Honi Soit: Week 5, Semester 1, 2025 by SRC USyd Publications

HONI SOIT

Unveiling the Deep Is This All That Will Be Left of Me? Read the World

Imogen Sabey Feature, page

Pia Curran

Kiah Nanavati Environment, page

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...

Books of the world

Crosses & white flags

Islam’s Golden Age

Deep sea diving

Bathroom graffiti

Existentialist travel

Mardi Gras

SRC Casework

Puzzles

This edition is dedicated to Winnie Huang, who asked me a while ago to dedicate my first book to her. Winnie, I hope this is close enough; but if I write a novel anytime soon, I’ll keep you in mind.

The theme for this edition is Flags. In essence, a flag is a large rectangular piece of cloth, but for this rectangle, wars have been waged, blood has been shed, communities have been put together and torn apart, and identities have been forged and remade anew. We use them to drive people apart, and to bring people together. Why do flags

mean so much to us? This is the question that fuels this edition, and each of our wonderful reporters have a different answer. Within these pages, we’ve got Avin Dabiri musing on the meaning of the white flag, Akanksha Agarwal taking us on a journey through her past homes, Pia Curran leading us through the labyrinth of USyd’s bathroom graffiti, Eliza Crossley giving us a much-needed review of hot cross buns, and Ananya Thirumalai debating the dilemna of the lesbian flag. Plus my Mardi Gras coverage: you will not believe how chaotic it was.

The Butterfly Effect, Akanksha Agarwal

This piece is a meditation on the role that flags, places, ideas, and movements play in our individual metamorphosis, and ultimately, our collective metamorphosis. The butterfly represents healing, growth, and all the flags represent our shared humanity despite differences. The inverted halfsplit butterfly signifies the triumph of harmony, and justice regardless of the environment. While we grapple with a warming climate, wars around

Editor-in-Chief

Imogen Sabey

Editors

Purny Ahmed, Emilie Garcia-Dolnik, Mehnaaz Hossain, Annabel Li, Ellie Robertson, Imogen Sabey, Charlotte Saker, Lotte Weber, William Winter, Victor Zhang

Way more sprinting there than your traditional Mardi Gras.

I’d like to say a special thank you to my reporters, who did a fantastic job in this edition. And one more thank you to Victor Zhang, formerly part of my reporter group and now anointed the 10th editor of Honi Welcome to the team, Victor! I hope you enjoy this week’s edition of Honi, and that it leaves a lingering impression of the colours of the world.

Love, Imogen

the world, and the disregard for human rights, the butterfly reminds us of our unanimous strength in the face of adversity. I’ve tried to move beyond notions of flags as merely symbols of geographical patriotism to movements such as the feminist flag to represent the power of flags in advocating for change. Ultimately, the hope is to celebrate differences, and find an intersectional space of unity.

Akanksha Agarwal, Chiara Arata, Sath Balasuriya, Maddy Burland, Pia Curran, Avin Dabiri, Ava Edwards, Kuyili Karthik, Hamna Khan, Kiah Nanavati, Emily O’Brien, Marc Paniza, Grace Street, Tanish Tanjil, Ananya Thirumalai, Sebastien Tuzilovic, Victor Zhang

Akanksha Agarwal, Purny Ahmed, Emilie Garcia-Dolnik, Mehnaaz Hossain, Ellie Robertson, Imogen Sabey, Charlotte Saker, Tanish Tanjil, Lotte Weber, Will Winter, Victor Zhang

accuracy

Letter to the Editor

Dear Honi Soit,

The University must take seriously the insidious threat posed to academia by artificial intelligence. This is not a potential danger which may rear its ugly, humanoid head in the future; it is already here, and it is straight out of dystopia.

Allow me to illustrate this. Today, a student next to me in a tutorial pasted an activity prompt into a translator, and then into DeepSeek. Unfortunately, classrooms illustrate how artificial intelligence has become a go-to tool for students who lack the necessary English proficiency to engage with subject matter, in a practice that is destructive both for the student and for the standard of education at the university. These students are paying much and learning nothing.

Last week, a student sitting next to me in a different class (studying physical education!) likewise directed AI to complete an activity for them.

Allow me to return to Digital Cultures, for which ChatGPT summaries of reading material are now routinely attached to the reading list.

We are supposed to be a university! Where artificial intelligence has infiltrated, the standard of education is now non-existent! I am livid, as every student has the right to be.

I beg of you, our editors, not to for a single edition let this menace evade your watch.

Will Thorpe

Dear Honey

I have a full-blown crush on my tutor. I’m talking heart racing, face turning red, completely distracted whenever he’s around. And don’t get me started on his eyes. We get along really well, and he always makes an effort to chat with me about things outside of class. I know there’s a professional boundary while he’s in that role, but he graduates at the end of the year. Would it be weird to add him on social media after the unit ends to test the waters, or should I wait until he’s fully done with uni? And is it totally taboo that I feel this way about him in the first place? I don’t want to make things awkward, but I also don’t want to miss my chance if he might be interested. Any advice?

Academically Thirsty

Girl, don’t do it. With concern, Honey

I FOUND MY MISSING AIRPOD!!!!! Strictly speaking, my mum found it: tucked away behind a stair two floors beneath my room. I don’t know how it managed to end up there, that would’ve required some serious gravitational acrobatics. My mum said she didn’t realise it was anything important and she would have thrown it away if I hadn’t complained so loudly about it going missing. Close one! Thank you for your lovely advice.

Miss Price

Yay! Lesson learned: always complain (loudly). You’re welcome, Honey

Art by Ellie Robertson

National Day of Action for Palestine

Wednesday 26th of March at 12pm

UNSW MTS Presents: The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

25th–30th of March Studio One Effective Power

Friday 28th of March at 8pm Waywards

Trans Day of Visibility Rally

Sunday 30th of March at 2pm Pride Square

Rumour Has It...

Later in the year... Student Journalism Conference

15th–18th of August at USyd

More details coming soon!

Undergraduate Student Fellow of Senate election declared void

The University of Sydney (USyd) announced on the 17th of March that the 2024 election of the Undergraduate Student Fellow of Senate for 2024-2026 is now void. This declaration was made by the Returning Officer and Governance Officer, Michelle Stanhope.

The reason cited for voiding the election was that Stanhope “was not satisfied with the fairness and integrity of the election process.”

On Tuesday 18th March, a subsequent election was called to re-elect the Undergraduate Fellow position.

According to Stanhope, USyd received “a number of reports and complaints from students which alleged that candidates and/or their supporters had engaged in behaviour expressly forbidden under the Election of Undergraduate or Postgraduate Student Fellow of Senate Guidelines.” The nature of these reports and complaints was not specified.

The election had previously been suspended from the 24th of October 2024, the day voting closed, and had remained in effect until the 17th of March.

The first Senate meeting is scheduled to take place on the 22nd of March. Currently there is no undergraduate student representation planned for this meeting.

Stanhope said that “The University is committed to enabling undergraduate student representation on the University’s Senate hence our immediate action to recall the election. In the interim period, the University is considering opportunities to facilitate student representation and consultation until an Undergraduate Student Fellow can be validly elected.”

A USyd spokesperson said to Honi that “While we are legally constrained in what we can disclose about individual cases, we take these allegations extremely seriously.”

The spokesperson said that the Chancellor was “acutely aware of the concerns regarding undergraduate student representation” and has attempted to ensure representation by requesting a meeting with the Presidents of the SRC and the USU “to discuss the Senate meeting outcomes and themes to ensure meaningful engagement.”

In response to questions about the considerable length of time between the previous election and the new election, the spokesperson said that “We have an obligation… to follow due process and make sure detailed consideration was given to the complaints made regarding behaviour during the election process but we understand the frustration and disappointment of those involved.”

Alex Poirier, one of the candidates in the now-void election, commented “It’s honestly ridiculous that this has taken so long. The voiding of the previous election took 144 days, and this new election will finish on the 13th of May.”

He added, “Multiple candidates, including myself, have felt the voiding and subsequent notice of a new election has become a punishment on honest campaigns, because of the misconduct of others. It seems that the offending candidate will face no repercussions, whilst the others will be forced into a new election, for which they may not have capacity and time.”

Ned Graham, another disappointed candidate, said “A new election punishes those of us who ran good faith

Imogen Sabey reports.

campaigns at considerable personal cost in time and money.”

Graham continued, “The university faces a straightforward decision: if there was misconduct, disqualify the offending candidate(s); if there was not, there is no reason for a new election to be held; if there may have been misconduct, prosecute the cases for and against until the existence of misconduct can be concretely determined.

“The university cannot kowtow to the candidate(s) who offended during the 2024 election and who stand to benefit most from a new election.”

The university commented that “We aren’t able to give a definitive answer as to whether candidates who have allegedly engaged in forbidden behaviour could be permitted to run again as, legally, any qualified person on the undergraduate roll can be nominated for candidacy, and the returning officer has to make a decision at that point as to whether they accept the nomination and confirm the candidate or not; the returning officer can’t pre-judge an application that has not yet been made.”

They added, “We’ve undertaken a preliminary review of how we can best support the fairness and integrity of the election process… The Notice of Election and Nomination Forms have been updated for student Senate elections – including the requirement for a signed TEQSA Fit and Proper Person declaration to be provided to constitute a valid nomination. Additional information regarding the conduct of elections will also be published on the University’s webpage along with a briefing for all candidates with the Returning Officer prior to the ballot.”

An incorporation approaches: February’s USU Board Meeting

At 2:42pm on the 28th of February, the elusive doors to the Cullen meeting room in the Holme Building opened for the ‘public’ session of the University of Sydney Union (USU) Board meeting. The session officially began when Honi Soit entered the room. I’ve never felt more dignified than being referred to as such in the minutes.

USU President Bryson Constable (Liberal) began by informing us of the introduction of four new profile titles in the USU: Ethnocultural (Phan Vu, Independent), Colleges and Student Accomodation (Georgia Zhang, Switchroots), Equity (Sargun Saluja, NSWLS), and First Nations (Ethan Floyd, Independent).

There was a brief discussion on the results of the last survey regarding the USU community’s thoughts on the upcoming incorporation. After including an amendment to the layout of the financial committee to allow a senateappointed director to be appointed to it, the incorporation plan was formally endorsed by the USU Board. Honi is looking forward to the rest of this year’s Board meetings now that the incorporation plan is no longer a discussion, but rather an inevitability.

The next section of the proceedings regarded the electoral committee and election regulations. With the notice of election available on the USU website, it’s important to note that only six positions will be nominated this year, as the USU Board runs on two-year terms. Nominations for Board elections are open from the 17th of March until the 7th of April, with USU elections being held from the 12th of 16th of May.

The next few motions were discussed and moved as part of wholesale amendments to electoral regulations. Firstly, the electoral calendar has been shifted to allow Honi to conduct interviews during the embargoed election period. Yay!

Two other key regulation changes included: all purchases made using USU election funding must be reimbursed

at market price; there is no requirement for one-on-one or small group interactions to be conducted in English, but any larger verbal proceedings or printed materials written in a foreign language must also include an English translation.

Stricter punishments were also brought to the table for individuals who breached any electoral rule changes, to discourage infractions of the policies. Constable often referred to these ‘punishments’ with a sense of almost… glee? It was fascinating to observe Constable’s amusement with the idea of punishing individuals who supposedly ‘break’ the electoral rules, especially since the amendments which have been introduced are, as pointed out by an anonymous Board member, predominantly due to the actions of left-wing and ESL nominees for the Board from 2024.

A point of contention in the meeting was on an amendment to stop campaigners handing out non-USU flyers while wearing USU T-shirts. The proposal would see two regulations introduced: campaigning can only be conducted by individuals wearing USU T-shirts, and individuals in USU T-shirts are only able to hand out USU campaign materials.

Vice President Ben Hines (Independent) was the first to raise issue with this amendment, suggesting that it hinders the versatility of a candidate’s ways of campaigning, and would discourage people to join campaigns for an election which historically receives less attention on campus than that of the SRC.

Saluja supported the motion, suggesting that it would make it easier to identify when campaigners violate electoral rules such as illegally campaigning on residential sites. After some more discussion, and Constable suggesting that the cost of buying T-shirts is negligible for a $700 campaign budget provided by the USU, it is agreed to table this specific amendment until a better solution can be reached. All other motions were carried.

Will Winter reports.

Next was the financial report. For the 2024-2025 financial year, the USU reported a surplus of $350,000, as well as an unspecified surplus in January due to the high influx of Manning Bar’s events. With a recent turn towards utilising more of the outside physical space in Manning (thus allowing more bodies to flow, more tickets to sell, and more drinks to be bought), a planned deficit in January was avoided, which begs the question as to how necessary the price increases at USU outlets this year truly was.

The other reports were all taken as read, but there were three clear highlights to the President’s report. Firstly, Constable noted that this year’s Welcome Fest was the biggest and best Welcome Fest yet. When asked by Honi later in the meeting about how they’d attribute this success, Constable pinpointed the “amount of clubs and sponsors, and the breadth of space” which was utilised. Secondly, it was mentioned that a revised rubric for applying to start a USU club was in the works. This would hopefully streamline the process and allow interested individuals to understand the metrics by which to demonstrate the unique aspects of their proposed clubs. Thirdly, after attempting to pass the chair from Hines back to Constable (a procedural necessity for Constable to deliver his report), Hines quipped “Can I get a seconder to move chair back to Bryson? I know we always struggle with this”, which was met with several seconds of laughter, and then an awkward silence.

Read full article online.

University of Newcastle Student Association CEO attempts to sack elected President Matthew Jeffrey

On Thursday 13th March, the Chief Executive Officer of the University of Newcastle Student Association (UNSA), in an email to their Board and Student Representatives’ Council, attempted to remove the democratically elected president Matthew Jeffrey from office.

The student union at the University of Newcastle operates with a joint structure of service provision and representation. The elected president is both the president of the Students’ Representative Council (SRC) and the chairperson of the Board of Directors.

In the email, UNSA CEO Mark Trevaskis notes “decisions made by the University of Newcastle” around Jeffrey’s studies. Trevaskis cites Section 36.2 of their constitution and the SRC terms of reference as the basis for “steps [taken] to remove Matt from his position as SRC President and UNSA Chairperson effective immediately.”

The Constitution of UNSA is the governing document of the organisation as lodged with the Australian Charities and Not-for-profits Commission (ACNC).

Section 36.2 of the UNSA constitution states that “A student is not eligible to stand for election as a director of the Company or to hold a position as a director of the Company if they have either: (a) a finding of non-academic misconduct upheld against them; or (b) a

finding of academic misconduct upheld against them.”

Honi understands that the president’s academic progression has been affected and is under review by the University of Newcastle. Section 36.2 refers to “academic misconduct” which according to their website pertains to plagiarism and academic honesty and is unrelated to academic progression.

The UNSA Constitution states in Section 42.4 that “directors and auditors may only be removed by a Voting Members’ resolution at a General Meeting.”

No such meeting has occurred as indicated in an email that the CEO sent on the 12th of March where he asked for the resignation of the president.

Grace Street, General Secretary of the University of Sydney SRC, provided comment on the situation stating “it is extremely alarming to see the attempt to silently remove Matthew from his role as SRC President using sloppily applied bureaucratic measures.”

“This is not just a case of poor governance from the unelected CEO, but it is also an attack on student unionism and democratic elections that fits into a larger global trend clamping down on dissenters and student protestors.”

ASMOF demands urgent action from NSW Government after psychiatrists mass resign in protest

The Australian Salaried Medical Officers’ Federation (ASMOF) is demanding urgent action from the NSW Government to address the crisis of severe understaffing in mental health services.

For over a decade, the NSW public health system has been struggling to recruit and retain psychiatrists. NSW had 140 vacancies before the mass resignation in January 2025, when 200 public hospital psychiatrists resigned in protest as a result of the government’s inaction in addressing the crisis.

The matter went to arbitration at the NSW Industrial Relations Commission on 17th March.

As part of the arbitration proceedings, ASMOF is calling on the Minns Government to act immediately to fix the crisis by meeting the following conditions:

- Urgently recruiting additional psychiatrists to fill vacancies

- Fully funding training and registration fees to attract new donors

- Providing a 25% pay increase for psychiatrists to stem the flow of doctors leaving NSW

Purny Ahmed reports.

- Establishing a formal Psychiatry Workforce Committee to oversee staffing and recruitment

- Implement a structured dispute resolution process to improve working conditions

ASMOF President Dr. Nick Spooner has warned that the government’s refusal to take action puts lives at risk, stating that “[patients are] waiting for days in emergency departments, deteriorating, because there simply aren’t enough psychiatrists left in the system.”

This has caused emergency department delays, bed closures, and dangerous conditions for both patients and staff.

Mental health patients are waiting for up to 90 hours for care that should be available within hours, according to Dr. Spooner.

“The solution to this crisis is not complicated. It’s about valuing psychiatrists, paying them fairly, and ensuring that NSW has enough doctors to provide the care patients deserve.

“The Minns Government has a choice — fix the problem or let the system collapse completely.”

The NSW Industrial Relations Commission arbitration between ASMOF and the NSW Government will occur from 17th to 21st March.

“Syqe, your hands are red”: Students and academics protest Western Sydney University’s research partnership with Israeli firm Syqe

Victor Zhang reports.

On Monday 17th March, students, academics, and activists protested Western Sydney University’s (WSU) National Institute of Complementary Medicine Health Research Institute (NICM) for their research partnership with Israeli medical technology company Syqe.

In a press release from WSU for Palestine, they have raised concerns around Syqe’s support for the Israeli military and said that NICM staff were not informed of Syqe’s military ties.

WSU for Palestine added that staff “were disturbed to learn about this research agreement, some of whom have family in Gaza and Lebanon” and said that concerns raised to NICM management were ignored.

Dr Diana Karamacoska, an academic at NICM, spoke in a personal capacity about her opposition to the Syqe partnership. She spoke for “staff and students with family members in refugee camps in Gaza” and stated that “[by] accepting this research agreement with Syqe and the IDF that it proudly supports, you’ve diminished their voices, identities, trust and hope. It is not safe to be here.”

Liz Tilley, the Greens candidate for Parramatta and alumnus of WSU, said she “was appalled, but wasn’t surprised” to hear of NICM partnering with Syqe amidst the ongoing repression of pro-Palestine voices. She cited Universities Australia’s recent adoption of a definition of antisemitism that conflates antiZionism with antisemitism.

Tilley called for the community to stand up against a university that “wants to align itself with an apartheid state,” to call on our MPs to “sanction Israel and restrict Australian universities from partnering with [Israeli institutions],” and to “demand that our universities are properly funded so they don’t need to be sponsored.”

Cassie from Nurses and Midwives for Palestine called into question

why WSU would create this “disgusting alliance with a corporation that has celebrated its relationship with the Israeli Defense Forces.” She noted the murder and illegal detention of healthcare workers in Palestine.

Cassie also condemned the continuous disregard for Palestinian, Arab, and Muslim voices as a “inhuman, disturbing, and distressing example of othering” which forms “a key factor in all genocides.”

Yehuda, an anti-Zionist Jewish WSU student, prefaced his speech by stating that he was speaking in an individual capacity, and that he would continue to speak “despite their [the Department of Education’s] attempts to silence teachers from speaking out against Palestine.”

He highlighted the parallels between genocides across the world over time, highlighting the ongoing genocide in Palestine and the continued disposession of Indigenous peoples across the world. Yehuda spoke as a descendant of Holocaust survivors that “there is nothing more offensive to me than the fact that we are standing silently amidst a genocide.

“They claim to be working on medicine right here, when, in fact, they’re easing the conscience of war criminals. And they drop bombs on schools when [sic] claiming it’s too expensive to fund our schools and education systems.”

Sign the petition calling for WSU to cut ties with Syqe.

Victor Zhang reports.

Read The World

Imogen Sabey globetrots.

In my first year of uni, I came across a reading challenge called ‘Read The World’. It was simple: you read one book from every country in the world (although the creator had forgotten about a couple, like Micronesia). The challenge was on a website called StoryGraph, which is like Goodreads but for people who are a bit more snobbish. There were all sorts of challenges there and on similar reading platforms on the internet, designed to coax people into reading a bit more and to make them step outside their comfort zone. I took it up because I read a lot and cannot resist a challenge. I started ticking off the countries from which I’d read books, and found that there were barely more than a dozen.

As someone who works in a bookshop, and who purports to be well-read, this seemed to me like an unforgivable personal failure. It wasn’t from a deliberate avoidance of international literature that I’d managed to remain so insulated. I hadn’t made any concerted effort to breach the bubble of western literature that surrounded me, to go beyond the books that lay face-out at the library. I had been unduly influenced — especially as a young teenager — by sappy and old-fashioned romance novels that told me more about a culture (usually American) that I already knew than about what I didn’t know. The proportion of American literature in my reading prior to 2023 was so great that it revolted me. To this day, I consciously avoid American literature as a reminder of the shroud of ignorance that I had inadvertently created by reading it.

At once, I made up my mind to rectify this. The challenge was completely voluntary, created by a random user with about eight hundred participants. Similar challenges set up by the website administrators featured a selection of ten countries that would change every year — the 2024 version of this had about 12,000 participants. I dismissed the proffered system quickly; what good could it do to read a single book from China and another from the Vatican City?

So I set up a ratio proportional to the country, and contingent on that country having published books in English (or in other languages that I could read). For countries with populations of less than a million, I’d read at least one book, and for those of more than a billion, I’d read at least ten. For the rest, I would read about three. I set out to complete this over a decade, although it took about a year to complete more than a

editor, when I had so much free time on my hands that I could read over two dozen books in a month. Attempting this challenge forced me to seek out books from countries with very small publishing industries, often very small populations, and nearly always filtered through a language barrier. I had never stopped to consider how much of global literature is perceived by Western audiences and privileged by publishing houses, such as the Big Five (Hachette, Pan Macmillan, Penguin Random House, Allen & Unwin, and HarperCollins). But these publishing houses have a very careful marketing strategy that largely depends on big sellers by American, English, and Western European authors. Languages are crucial when it comes to making books accessible, because you have to have a translator for every single title, and sometimes there just aren’t many translators available for languages that are less widelyspoken. For indigenous languages in particular there are significant concerns about preserving languages that are at risk of extinction, and translating books across those indigenous languages and lingua francas like English or Spanish.

Art by Imogen Sabey

either passed down orally or recorded by foreigners. Consequently, when we read books about Mongolia, they are written by historians, travel writers, and naturalists.

If literature is our means of accessing a country without actually visiting, of surpassing the fickle impressions that social media provides so we can actually immerse ourselves in a culture, what can we do when that literature is unavailable? Books craft a crucial part of our impression of the world, and seep into our cultural imagination. It takes a split second to identify a dozen English novels which have directly shaped your understanding of English culture, like Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, or Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe

These are not books that you need to have read; they are books that are so well-known that it is impossible not to know them.

In Australia, we have the Indigenous Literacy Foundation (ILF), a charity organisation that aims to address the linguistic inequality of English compared with First Nations languages by translating childrens’ books into First Nations languages. The ILF works alongside First Nations communities to translate, produce, and publish books, as well as supply them to remote communities and support young children to learn in a mother tongue that is in danger. This goes some way to addressing the overwhelming linguistic authority given to English novels, with tangible benefits for First Nations communities. To have some version of the ILF present in former colonies whose indigenous languages are under threat would be ideal, but as yet Australia seems to be the only country to have such an organisation.

But when it comes to the books that we buy, and the books that are most frequently marketed to us, we rely in large part upon books that are widely credited as ‘good’ because these are the ones that publishers put the most effort into promoting.

International literary prizes play a large part in addressing reading imbalances in the global book markets. The Booker Prize is the most notable of these. Gone are the years when every person in the Booker Prize shortlist was a white man. Of course, it is not faultless: the Booker attracted considerable controversy in 2019 when the first Black woman to win the prize, Bernadine Evaristo, was also the first to share it — with none other than Margaret Atwood, a white Canadian woman who had already won it. (Which, if you ask me, was one of the worst decisions a Booker judging panel has ever made.) Nevertheless, it has led to sharp spikes in sales for all of its winners, which often allows titles more limelight

The countries that were most fascinating to me were those whose literature was not available, whether that be in Sydney, in English, or in the world. Mongolia, for example, has a population density of 2.24 per square kilometre, and a nomadic culture which does not correspond with the consumerist demands of a publishing industry. This is a country whose history is

This is, unfortunately, a pervasive literary power that most countries lack. These are what shape our understanding of the West, and create a selfperpetuating myth that is so deeply entrenched into our cultural psyche that we hardly notice it.

However, some countries have a markedly different circumstance: they don’t lack a national literary corpus, but that body is hindered by a political situation that places the chain of censorship upon every book in the public domain. In China, for example, there is a vast array of literature, and indeed of film, television, and art, but these forms of art published within the last threequarters of a century are necessarily inhibited in their expression, by what is and is not tolerable to the Chinese Communist Party. This has seen an extraordinary surge in literary and televisual works that focus on Ancient China, on a pre-CCP age, with a storyline catered to audiences who are discouraged from directly discussing modern politics. With stories that often centre around an everyman hero or a swoon-worthy romance, Chinese novels can get away with peppering in subversive ideas implied in the context of a romance novel that politicians do not consider worthy of serious attention.

Where our attention is frequently driven is to the novels that the internet tells us are good: to BookTok, to Goodreads, and to influencers on YouTube and Instagram who sometimes spend more time filming than reading. BookTok is becoming such a significant influence that publishers are now using tags on covers like “As featured on BookTok” as a marketing tactic. Getting recommendations from social media has, to some extent, become a substitute for getting recommendations from people whose job it is to sell books. This feeds into the idea that physical libraries or bookshops can be replaced with an entirely virtual

experience where books are sourced entirely through the internet.

Even within the optimistic outlook that our reading is not influenced by BookTok or Goodreads (which I like to think mine isn’t), we are never completely in control when it comes to our own reading choices. We are guided by bookshops, publishers, and marketing schemes that decide which books to pour money into for covers and promotion, and which books are not profitable enough to be printed by a major publishing house. This must, then, reflect the biases of both the executives of those publishing houses and of the audience whom they mass-market to. When audiences buy books by Western authors in great quantities, publishers don’t see a need to market more diverse titles, thus creating a cycle of artificially insular demand. So, when we collectively decide to read American or English literature because it is less of a cultural stretch to place ourselves in Manhattan than Baghdad, we contribute to a broader trend of reducing the profitability of books from other countries.

The argument could be made that American literature is so heavily featured in bookshops, reading lists, and literary prizes simply because it is better. If that were the case, why? Does America invest in literature in a way that the rest of the world doesn’t? Do they treat their writers with respect and accord them high status culturally? Different cultures will perceive writers in different ways, and there are varied working rights for authors across the world. In America, there seems to be a culture of almost fetishising writers, with figures like Edgar Allen Poe, James Baldwin, or Emily Dickinson known perhaps just as much for their personal lives as they are for their creative lives. As for other countries where writing is embedded into their culture, Ireland comes to mind as one where writers are given a notably elevated status. Seamus Heaney, an Irish poet, is a key example of an individual whose writing was enormously influential and far-reaching. During his lifetime, Heaney was appointed national poet laureate in Ireland and won a Nobel Prize in 1995, writing often on aspects

consciousness is a rare, sparkling jewel. So are internet challenges really that bad?

In reducing the literary world to a challenge that we take in order to enrich ourselves and our ‘cultural awareness’, we make each country a box to be ticked. This is not fundamentally terrible; if it makes people read, it makes people read. But we must be wary of the implications that lie within. There are plenty of countries with microscopic populations and vanishingly little novels (does anyone have a recommendation for Belize?). There are plenty more with towering national corpuses. Taiwan, for example, publishes around 40,000 books a year across 5,000 publishing houses, compared to Australia’s 2,000. This places it at the second-highest in the world for books published per capita. Nonetheless, Taiwanese authors are generally not household names, and their work is not easy to find.

its own borders. Nor can it reflect a thorough scope of literary talent, for we cannot give credibility to the claim that six-tenths of the world’s best books of 2024 emerged from the same country.

obituary of his cousin who was killed by accident during this conflict. After his death, his funeral was attended by members of Sinn Fein, as well as Bono. Memorial events were held across the U.K. and the U.S., and The Independent called him “probably the best-known poet in the world.” It is not a coincidence that this world-famous poet was Irish. Literature and culture are deeply intertwined, and Heaney came of age in a community that treasured poetry and treated poets like rockstars. Even so, I would argue that it necessitated the respect that Heaney accumulated in Ireland and the U.K. for his work to be widely read and recognised overseas.

The rest of the world, however, has a far greater cultural barrier to overcome in order to become part of ‘mainstream’ literature. For countries that have small quantities of published titles, due to a lack of local publishing houses, a smaller amount of state funding, or a bevy of obstacles besides, every title that emerges into the international literary

The issue here is threefold: we see what publishers want us to see, which is what is most profitable. We read what we are able to read, which is books published in English. We often don’t make much effort to read books belonging to countries or cultures with which we are unfamiliar. Sometimes people tell me that there is not enough time in a lifetime to read all of the books that they want to read, but is there ever enough time in a lifetime to do all of the things we want to do? If any of us tried to read every book in a single bookshop, it would take decades to pull off. But we can make an effort to read about people and places who are unfamiliar to us, translated from languages that we do not speak, born from literary traditions that are not our own. We must not read in order to tick off a box, but rather to learn about ourselves and about the world, and it takes more than an internet challenge to do this. The best kind of book is the one you find on your own: one where, as you open the pages, it opens a world to you. However, if you need somewhere to start…

Speaking in the Tongue of Empires

Russian) sustaining its political, economic and social power structures.

Just as politics and economics transcend borders, so too does language, evolving beyond its place of origin. Language is a living, evolving entity, growing outside of the country it was born in. Sixty percent of daily French speakers live in Africa, a legacy of French colonialism. The Academie Française, the principal authority of the French language, mired in its colonial supremacy, refuses to acknowledge the significant contribution African Francophones and African immigrants make to spoken French. Notably through slang called ‘verlan’, which has become infused into the daily French expression.

Verlan (the inverse of the French word l’envers which means ‘reverse’) involves taking the last part of the syllable of a word and placing it at the beginning of the word. Similar to pig latin in English, Verlan has become popularised in spoken French in major metropolitan cities, such as Paris. The colonial language has been adulterated, subverted by its former subjects, creating a powerful counter-cultural force of linguistic plurality. Yet the ‘Drapeau Tricolore’ remains the symbol for the French language. Should it be inverted to recognise Verlan as influenced by both North African dialects and Arabic,which feels like an entirely different language?

The question of how to represent a language is greater than just an aesthetic one: it is how we become conscious of historical realities and contemporary linguistic plurality. Should there be a consideration of linguistic plurality when representing a language, a nation, or a peoples? Would it be possible to reimagine the symbol for the English language to incorporate the countries with the largest proportion of English speakers; United States, India and Nigeria? Should it be a hybrid flag of sorts?

Flags are embattled emblems, tied to histories of dominance, conquest, and nationhood. If language is fluid and shaped by those who speak it, perhaps it is time to rethink how we visually represent it. Instead of relying on static and politically loaded national flags, we could adopt new symbols that better capture the shared and evolving nature of language. Whether through hybrid flags or entirely new icons, the way we represent languages should reflect their true global plurality, and not just their colonial past.

Circeo Massacre: How Misogyny Permeates in Education

This piece includes references to sexual assault and gender-based violence.

Rome, 1975.

A woman is awakened by the screams of an entrapped girl in the boot of a Fiat 127. Soon, police and residents would come to find a girl bruised and battered, and the corpse of her best friend.

On 19th September, 17-year-old Rosaria Lopez and 19-year-old Donatella Colasanti were invited to the movies by a group of boys they had only recently met. They were then taken to a villa on the outskirts of Rome, in Circeo, where, over the following 35 hours, the two girls were exposed to all kinds of violence.

With a horrific story like this, where do we even begin?

At the time of the Circeo Massacre, rape was not considered a crime against the victim-survivor, but against public morality. In other words, the act of rape was considered immoral instead of illegal. This law had been established almost 40 years prior by Benito Mussolini in 1936, and reflected the fascist mentality of 1930s Italy: a mentality where women were restricted in all aspects of life.

In an interview conducted in 1983, Donatella Colasanti described the assault as “[qualcosa] che va al di là dello stupro...”. Translated, “[something] that goes beyond rape…” What happened was a premeditated murder. The killing of the two girls always existed as an intentional plan.

Andrea Ghira, Gianni Guido, and Angelo Izzo were the names of the three men responsible for this crime. They were linked to fascist parties and organisations, and considered the kidnap, rape, and murder of two workingclass girls ‘entertainment’. The group of boys had met at Il Fungo (The Mushroom), a long-time meeting spot for fascists. The mentality of these men came down to one

thing: how can we prove ourselves as men?

To understand the evil of these boys, we must enter the walls of their school, San Leone Magno. A prestigious all-boys Catholic school, which served the principles of misogyny, classism, and fascism. The school in question was religious, but what mattered more was the fact that the student body consisted exclusively of males. They would enrol at the age of six and they left at the age of 19. For these 13 years of schooling, they would only have males as classmates and teachers. It was a laboratory, where male identity was created, and then reinforced with a relentless process of negation.

Following the Circeo Massacre and the three boys’ trial, they were all, initially, given life sentences. Andrea Ghira died in Morocco in 1994 after eluding arrest and having lived all his life as a fugitive. Gianni Guido, due to a sentence reduction, has been free since 2009. And Angelo Izzo, as soon as he was released on parole for good conduct in 2005, killed two more women: a mother and her daughter. In other words, the past wasn’t the past at all. Rosaria Lopez’s death and Donatella Colasanti’s torture ignited a debate that only concluded in 1996, more than twenty years after the events of the massacre, when Italian law was changed, and sexual violence was finally considered a crime against the victim-survivor.

This

radicalisation of young men and their insolent perspectives towards women continues to grow worse,

particularly with the use of social media.

The truth is, parents don’t know what their children are getting up to, especially when they have access to a

smartphone. With social media at the fingertips of all curious young minds, teenage boys have easy access to misogynistic rhetoric; namely Andrew Tate, who installs a revolting hatred towards women, as well as the concept of ‘incel culture’. This reflects directly onto the younger generations of men, creating a toxic, hatred-filled environment.

Last year, six students were expelled, and 21 suspended, following a bullying incident at the University of Sydneyaligned St Paul’s College. The episode involved a group of students who decided to conduct a ‘mock trial’ on a fellow student, in which the victim was allegedly sexually assaulted. Toxic masculinity and extreme misogyny, particularly in all boys prestigious schools, has been revolutionising education internationally for decades.

In an article published by The Guardian, a survey concluded that “teachers were being propositioned, threatened with rape, asked for nude photos, physically intimated, and having their classes disturbed by young male students moaning sexually during class — even in primary school.” As someone who attended a co-ed public school only three years ago, these accounts are unfortunately unsurprising.

We are raising generations of boys who are more liable to develop violent mannerisms. We have already seen them escalate into extreme cases, most importantly reflected in violence against women and girls. From 1970 to 2025, it is heartbreaking to see that extreme patriarchal violence continues to exist and increase.

Between highly accessible media coverage, and the private school community’s sheltering from the truth, boys have become more vulnerable to inheriting the wrong kinds of behaviours. Because of this, violence against women continues to exist, and as it continues to increase, adolescent girls will continue to face elevated risks of gender-based violence. Adolescent girls like Donatella Colassanti and Rosaria Lopez.

Art by Will Winter

Chiara Arata fights back.

Waving A White Flag

What does it mean to surrender? To wave a white flag? Is it an admittance of defeat? Or is it an opportunity to ask for help, as we allow ourselves to embrace the powerful force of peace?

The origins of the use of the white flag in times of conflict date back to Ancient Rome. During the Second Punic War and the Roman Civil War, soldiers used white wool and cloth attached to olive branches to retreat from war, submitting themselves to the mercy and protection of their gods above.

As it developed, this symbol was notably adapted as a request for ceasefire. Its use seen in central events of the Second World War. How would we reflect on these soldiers of war who surrendered? The men who submitted themselves completely to violence, sacrificing their minds and bodies, letting their blood nourish the soil

that we prosper on today. Were they cowards? Were they weak? Could we call individuals fragile or gutless for admitting defeat when they cannot go on any longer? It would be smallminded to say yes.

This small piece of cloth first waved by Roman soldiers is still used similarly today. In a world so defined by movement and development and opportunity, and noise; it is the truest show of bravery to accept our limitations. To take a step back, to realise the need for space to grow, and admit that you need help is anything but surrender. It is anything but defeat.

And so I urge you to rest. Ask for help when you need it.

School is hard, life is hard, friends,

Avin Dabiri surrenders.

boyfriends, family, jobs, painstakingly boring 50-page readings, it is all insanely difficult. Fortunately, there is always someone to lend a hand; as cliché as that may sound, it is true. In fact, there are studies proving that caring for others is inherently wired in humans. That to me is reason enough to reach out. If you stumble or fall, or simply need a moment to breathe in air untainted with everything that’s hard, there will always be a hand ready to hold or a shoulder to rest on.

Unbeknownst to most individuals today, the white flag did always operate on a deeper level. During war the flag could also be used to call for a truce — to engage in negotiation or bury one’s dead. This is even more evidence that to fall back and wave a flag doesn’t mean to surrender. It doesn’t mean loss or weakness. And as well as a show of bravery, it is also

“I Would Not Give These Up For Lent”: Rating Novelty

Supermarket Hot Cross Buns

Eliza Crossley and friends put novelty supermarket hot cross buns to the test.

In Dante’s Inferno there are nine circles of hell. In the deepest circle, Satan resides. This final level is reserved for traitors, betrayers, and oathbreakers. I imagine Barrison Hennan here, forced for eternity to eat nothing but Iced VoVo-flavoured hot cross buns (Barrison Hennan failed to attend the hot cross bun ranking day).

On the weekend, I wrangled some friends to attend a thrice-postponed hot cross bun ranking day. Inspired by Nicholas Jordan’s Taste Test series in The Guardian, we sat down to put supermarket hot cross buns to the test.

We first discussed what feelings eating a hot cross bun should evoke. One reviewer said she wanted it to feel like a primary school lesson, where instead of doing maths, we were rewarded with Easter Bunny colouring sheets. Another focused on how the cross represents the crucifixion and expressed how hot cross buns evoke feelings in him of Catholic guilt, shame, and self-loathing. It was at this point that we discovered this reviewer actually doesn’t like hot cross buns at all.

With these complex feelings in mind, we decided on three categories on which to compare the buns. We were not after the classic or traditional fruit and spice bun. Instead, we ranked

the buns on originality, taste, and ‘Easterosity’. A final disclaimer: I am vegan and could only eat two of the six buns, the following reviews are based on what the taste testers told me to relay to you.

The Ranking:

From Worst to Best

Iced VoVo buns (Coles)

This bun should have stayed as an idea. It had a gloopy, stocky texture and lingering coconut flakes. It was so solid that one reviewer questioned if it was put under a hydraulic press, and had both a colour and flavour that another described as “ostentatiously, poke-my-eyes-out pink”. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. 3/10.

Apple & Cinnamon buns (Woolworths)

With a flavour profile similar to cardboard, this bun was “dry”, “unremarkable”, and “uninspiring”. There was not enough cinnamon and too much apple skin. Despite being the most normal novelty bun, it did not evoke feelings of Easter time joy and instead is better suited for Halloween or even Christmas. 5/10.

Caramilk buns (Woolworths)

“Too corporate for Easter” and “simultaneously too caramilky and not caramilky enough”. If you want an Easter treat, get a caramilk egg instead. The idea was solid, but the chocolate execution could have been more sophisticated. It was very sweet and none of the reviewers wanted to eat a whole bun. 6/10.

Biscoff buns (Woolworths)

This was an honest bun. Unlike the caramilk version, it met the brief and delivered exactly as promised. One reviewer summed it up perfectly: “this tastes like biscoff so it is good”. It was lacking, however, in originality: “Why is everything Biscoff?” The answer to that is because Biscoff is a vegan delight! Bonus points for veganism! A solid 7/10.

Wagon Wheel buns (Coles)

A whimsical bun, while that “lacking in the ‘mallow, hits with the jam.” This bun was unlike anything we had tasted before and inspired some of the most peculiar comments of the day, including “this bun understands compromise, it’s nuanced” and similarly, “festive without being obnoxious, it is restrained.” While not really a wagon wheel at all, this bun was beloved and rated a whopping 8/10.

Vegemite & Cheese buns (Coles)

“I would not give these up for lent.” This bun topped the ranks. The savoury twist was very much appreciated, even though the flavour had only “undertones of vegemite”. Give me more — more cheese, more vegemite, butter advised. One reviewer fantasised about making a Vegemite and cheese hot cross bun toastie. The entire bag was eaten. 9/10.

As Christ forgave us, I forgive Barrison Hennan.

Art by Lotte Weber

Art by Victor Zhang

The Golden Age of Islam Key Contributions to Medicine

Hamna Khan dives into the Golden Age. Have you ever wondered about the origins of the tools we use today? Where did they come from and who invented them? Well, you might be surprised to find out that many of the inventions we use today, especially in the area of medicine, came from a period of rapid revolution known as the Golden Age of Islam. Coincidentally, this era occurred simultaneously with Europe’s early Middle Ages, otherwise known as ‘Dark Ages’. The Dark Ages are known as a period of relative intellectual stagnation and political turmoil in Western Europe. Meanwhile, in the Muslim empire, the Golden Age of Islam was taking place, most notably in medicine.

The Golden Age of Islam is said to date from the mid-7th century to the mid-13th century. During this time, Baghdad, the capital of modern-day Iraq, was the centre of the Islamic Empire. This city became a bustling trade centre, where goods and ideas were exchanged. Universities, hospitals, schools, observatories and libraries were established for the pursuit of knowledge. The Islamic empire was under the control of the Abbasid caliphate at the time. The Caliph, or ruler, Harun al-Rashid and his son, Al-Ma’mun, established a ‘House of Wisdom’ — a dedicated space for scholarship, teaching and learning. The House of Wisdom, from 813 to 833 C.E., was well known at the time, and was visited by people from faraway lands to expand their knowledge. Famous scholars were invited to come to the House of Wisdom. It was a learning hub for Muslims, Christians, and Jews who all collaborated and worked peacefully together.

The hospitals built in Baghdad were some of the first in the world and treated rich and poor people as equals. In medicine, one prominent figure was Ibn al-Haythm, who was able to form an explanation of how the eye sees, which led to the invention of the first camera. Ibn Sina (also known

as Avicenna), a doctor and philosopher, wrote the Canon of Medicine. This was the world’s first medical textbook, which helped physicians diagnose dangerous diseases such as cancer. Another figure, Abu Bakr Al-Razi (also known as Rhazes) made contributions in our understanding of the spread and nature of infectious diseases. Even to this day, Al-Razi is well-known in the Middle East for his detailed description of smallpox and measles. Together, Al-Razi and Ibn Sina are credited with the invention of the quarantine method, which recognises the importance of preventing diseases from spreading by isolation.

Another figure, Ibn al-Nafis, is known for his developments in discovering the cardiovascular system. He was the first to provide a description of the pulmonary circulation. In that description he suggested that blood does not permeate the interventricular septum in the heart; instead, it circulates in the lungs through the pulmonary arteries and veins. This was a new development at the time, as it built on previous work, which had not yet recognised the large amount of blood that flowed from the heart to the lungs and back to the heart.

Furthermore, one more prominent figure, Al-Zahrawi, known as the ‘father of modern surgery’, made significant contributions to surgical techniques, inventing over 200 surgical instruments. He also utilised a new innovative material, catgut (a cord made from animal intestines — usually sheep or goat, rather than cat), for internal suturing of wounds. Furthermore, he detailed procedures for various operations, many of which are still practiced today in modern surgery. He specialised in the technique of cauterisation, which used burning a part of a body to close it off, in an attempt to mitigate bleeding or minimise infections. Al-Zahrawi also pioneered neurosurgery

and neurological diagnosis. He is known to have performed surgical treatments of head injuries, skull fractures, spinal cord injuries, hydrocephalus (a condition where cerebrospinal fluid builds up in the brain causing a pressure build up in the skull), and headaches.

In the mental health field, many prominent figures in medicine from the medieval Arab world created ways to understand the relationship between the mind and body. Once again, the two physicians, Al-Razı and Ibn Sina, incorporated methods in clinical practice to address psychological issues. Razi wrote a treatise in spiritual medicine titled, Al-Tibb arRuhani, in which he explained his ideas on psychotherapy focusing on the spirit or ‘ruh’. Similarly, Ibn Sina wrote an important book, Kitab Al-Nafs, in which he examines Sufi teachings as a cure for the soul, which he refers to as the ‘nafs.’ Ibn Sina believed that the body and soul can be separated, and the soul is immaterial, immortal and does not perish with the body.

The Golden Age of Islam needs more recognition as many of the inventions and advancements that were taking place at the time are still relevant today, especially in the field of medicine. Ultimately, there are many other contributions in areas such as astronomy, mathematics, philosophy, arts, and literature. You’ll be amazed how applicable the contributions from that time are to your life!

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Why Do Contractors Keep Dying in WA Mines?

Sath Balasuriya mines for the answers.

Content Warning: Injury and Death in Mines.

I was scrolling on Facebook when I heard of Eli Kelly’s death.

Eli and I attended the same high school in Tamworth, NSW. He was a familiar face: only two years older than me, and I had spoken to him once or twice. The article stated that he had been working as a ‘fly-in fly-out’ (FIFO) subcontractor in a gold mine near Kalgoorlie, when he tragically suffered fatal injuries on site. As I refreshed the post, condolences flowed in from people Eli and I grew up with, but also from many names I didn’t recognise. One comment in particular stood out to me, with a woman named Nikki Hogan commenting: “Another one! Same mine site that took my brother [Terry Hogan] less than two years ago.”

This was sobering to read. Were Eli and Terry’s deaths untimely accidents, or could they have been prevented somehow?

To disprove my suspicions, I set out to investigate what I thought were a spate of disconnected workplace accidents and fatalities in Western Australian mines. What I uncovered was a web of workplace safety issues rooted in the systemic failure of a resources industry which many consider to be among the world’s best regulated.

Before we jump to that conclusion, we should start at the birthplace of these tragedies. The gold mine, called St Ives, spans over 75,000 hectares and consists of both underground and pit operations. It has around 1,600 reported staff, 80% of whom are contractors and subcontractors. It sits in the deposit-rich Eastern Goldfields Region, where the first commercial operation began in the 1980s. The Western Mining Company owned St Ives until it was acquired by Gold Fields in 2001. Gold Fields now owns and continues to operate four mines in Australia, the largest and most valuable being St Ives, where close to 400,000 ounces of gold are reportedly mined annually.

While the accidents at St Ives were horrible surprises, could they have been feasibly prevented? When dealing with an industry as large and as inherently dangerous as mining, is it fair to assume that regardless of the level of safety, there will always be unpreventable deaths? Current legislation and research in risk management distinguishes between “principal hazards” and “one-off events” when it comes to answering questions like these. David Cliff, a professor in Occupational Health and Safety in Mining at the University of Queensland, makes the case that the vast majority of fatalities within the last ten years have been due to one-off events. In differentiating between the two terms, Cliff claims that principal hazards are multicasualty incidents typically involving large scale failures in mine operations, such as the 1994 Moura coal mine explosion. Conversely, one-off events like vehicle failure are typically more random and cause individual fatalities or injuries.

Contrary to the grim picture painted so far, Cliff argues that since 2003, most major principal hazards in mining have either been eliminated or wholly reduced through effective risk management and

training, now accounting for less than 20% of total accidents within Australian mines. Data from Safe Work Australia seems to agree with this. The fatality rate in WA mines has dropped significantly, from 12 deaths per 100,000 workers in 2003 to 3.4 deaths per 100,000 workers in 2013. However, Cliff holds that this positive trajectory has not been maintained since. He argues that one-offs are mostly to blame for the spate of recent tragedies. Evidence shows that accidents in this category such as crushes and falls are not only failing to decrease in incidence, but contributing more to total causes of deaths each year. Given the seemingly sporadic nature of one-off events, Cliff contends that most standards designed to reduce principal risks have been ineffective at curtailing them. Instead, they continue to persist as evolving puzzles for regulators to crack.

In spite of the odds that we may never see Australian mining become a zero casualty industry, Cliff remains convinced that it is fruitful to reform current OHS protocol to combat the rise in one-offs. He cites some change in the form of Rio Tinto’s critical control management model, which according to Cliff seeks to “identify a small number of vital controls… and directs resources towards rigorously designing, implementing and maintaining them.” He claims that while progress with such programs may be possible, it will likely be unstable long-term given systemic factors that the mining industry is reluctant or unable to change. For example, the Queensland resource industry’s latest ‘Safety Reset’ report found little positive change in overall OHS levels across the five years it was conducted, despite the implementation of initiatives similar to the ones Cliff mentions. Programs like these offer very little hope of enacting meaningful change to Australian — especially Western Australian — mining. When the number of annual fatalities for 2023 matched those from ten years prior, how can we say any effective solution exists?

Other researchers in the field challenge the attention Cliff places onto the kind of risk that occurred as a contributing factor to these deaths. They claim that a more insidious cause may be more responsible. In an extensive literature review published in 2024, Doctor Heather Jackson and Professor Emeritus Michael Quinlan conclude that the Australian mining industry’s overreliance on contractors and subcontractors has exacerbated poor worker wellbeing in mines. This has led to their overrepresentation in deaths and serious injuries, a figure reconfirmed in a 2024 annual report by Gold Fields. Their argument challenges the view that one-offs are random events with little in common with each other, by proposing that a pattern emerges when we better examine who is involved in these accidents rather than the type of accident that occurred. Speaking to ABC News, Quinlan revealed that four of the five mining deaths reported in the Eastern Goldfields and Pilbara regions since 2022 were contractors. To add to this, just days after Terry Hogan’s tragic death at St Ives, there was another death in a gold mine near Newman, with both occurring less than 18

months prior to Eli’s death, and all of them being subcontractors.

It’s important to note that the Australian resource industry’s need for contractors (in all forms) is part of a broader trend in neoliberal economies worldwide. For corporations like Gold Fields, a significant part of having an effective business model and maximising profits involves routine cost cutting of internal expenses, independent of whether the market is in downturn or upturn. But after significant downturns, what follows is especially aggressive cost-cutting. Following the end of the 2013 Australian mining boom, the mining sector saw this play out, leading to drastic labour shortages as recorded in a 2019 study. Jackson and Quinlan note that after these shortages, contractors capitalised on the demand for increasingly cheaper labour by cutting costs within their own businesses in order to make their services more competitive to hiring operators, resulting in a workplace that employs fewer permanent employees and more contractors. The Financial Times reported that while the global workforce for mining giants like Rio Tinto, BHP, and Anglo American fell by a third between 2013 and 2018, the percentage of contractors actually increased. In fact, switching to external contractors is such an effective cost cutting measure that it saved an average of 14% in operating costs for 10 mining firms according to an Australian case study from 2004.

some time.

Contracting has also been shown to weaken the power of unions in mines, even though unionised mines have been shown to be substantially safer. Quinlan told me that by relying on a large semi-permanent workforce, mining firms effectively eliminate the conditions required for strong unions to form, with the unions persisting in these sites often lacking major bargaining power. For example, following news of Terry Hogan’s death in early 2022, Australian Workers Union representatives claim they were prevented from entering the mine to assist Gold Fields with initial investigations, even though entry was legal. The West Australian reported that the union was required to file for a special entry under the Industrial Relations Act to be granted access into the mine by operators. Similarly, The Financial Times said that it was not uncommon practice in Queensland jurisdictions for lawyers hired by mining corporations to be first on site following an accident, despite outcry from unions that the concerns of workers weren’t being adequately addressed when done so. Ray Parkin, former chairman of the Queensland Mines Rescue Service, claimed that legal interference “lock[ed]-up” vital information from unions, leading to slower and less transparent investigations.

The literature review identifies several reasons why an overreliance on contractors has led to declining wellbeing within Australian mines. The first of which, the authors claim, is their exploitation by bosses. Given the precarity of their working arrangement, a 2022 thesis analysed in the review claims that FIFO and drive-in drive-out workers are made to do more “dirty work” in unsafe conditions. Due to their perceived inferiority within the workplace hierarchy, contractors are less likely to raise concerns and halt dangerous work early for fear of not being promoted and receiving better pay in a more permanent job if they do.

In an interview for Honi Soit, Quinlan revealed that the combination of stressful workplace and employment conditions, alongside long stints away from home, made for the perfect storm for worsening mental health.

Jackson and Quinlan also claim that cost cutting measures within contracting companies force them to implement cheaper and less stringent training and OHS protocols. A 2022 case study surveying 2009 workers in the resource sector found that this led to a mediocre perception of the effectiveness of OHS regulations meant to protect them. Contrary to what mining corporations claim, the expertise they chase when hiring specialised contracting agencies does not necessarily translate to expertise in safety or risk communication. Widespread cost cutting measures hit even the most specialised contractors hard, according to Quinlan and a cross-sectional study conducted by Valluru et al. The literature review points out that many accidents involving subcontractors are overrepresented in routine repair and maintenance tasks. While proper auditing would be expected

But where does this leave us with practical solutions? Legal reform may work in the meantime, with the recent Work Health and Safety Act implementing the harshest penalties for industrial manslaughter in WA’s recent history. Reforms like this have allowed WorkSafe WA to successfully prosecute two contracting agencies and one mine operator for separate instances of negligence and failure to create reasonable health and safety standards in 2022. While punitive legislation in this area has shown some promise, the Australian mining industry has otherwise opposed laws codifying ‘same work same pay’ principles which would ensure that all workers are paid the same for identical work in the mines. Concluding their review, Jackson and Quinlan recommend a significant reduction in the use of contractors, most notably in the areas of

Perspective

Why Dating Outside Your Politics Just Doesn’t Work

Madison Burland reflects on her teenage dating life.

It’s 2020 and we’re in the Trump administration. I’m in Year 10 at my all girls Catholic school. I’m 15 and I think I have a crush. I’m on the phone to this boy who I haven’t known for more than a few months, when his answer to a hypothetical question unsettles me. “If we were in America, I would have voted for Trump,” he snickers. “It doesn’t matter, we’re Australian anyway.” I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around this rhetoric. Talking to a boy my age, realising he had a MAGA mindset and entering this vicious cycle of arguing, I fell into a bit of a saviour complex. I tried to fix the opinions of every mediocre white boy who came into my path, as if somehow my hatred of Trump would be enough for them to respect me as a person. I wondered why I couldn’t change them. Everyone surrounding me in all aspects of my life had seemed to be reminding me that difference is good. Vis-a-vis: “You don’t have to agree with everyone on everything, but you do have to respect each other.”

During my early teen years, this was the norm. Especially within relationships, there was often an unspoken pressure to conform to predefined roles and expectations of complacency from women. The idea that expressing opposing beliefs or questioning expectations may cause

disruption in a relationship is used as a tool in encouraging people, especially women, to stay complacent in order to maintain the peace. Commonly, left-leaning young white girls date right wing Trumpsupporting boys, in a misguided and futile effort to try and change or fix them.

As a 15 year old trying to understand my place in the world, I spent the rest of my highschool life trying to internalise this and “embrace the differences”. For those few years between, I decided to spend some time working on myself and learning how to calm myself down, falling victim to the argument that there is more to life than politics.

When I started university, I realised that there is something worse than being perceived as loud and political: being complacent. In 2023, Trump was found liable for sexual abuse. Whether you argue you are not politically up to date, or you like him for his economic policies, there is nothing that is more of a slap in the face to assault victims and women worldwide than backing a candidate who is a convicted sexual abuser. Finding out men in my life simply did not care was a wakeup call. Politics is always personal.

how American beliefs have become more liberal in the last 50 years. With that in mind, we’re in an intensely polarised political moment and it’s important more than ever to fight against complacency. Even in our relationships. Tinder did a study on how much politics impacts relationships, finding out that 1 in 5 people believe political apathy is a relationship dealbreaker.

The Financial Times reported that globally there’s a growing ideological gap. Women are becoming more liberal and men are becoming more conservative, and this is reflecting in their relationships. The rise of the far-right is increasingly common in our world, with Trump re-entering office, and the far-right party in Germany capturing double their 2021 percentage of votes this year during the election. Far-right beliefs are not only rising in our governmental sphere but also on social media.

NYU recently released data that discussed

empowerment and autonomy, rather than complacency within their relationship. Politics is becoming more central to our identities as issues of race, sexuality, and gender are at the forefront of most parties’ agendas and political discourse. Our political views are formed by our identity and our experiences, and when someone we date has a different view, it’s almost impossible to ignore the fact it feels like an attack — because it often is.

Conservative internet voices, like Andrew Tate and Charlie Kirk, are emboldening young men to implement conservative and misogynistic values in their relationships.

The widening division of gendered labour and expectations surrounding how to dress means it’s impossible to ignore politics within a relationship, in a society where women are beginning to truly fight for

A young man who spends his time listening to alpha podcasts that prioritise toxic masculinity will not respect a young woman fighting for abortion rights. The differences in beliefs are no longer distant enough to ignore. More than this, it’s imperative that we do not ignore them.

When we teach young women to neglect their own morals, values, and political identities in order to appease society and placate young men, we risk protecting the status quo and worse — we risk undoing all the work feminists have done so far. With so much more work to do, we have to encourage teenage girls to be critical of their relationships and continue to question the growing political gender gap that neoliberalism encourages us to ignore.

Art by Mehnaaz Hossain

Unveiling The Deep: The Astonishing Creatures Emerging From The Abyss

Kiah Nanavati explores the depths of the ocean.

Have you ever wondered what lurks in the farthest reaches of the ocean, where sunlight fades into eternal darkness, where life thrives in the most unexpected ways?

The truth is we’re still not sure. What we do know is that these inhospitable environments — under crushing pressure, in near-freezing temperatures — have been considered Earth’s final frontier. However, recent discoveries have shattered previous assumptions, unveiling a trio of deep-sea marvels that redefine our understanding of evolution, adaptation, and ecological interconnectedness.

Did you know that have only uncovered 5 percent of the ocean so far? That means 95 percent of the deep sea still holds secrets unknown to humanity, but we’re on the journey to the deep to find out. Let’s dive in!

One of the most fascinating recent finds is the Bathydevius caudactylus a bioluminescent sea slug discovered on the shores of Monterey bay in California. Unlike any known gastropod, this creature has developed an intricate bioluminescent display, to not only evade predators but also to lure unsuspecting prey, akin to a Venus flytrap of the deep. Bioluminescence in marine organisms is typically a defensive strategy, but Bathydevius has turned it into an active hunting mechanism, emitting pulses of light that momentarily confuse its prey before snaring them in its specialised feeding appendages. This adaptation is a striking example of the deep-sea evolutionary arms race. In the pitch-black environment of the abyssal plain, vision is limited,

and organisms have developed unique strategies to communicate and survive. Bioluminescence — produced by specialised photophores — is an evolutionary answer to a lack of sunlight, allowing organisms to attract mates, deter threats, and, as seen in Bathydevius, deceive prey. Scientists believe that such adaptations are driven

are disrupting deep-sea thermal layers, forcing species to migrate in search of suitable habitats. Another suggests that declining oxygen levels, caused by ocean deoxygenation, are making deeper waters inhospitable, compelling species to move toward oxygen-rich shallower zones.

If this trend continues it could have

may start exploring new environments. These migrations could have cascading effects, potentially disrupting longestablished ecological balances.

At the same time, human activities like deep-sea mining and trawling threaten these fragile ecosystems. Extracting resources from the deep could have unintended consequences, disturbing habitats before we fully understand their role in the broader oceanic system. Studying creatures like Bathydevius caudactylus and migrating anglerfish provides vital clues about the resilience of deep-sea life and the future of our oceans.

Residing amongst the eerie denizens of the bathypelagic zone (1000-4000m deep), it is also known for its grotesque appearance and bioluminescent lures. These creatures have evolved to survive in near-total darkness. Puzzlingly, some anglerfish have been observed venturing into shallower waters, an unusual behaviour that has intrigued scientists.

Why are anglerfish moving out of their natural range? Several theories exist. One possibility is that rising ocean temperatures

level

disruptions, the deep ocean is increasingly showing signs of instability. Rising temperatures, acidification, and shifts in oxygen levels are all contributing to changes in deep-sea biodiversity.

The phenomenon of deep-sea organisms moving into new ecological niches suggests that the abyss is far from static. As ocean currents fluctuate and nutrient distributions shift, species that were once confined to specific depths

The deep sea remains one of the least explored regions on Earth, with an estimated 80% of its inhabitants still undiscovered. Each new species that emerges from the abyss challenges our understanding of life’s adaptability and underscores the intricate links between deep-sea and surface ecosystems. The uncharted depths await.

As technology advances, allowing researchers to probe further into these hidden worlds, more extraordinary discoveries are sure to follow. However, the urgency to protect these environments is greater than ever. Understanding how deep-sea species adapt — or struggle to adapt — to changing oceanic conditions is crucial in shaping conservation efforts for the future. What other mysteries lie in the darkness of the ocean’s depths? Perhaps the most extraordinary creatures are yet to be discovered, waiting in the abyss to rewrite the story of life on earth.

Art by Charlotte Saker

Is This All That Will Be Left of Me?

In 1800, Spanish jurist and amateur archaeologist Marcelino Sanz de Sautuola discovered art deep within the walls of the Altamira cave systems. The markings, notable for their polychromy and advanced techniques to capture texture and movement, represented animals, land forms, humans, and abstract figures. It was the first discovery of ‘cave art’.

Modern science dates Altamira’s art as far back as 35,000 BCE. Since then, cave paintings have been found across the globe, some even older.

These artworks are significant for many reasons. Their preoccupation with the human hand tells us that human consciousness and reflexivity is not a recent development. Clearly, the making of representations and the use of creative forces is a fundamental human impulse through which consciousness is both enacted and interrogated.

We want to mark our existence, and we want to be known. On the walls of a bathroom in Level 3 of Fisher Library, another unknowable human hand has written, “Is this all that will be left of me?”

Bathroom graffiti has been interpreted as a recreation of the cave painting. A 2012 article from the Electronic Journal of Human Sexuality understood it as another representation of the need to mark our existence and communicate identity. When rock art was first discovered, the cave shifted from a crude dwelling arrangement to a site of ritual and communal significance. So too, public bathrooms offer more than a poorly-manicured place to relieve oneself. Despite the negative modern connotations of the word

Pass by the bell tower in the Quadrangle. Take a quick look up at the pole upon its crenelation. See the flag flitting in the wind. Then walk down a little further, see the three flags on the poles at the end of Eastern Avenue. Take a stroll down there too, look at the banners flying. See the many flags of this campus. Play spot the flag. You’ll be surprised at just how many there are. Who gets to decide what flies? Can I turn up here with any flag I want and throw it on any building? You have more input than you might think!

The answer to these questions is, as it so often is, contained within university policy in some vague lists and checklists. In this circumstance it is the helpfully named University of Sydney (USyd) Flag Policy 2025, a document of 11 pages, spare and sparse and spaced a little like poetry, which dictates the who, what, when, where, why

‘graffiti,’ it is derived from the Greek term grapheon, meaning simply, ‘to write’.

It sounds like a reach, but think about it. Within the public bathroom, there’s complete anonymity, total freedom of expression. The knowledge no one can ever trace anything back to you — that once you leave the stall you cease to exist as ‘author’ and become just another voice for somebody else to interpret — is freeing and deeply unsettling. There’s a transience in the empty cubicle doors swinging shut, in shoes echoing on tiled floors. It reinforces the impermanent and insignificant nature of our existence.

This week, I set myself the enviable task of touring as many female bathrooms on campus as I could. I looked for what people were saying, and what it tells us about our personal and student identity.

The Law Library latrines were arrestingly barren. Disappointing. But I suppose it’s a good thing that our future lawyers have genuine respect for public order.

More puzzling was the appearance of stickers showing AI-generated foxes dressed in royal garb that are displayed in increasingly elaborate patterns in the Wentworth Building, Education Building, and Nanoscience Hub. A comment on the absurd state of current political affairs?

A 2022 study of public toilet graffiti in the University of Zagreb’s Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences found that graffiti in a given bathroom tends to share cohesive themes. Each new ambiguously authored statement contributes to a communally-built structured dialogue. Further, the

Pia Curran takes a bathroom break.

public bathroom is traditionally gender-segregated, allowing uninhibited expression and performance of gendered identities and concerns.

I was fascinated by the markings on an old paper-towel dispenser in the Woolley Building women’s bathrooms. ‘I didn’t love him but he was all that I needed,’ someone has written. Another: ‘This doesn’t save the daughter from the mother’s fate.’ There’s ‘Know your worth,’ ‘Your outfit is slaying today’, ‘BEAUTY COMES FROM WITHIN,’ and ‘You can do it!’, to which someone has responded, ‘No I can’t.’

Unsurprisingly for a building primarily inhabited by English majors, I found numerous literary references to books by women authors. Notably, the famous “Nolite tes bastardes carborundorum”, from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, a bold statement of feminist resistance against an oppressive government. There is also what seems to be original poetry from students:

For the day is you And the light is you

And the sun is you And all the beautiful beautiful awaiting life is

you.

All of this was written on top of and around each other: different pens, colours, handwriting. It reminded me of

Flying Flags At USyd

and hows of flag-flying on campus. Let’s begin with a look at the Quadrangle bell tower flagpole policy, which dictates the flag flying at the centerpoint of so many tourist photographs.

You may have noticed it often flies a USyd flag, but every now and then there’s another one on there. Maybe it’s the Pride flag, maybe the purple white and green flag for International Women’s Day as it was recently, maybe it’s the flag of another country, maybe it’s at half mast. See what it says in the policy and behold one of the very rare parts of actual university policy where students have some (admittedly miniscule) level of input. We may request a flag to be flown here! That is as long as it reflects the university’s very real and well upheld commitment to respect, inclusion and diversity (honoured so very well recently…) Or if it is relevant to community events and special occasions.

So, start sending in flag proposals! Just pop it into the inbox of our dear vice chancellor, as is outlined via the policy.

the layering of female voices and experiences in the girls’ bathrooms on nights out. We stand repainting our lips with soft, deft strokes. We darken our eyelashes, and in the corner of the mirror, my friend’s cat-eye liner looks like a shard of glass. Behind us, strangers give out sex advice and swap Instagrams.

The bathroom is a space of community that is, by its very nature, fragmentary. We pass in and out of these spaces as we pass in and out of different versions of ourselves. Much has been said about the increasingly fragmented nature of the self in the modern era, but I think that it’s always been that way. Especially for women; we’re constantly shifting, curating versions of ourselves that other people will deem ‘okay’. We’ve got to look right, study right, eat right, love right, work right, mother right. It’s hard sometimes to feel like a whole person. I see my body in fragments, I do my makeup in fragments, and I write in fragments. But sometimes, in the girls’ bathroom, I see other versions of myself and my experience reflected back at me.

These fragments are elusive, but they’re all we have. We can never know anything, least of all ourselves, as a whole. Human bodies rarely appeared on the walls of ancient caves, but rather, fragments of the body. It’s the human hand, by which we see and understand ourselves as creators, by which we press into pigment or curl around a Sharpie to ask, again and again,

Who am I?; What will be left of me?

Sebastien Tuzilovic looks into who lets what fly on campus.

It would be a great shame if there was an inundation of flag proposals for every conceivable event and holiday finding its way into his inbox. Then if approved, our daring Yeoman Bedell will go fly the thing. They’re a group of people who help with the maintenance of the quad.

And what of just random flags? Can I carry any old flag onto campus? Is there a size limit? Can I bring the biggest flag ever made onto the Quad Lawns and walk around with it?

Yes! The Flag Policy states that “it may be appropriate for flags to be displayed on University lands for a short time without prior approval”. You may actually bring whatever flag you want onto campus and carry it around outside as long as it’s not offensive or inappropriate, doesn’t damage the uni, risk safety, block light or “contravene any university policies”. It also mustn’t be flown in a way to seem as though the uni supports it, so no putting it on buildings! But there is nothing much stopping one from turning up at uni and

walking around with really whatever 30-foot flag you like, apart from sheer determination and maybe an awkward bus ride.

Given the university’s regular open hostility to dissent, I’m not sure how this would work out in practice. The university’s policy on flags that are offensive or inappropriate gives them an inordinate amount of power over what flies, and their ambiguous definition of these criteria gives them an enormous amount of wiggle room to prevent any flag-related action that they disagree with. The university’s much-lampooned Campus Access Policy also has serious implications for this. While the Flag Policy is theoretically a separate policy, the inperson management of and responses to campus activities from USyd itself is not so clear. Like all policies concerning student activities, it presents a picture of openness, community and ‘vibrant student life’, while working to effectively stifle that which it claims to uphold, through vagaries and obscurant language.

Art by Victor Zhang

Boeing and Nothingness: The Existentialist Case for Travel

In Pyrrhus and Cynéas (1944), Simone de Beauvoir stages a conversation between Pyrrhus, the king of Epirus born in 318 BCE, and Cinéas, his adviser. They discuss the rationality of Pyrrhus leaving home to conquer the world. Cinéas claims Pyrrhus’ conquests will be futile. Cinéas asks: “Why not rest now? What’s the use of leaving if it is only to return home?” If there is no ‘end’ that can be attained, if each minute I leap from task to task, with no end in sight — What’s the use of starting? One might say the same about a backpacking trip.

I noticed a similar rhetoric in philosopher Agnes Callard’s essay and book, ‘The Case Against Travel’. She characterises travel as a boomerang that puts the tourist right back where they left. I agree with Callard on the annoying and self-congratulatory trappings of travelling. Proclaiming travel as a personality trait is a cheat code to appearing more interesting, a postured and easy indicator of ‘cool’. If we quantify being interesting as the sum of different experiences in a man’s life, then sure, an avid traveller might win, having ‘seen’ more than someone hooked to their laptop in the comfort of their own abode. Travel certainly makes for a hell of a story: the backpacking memoirs — Shantaram, Walk, Into the Wild, and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road — is a microgenre of gospel. Many men of the Western World are spurred on

by Anthony Bourdain, the late chef turned writer turned TV host of ‘Parts Unknown’. Bourdain champions a style of solo travelling characterised by recklessness on the fritz which mainly able-bodied male could do unscathed — I roll my eyes out of envy. I’m also embittered by an archetype of traveller that conjures the image of a ‘conqueror’. Is the first-world backpacker the metamorphosis of the coloniser, normalised and welcomed to sustain the tourism dependent economies of the Global South? Their practice treats the world as a belt on which each culture is a mere notch.

However, travel is not a bandaid to patch up a vacancy in a person’s lacking self. We may scurry to foreign lands but we cannot forget ourselves. As Seneca writes: “To be everywhere is to be nowhere”. Bourdain acknowledged that his frenzied pace of travelling might have arisen from a fear of being alone with the dark thoughts that caused him to take his own life. In an industrialised society, the facticity of our nine-to-fives strangles us and our jobs infiltrate our consciousnesses with constant notifications from email inboxes. Changing our SIM cards upon arriving on distant shores constitutes a rare freedom from the banality of our lives, but is travel a false leap that helps us ignore our festering dissatisfaction? I’m sceptical whenever someone feels

Will Winter yells at you from the slurmobile.

When I first realised I was gay, I refused to say the word aloud.

I would look in the mirror, open my mouth, and I’d swallow all the nervous spit build up only to tuck my head away shamefully. For several months I exclusively told myself I was “homosexual” because it was the one phrasing the kids at my school didn’t use as an insult.

Now, it’s not uncommon for me to toss a slur or two into every couple of sentences I say. I tend to do this exclusively in queer circles, and absolutely away from professional or family environments. I like to spice it up a bit, not just the typical ones you’d expect like homo, queer, f*g, but some classics too, sprinkling in a “fairy” and a “poof” when you’re digging for something more colourful to express your exasperation.

It’s a delicate act, and a consistent discourse, as to what measures we take before saying slurs. The first barrier is deciding which terms fall under this

Kuyili

compelled to recount how a tramp around a developing country changed them. Couldn’t you just as well have done shrooms in your home to discover that same empathy?

Collecting souvenirs, photos, and contrived stories, we accumulate proof of life, a narrative of travel motivated towards producing a perfect Instagram ‘photo-dump’. In a recent trip to Mysore Zoo (against my will), the throng of visitors shoving towards the cages and railings to capture videos with dismal camerawork on smartphones made me even more depressed than seeing animals in captivity. Is touristing just treating a country like a zoo? Callard calls this travel’s ‘dehumanising effect’. This raises the ethical question of tourists indulging in the hospitality of their obliging hosts, as Bourdain encourages, without necessarily compensating them in return despite earning in stronger currencies like the US dollar or Euro.

Callard decries the meaningless ‘locomotion’ of travel, asking like Cinéas: “They may speak of their travel as though it were transformative… but will you be able to notice a difference?” The truth is that there are “neither absolute ends nor guaranteed justifications for our projects”; however, from an existentialist perspective, it is unavoidable to travel.

Karthik existentialises.

In spite of the futility of any action on this Earth, the human perversion of needing to move is an essential condition of humanity. Beauvoir writes: I rest in order to leave again. An existentialist ethic of travel demands, in a way, what Callard does: to do away with some pretense that we are affected profoundly by seeing the Vatican or the Mona Lisa. No experience, at home or abroad, holds any more value than another, only the value it takes on in the bumbling, deferential, ingratiating tourist’s eyes. We shouldn’t insist on a meaning to attribute to travel. Like Pyrrhus, we can set out to travel, conquer the rest of the world to no avail — or we can shrivel to a resigned point while feeling overburdened by the infinity of the earth.

Full Article Available Online

Who gets to say the f-slur?

banner. The next is deciding who gets to say them, and who gets to hear them. Then there’s intention.

How much fire do you have in your heart when you speak that word?

When we dig into the trenches of intersectionality, we find a beautiful kaleidoscope of a historically problematic lexicon with a variety of intonations. The concept of slurs is a fascinating one, because the severity of a slur changes so drastically depending on its context: who is saying it, who is receiving it, how do these two groups identify, who is around to hear it, do these parties know the context, and what is the intent?

Take this string of hypotheticals and wear it like a pearl necklace: everyone in the LGBTQ+ community gets to say “queer”, and so does everyone else, as long as it’s said without malice on the tongue. My parents don’t like to because their context for the word from when they were young is one that’s inherently derogatory, yet my context suggests it to

be a purely objective term, referring broadly to the umbrella of non-heterosexuality. “Queer” is one of those infamous ‘reclaimed’ slurs, though that also depends on who you talk to.

I can say “f*g”, and whilst I can also say “f*ggot”, those terms come with different weights. One can be a fun jab at another queer who expresses love for their same-sex partner, but the other always holds a little heavier in the heart. We don’t use that one as often.

With a precursory consent check, I can say “d*ke” to some femme-aligned individuals. Drag queens love this one, which gets optically messy when they’re aligned with the traditional identity of ‘men dressed as women’. Bulldagger, which is a shortening of the phrase “bulldagger d*ke”, follows a similar set of rules. What does surprise me is how few people my age know what “bulldagger” means. For reference, a “bulldagger” refers to a very butch lesbian, and is another one wof those ‘classic’ terms.

Art by

Emilie Garcia-Dolnik

Akanksha Agarwal finds her home. Spoiler alert: It’s not a place.

My rooftop in Kensington directly faces the sea, the city, and the sun. There is a single moment before the sun sets, where the sky blazes a saturated pink. Soft blues and purple hues blend into an endless haze before the lights turn off. A fleeting blink and you might miss the moment entirely. Yet, when I close my eyes, I am almost transported back to the moment. When I feel distanced from the younger versions of myself, the many places I have called home (from familiarity, or loved ones) there is a certain comfort in staring at a sky, which, despite its daily configurations, dutifully drains of colour before being washed anew.

In Colombo, the sun was always an obliging extra to my childhood; spanning wind, waves, and a certain carelessness that I miss. There was a sense of security amid tsunamis of change, threats of bombs, and a house that was literally ensnared by snakes. We could not hold on to our turtles for long, before nature reminded us she was truly in charge. During my first sleepover, my friend went to sleep with her parents in the night, and as I knocked on her parents door to ask about her whereabouts, her mum sleepily replied, “Alice is sleeping with us.” I remember feeling a sense of peace, despite being young and out of home. I signed up for talent shows, sporting the flashiest colours without a care in the world, shamelessly tasting every tea at the Dilmah Tea Factory without paying a cent. It’s funny how quickly the self-consciousness of adulthood then set in.

Sometimes, I take myself out for a surf to be sloshed, beaten, and punched by sun-streaked waves, until my head feels light and my lips crack. There is occasionally a moment, while being tossed like a rag in a high-speed washer, where I teleport to the time I almost drowned on a donut boat in an ocean I cannot name. Upon witnessing dolphins gliding across dancing waves in Bondi, I am taken back to a trip in the Bahamas where I kissed a dolphin, and I

I wouldn’t dare use the word “tr*nny”, with the bitterness it harbours in its heart. However, “tr*nny chaser” becomes a much more viable phrase, since it flips who the insult is directed at. Bisexuals have gotten away with a lot, including the privilege of the most expansive dating pool, but they also don’t have any specific slurs for their identity. If anything they hold the simultaneous burden of having these words thrown at them, but also an internal guilt as to whether they truly get to say the words too. Doesn’t it sort of make you sad that they don’t get properly included?

For queers, slurs are a way for us to bond. Reading, our beloved pastime which invokes curatorial insults at others, is our way of building connection. We recognise the ways in which we’re isolated by society and we flip them, we laugh at them, and we choose to not set those parts of ourselves aside, but rather cherish and uplift them.

Of course, in all of these scenarios, my (wellmeaning) friends and I will do a quick little check

can almost feel its skin. Sydney’s winding, inclined paths remind me that you can only see so far ahead until a new adventure calls.

Hyderabad, my paper home, had the most beautiful rocks that stood so resolute that they upstaged their impressionist background. The sun was everywhere, all of a sudden boiling, making my skin itch and feet burn. Irani samosas (pastries filled with spicy onions), biryani bonding sessions with my mum, and the unwavering strength of the land, despite being treated as an afterthought by many. I learned more about people and friendships, and lost myself to books every bus ride back home. My heritage from the North met my lived experience in the South to create a strange but priceless liminal space. The vibrancy of festivals like Holi and Diwali, and the generosity of entire communities embedded in the culture made me feel part of a larger, living whole.

With the whirlwind of teenage years came a modernity, ease, and ambition that only a place like Singapore could have instilled within me. It was a schooling not just in futuristic design, architecture, and seamless services, but the pressure we sometimes put on ourselves to attain ideals. I had never seen such a large, shiny school with an emphasis on service and unity celebrating differences:where my individuality was a strength, not a stigma. The size of the art studios brought back my childhood glee instantaneously. I learned about clubbing, gel nails, and Sylvia Plath — all of which I realised were not my cup of tea.

The first day, as we were floating in the air above Victoria, I felt a deep pit in my stomach. The denselit petri dish of Singapore at night was replaced by darkness from the sky. I had no sundial. This was not part of the plan, but Melbourne seemed to understand me, and with the shedding of fall leaves, so did my idealised university experience. The hot chocolate at Castros, with a hint of cinnamon, luxury vanilla slices and sunrises were like

that the other person is okay to hear them before we speak these words into existence. You’d be surprised how well a joke can land even after you light up the runway for landing.

Reclaiming slurs can feel transcendent when it’s done right.

Not every community will be as willing or ready to perform this act, and there is no monolithic approach to how we address slurs. However, without our slurs, we lose our history. The queer community is built on the blood and bones of decades of institutional and personal resistance. We persist in the face of active language repression by both conservative legislators and tone-policers. We absorb invective hurled at us out of passing cars to thicken the skin we carry under our dresses.

When I call myself and my friends “f*ggy” for looking, dressing, or acting a certain way, I do it for the boy in Year Nine who heard his friends call him a “f*g” behind his back and, afraid to speak up,

none I had ever seen. The sun was large and bright, and seemed to race me to rise earlier, insistent that each day enclosed another opportunity to embrace unfamiliarity.

Frankly, Sydney wasn’t on the cards for me either. In truth, I was dreaming of other places. I was in love with the idea of love, and found myself in many selfconfrontations. My entire life seems to have been in pursuit of a narrative that fits. A ‘globetrotter, ‘traveller’, ‘world citizen’. The more I see of the world, the more I feel that no place defines me.No matter where I yearn to go, or where I have been, my identity is not bound by my context. Whether in ten years time, my time in Australia ‘makes sense’ to fit my life’s narrative or not, I have stopped trying to connect the dots and let the story find me as it has done thus far.

I once asked someone in Bogotá, who had lived across many places, which one they loved most. They said it was impossible to choose,because in each, they had been a different version of themselves. Maybe that’s what flags really are. Not just borders, not just allegiances, but markers of who we once were, who we are becoming, and all the in-between spaces where we find ourselves suspended, waiting.

went home to write poetry. Yeah, sometimes I’m so gay that it necessitates a bit of a more descriptive label. That’s my freedom calling. That’s the part of me which is so deeply ingrained in my bones that its remnants will be the last to dissolve when my body is finally collapsed and incinerated.

Besides, there’s no greater joy in life then calling a well-intentioned straight man “fag” and watching him squirm. That’s what I call reparations.

Art by Akanksha Agarwal

Art by Will Winter

Would you Swipe Right on Bangladesh?

When you hear “red flag” or “green flag,” you probably think of bad relationships, dating disasters, and too many therapy TikToks. But what if I told you there’s a flag that’s both? A flag that is literally a red flag inside a green flag.

Welcome to Bangladesh.

Our flag isn’t just fabric: it’s a whole mindset. It’s the blood of those who fought for our language, our freedom, our

right to exist. It’s resilience, hope, and the way we get back up no matter what. My flag doesn’t just represent my country — it shapes how I see my people and my heritage.

Bangladeshis are walking contradictions, and I say that with love.

Red Flag: You can piss in public, but can’t kiss in public. Green Flag: We wrote the most romantic poetry in history — Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda — where one stolen glance in the rain is enough for a whole love story. Bangladeshis don’t need PDA. We have poetry and repressed emotions.

Red Flag: We fight for democracy, but somehow elections are already decided before the votes are even counted.

Green Flag: When we do protest? Oh, we make history. (Shahbagh, Holey Artisan, July Massacre — take your pick, bestie.)

Red Flag: Everyone is in a hurry, but no one is on time.

Green Flag: That’s just Bangladesh Standard Time (BST). Your wedding invite said 6pm? That means dinner at 11pm.

How My Heritage Shapes My Worldview

Being Bangladeshi has taught me that resilience isn’t just survival; it’s finding joy in the wreckage. It’s learning to laugh even when the floodwater rises to your doorstep. It’s making the best biryani even when the gas runs out and using a hand-fan to keep the flames alive. It’s turning blackouts into storytelling nights, disaster into routine, crisis into something almost normal

I see it in the rickshaw-walas who refuse to let knee-deep water stop them from earning a day’s wage, just to fund their child’s education. I see it in the aunties who cook for an entire neighborhood during Ramadan, even when groceries cost more than their salaries. I see it in

Tanish Tanjil isn’t toxic, just patriotic.

We are chaos and order, struggle and survival, a mess, and a miracle.

We have political drama, power cuts, and floods that turn roads into rivers. But we also have poetry in our DNA (thanks, Tagore & Nazrul), strangers who treat you like family after five minutes (Bhaiya, please? Ji, Apu!), and a food culture so spicy it could spark a diplomatic crisis. Hilsa with or without mustard? Dhaka vs. Kolkata biryani?

Red Flag: Every government since independence has been a never-ending family drama that makes the shows on Star Plus look weak.

Green Flag: Doesn’t matter — we protest, adapt, and keep going. We don’t just love our country; we give our lives for it. We’ve been laying down our lives for Bangladesh since our independence in 1971 and we haven’t stopped since.

Red Flag: Power cuts that turn your Zoom meeting into a ghosting session.

Green Flag: No electricity? No problem. We light a candle, grab some cha, and call it a vibe. Load shedding makes dinner by candlelight a weekly ritual.

Red Flag: Floods, cyclones, and climate disasters every year.

the protesters who march, drenched in rain, because their voices matter more than their comfort.

I still remember the monsoons of my childhood. My friends and I adored dancing in the rain. The first rain would smell of warm dust and the end of summer. Then the streets would fill up — not just with water, but with life. Children racing paper boats down overflowing drains; rickshaw-walas knee-deep in water, pushing their cycles like warriors; vendors rowing through alleyways, calling out ‘gorom shingara!’ like nothing had changed. The roads were rivers, but we weren’t afraid. We played. We adapted. We made it work.

These days, summers burn hotter. The floods don’t just come — they take. The

Or, even better, hear this: Keka Ferdousi’s Noodles Shawarma! These debates have ended friendships, heated family dinners, and divided nations (okay, maybe not nations, but definitely Facebook groups). I’m not exaggerating.

And here’s the thing — no matter how many red flags you throw at Bangladeshis, we’ll flip them into green.

Green Flag: The first people to show up with food, shelter, and help are ordinary Bangladeshis. Before the government, before NGOs, before international aid, we’ve already set up a relief fund.

Red Flag: Roads, bridges, and buildings that collapse when it rains too hard.

Green Flag: Our rickshaw pullers, boatmen, and street vendors still make it work, still hustle, still survive like superheroes. Dhaka traffic has been scientifically proven to be a black hole, yet CNG drivers will still find a “shortcut.”

Red Flag: Corruption at every level.

Green Flag: If memes could overthrow a government, we’d be world leaders. We made a whole stock market crash because someone stole a goat.

streets aren’t playgrounds anymore; they’re escape routes. The water rises higher, but the boats are fewer. The vendors are gone. The laughter is quieter.

And yet—that spirit of finding light in the dark is still prevalent.

“Amar shonar Bangla, ami tomay bhalobashi

Chirodin tomar akash, tomar batash Amar prane bajay bashi.”

“My golden Bengal, I love you. Forever your skies, your air, Play like a flute in my soul.”

Rabindranath Tagore wrote these lines in 1905, when Bengal was being divided by the British. This song, our national anthem, is a love letter to the land, and a promise that no matter how much they tried to break us, we would remain whole. Today, it still holds true.

Bangladesh is a walking red flag, wrapped in a green flag — born from resistance, built on sacrifice, and carried forward by people who never learned how to give up. And isn’t that what love is?

A country is like a relationship — messy, complicated, and impossible not to love. So… would you swipe right on Bangladesh?

Free To Be (Late): 2025 Mardi Gras

Imogen Sabey is a sucker for a media pass.

My first Mardi Gras was not your typical first Mardi Gras experience. I began with a ramen at a side alley off King St, which would ordinarily be popping off on a Saturday night. But on that night, the only people around were tragically heterosexual. My mum had assured me that it would be totally fine to have dinner in Newtown an hour before the parade began, but my scepticism increased with every passing minute. Theoretically, the parade didn’t start until seven, if it did begin on time, but the media bay was quite far along the route. The floats were famously slow, right? They were crawling at a snail’s pace, so they probably wouldn’t get to the media bay before me. It would be a breeze.

I found myself on the T2 line at five to seven, surrounded by people in conspicuously bland clothing. The train inched forward a

metre a minute, and even had the audacity to stop for a whole forty-seven seconds. My life flickered before my eyes.

When I disembarked at Central at quarter past seven, there were signs all over the place saying ‘OXFORD ST FULL. GO TO MOORE PARK’. This wasn’t an option for me. Moore Park was kilometres away, and I’d need to go there and loop around the northern side in order to get to my destination, which was next to the Oxford Hotel. At Central the crowds seemed barely thicker than an ordinary Saturday. There was a faint tension in the air, and a distant thumping sound.

I marched past several more signs, all glowing orange and tall enough to surpass my head. A handful of officers told me that Oxford St was full to the brim, and that there would be absolutely no way I could get in. I persisted, with grim

determination. The weight of Honi was heavy on my shoulders, and nothing short of Kylie Minogue herself could stop me.

The crowds got thicker in increments, like an indolent meringue. I spied the tail end of the parade: a queue of dozens of floats, suspended on Wentworth Ave as they waited for their turn. Barricades appeared out of nowhere, and my brisk walking pace slowed as I tried to weave between the masses. After about fifteen minutes of trying to wiggle past people, I realised, to my horror, that I was on the southern side of the road, and that I needed to be on the northern side in order to get to the media bay. Crossing Oxford St during Mardi Gras would be as tall an order as crossing the Pacific Ocean in a paddleboat.

I made several enemies as I manoeuvred back through the crowds and looped all the way around Hyde Park. The northern side

of Darlinghurst was awash with leatherclad twentysomethings, drag queens, and house parties in terraces that spilled onto the street. I was getting a bit desperate by this point and started running to get to my destination — something that I’ve been doing concerningly often since becoming an editor.

When I got to the Oxford Hotel, I had absolutely no idea where my media bay was. It was a little red X on the map on my iPhone, but the crowds were jammed in so tightly that I could barely move a muscle. I asked a security guard, who directed me to the left with more confidence than he inspired. I followed a string of people squishing through a barricade to cross a street, and found myself at another corner with just as many people and no security guards. I shouted to two men in hi-vis who were sitting atop a truck to enjoy the view

Art by Tanish Tanjil

Photo credit: Imogen Sabey

Blood-Red Banners: The Forgotten Flags of Filipino Revolution

Marc Paniza explores the hidden flags of the Phillipines.

The current Philippine flag with its blue and red horizontal bands, white triangle, golden sun, and three stars has become the internationally recognized symbol of Filipino identity. It is, however, in the revolutionary banners of the Katipunan where a deeper, more visceral expression of Filipino resistance was born. These forgotten flags, with their blood-red backgrounds and powerful symbols, reveal the radical foundations of Filipino nationalism that continue to resonate with diaspora communities today.

The first Filipino flags emerged from Andres Bonifacio’s secret revolutionary society, the Kataastaasan, Kagalanggalangang

Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan (Supreme and Honorable Association of the Children of the Nation), commonly known as the Katipunan or KKK. It is important to note that despite sharing the same acronym, this revolutionary group has absolutely no connection to the American white supremacist organisation. Far from the simplified nationalism of the modern flag, these revolutionary banners represented immediate, urgent resistance against colonial oppression.

The most recognizable early flag, crafted by Benita Rodriguez and Bonifacio’s wife Gregoria de Jesus, featured a stark red background with white “KKK” letters prominently displayed. This crimson canvas wasn’t chosen for mere visual impact. The red symbolised blood itself, specifically that of Katipunan members who signed their names with their own blood during initiation ceremonies, forming a literal blood compact of revolutionary brotherhood.

While various configurations of the KKK initials existed, sometimes arranged in a row, sometimes in a triangular pattern, and sometimes featuring just a single “K,” the blood red background remained constant, a visceral reminder of sacrifice.

of the parade, to ask them if they’d seen a media bay. They shook their heads. I briefly considered asking if I could perch on top of the truck with them and do coverage from there.

I went back to my starting spot and asked for help from people at the ABC contingent (who had a gigantic bay all for themselves, the lucky ducks). They directed me to the right, and I followed their directions and found myself in more crowds. After much arguing and a bit of pleading, they gave me more comprehensive directions. I spotted an iron barricade, within which were two dozen journalists holding cameras the length of my arm. There were a few volunteers in pink vests who were busy watching the parade, and I trod on several toes and clambered past grouchy spectators as I hollered and waved my arms. Eventually I managed to catch the attention of one, who told me at first that I didn’t have permission to go in before he spotted my orange media pass. Thank God for the orange media pass.

These were symbols of liberation.

The evolution of Katipunan flags reveals the developing revolutionary consciousness. General Pio del Pilar’s variant featured an equilateral triangle with a “K” at each angle and a rising sun behind a mountain, symbolic elements that would later influence the modern Philippine flag. The triangle represented liberty, equality, and fraternity, revolutionary concepts borrowed from Masonic traditions that heavily influenced the Katipunan. These symbolic elements would later influence the modern Philippine flag, though often stripped of their revolutionary urgency.

Bonifacio’s own banner, featuring a sunburst design with KKK letters beneath, was unfurled during the historic Cry of Pugadlawin on August 23, 1896 when Filipinos tore up their Spanish issued residence cards in defiance. This flag saw its baptism in blood just a week later during the Battle of San Juan del Monte, the Philippine Revolution’s first major engagement. In this bloody confrontation on August 30, 1896, over 800 Katipuneros led by Bonifacio attacked Spanish artillery positions, suffering heavy casualties that galvanised the revolutionary cause throughout the archipelago.

Perhaps most striking was General Mariano Llanera’s black flag with a white “K” alongside a skull and crossbones. Known as Bungo ni Llanera (Llanera’s Skull), this macabre banner flew over revolutionary troops in Bulacan, Tarlac, Pampanga, and Nueva Ecija, a stark challenge to Spanish authority and a promise of relentless resistance unto death.

The Masonic influence on Katipunan symbolism extended beyond the flags to elaborate initiation rituals. Santiago Alvarez of the Magdiwang council described an initiation room containing a skull and crossbones from a human skeleton, weapons, and a paper with

He came over and told me to climb; it was too cramped for him to move the barricade to let me in. I swung a pantsuit-clad leg over the fence, makeup streaked by tears, before toppling into the arms of my hot pink saviour. I had missed the first thirty floats and failed in my journalistic duty, but fortunately the parade would go on for another three hours and I don’t think anyone noticed (although I suppose they will now). I’d missed the iconic Dykes on Bikes, but I got an eyeful of Jeremy Fernandez in his luminous turquoise suit. This year’s Mardi Gras theme was Free To Be, and I have a gigantic hot pink fan to prove it. The festival took place from the 14th of February to the 2nd of March, featuring over 80 events.

The most memorable floats were gigantic and ostentatious, such as a pole dancers’ float which featured a dance floor on wheels, complete with half a dozen men in varying layers of leather twisting around poles. Another was the furry contingent, who somehow made it all the way down

“blood coloured characters.” The walls featured a black banner with skull and crossbones beneath three “K” letters arranged as a tripod.

Meanwhile, the Magdalo faction in Cavite adopted a culturally significant banner featuring a red background with a white sun and the baybayin character for ‘Ka’, connecting revolutionary symbology to pre-colonial Filipino sun worship while maintaining the blood-red canvas that unified revolutionary iconography. This profound connection to native heritage continues today, as modern Filipino activists and progressive organizations use “Ka” (short for “Kasama” meaning “comrade”) as an honorific prefix to names—from labor leaders like Ka Crispin Beltran to prominent figures in leftist movements such as Ka Satur Ocampo, signifying solidarity, equality, and collective struggle in a direct lineage from the Katipunan’s revolutionary tradition.

The revolutionary symbolism extended to the members themselves, who wore different coloured hoods during meetings based on their rank. First degree members (Katipon) wore black hoods with the initials Z.LI.B (corresponding to A.N.B for Anak ng Bayan, Children of the Nation) inside a triangle. Second degree members (Kawal) wore green hoods with the same initials arranged differently. The highest rank, Bayani (Heroes), wore red masks with KKK arranged in a triangular pattern inside a triangle. This hierarchy of revolutionary commitment, visually coded in colors and symbols, reveals how the Katipunan understood resistance as requiring different levels of dedication and risk taking, a nuanced approach to revolutionary organization often overlooked in simplified historical accounts. This nuanced approach to organizing resistance speaks directly to contemporary Filipino activists who recognize that decolonisation is not merely an intellectual exercise but demands concrete action and different

Oxford St inside gigantic furry costumes without suffering from heat exhaustion.

One crowd favourite was Surf Life Savers with Pride, a float which featured several dozen people in matching swimwear and budgie smugglers, who shone in the light from a mix of sweat and body glitter. They received raucous applause when they dropped to the floor and started doing push ups. Andrew, one of the life savers marching in the parade, had spoken to Honi prior to the parade: “We’ve been through five rehearsals over the last two and a half weeks. There’s choreography, we’ve got some accessories, we’re in our uniform, and there’s always pushups in our routine.” He added that the importance of having the float was that “we’re visible, it’s an inclusive space, it doesn’t discriminate… what people usually see as a male-dominated organisation is inclusive of everyone.”

The Glitter Babes were the last to round out the parade, blazing forth in a gigantic Viking boat. Fiona and Michelle, two of

levels of commitment in the ongoing struggle against modern oppression.

While the modern Philippine flag has become the standard bearer of Filipino national identity, these forgotten revolutionary flags speak more directly to contemporary Filipino resistance, resilience, and pride. For diaspora communities like here in Sydney, the blood red Katipunan banners represent a more radical heritage of resistance, one that demands absolute commitment rather than mere symbolic allegiance. These revolutionary symbols embody the deeper Filipino value of kapwa (shared identity) in its most profound form that moves beyond the surface interactions of pakikitungo (civility) and pakikisama (going along with the group) to the deeper connections of pakikipagkaisa (being one with others) that formed the spiritual foundation of the Katipunan’s blood compact. For Filipino communities worldwide, reclaiming these flags means embracing a revolutionary understanding of kapwa that transcends colonial boundaries and unites all who struggle for justice and liberation.

As Filipino communities worldwide engage with questions of identity and decolonisation, these forgotten flags deserve reconsideration not as mere historical curiosities, but as powerful symbols of a revolutionary tradition that continues to inspire resistance against contemporary forms of oppression. In their stark colors and bold symbols, they remind us that Filipino identity was forged not only through diplomatic negotiations but through blood soaked struggle against colonial power.

the participants, told Honi that they were “marching for the freedom of being here in Sydney. It’s really important to show the world & all the kids and people in Australia that we’re free to be us.”

The parade ended in a blaze of glory: literally, there were bursts of fire coming from somewhere to my left. The air was thick with confetti, my phone battery was nearly dead, and I felt a strange mix of exhilarated and exhausted. Jeremy’s suit had disappeared. Crowds flowed out of Oxford St like a liquid rainbow. The night ended in the morning, and the glitter lingered on my skin for a long, long time.

Are those kitten heels the window to your soul?

Has this ever happened to you? If so, you may be entitled to financial compensation!

You’ve found the perfect outfit: black patent leather kitten heels, maroon stockings, a grey pinstripe mini suit skirt, and an offthe-shoulder grey woollen sweater. You step out, ready to serve, only to come face to face with another person wearing a nearly identical outfit? Well, if it has, you are not alone. Screenshots of a TikTok depicting this exact incident were posted to Twitter recently, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

I don’t have TikTok (and no, I don’t use Instagram reels either) so I didn’t think much about the outfit itself.

However, those who did have TikTok chuckled knowingly at the outfit, as it revealed what was apparently an amateurish faux pas: flagging how much screen time you have.

The signs that flagged what tags, trends, and aesthetics this woman followed were lost on me, but clearly they meant

something to those in the loop. They were even sufficiently ubiquitous and welldefined such that this woman was able to encounter another person with the exact same inspiration. In the absence of her stylistic döppleganger, I wouldn’t have considered that her attire was flagging her consumption of certain online content, but when I did, I promptly soured on the outfit. But it begs the question: why did everyone have this knee-jerk negative reaction to this person flagging her preferred ‘-core aesthetic’, or ‘vibe’, when we have flagged certain things to others through fashion for decades?

For example, flagging queerness through fashion, using signals understood only by the community, has a long and venerable history. In 1892, Oscar Wilde instructed his friends to wear a green carnation, which soon became an accessory that flagged that you were a man attracted to men. In 1920s Paris, cosmopolitan lesbians gathered at the bar Le Monocle, dressed in sailors’ outfits and monocles. In New York City in the ‘50s and ‘60s, Stormé DeLarverie wore perfectly tailored men’s suits, inspiring fellow lesbians. Although the carabiner has been recognised as a lesbian flag since the mid-20th century,

its status as such has endured and made its way into the contemporary popular consciousness. It has been explicitly recognised in the 2015 musical adaption of Alison Bechdel’s memoir Fun Home, during a song quite literally titled Ring of Keys, which is an ode to the feeling of belonging upon seeing a woman wearing a carabiner.

The feeling of belonging and solidarity is precisely what these digital-age fashion flags lack. When others in public flag that they follow the same social media trends, it instead sparks feelings of animosity and embarrassment. Although both examples are essentially an exercise in mimicry, these old-school fashion flags, such as queer flags, reflected your identity and by extension, shared principles and values, such as the bravery to defy norms and risk abuse. How could taking part in the most recent trend flag anything about who you are, when that mimicry is not tethered to anything but scrolling mindlessly? The internet means we are exposed to styles without interacting with the music, politics, and common interests and identity that anchor these trends. Thus, the system of flagging through fashion loses its basis in reality. Instead of flagging the actual life

Flags We Carry Quietly

There is no flag for us. Not really.

Lesbians have always lived in codes, in glances, in the art of recognition. Our history was never written in the open, and so we stitched it into fabric, into poetry, into the way we carried ourselves. We pressed our love into the margins of literature, tucked it between the bars of Sappho’s verse, carved it into initials on tree trunks where no one would think to look.

We learned to find each other through signs—through violets exchanged in secret, through rings on middle fingers, through a well-placed handkerchief peeking out of a pocket. In Paris salons and speakeasies, in the smoky corners of bars where women danced together for the first time, we spoke in the language of the unspoken. A glance held a second too long. The slow drag of a cigarette. A name carefully chosen, deliberately shared.

But for femme lesbians, this language was never made for us.

There is no universal emblem, no single symbol that marks us as both femme and unquestionably, undeniably queer. No effortless recognition in a sea of strangers. No shorthand that grants us entry into spaces that should already feel like home. We walk the world with a strange kind of duality, slipping between the safety of assumed heterosexuality and the grief of being erased by it. The world sees softness and assumes it belongs to a man. It sees lipstick and assumes it is worn for the male

gaze. It sees a dress and does not consider, for even a second, that it might have been chosen with a woman in mind.

We are here, and yet unseen. Too queer for the world at large, not queer enough for the spaces meant to embrace us. We are the unspoken question, the uncertain glance, the double-take that never quite resolves.

To be femme and lesbian is to exist in a state of misrecognition. It is to know that your love will always be misunderstood. It is the dull, constant ache of being assumed straight in every room you enter. It is the hesitation before a first date—does she know? Does she believe you? It is the quiet, persistent exhaustion of having to explain. To justify. To answer the everpresent, subtly demanding question: Are you sure?

History tells us stories of butch and androgynous lesbians who carved out space through visibility, who embraced defiance in a world that sought to erase them. And for that, they deserve reverence. Along with their defining strides there remains another kind of survival, a quieter one, a history written in the

Ava Edwards is flagging down fashion offenders.

you enjoy within these subcultures and communities, so much of our style these days reflects what nobody wants to be reminded of: the amount of time we waste on our phones, our dead time.

Fashion flags may not ever serve the purpose they once did, but these feelings of bitterness and unease are avoidable. It just takes effort. Punks in the ‘70s would create their outfits by cutting up secondhand clothes and bashing them together. Even though the idea was not ‘original’, per se, each item of clothing had a unique story, expressing creation, rather than consumption. Take a leaf out of this book: take the time to go to concerts, speeches and partake in communities that you connect with, and people-watch there. Scour thrift stores yourself rather than purchasing someone’s Amazon basket, and you may find that all eyes are on you when you go out, not because you’ve unwittingly dressed identically to a complete stranger, but as others look to you and see something in your life they connect with.

Ananya Thirumalai is femme, unapologetic.

margins and footnotes. There have always been femmes among us—women who loved women and looked like someone’s sister, someone’s mother, someone’s wife. Women who walked into rooms where their queerness was invisible, and carried that weight alone.

The bars where our ancestors found refuge in the 1950s—where butches and femmes created something sacred—do not remember us now. We are a lost dialect of an old language. There was a time when being a femme meant something inextricable from queerness, when it was a choice made boldly and without apology. And yet, over time, our culture has thinned. The world does not know how to recognise us anymore. Sometimes, neither does our own community.

Queerness, as a whole, is a visual language. A culture of signs and signifiers, of understanding before words. But when your queerness is not immediately legible, when it is stitched into the softness of your voice or the deliberate application of lipstick rather than a convenient outward marker, you become a question mark even among your own. There is a particular ache in knowing that, even in the spaces built for us, we must still ask to be seen.

So we try to flag in whispers. A small rainbow pendant, resting just below the collarbone. A carefully chosen book carried into a café. A quote from The Price of Salt hidden in a dating profile. A song lyric from Chappell Roan, from Hayley Kiyoko, from someone who sings in the language

of us. We send signals like pressed violets in the pages of old letters, hoping someone will recognise what they mean.

And yet, it never quite works the way we want it to. Because even when we try to make ourselves known, the world does not always want to see us.

To be femme is to move through life in disguise, whether we choose it or not. It is to be wrapped in a protection that is not always kind. It is to exist in a world that, perhaps thankfully, spares us from its cruelties by pretending we do not exist at all. But we are here.

And so we search for each other in the places only we know to look. In the way another femme lesbian meets your eyes across the room, and in that moment, knows. In the relief of an unexpected conversation where someone does not ask, does not second-guess, does not require proof. In the places where we do not have to explain, where we are understood before we have even spoken a word.

Perhaps flagging, for us, is not something we wear, but something we find.

Perhaps our survival was never meant to be written in symbols.

Perhaps it is time to stop waiting to be seen. To stop shrinking ourselves into something palatable, something recognizable, something easily understood.

Perhaps it is time to exist, unapologetically, in the fullness of who we are.

Art by Ellie Robertson

“Did anyone see the King’s head on stage last night in Melbourne? It wasn’t us, allegedly”: Kneecap at the Roundhouse

If you tried to call Kneecap a hip-hop and rap trio from ‘Northern Ireland’ you would likely be faced with the full throttle of these unabashed and cheeky “Republican hoods”. As young Irish lads rather from the ‘North of Ireland’ with dreams of Irish reunification, “Tiocfaidh ár Lá”, and revitalising Irish language and culture, they have become icons of a pro-republican, antiestablishment, and decolonial movement.

“story about the Irish language” that they did not expect their story to relate so much to other Indigenous peoples and languages. Identifying a common plague of colonialism, they mentioned the long-standing “shame” around speaking Irish in Ireland.

With a mesmerising voice and stage presence, Miss Kaninna set the tone with her acknowledgements of past and current colonialism across “Australia” and Palestine, and thanking Kneecap for caring. “Kneecap came here and they wanted to learn about what was going on [...] I really want to say thank you to those boys for taking the time to learn that you’re on stolen land.”

Grace Street reviews.

Kneecap’s performance was electric, with a full crowd moshing as the three Irishmen swigged from the bottle, sweltered in their iconic tracksuits and DJ Próvaí’s signature Irish-flag balaclava, and shouted out chants like “Maggie’s in a box” and “free, free Palestine”. The crowd was full of Irish football jerseys, kuffiyehs, Aboriginal and Palestine flags, and balaclavas.

Composed of Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap, and DJ Próvaí, Kneecap hails from West Belfast. They have been stirring up controversy for years with their profane songs featuring extensive drug use, calling their fans “fénian cunts”, demanding to “get your Brits out”, and much more.

While Kneecap has many clutching at their pearls, their use of what was a dying language and their unapologetic representations of mental illness, addiction, sectarianism, class, and youth struggles in the North of Ireland have resonated across the globe.

In a recent interview with National Indigenous Television (NITV), Kneecap spoke about their self-titled 2024 film as a

Their show at UNSW Roundhouse on Saturday the 15th of March was Kneecap’s seventh show on their tour across Aotearoa and so-called “Australia.” This sold-out Sydney show of 2,000 people was competing with the rowdiness and surprises of the previous night’s show in Naarm. For the final of three shows in Naarm, Kneecap featured a mural by Gumbaynggirr artist Aretha Brown of “BLAK + IRISH SOLIDARITY,” and also “allegedly” also brought on stage the missing head of King George V from the King’s Domain statue that was severed nine months prior.

For the concerts in Brisbane/Meanjin, Melbourne/Naarm, and Sydney/Gadigal Land, Kneecap brought out Miss Kaninna – a Yorta Yorta, Dja Dja Wurrung, Kalkadoon and Yirandhali singer of R&B, hip–hop and soul.

Especially for her last show with Kneecap, she chose to share a traditional Yorta Yorta song that her grandmother sang to her each night. She contextualised that many indigenous languages were lost with colonisation and forced assimilation, and that this song about Moses was written “during the times of the mission” when their language was only allowed when singing Christian hymns.

Miss Kaninna finished off with ‘Blak Britney’, which is “a thank you to the blak people and the blak women of my fucking community because we have been so resilient and so fucking deadly.”

A mix of serious and cheeky, their set consisted both of recognition of the stolen Gadigal land that they performed on and of the occupation in Palestine — as well as a request “for security” that if anyone had cocaine they had to throw it on stage to “dispose of this stuff correctly.” DJ Próvaí tried out the mosh for himself, where he was suspended for a good minute or so by a crowd that refused to put him down.

Even as the hungover and jetlagged boys eventually left the stage, the crowd remained dancing to mixes of Irish folk songs and pointing at a “land back now” banner in the crowd featuring the Aboriginal, Palestinian and Irish flags.

Read full article online.

Photo by Grace Street

Photo by Ian Laidlaw

President

Angus Fisher

Dear student body. It’s that wonderful time of the week again when I fill you in on all things SRC President.

I have begun writing the SRC’s submission to People’s Inquiry into Campus Free Speech in Palestine. This inquiry is being led by a collection of academics and activists to collate cases of individual and en masse restrictions to free speech on campus in response to the atrocities in Palestine. The SRC currently has a form on Instagram that enables you to contribute to our submission to the inquiry. If you know of or have a case that may be relevant, please fill the form in or let me know directly by emailing president@src.usyd. edu.au.

In week 4 Wednesday the SRC held our second outreach BBQ and stall and it was a huge success. We handed out the remaining hundreds of tote bags from Welcome Week as well as all out 125 sausages in an hour and a half. We will have even more

Vice President Queer

Shovan Bhattarai, Bohao Zhang

Week five! I hope everyone has settled into the semester well and that assignments and lectures aren’t starting to pile up.

Last week, the International Students Collective had the pleasure of hosting another welcome event, this time at the International Student Lounge at Wentworth building. It was great to see so many students in person, and again advertise the SRC and all our services. It was also great to have the support of all the cultural societies who made it possible! There’s way too many to list but please do make sure to check them all out on our most recent post on Instagram @usyd_ international !!

In other work, I have been coordinating

sausages and goodies to hand out next week (week 6) so check the SRC socials to see what day and time it’s happening! It was awesome to get to talk to you all about the risk a Liberal government would have to the SRC’s functioning, students, and higher education more broadly. We are finally wrapping up the discussion on the new AI and assessment policy with the university. All the changes will pass (or have passed) on Tuesday, March 25th. Most importantly, it is looking extremely likely that I have managed to maintain five-day simple extensions, an effective extra 5 days on all assessments. This highlights that representing students at the negotiating table is an important role of student leaders. I will report back anything else when the policy is confirmed in my next report.

In solidarity, Angus

with the Student Accomodation Officers in investigating the lack of progress surrounding International House. As the lack of affordable housing continues to decrease, it is vital for all students that good quality and reasonable student accommodation is being built. International House already exists – only a renovation is necessary. Yet, since its closure in 2020, there has been no progress whatsoever. I look forward to updating everyone on why progress has taken so long in the next report, and what we can do to expedite it.

Until then, Bohao

Disabilities Officers

Remy Lebreton, Vince Tafea

March 5 we had our first SRC council meeting of the year. DisCo brought a motion in solidarity with NSW public sector psychiatrists that was passed. As of March 17, the ASMOF (Doctor’s Union) has entered an arbitration with the Minns government in the Industrial Relations Commission (IRC). We reiterate our support and are following it closely. Follow @asmofnsw on instagram.

On Fri 14 March, along with the USU, we had a Disabilities and Carers welcome night. It was lovely to see so many new faces. Please keep an eye out for more social events!

Also, a reminder that we have DisCo organising meetings every odd week (1,3,5 etc.). Come along (there are snacks involved if that intrigues you).

We at DisCo have also been working hard on Disabled Honi; our autonomous edition that is coming out in Week 7! It is dedicated to our dear friend, comrade, and mentor Khanh Tran. The launch party for this edition will be on Tuesday 8th April

Just a few weeks ago, the University of Sydney threatened Luna, a transgender international student and asylum seeker, with suspension (and therefore deportation to danger) for writing proPalestine messages on whiteboards. This is yet another shameful attack on free speech on campus, weaponising racism and the threat of anti-trans violence to scare students into silence about USYD’s ties to genocide. Luna’s story has received domestic and international coverage, and USYD has tried to cover their tracks by claiming their threat against Luna’s life was just an “administrative error” and that they’ve apologised and are now less likely to suspend her. However, this is a poor attempt at smoothing over their callous disregard for Luna’s wellbeing, and the fact remains that USYD should never have issued Luna this misconduct allegation in the first place. As of now, all the policies applied to Luna remain in place to allow

USYD to continue to harm vulnerable students with threats to their visas. We have held speak-outs against the university’s repression of free speech, have delivered an open letter to management that currently has over 1200 signatures, and are committed to fighting until Luna’s misconduct allegation is completely dropped and USYD is no longer infringing on students’ right to protest.

We urge everyone to sign our open letter in support of Luna at the link in our Instagram bio, @usydqueer.

We also encourage everyone to show up to the upcoming Trans Day of Visibility march & rally at 2 PM on Sunday, 30 March at Pride Square, Newtown. With increasing attacks on transgender people both locally and globally, it is as important as ever that we take to the streets to demand trans rights now, no exceptions!

Student Accommodation Officers

Yuxuan Wang, Kai (Connie) Wong, Misheel Galkhuu, Luming (Jason) Xu

Hello and welcome to USyd!! I hope you’re not too behind on lectures and are getting settled well into the semester.

Let’s start with introductions. This year’s Student Accommodation Officers are Connie Wong, Jason Xu, Yu Xuan and myself (Misheel Galkhuu) So far, we’ve been helping students who have encountered housing problems and bad landlords. Our focus will be to continue helping out in cases such as these, alongside wider issues in our student accommodation issues (accessibility, community building, etc), the re-opening of International House, and addressing concerns about third-party housing providers who charge frankly insane and unbelievable rates. Student accommodation operating under the university is simply too scarce to meet the huge demand necessary. Those who wish to secure a spot in Queen Mary Building or other accommodations with

rent under $400 need to apply at least a year in advance; otherwise, they may remain on the waitlist for quite some time. When it comes to third party providers, there are often unfair business practices — we recently dealt with a case where an international student paid rent in advance to secure availability and was required to pay a four-week bond plus four weeks’ rent upfront. Later, they discovered pest issues and other problems with the accommodation.

This year, we will continue advocating for the urgent redevelopment of International House (IH). You may have heard of IH— it was closed back in 2020, and has been a great space for accommodation wasted since. Additionally, we are here to support students facing challenges related to accommodation! Feel free to reach out to us any time at our email: student.housing@ src.usyd.edu.au.

6pm - 9pm @ Hermann’s Bar. We hope to see you there :3

We have also been looking into the various services the university offers with regards to psychometrics, and bursary conditions, as they are often used to help fund people’s access to services and diagnoses related to their disabilities.

Disco is continuing to develop resources and forms for its masking on campus campaign! We must ensure that in all our actions, events and organising, we protect community and those who are already immunocompromised.

Vince Tafea & Remy Lebreton

Social Justice Officers

Lauren Finlayson, Aron Khuc, Yoshi Leung, Leo Moore

Welcome back, everyone! Since our last report, we have been busy collaborating with other collectives such as the Autonomous Collective Against Racism (ACAR) and Queer Action Collective (QuAC) in fighting against colonialism and bigotry. Just recently, the university has put in danger an international trans student (Luna*) by giving a notice of suspension for allegedly writing on a whiteboard “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” using a permanent marker. Since the introduction of the Campus Access Policy (CAP), these draconian policies have put international students at risk of deportation for defying the CAP. Since then, we have gladly joined the open letter to demand the removal of Luna’s misconduct allegations and end these repressive anti-protest policies that already have over 1000 signatures!

In other news, we have been preparing for Isreal Aptheraid Week (21-29th) with a National Day of Action on the 26th and urge everyone to come along. Israel Apartheid Week is more important than ever to fight against Israel’s decades-long regime of settler-colonialism and genocide as Netanyahu breaks ceasefire deals and has already killed over 600 Palestinians. We attended the emergency rally organised by the Palestine Action Group to demand the end of genocide and occupation in Palestine, the end of Labor’s complicity, and cut Isreal out of Gaza, West Bank, Leban and Syria.

Jamie Bridge, Wendy Thompson

The Learning HubAcademic Language & Learning Resources

Make Your Study Easier

Studying at University can be very different from high school, and you should improve your academic skills and learn where to go for information and support. The following services are available to you for free.

The Learning Hub (Academic Language and Learning)

To develop skills in writing, research, time management, exam preparation, group work, presentations, or critical thinking, check the resources from the Learning Hub. There are online modules, as well as workshops in person and online. You can also book an individual consultation with one of their teachers.

There are also peer-facilitated programs, including workshops for international students from nonEnglish speaking backgrounds to improve their English skills and make connections, and workshops to help all students break assignments into achievable chunks.

The Learning Hub (Mathematics)

To improve your ability to understand or use mathematics in your first year maths subjects, the Mathematics Learning Hub offers:

• Self-access resources and modules

• Bridging courses in mathematics and statistics

• Workshops and supplementary tutorials

• One-to-one individual assistance by drop-in or by appointment

This is not just for Math majors or minors, it’s for anyone who uses mathematics in their degree.

Getting the most out of the Uni libraries

The University Library, whether online or on campus, is a great

resource for all students. They offer help with exam preparation, library orientation, assignment support, referencing guides, and more. They also host the Peer Learning Advisors, who are postgraduate students who you can talk to about advice on study skills, referencing techniques, or anything that is affecting you as a student.

Study Groups – be aware of academic honesty

Finding a group of people from your course to study with is a popular strategy. Study groups can be a great way to make new friends and connections in your degree, while also improving your knowledge of course content.

However, the University’s Academic Honesty rules make a distinction between legitimate cooperation, and collusion that breaches academic integrity rules. The SRC has assisted a number of students with academic honesty allegations arising from shared notes and study groups. We recommend reading the short article from the Uni website to make sure you are aware of the line between collusion, and legitimate cooperation.

What other support is available?

There are also faculty-specific options for assistance. The library offers drop-in sessions for students to help with specific questions about research and referencing in your faculty.

If you want to talk about your degree structure and unit of study selection, you can contact an Academic Advisor from your faculty or discipline

If you have questions about the Uni and you’re not sure where to go, you can contact the SRC’s Caseworkers by completing the casework contact form: bit.ly/contact-a-caseworker

Ask Abe

SRC Caseworker Help Q&A

Low Income Health Care Card

Hi Abe,

I have a few health things going on, and the cost of doctors and medications is really hard to manage. Also, I haven’t been to the dentist since I started uni, and my parents can’t help with any of these expenses. Do students get any help with this kind of thing or am I on my own?

Regards, Toothache

Dear Toothache,

If your income averages under $757 per week as a single person with no children, over an eight week period, you can apply for a low income healthcare card. The benefits include cheaper prescription medication, bulk-billed medical and dental care (subject to the practitioner’s discretion), ambulance cover, and in some cases, discounted power bills. Even though lots of conditions apply, e.g., must be an Australian resident, lots of students are eligible for this card and they may not even know it. It’s definitely worth applying to see what happens.

Regards, Abe

49 “Australia’s favourite cereal”: how many do you do?

68 “Coffee ___?”

69 Peak body for Indigenous Australian broadcasting

70 Fleming and Holm

71 The most important meal of the day, with 72A

72 The most important meal of the day, with 71A

73 Whirlpool

Week 4 Answers

Across (by individual row): Die, Atom, Paced, Ame, Pardo, Weeds, Barbecued, Nonet, Smooth Criminal, Atee, Ans, Dmt, Inslang, Dad, Rares, Ovo, Care, Another-part-of-me, Gits, Lae, A-poet, Sas, Bonsoir, Eds, Ara, Lara, Main-in-the-mirror, Manon, Woe-be-gone, Anile, Allis, Bya, Dates, Siloc, Bad Down (by individual column): Dabs, Drags, Mad, Imam, Mania, Mana, Eero, Trots, Anit, Boa, Ets, Anole, Pettish, Brines, Aachen, Eloan, Truces, Ran, Twas, Oder, Lopes, Holi, Modi, Ava, Oleelo, Manor, Iambic, Pwning, Tarries, Aeons, Cop, Arg, Cena, Dafoe, Robb, Edel, Armed, Onya, Dst, Deets, Read

Honi in the ‘80s: Women on T.V.

Lotte Weber delves into the archives.

In a 1980 special Women’s edition, Honi highlighted the concentration of misogynistic Australian broadcasting in a piece titled Sexism and TV Commercials. The piece provides a snapshot of broadcasting at the time, detailing iconic ads of the year. In TV advertising, women were “predominantly white and middle class” and “the most common role is that of mother and/or housewife”. Honi writes, “The Meadowlea ad on T.V. shows us Jenny Lee who is young, placid and passive, diligently preparing a pile of sandwiches for her husband and children (because) ‘Good cooking makes this country run’... Cache ads ask us ‘Are you wearing a perfume that continually reminds him of someone else?’ The overall message is very clear. Consume, conform, be silent, and die.” Have things really changed?

Special Buys Bad. Same.

A New Referendum Question

Random piece of paper we found at Parliament House during budget lock-up

Non-demoninational

Prayers

Use on any disaffected youth, hysterical women, or sinful queers in your local area.