakota Warren? Shayla
Intellectualism in the digital age is not dead — it is curated. It has been plucked from the dusty halls of academia, stripped of its rigor, and draped in silk and candlelight, arranged like a still life to be consumed in passing. No longer is knowledge an act of pursuit; it is a mood, a performance, a welllit corner of your apartment where a copy of The Brothers Karamazov sits unread, spine unbroken, waiting for its close-up.
Gone are the days when intellectualism meant long nights hunched over difficult texts, the slow, painful crawl of genuine comprehension. Today, it is a whisper of Kafka in the wind, a fleeting Instagram story captioned ‘You are free, and that is why you are lost’. It is the careful annotation of a single passage in Crime and Punishment — not for reflection, but for the aesthetic poetry of a pencil-drawn underline. It is the ever-present pomegranate, cracked open on a mahogany table, its glistening seeds an ancient symbol of Persephone, of hunger, of indulgence, of an entire generation’s desire to be perceived as knowing rather than to know.
It is a black-and-white photo of a hand holding a cigarette over Being and Time, the smoke curling upward like the ghost of Heidegger himself, bearing witness to a person who will never make it past the introduction. It is the Pinterest boards filled with dimly lit libraries and tweed blazers, bookshelves curated like art installations rather than places of study. It is the TikTok account that claims you are not like other girls because you listen to Chopin in the rain and stare longingly out of train windows, your sadness suddenly imbued with literary significance because someone on the internet told you it was tragic in the way The Bell Jar is tragic.
And where the pursuit of intellectualism has become performative on the stage of our digital profiles, buzzwords such as “-core” and “- academia” become machines which dictate our identity in the real world. Micro-trends and niche aesthetics splatter oil and gas through gritted teeth, staining our perspective of self-worth and, in turn, obstructing our views of others. Elitism is bound in the way we make judgements about others — we become material, critical, and unkind.
We hear tales of our elders who grew up peacefully without the distractions of social media and truly lived in the present. Their backyards were their universe of discovery, their streets and the path to their individuality were infinite. Without buzzwords and microtrends shifting the culture every few months, they could carry the past into the present and future.
Existing in the current age of flourishing digital culture and depleting economic and political systems is challenging. For years, our
Zreika and Ananya Thirumalai are academia-core.
homes were a prison, our development restricted to the confines of four walls, and the only pathway out into the world was through a glowing screen. A beacon of hope and opportunity and endless possibilities in the palm of their hands. The pandemic was truly an era of escapism, so it is only inevitable for young people to have come out the other end with a crippling loss of self and a sense of dependency on the community they built online.
However, our outward appearance has become the sole testament of the self, and all else is determined by the aesthetic we allocate ourselves to. We curate our sense of self based on the ‘vibe’ we most resonate with, or desire to omit. It influences our shopping carts, the contents of our playlists, the books we read, the friends we make and ultimately, the discourse and information we interact with. With the convenience of the algorithm, the very media we consume is articulated to mirror our desires. But in the process of being all-consumed in what we aspire to be, are we losing our true selves?
The internet has given rise to a new kind of scholar: one who does not seek wisdom, but the appearance of it. They are fluent in the language of deep thoughts and fleeting melancholies. They will tell you that they love Kafka, though what they love is the idea of loving Kafka. They understand Sisyphus, but only through Camus in translation, and only insofar as it can be condensed into a TikTok sound bite about rolling the same boulder up the same hill in a world that rewards the illusion of effort. They have not read The Iliad, but they will post an out-ofcontext excerpt — I would recognise you in another life — as though Homer himself wrote it for the romantics of 2025.
This is not to say that aestheticising knowledge is inherently wrong. There is a kind of magic in romanticising learning, in making it feel cinematic, in giving it a poetic sense of self. The problem is that the performance has replaced the substance entirely. Reading has become a passive act, a set piece in a larger theatrical production. The question is no longer What does this book mean? But What does it say about me that I own it?
We live in an era where a well-placed Kafka quote is worth more than an understanding of his existential dread,
where a carefully staged photo of The Picture of Dorian Gray holds more social currency than having grappled with Wilde’s commentary on vanity and corruption. Where a bookshelf filled with unread classics is a flex, because what matters is not their content but their presence. Aesthetic intellectualism is not about engaging with difficult ideas—it is about draping yourself in the illusion of their weight. It is about seeming, and in a world where perception is reality, that is often enough.
Compelled from the impressionable age of adolescence, our generation grew up under an unseen pressure to conform to a self-determined standard. This conditioned us to endure social and cultural norms by retreating to an identity pre-determined by our algorithms. As a result, these very norms are manifested into our everyday interactions, our curated identities influencing our everyday environments within our communities, our workplaces and most prominently, on campus.
And the digital stage rewards it. The real readers, the real thinkers, are left in the shadows, buried under the algorithm, while those who perform the vibe of intelligence are propelled to the forefront. The modern intellectual is not a scholar but an actor, playing the role of someone who reads, someone who knows, someone who understands.
It is time we revitalise current cultural trends, rather than limit our authenticity within the bounds of our chosen ‘vibe’. It is okay to read popular romance novels and dress alternatively. It is okay to be an Arts student and not enjoy War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Or a Health sciences student with a passion for ‘80s neo-wave culture.
Instead, we must collect fragments of inspiration from an array of ‘aesthetics’, communities and interests, and channel them towards your own, unique sense of individuality. You are not a plain glass panel, you are a constellation, a mosaic of all the things that make you, you.
So, should we throw a party? Should we invite Dakota Warren? Of course. But let’s be honest — half the people in the room will be there for the aesthetic. The other half will be there to say they were.
Art by Ellie Robertson
Spank Bank
One of my favourite expressions has to be “whack that one in the spank bank,” because, frankly… what the fuck? Saving a mental image or memory to get yourself off would be a laughable concept to my previously prudish self, but now I’ve come (no pun intended) to envy those in possession of the metaphorical “Spank Bank”. Pleasuring yourself with mental foreplay is an under-appreciated privilege, and the few of us that fall between the gaps live in chronic brokeness. Well I say no more!
In a recent Tikok scroll, I discovered ‘aphantasia’, which is the inability to create mental images. I always figured that when my therapist told me to close my eyes and picture a beach, it was more in the conceptual sense. That, or she was screwing with me. I understand beaches exist, and I get the idea of a beach, but like… I don’t see a beach. Apparently most people can to varying degrees. People in the comments bonded over this previously unknown blockade to their pleasure, realising that we’d been swindled out of this apparent standard fantasia. Once again, I may never have an original experience.
How does one find solo pleasure when they can’t imagine? When science suggests
women need at least 20 minutes of foreplay before penetration, mechanical touching is not enough to unlock bigger and better orgasms. Sexual fantasies are the gateway drug to satisfaction, they are the foreground, middleground, and background of pleasure. We all deserve pleasure.
I always felt bad for watching porn. I felt like I had this incurable hypersexuality, as if I got off on exploiting others just for the hell of it. I felt so guilty that I couldn’t just close my eyes and imagine The Lonely Island in x-rated forms (don’t yuck someone else’s yum, dear reader). Many aspects of the porn industry are exploitative, abusive, and feed off the male gaze, and watching the videos makes me feel shameful, but I watch it anyway. Guilt-ridden, I attempt to get off to a terribly acted pizza-delivery-manto-lover plot. It’s not ideal, but it gets you in the mood a bit more than staring at the blue doona sprawled haphazardly across my bed in a flurry of stuffed toys, complemented by the texture of crumbs.
People who can make mental images have no idea how good they’ve got it when it comes to pleasure. You’ve got the premium lifetime membership to the unlimited “Spank Bank” and I’ve got
Jaws: The True Story
What do you think when you hear the word ‘shark’? Does the word send shivers down your spine? Is there an impending sense of doom when you’re swimming in the ocean and someone screams out in a frightening act of warning? If that’s the case, then let me be the devil’s advocate and mitigate your fears to tell you the true story. I hate to break it to you, but the brutal truth is… sharks aren’t evil.
Let’s dive in and tackle the true misconceptions about these ‘demons’ of the deep.
Sharks are one of the oldest living creatures to roam the earth, dating back to over 400 million years ago. We could even call them the oceans’ very own Avengers, as they survived mass extinctions and evolved into highly specialised predators. As apex predators, they regulate fish populations, prevent overgrazing of marine habitats and contribute to the overall health of the ocean ecosystem. How? Well, without sharks, prey populations can grow unchecked, leading to imbalances that can devastate coral reefs, seagrass beds and even commercial fisheries.
Despite their ecological importance, many shark species are facing catastrophic population declines. Over 100,000,000 sharks are killed each year due to overfishing, habitat destruction and the shark fin trade.
Jessica Louise-Smith whacks this one in the spank bank.
the mental concept of scissoring with no visual stimuli. Nothing says “let’s get it on” like thinking about the logistical nightmare of 69ing (I mean, how does one accommodate for differenty sized torsos?) with no creative mental imagery to investigate further.
The stigma around women watching porn is so harmful. We are presumed to just be fine without it, and if we aren’t, we’re antifeminist? We are expected to be hyper aware of the abuse it portrays and how it harms society’s perspectives of intimacy, and if we aren’t, we’re dishonouring our gender? Women deserve to get off, but apparently only by their own devices, whereas men get the privilege of the World Wide Web. Two things can be true at once; we can condone unethical and inherently misogynistic practices in the porn industry, and also use porn as a facilitator of pleasure, and to find sexual satisfaction (or sexual ‘good enough’) in an empowering way. Often, the message of the porn industry’s unethical practices
becomes misconstrued in women’s spaces as seeking pleasure also becoming unethical, and thus there is less space for women to explore sexual inclinations. This is further perpetuated by the mainstream media and unsatisfactory sex education that is biased towards male pleasure (as society generally is).
This conversation always seems to come back to feminism. If you pleasure yourself with video assistance you don’t care about the rights of exploited women. Means of pleasure should not be a question of feminism, nor is it inherently feminist to watch porn – do what you want… or who you want! Reclaim your relationship with pleasure!
For all of you who can see those pretty pictures in your mind, flaunting imaginary fisting and floggers, enjoy the ever-flowing fountain of the ‘Spank Bank’. For myself and the other 4% of the population who close their eyes and see nothing, watch a video, or don’t — it’s up to you! Just don’t let yourself get left behind because you can’t “whack that one in the spank bank.”
Environment
secluded island called Fuvamullah in the Maldives, I would tell you that they are not a demon out to hurt you, but simply another animal. At first, I was petrified: diving with wild sharks and having faith in nature seemed absurd to me. But the minute I plunged myself into the water and looked around me, I felt ethereal; I was no longer scared but in awe. Time moves slowly when you stare into their eyes. I knew they weren’t going to hurt me; I looked at them as if they were underwater puppies.
At that moment, I knew that I would do my best to conserve these majestic creatures in any way I could. They do not attack unless provoked. While I’m not saying it’s entirely safe to be around them, if you do not get in their way, they do not get into yours. I vividly remember my instructor telling me that they look at you as either a threat or prey. If you’re at peace underwater, they do not bat (or rather, roll) their eyes and after spending time with them, I believed it. In fact, the fear of sharks is starkly disproportionate to the actual risk they pose. Statistically, a person is more likely to be struck by lightning, attacked by a cow, or even injured by a vending machine, than killed by a shark.
a shark confuses a swimmer or surfer for prey — this narrative reinforces the idea of sharks as deliberate killers.
Movies like Jaws (1975), 47 Meters Down (2017) and the recent film, Under Paris (2024) have also contributed to this deep-seated fear. Jaws, the movie that started the charade of sharks being ruthless killers, depicts a monstrous great white terrorising a beach town, and causing the public perception of sharks as killers to skyrocket. The film’s impact has been so profound that it has led to increased shark hunting and a significant decline in populations of several species. Even today, pop culture continues to exploit the fear of sharks through horror films and clickbait articles that prioritise sensationalism over science.
So, we come back to the more profound question:
Does this fear actually harm sharks?
You might be thinking to yourself, “Well this sounds interesting, but why would I care about conserving an animal which is a massive threat to humanity?” From personal experience diving with wild sharks in the bosom of tropical waters in a
Frankly, the real villain here is not the sharks themselves, but the media giants who portray them as bloodthirsty killers. The media shapes public attitudes towards sharks; news outlets often sensationalise shark encounters, using words like “shark infested waters” (don’t they live there?) or “man-eating predator” to stoke fear. Even when an attack is accidental — often a case of mistaken identity, where
The fear-driven response to sharks has led to harmful policies, including shark culling programs in countries like Australia and South Africa. These programs, which involve killing sharks to “protect” beachgoers, not only fail to reduce attacks but also disrupt marine ecosystems. For instance, Queensland and NSW have implemented sharkcontrol programs using nets and drum lines, leading to the deaths of thousands
of sharks and other marine animals. Similarly, South Africa’s KwaZulu-Natal province employs a similar approach, resulting in significant bycatch of nontarget species.
Sharks face serious threats, and conservation efforts like marineprotected areas, sustainable fishing, and finning bans are crucial for their survival for future generations. Changing public perception is just as important. When people understand the ecological role of sharks and the reality of their behaviour, fear can be replaced with respect.
It’s time to put thought into action and it is time to shift the narrative. Sharks are not villains — they are keystone species that keep our oceans healthy. The real monsters are habitat destruction, climate change and overfishing. These all have one common denominator: humanity. If we continue to let fear dictate our approach to sharks, we risk losing not only these incredible creatures, but also the balance of our entire marine ecosystem.
We have the power to change, so let’s embrace science over sensationalism. Education and responsible media representation are important to change frivolous conversation into conservation. Instead of fearing sharks, we should be fighting for their survival — because a world without these keystone creatures is far more terrifying than any Hollywood movie.
It’s time to turn the tide on fear; without sharks, the real nightmare begins.
Kiah Nanavati goes swimming with sharks.
Art by Naomi Binga
Photo credit: Kiah Nanavati
With the rise of interest in spirituality during the COVID-19 pandemic, TikTok perpetuated an open dispersal of spiritual information, but at a cost — not to the consumers but to the Indigenous peoples fighting to protect their culture, land, and resources. Though being spiritual is not the defaming factor, the influence of major historical ‘witch-y’ practices such as Wicca has perpetuated a ‘manifest-destiny’ mindset, actively colonising and appropriating Indigenous practices. Wicca, as a religion, not a practice, has existed for only 70 odd years. Rooted in Western Esotericism, it tries to take traditions and rituals from indigenous practices but naming such as ‘ancient paganism’. Labelling indigenous practices as ‘ancient paganism’ disconnects the acts of worship and rituals from their culture, lacking the informed cultural knowledge and in my opinion, pissing off the gods. Mislabeling such practices is a blasphemous act, allowing Wiccans with a colonising mindset to take and pick parts of our culture without having any real connection. Indigenous practices have continued for thousands of years, rooted in their specific community’s movement and dispersal throughout the earth. Yet, many communities display shared core tenets: care for the land, care for the people, and care for the protection of their community’s survival. As such, many spiritual practices are actively closed from outside communities. White spiritualists claim these values as ‘gatekeep-y’, actively ignoring indigenous advice and continuing to scavenge for parts
Art by Emilie Garcia-Dolnik
of our cultures that seem appealing to them. The use of white sage, palo santo, the veneration of the Orishas, the reclaiming of shamanist titles; all of which are closed and only for their respective communities.
Growing up in a spiritual and indigenous family, I understood the importance of having pride in my own spiritual practices, as well as the grave danger that it faces due to external influences. Either due to not being allowed to forage for herbs and plants, the destruction of spiritually-charged natural places of worship, or even the forced assimilation instigated by the Catholic church on the Philippine archipelago.
But as indigenous peoples we persevere, defying the colonial mindset and keeping our roots and traditions alive.
However, TikTok’s infamous algorithm has exacerbated the commercialisation and commodification of indigenous spiritual practices. Dubbed “WitchTok”, spirituality has been sold online through viewer count on tarot and astrological readings, spiritual manifestation, and more. These platforms then lure out the gullible to sell traditional indigenous items to the online community, such as White Sage cleansing, palo santo, and more. TikTok’s bite-sized consumable nature perpetuates this colonising disease. How-to guides on ‘sage-ing’, voudoo and hoodoo love
spells, populate the For-You Page, spreading this colonising disease. The indigenous peoples of Turtle Island (Native Americans), most notably the Chumash, Tongva, Kumeyaay, and the Cahuilla, vehemently discourage the use of white sage outside of their communities. Endemic to the Pacific west coast, Salvia Apiana, known commonly as White Sage, is being mass-harvested and stolen from native foraging lands. WitchTok’s influence on White Sage created large supply demands, making the harvesting of White Sage far more difficult than before. Plant life, in many indigenous communities on Turtle Island, is seen not as a resource but as part of the natural world that is to be respected. Lovingly referred to as ‘grandmother’ by many, it is a herb that has a semi-symbiotic relationship with its peoples, one where the people care for the plant’s growth and the plant care for the people’s spirits.
With WitchTok’s perpetuation of spiritual individualism, ethnic titles exclusive to shamans and spiritual leaders in indigenous communities are also being appropriated. In the Philippines, the Babaylan, Katalonan, Albularyo, and more are the folk healers and leaders of the community in the absence of the community’s chief. The titles of which are being used by non-indigenous Filipinos to either align themselves with spirituality or to recognise the spiritual leader’s role as a typically queer individual. I have seen people claim these titles without understanding the indigenous knowledge that is required to become one. The babaylan is an initiated role that requires years of study and mastery
Are the iPad Kids Okay?
I used to love staying up past my bedtime as a kid and watching ‘adult’ TV. Of course, when you’re eight, ‘adult’ TV is sneaking into your nan’s room and watching stand-up sets from the Melbourne Comedy Festival which you don’t quite understand. But it’s also watching game shows which you don’t quite understand. I’d watch Spicks and Specks and Thank God You’re Here, but my favourite was Talkin’ ‘Bout your Generation.
Hosted by the steady hand and trustworthy wit of Shaun Micallef, a rotating panel of generationally divided teams would compete in time-hopping pop culture trivia to try and prove which generation had it best. Over the course of its allocated prime-time slot, guests would compete to see who truly had the most knowledge — was it the Baby Boomers, who watched all of this culture
form around them? Perhaps it was Gen X, who were raised amidst the rise of this capsule of culture? Or maybe Gen Y, who absorbed whatever culture trickled off their parents backs into their young brains?
I don’t think the show intended to have deeper meaning, and whilst there was always a winning team, you left with a sense that we were all connected by some deeper sense of humanity which transcended the screen. The Gen Y team would answer the questions meant for the other teams and make jokes about the shows and movies which their parents would make them watch, and vice versa.
Generations are, of course, a nimble term, but historically they’ve come with some clear sense of delineation. Usually this is from the period of time in which people are born, but they typically also come
of the spiritual arts and traditional herbology, work that is ignored by many who appropriate the term.
As someone from a family with Albularya roots, traditional healers in herbology, I believe that this appropriation of our culture, even by those who we see as fellow countrypeople, has been exacerbated by the spread of spirituality on TikTok. To see the appropriation of my people’s titles, felt wrong and offensive. Seeing them pillaging of native lands, its history and current continuation is nuts.
The sacrilegious acts that offend the gods bring me tears and pain, and all I can blame is the misinformation and individualism that permeate throughout the internet.
These online how-to guides solely exist as a tool for the individual’s spiritual capital gain. Made worse by TikTok’s personalisation, the evaluation of individualism into the highest priority. This belief does not align with indigenous values, and thus lacks any spiritual authority. You can choose not to believe in its powers, yet it is important to understand that from within the community, its use by spiritual settlers is seen as ‘non-consensual’ or even offensive. Thus, it is thought to ‘backfire’ on outsidrs. as the ancestors take arms to protect the practices and defend its people from spiritual invasion.
Will Winter stays up past his bedtime.
Art by Amelia Koen
with cultural baggage. You can define a generation by the historical events that impacted them the most, as is the case of the baby boomers, as well as some coherent shared sensibilities, whether it be how they fundamentally understand media, economy, or the way of the world. the world.
This walled sense of being is breaking, though. For once, the internet has found ways to tie specific modes of being to generational terms. A ‘baby boomer’ no longer suggests someone born between 1946 and 1964, but rather an uberconservative individual who fracks oil fields and votes against equality in their free time. By weaponising phrases like “Okay, boomer”, we’ve distilled the ability for this generation to be defined within their time. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it does shake something
which has become fundamental to our understandings of age, respect, and maturity.
Look at the new portmanteau permeating our social media feeds: ‘zillenials’. Not quite old enough to remember the 90s, but not quite young enough to have had a phone a single-digit age, zillenials float between the Obama-era optimism of the millennial ‘anything is possible’ mentality, and the more crushing sense of existentialism which defines Gen Z. It’s a flexible term though — a zillenial is more of a mindset than a demographic.
(I think I have exposed myself here as more zillenial than Gen Z, because a pure Gen Z would have called it a ‘vibe’ instead of a mindset.)
This doesn’t even begin to cover the infamous iPad babies.
Wattpad Was The Cringe We Needed
Ramla Khalid logs back in to @RamlaSwag.
2014. I’ve watched Austin and Ally for the gazillionth time, and now I need something more to feed my obsession with them, or maybe just my obsession with Austin’s actor, Ross Lynch. From reading Austin and Ally ‘imagines’ (fictional scenarios with self-insert characters) on Pinterest, I’ve somehow stumbled across another universe: Wattpad. An orange and white realm where I scroll and scroll and scroll and my feed fills with thousands of Ross Lynch fanfictions. It is glorious. I can’t really remember what happened after that; all I know is that my life truly changed that day. I signed away my teenage years the minute I signed up to Wattpad.
Entering my email, choosing a password, and deciding on my first username: @ RamlaSwag. Iconic or cringe?
My Wattpad era was the most fun time ever, and now, looking back, it was probably the most formative. I actually came to realise how important it was when I saw a TikTok of someone sobbing over a very ‘2014 Tumblr’ quote. It was a classic; the ones that are poorly written, moody, and trying too hard to be deep. One of the comments read “this is why we needed to be on Wattpad in 2013, so shit like this doesn’t happen”. I couldn’t agree more. Wattpad, Tumblr, or A03 weren’t helpful for teenagers just because they got them into reading and improved their writing skills. The fanfic world was important because it allowed a space for all the teenage cringe to have an outlet. Teenage life is all messy and ugly with hormones, first relationships, and first heartbreaks. Your best friend probably talked shit behind your back, your parents don’t understand you, you have developing
I am not in any qualified position to give parenting advice, but it terrifies me that children are being given their own devices with which to fiddle with unrestricted internet from such a young age. I worry what it will do to their ability to socialise, to comprehend information, and to see the world without the CoComelon, brightly-coloured filter that is real life. It feels as if my generation is the last to experience any semblance of a whimsical and outside-focused childhood.
ideologies of yourself, of the world, of love, and of relationships. During this time, you’re also getting properly into different media and discovering sad quotes, poetry, and melodramatic breakups on TV. You’re gushing over some character on TV. There’s so much newness and emotion.
Websites like Wattpad, with their inventory of extensive fanfiction and original work in various genres, languages, and writing styles, were the outlet for all this exploration. Writing and reading based on your complicated parasocial relationships with celebrities was a perfect way to explore your attraction, romantic preferences, and emotional attachment. Using Harry Styles allowed readers to delve into more than just physical attraction. They were able to try out different partner personalities and roles, sexualities, and sexual orientations in a space that felt both anonymous and supportive.
What made Wattpad such a formative space wasn’t just the creative freedom it offered, it was the fact that it allowed just enough public scrutiny to keep things in check. It wasn’t like writing in a private diary, where every melodramatic thought and over-the-top fantasy could live unrestrained. On Wattpad, people saw what you wrote. They commented on it. They reacted in real time. For every gushing comment from a reader who was equally unhinged, another person pointed out the overuse of ellipses, the questionable relationship dynamics, or the fact that your main character was clearly just a self-insert.
Wattpad wasn’t exactly a harsh critique space, but it had just enough collective awareness to make sure that, eventually, you’d look back and cringe. And that cringe was key.
Sure, I have fond memories of coming home after school and plopping in front of the TV to skim ABC3, and of seeing the Wii for the first time when I was about six or seven, and of harvesting plants on my mum’s Farmville account while she was at work so her corn wouldn’t die. But I remember playing with my nan in the backyard, and she’d roll a hula hoop down the sloped grass, and I’d try and jump through the hoop, and for hours at a time I’d just roll around in the grass and feel so at home.
Additionally, the books allowed physical examples of sex education and of possible problematic habits or patterns to look for in relationships. In some cases, it romanticized toxic relationships; but, through exposure and experience, many users learned to distinguish between fiction and reality. It was a safe space to indulge in fantasies while also developing an awareness of what should, and should not, be romanticized. Yes, books like ‘After’ by Anna Todd did attempt to romanticise toxic relationships under the guise of the throbbing ‘bad boy’ male character, but often readers went through the ups and down of the stories, learned the bizarreness of the behaviour through comments and even experience their own emotional exhaustion over the toxicity of the relationships. Eventually they came out the other end – reflecting and realising the danger and lack of appeal in the trope.
Often, fanfic websites like Wattpad or AO3 are discredited or shamed for their overwhelming ‘obsession’ with celebrities and popular fiction characters. Although I think there is an element of validity in the disapproval, these platforms allowed teenagers (and teenage girls especially) to love deeply, feel deeply, and obsess deeply. There is a danger eventually for this obsessiveness, which external disapproval, to an extent, helps tamper. But the ability to feel big should not be discouraged. There is life and kindness in these big emotions, and in an adulthood of nihilism, there is a purity and need for these obsessions. This balance of obsessive freedom and embarrassment was crucial. It let young people explore their identities and interests in a way that was both liberating and self-correcting. Over time, many users would look back on their old stories and cringe — but that cringe was a sign of growth. It meant they had developed as writers, thinkers, and
Do kids roll around in grass anymore?
Clearly, these generational terms no longer denote a purely age-centric demographic. They suggest deeper cultural meanings, they become fluid spokes of identity which transcend years of birth, and they are collapsing and rebounding off each other like an accordion being viciously played at a clown funeral.
So where do we go from here?
I predict that generations are going to become fast and loose terms, that the cycle of what ‘defines’ a group of people is going to shrink smaller and smaller until the tonal shifts between babies born months apart amass to eons. Maybe we find other prongs of identity to define ourselves against, ones that aren’t bogged down in mass traumas and existential awakenings (God forbid we become known as the ‘lockdown’ generation in the history books).
All we can hope is that Gen Alpha is a
Image by Mehnaaz Hossain
individuals. Because if you don’t have a space like Wattpad as a teenager, where do all those thoughts go? They don’t just disappear. They risk showing up in real life in ways that actually matter. Wattpad allowed us to work through our most unrealistic, naive, or downright delusional ideas about love, relationships, and identity, in a way that was low stakes. Ultimately, cringe is just self-awareness catching up to past versions of yourself. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s a sign of growth. Wattpad, in all its weird, overly dramatic, and occasionally mortifying glory, provided a generation of teenagers with the perfect environment to cringe and then, crucially, to move on.
Wattpad was the cringe we needed; to write bad dialogue, to make every character have ‘orbs’ instead of eyes, to fall for emotionally unavailable fictional men who would be nightmares in real life. Teenagers deserve a place to be weird, horny, emotional disasters. A place that is equal parts welcoming, strange, slightly terrifying, and undeniably formative. Wattpad was exactly that: a fever dream of a community, a pipeline from cringe to self-awareness, and ultimately, the chaotic literary playground we all needed.
factory reset. We’re already seeing the parents of Gen Alpha swinging on the screen time pendulum. Millennials, arguably the first generation to grow up around this age of technology, are parenting their kids with an awareness of what the Internet does to a child’s brain. Perhaps the turn from unfettered Internet access to a more controlled sense of how the Internet works is setting up a better foundation for the relationship between kids, phones, and fun.
We need to let life run wild for a few years, and hope that this new wave of human people are predisposed to sensitivity, passion, and a willingness to excavate the path to find new and exciting futures. Let’s not let the next generation loom with a sense of finality, whether that be to the grip of technology, or the ocean which will literally envelop us with mass tides.
Also, get your grubby, Nutella-covered mitts off my phone, I do not have any games on here!
Nuclear Chemistry at the Seymour Centre
Nucleus, directed by Andrea James and written by Alana Valentine, is a brief and brilliant spectacle that knocked our socks off. It’s about two people who hate each other’s guts, have completely polarised stances on nuclear energy, and have incredible chemistry. It features only two characters: Gabriel Hulst, played by Peter Kowitz, and Cassie Logart, played by Paula Arundell. Gabriel is pro-nuclear energy, and regularly attends conferences where he preaches its benefits. Cassie, his arch-enemy, protests against nuclear energy and actively works to oppose all of Gabriel’s work.
Arundell briskly enters the stage in a red dressing gown with a pack of cards, flinging at Kowitz a list of symptoms of nuclear radiation and demanding him to act them out, in a game of “fallout bingo.”
Watching Kowitz twist himself in knots trying to portray fainting, hair loss, and vomiting, and then Arundell careen from comedy into sincerity, feels like whiplash. Kowitz’s character is so patently helpless compared to Arundell’s, even though they seem to possess an equal intellect. Each of them has strong and intelligent arguments in favour of and against nuclear energy, but Arundell’s character has a sort of feminine power and lust for life which leaves Kowitz’s character, and us, entranced.
One of the most clever moments of the play is when Gabriel recounts his experience meeting a woman at the International Commission on Radiological Protection; he’s completely caught off guard by her and doesn’t have any idea who she is. Right after telling us how “a very attractive woman smiled at me” and this led to certain “biologically predictable” consequences, he admits feebly that “that was how I first met Cassie Logart.”
The plot is tightly woven and keeps us on tenterhooks. It goes to show how deeply you can be connected to a person whom you’ve spent hardly any time with, when Cassie reveals with a disarming candor, “The other thing that made the encounter linger, of course, was the pregnancy.”
Cassie chooses to keep the baby, because she wanted one and was able to pass it off as her partner’s. As she steamrolls on we are left wondering how it is possible to carry and hide such a heavy secret, especially when Gabriel describes that fateful night as “the worst mistake of my life.” As they keep meeting each other at conferences and protests and dancing around in a spite-fuelled limbo, their life passes before us, and their pride is laid bare.
It is astonishing and heartbreaking how cruel they are to each other, how each barb hides a cry for help and a secret yearning. Gabriel goes so far as to say, “If you were dying, I wouldn’t spit on your grave.”
Cassie keeps protesting against nuclear energy, and puts every scrap of energy into opposing Gabriel and everything he stands for. Gabriel keeps promoting the use of nuclear energy at international scientific conferences because he genuinely believes that it will do good in the world, and that it’s a better and safer alternative to fossil fuels.
Eventually they confront one another, after what seems like years, or perhaps even decades. Cassie whips out an actual beta-ray protection suit (Arundell’s costumes are surprisingly elaborate given how brief the performance is), and uses it to bluntly break the news that she’s dying from nuclear radiation.
Cassie half-asks, half-demands Gabriel to be her executor, and uses that to strongarm him into preventing a nuclear energy facility being built at Jervis Bay. This facility is one of the driving forces of the play, as the Jervis Bay Nuclear Power Plant was the only reactor ever seriously considered for construction in Australia.
The Still Point of the Turning World?
Lachlan Griffiths takes a moment.
I was lingering amidst the skeins of light that fold and shatter between the buildings on George and Pitt.
Standing in a sliver of warmth inside that juxtaposing tenebrism.
And someone had thrown flowers into a bin.
Flowers always wilt; the colour always begins to seep into the ground, the petals droop, then float with a mournful pallor to the earth.
Fading like the kaleidoscopic confetti flung out over veiled love at the churchyard door.
Yet, for that momentary dalliance of incantatory pleasure,
I saw the sunlight drop onto the petals in the rubbish bin
and the fragrance lingered like a latter-day epigraph chiseled to recall Daphnis’ songs.
Imogen Sabey reviews.
When Gabriel says “You broke my heart,” she responds, “You captured mine and never let it go.” Arundell and Kowitz are relentless with the emotional gut-punches, and they make every sentence venomous, heartfelt, or even both at once.
Despite all the effort that they go through over the decades, they cannot stay apart. Their chemistry is undeniable, and they have a connection so strong it brings nuclear fusion to mind. At the end, though, it feels like a tragedy. There is so much time that has been wasted, and so much love that has gone unspoken.
They say to each other, cutting each other off mid-sentence and repeating the other as if in wedding vows, “I wanted you to be someone else, but you can only be you.”
The lights dim, with Cassie lying dead in Gabriel’s arms and their intertwining legacies stretching out ahead of them; everyone in the audience is reaching into their bags for a Kleenex. We are left with the sombre reminder that there is only so much time you have to tell people that you love them.
Nucleus is playing from the 14th of February to the 15th of March at the Seymour Centre.
Seeing them land and thinking, could this be more than a moment?
Uncertain symbolism in unclear days leaving nothing.
Except the hopes of my heart and my soul tinged the colour of the petals.
And it reminded me of reading poetry in bars. Of the half-light reflecting redness into the wine
flowing on those nights when our cheeks ached and I felt for a moment of brief joy that perhaps the delusion was reality.
Someone in a building above had drawn their blinds.
The golden champagne of summer dissipated from the street.
Come was darkness again with funerary clouds traversing above my life and I watched as the bouquet wilted, turned into corruption.
Gymbro Shocks Himself as an Unlikely Ally to Breast-Feeding Mothers
“It’s a constitutional right, freedom of expression, and that includes our pump. Free the nip, right?”
Local bodybuilder, Sam Wheeler, unexpectedly finds himself asking what his local barista’s plans are for International Women’s Day.
“March 8, it’s a big day, I have to celebrate the sisterhood. We all experience the same struggles. I know exactly what you new mothers are going through. It is ridiculous that you are forced by the patriarchy to feel like you need to use a pump cover when breastfeeding. When I get a pump I want the whole world to see it, we shouldn’t feel self conscious about that.” Mr Wheeler “used to have a hard time connecting with feminism before”, but the gym has really opened his eyes to the different treatment of men and women.
When asked about his turn to feminism, his eyes drift as he talks about his experience on the 10th of January. “It was my pull day and I was going for a PB [personal best] because it was peak week, so that means it must have been around January 10th, the beginning of the new year. All the newbies had signed up to the
gym and were taking all the benches, and they had the worst form you’ve ever seen, so I had to use the free weights section instead. One of the locals was there breastfeeding her child, and after my first set I went over and asked her what she was doing, ‘cause y’know, the gym is no place for a child. She said that it was the only place she didn’t need a pump cover!”
Peeking out of his gym bag were seminal feminist texts from the likes of Angela Y Davis and Simone de Beauvoir, alongside Gymshark memorabilia and shaker bottles. You can forgive the overzealousness of the convert.
Mr Wheeler becomes quite animated about the unjustness of it all. “I mean, I think they’re protected by one of the discrimination laws, but I’m not sure every woman knows their breastfeeding rights, and like, the culture is still so touchy. I know the importance of a pump cover, y’know, as a safety net to avoid judgement, but we should be proud of our bodies and what they are capable of.”
Mr Wheeler even organised IWD celebrations at his local gym. “Women just have this hidden strength, not just with muscles, but emotionally as well.”
Emily O’Brien pumps out a story.
Art by Will Winter
ADS
Angus Fisher
Hi all, I hope week 3 has started well for everyone!
Over the past few weeks, I have attended countless committee meetings and consultations to save five-day simple extensions. The university is changing all its assessment policies from the ground up, including special considerations and simple extensions. Working closely with SUPRA and the SRC’s caseworkers in this process has ensured that simple extensions are safe for now, but the work is not over.
I submitted feedback on the five draft policies the university announced in January. The SRC sees these policies as threats to academic and political freedoms. I went through each policy clause and highlighted this fact in my submission. A second round of feedback has commenced and I will contribute once again. While this process may seem pointless, feedback submitted against the Campus Access Policy late last year has resulted in the softening of the policy, showcasing the
importance of this work.
The SRC had our first stall and BBQ on Eastern Avenue last Tuesday! It was great to inform students about the services and representation of the SRC. We ended up handing out over 150 sausage sandwiches and countless pieces of leftover merch from Welcome Week. This was an election promise of mine and it’s great that the SRC is now taking part in essential and basic union activities. See you all next Wednesday for the same thing!
Unfortunately, the university has threatened a transgender international student with misconduct for being outspoken on Palestine. See the SRC Instagram for more information. It is necessary to continue the struggle against injustice at the university and globally.
In solidarity, Angus
Ishbel Dunsmore, Saskia Morgan, Grace Street, Lucy Sullivan
Sexual Violence Officers
Hi, everyone! You’ll be happy to know that your 2025 Sexual Assault/Sexual Harassment (SASH) Office Bearers have been hard at work this year organising events and working on the ‘Responding to Sexual Violence’ section in WoCo’s 2025 Growing Strong magazine. Our work is a necessity, not a choice. The rise of farright extremism cements toxic masculinity as a cornerstone for the patriarchy, which perpetuates and validates violence against women. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, sexual violence rose by 11% in 2023, marking the 12th consecutive year of increase. It’s scary, there’s no doubt about it. In the face of injustice, violence, and hatred, we must channel our anger to burn the patriarchy.
Community strength and union is more important than ever, so we will be hosting gatherings throughout the year to foster a safe and supportive environment. Our first event is a screening of Persepolis (2007) on Thursday the 20th of March, 5:00–7:00 pm, in the Old
Vice-President
Bhattari, Bohao Zhang
A lot has happened since I last wrote here two weeks ago.
First, Welcome Week! Working on the International Students Collective and SRC stalls, it has been delightful getting to meet everyone and explaining the work we do. I really encourage all students to get involved with the Council – from joining Collectives, coming to events, or just simply following us on socials. We’re more than happy to help and we’re always here for you.
I am especially proud of how the work we’ve done in the International Students Collective finally came to fruition during Welcome Week. Our fans, passport holders, and tote bags were under unexpectedly huge demand! Thank you to all the International Student Officers – Bob, Mary, Ethan, and Christine, alongside our wonderful General Secretaries, Anu and Grace, for your hard work in making our stall possible.
We will be back with more and better freebies in Semester Two! Be excited!!
Also, with semester kicking in, the Collective has finally been able to host our planned events! We understand how difficult it can be for international students to make friends at the University, so we’ve focused on organising informative and entertaining welcome functions. I’ll let the International Student Officers report more on this, but please do follow the Collective on Instagram at @usyd_ international to stay in the loop about any future events!
Outside of the Collective, I have been in talks with FoodHub to see potential areas of improvement and where the SRC might be able to lend a hand. FoodHub is truly a great program, and I look forward to expanding its capacity and visibility on campus.
Welfare Officers
Dan O’Shea, Annabel Petit, Mia Williams
Highlight of this last month was meeting a bunch of new faces at welcome week who are keen to get involved with activism on campus ! The welfare office has been getting reading groups up and running through Students for Palestine! We have our first session this coming Tuesday, which will be a great informal discussion in Victoria Park (weather pending!!), based on the first chapter of Vashti Fox’s book the Story of Palestine. All welcome to come for a discussion on the nature of life in Palestine today, even if you don’t get around to reading the chapter! These reading groups will continue fortnightly each Tuesday, as we work our way chapter-by-chapter through the book. Our second installment of the series will also coincide with Israeli Apartheid Week on campus, so particularly encourage people to
come along to that.
We’ve also been getting the word out and collecting submissions for the People’s Inquiry into the Repression of Campus Free Speech on Palestine, which is an important project across university campuses to nationally make light of the alarming rise in political censorship in regards to Palestine. To make your own written submission or find out more, visit palestineinquiry.com.
Geology Lecture Hall! This autobiographical animated film recounts the life of Marjane Satrapi, the director of the film, as she leaves Iran and confronts what it means to live under an extremist religious regime. We encourage anyone and everyone to come along because, not only is this a compelling and powerful film, we will also be providing snacks, open discussions, and support.
We can’t wait to see you all soon!
In Solidarity, Lucy Sullivan, Saskia Morgan, Grace Street, and Ishbel Dunsmore.
QR Code for Further Resources:
President International Student Officers
Ethan Cao, Mary Liu, Christine Peng, Bob Song
Hi all! My name is Bob, and I’m one of your four International Student Officers for 2025!
We have been working so hard to deliver a warm welcome towards our new commencing students. As such, we dedicated a lot of time to perfecting our Welcome Fest preparations. Merchandise such as passport holders, fans, and our ISC tote bags were carefully designed and handed to students. The tote bags and fans were especially in demand. Our stall was quite successful, demonstrated by our 700+ new followers on our Instagram and Rednote (for students who have yet to download Instagram)accounts. A lot of new international students also showed an interest in volunteering, for which we are extremely grateful. Thanks a lot to our bearers and volunteers who helped out!
On Friday evening, last week, we got to host our first gathering event in the Belinda Hutchinson Building. Our events had a plethora of choices
including board games, cotton candy making and a trivia night quiz regarding knowledge of SRC and some of our university’s history. Amazing pizzas and beverages were provided for students to enjoy. SRC Vice President Bohao Zhang introduced the SRC and ISC for newer students and three of the International Students Officers: Bob Song, Christine Peng and Mary Liu attended the event and welcomed new students. We look forward to hosting even more events! Hiking, board game sessions, cultural exchange and international students alumni workshops are all in the works by our International Students Officers.
The start of the semester was a lot of work, but in hindsight, it was definitely worth it. Once again, thanks to everyone across the SRC who helped contribute to our success.
Stay tuned!
Bob
Ethno-Cultural Officers
The fight never stops in ACAR! We attended plenty of events over the summer including the Blak Caucus’ Invasion Day rally, Palestine Action Group’s snap rally against Trump’s calls for the ethnic cleansing of Gaza, ‘Heat Rising’: Rata’s fundraiser launch event, the rally for TJ Hickey, and DisCo’s rally against a eugenicist talk at the university.
We have also been organising events of our own.
We collaborated with WoCo for the first FALL (Feminist Anti-Racist Liberation Library) event of the year on Valentine’s Day, discussing bell hooks’ All About Love. During Welcome Week, we got to expand our community reach, having many good conversations with people keen to get involved in decolonial organising with other likeminded BIPOC on campus. We had a welcome dinner and organising meeting in week 1, and are now organising an Iftar in week 4 - Ramadan Mubarak!
We urge everyone to pay close attention to the rapidly increasing violence in Palestine,
particularly in the West Bank. The IOF has been conducting ‘Operation Iron Wall’ since January, a large-scale military offensive involving a vicious ground incursion and the largest demolition operation in the West Bank since the 1967 Naksa. This has resulted in immense injury and death, mass-displacement, extreme restrictions on movement, and large-scale arrests. We are working with BDS Youth and other organising groups for Israeli Apartheid Week which is from the 21st to 30th of March.
Many draconian measures have been imposed in response to pro-Palestinian activism. This includes Universities Australia’s adoption of a reductive definition of antisemitism, the expansion of anti-protest laws, and the University’s punishment of anybody who displays solidarity with Palestine. We are committed to resisting these acts of political repression and share our solidarity to those currently being targeted.
Until liberation!
Shovan
Kayla Hill, Dana Kafina
Time Management Tips & Resources for Students
Time management allows you to achieve the most within the limited time you have available. At University that might mean balancing all of your readings and assessments, with work, a social life and home responsibilities. It’s like a budget for your time.
The internet is awash of time management resources. A good place to start is with the Learning Hub’s information on how to make a daily timetable, for all of your classes, private study time, and other responsibilities; as well as a semester planner to map out when each of your assignments are due, so that you allow enough time to complete each of them. Try each of these for a few weeks, and make whatever adjustments you need to have them suit you.
take your time to find whatever works best for you. It is also a good idea to talk to your lecturers and tutors to let them know what you find difficult, and what they might do to help you to succeed.
Sometimes you cannot get things done, because there are too many demands on you. If you need to work, or have other responsibilities, consider taking a reduced study load. Students on a Centrelink payment will need to talk to a caseworker, while students on a visa will need to consult a migration solicitor, before dropping a subject. Some students think that having a smaller study load will mean they will graduate later, but the reality is that you will progress more quickly, and at less cost, if you do three subjects and pass them all, than if you
Poor time management can be caused by factors, such as perfectionism and procrastination. The Uni’s Counselling and Psychological Services (CAPS) has some resources online, and you can also talk to a counselor to get some strategies.
Sometimes poor time management can be caused by other factors, such as perfectionism and procrastination. The Uni’s Student Counselling Services has some resources online, and you can also talk to a counselor to get some strategies. ADHD is also a major cause of time management difficulties. If you have a diagnosis, you can register with the Uni’s Inclusion and Disability Services Unit to get adjustments, like extra time for your assessments. There are lots of support groups that share information on techniques that help to start tasks, remain focused, and manage the anxiety around ADHD. There are plenty of resources that are quite expensive, and some that are free, so
attempt four subjects and fail some.
When completing any assignment, take the time to check that you have correctly referenced, and be mindful to paraphrase as you go. No matter how busy you are it is not worth risking a fail grade, because you have plagiarised, either deliberately or accidentally. Buying an assignment from someone, or using a fake medical certificate is likely to be discovered by the Uni, and is likely to lead to a suspension from Uni. If you are not sure what you could do instead, please talk to an SRC Caseworker, who can offer a free, confidential, non-judgmental service, that is independent of the Uni.
SRC Caseworker Help Q&A
Centrelink Independence
Dear Abe,
I’ve applied for Centrelink Youth Allowance, but they said I can’t have it because my parents earn too much money. My parents don’t give me any money, so I think I should be able to get the payment. What should I do?
Independent
Dear Independent,
Unfortunately, Centrelink don’t care about your actual circumstances. They will only consider you independent if you:
are 22 years o, older, have special circumstances (e.g., you’re an orphan, or parents are in prison), have worked an average of 30 hours a week, are married, or in a marriage-like relationship, you might be eligible for a Low Income Health Care Card that won’t give you an income, but may help with any health costs you have. Talk to the Uni’s Financial Support Services to see what they can offer you.
For more details about Centrelink go to the SRC’s Caseworker Help page: bit.ly/3XV5b5n
Thanks, Abe
If you need help from an SRC Caseworker start an enquiry on our Caseworker Contact Form: bit.ly/contact-a-caseworker
2025 STUDENT YEAR PLANNER
ACROSS
1 Standoffish, distant
6 Losing casino roll
10 Filipino cured meat dish; or one Spanish appetiser
14 “Ted _____”, well-liked show on Apple TV+
15 Golfer’s target
16 “Break ___!”, heard backstage
17 What Uruguayan soccer player Luis Suárez was labelled as after the 2014 World Cup group stage
18 Aid and ___
19 Fly high
20 Mined rock
21 Last week’s Honi theme
24 Naked
25 Tattoo tool
26 Put a ring on it... released alongside “If I Were A Boy”
31 Butter which soothes and moisturises
32 High point
33 USyd campus formerly in Callan Park
36 Genus of ducks, including mallards
37 Imperfections
39 Shoes distinguished by their yellow stitching, for short
40 Sheep sound
41 Attendee
42 You are here
43 Solition, in mathematics and physics; discovered by John Scott Russell
46 Run out of clothes?
49 Singer Stefani
50 People who own and manage a business without any partners or shareholders; the simplest business structure
53 It’s next to nothing; or like the start of 21A, 26A, 43A and 50A
56 It means nothing to the French
57 Take too much of, briefly
58 None of the above
60 “Casablanca” heroine
61 “___ la vie”
62 Martini’s partner
63 Flat sound
64 Hang on to
65 Overact
DOWN
1 Australian PM, informally
2 Villain’s hideout
3 Bone: Prefix
4 Sweet ending?
5 Typically found on a blackboard; E=mc^2, e.g.
6 French fashion house
7 “___Cop”: 1987 film
8 Smart guy?
9 Flowers in the same family as tomatoes and tobacco
10 Samples
11 Audibly
12 June birthstone
13 See eye to eye
22 Poem of praise
23 Onion relative
24 ActionAid and the Red Cross, e.g.
26 One who crosses a picket line
27 Island off the west coast of Scotland
28 Seppo school athletics org.
29 In pieces
30 Morning moisture
33 OpenAI’s video generation tool
34 Surveillance system, for short
35 Playable character in the video game “Overwatch”, with a Texan accent and a robot butler
37 Bob Dylan’s genre
38 Hawaiian garland
39 Swimmer Fraser, eighttime Olympic medallist
41 Best ever
42 Doesn’t look good
43 Perceived to be
Honi in the ‘50s: Television, “cause of conflict and unhappiness”
Lotte Weber delves into the archives.
In 1953, Honi Soit covered a dicey debate on the newfangled technology about to grip the nation: Television. The article, ‘Hot Debate on T.V. Future’, detailed the arguments of a lecture panel gathering to assess this new phenomenon in Usyd’s Wallace Theatre. It reads, “Dr Marsden was more concerned not with Television as a sign of scientific progress but as a monster which would take money urgently needed to improve living conditions throughout Australia… He maintained that our whole culture would collapse if the people not only heard but also saw their clowns.
44 Code name for TV’s Perry the Platypus
45 Initials of the 40th U.S president
46 Some antidepressants, for short
47 Works hard
48 Like the colder months, letterwise
51 Chick’s tail?
52 Prescribed amount
53 “It’s ____ Quiet”, song made famous by Björk
54 Arboreal abode
55 A Great Lake
59 Jerry’s pursuer
In Australia, said Dr Marsden, Television would be another cause of conflict and unhappiness in many people’s lives, ‘I hope we never have it’”. Mr Aitchison agreed that the cost of running a Television station was, “almost prohibitive”. Just twelve years later, USyd established The Television Service in 1965, transmitting the first lecture on closed circuit cameras, a primitive version of the nowdreaded recorded lecture. The service also recorded important university events but remained inconsistent.
Credit: Cassidy Newman
Special Buys Bad. Same.
At-home Bleach & Box-Dye Set
Oh wait guys, we’re back together, I don’t have to do anything drastic to my hair!
International “Womben” Day Badge
J.K. Rowling over-ordered again. She’s really messing with our bottom lines.
A joke about the Oscars
It’s a really funny joke.
A new definition of “Antisemitism”
This one includes everyone this time, we promise! Wait, you want to read it? Um...
Discarded “Liberal Homo” Shirt
Shamefully hidden in the corner of your Newtown Sharehouse after Mardi Gras. We saw you marching Candace, You can’t hide forever.
Mould Cleaner
For your gross little poor people activist spaces. Guaranteed to fix issues we’ve been facing for years. (This ad is supposedly approved by some of the SRC Executive)