SWINE Issue 2 2020 - Representation by swine

swine issue 2 â&#x20AC;¢ 2020

contents Meet The Team • Tina Tsironis, Zoe Abletez

pg. 4

Editor's Letter • Tina Tsironis

pg. 6

Four Minutes • Ana Tinc

pg. 8

Lovers • Laura Wild

pg. 14

Pretty, Placid & Pink • Tina Tsironis

pg. 16

Dog's Bend • Andrew Dopper

pg. 18

Strength • Elise Cara

pg. 24

How Grateful I Am • Kushlani Premachandra

pg. 26

Rape Kills • Girish Gupta

pg. 28

WTF Is Trolling & Is It Really Even A Big Deal? • Jessica Murdoch

pg. 30

Visibility For Disability • Millicent Spencer

pg. 36

Those You'll Meet • Aisha Noorani

pg. 40

Interview With A Queer officer • Tina Tsironis

pg.42

Cover Artwork By Nethmini Gunasekera

i ss u et

i so l

n io t a

st i l ay pl

Selfless - The Strokes At The Door - The Strokes Forfeit - Kiana LedĂŠ Blue Spotted Tail - The Fleet Foxes Alright - Kendrick Lamar Holy - King Princess Wings - Mac Miller Frio - Omar Apollo Drunk - Dijon Figure It Out - Orla Gartland Good News - Mac Miller 10 Years Ago - FKJ 1950 - King Princess Gallo Pinto - Daniela Andrade Gondry - HYUKOH Sunrise - Childish Gambino Red Light Green Light - Duke Dumont Freaks - Fisher

tina â&#x20AC;˘ e

or dit

Currently craving Nando's and wishing you all health and happiness. The longer this isolation period stretches out, the greater my brain resembles a monkey playing the cymbals to a rapid, bassline-heavy beat. It is what it is.

I know my glasses are really dirty in this photo but I was vibing my hair and the VERY blue skies so let's just let that be. We're all out here Sufferingâ&#x201E;˘

gner

Hope everyone is staying safe. We'll be galavanting in nature soon enough x

zoe â&#x20AC;˘ de

dition number 2 of the SWINE? Is it that time already?

editor's letter

If you’re currently reading this in 2020, you know I’m talking a bit of shit. The last month or so has quite clearly dragged by with all the vigour of my brain on a particularly dusty Sunday morning. Yep, 2020 is continuing its theme of throwing the universe, Australia, and indeed Swinburne, a curveball and a half – this time in the form of COVID-19, with a particularly tricky transition to online learning thrown in for good measure. We’re living in a strange, scary, unstable timeline, and I’m sure you’ve heard this at countless moments in multiple variations, but it is well worth reiterating. Keep looking after yourself and

All jokes aside, some of Swinburne’s most talented, insightful writers really stepped up for this edition. They brought to the table thought-provoking, and at times surprising, representations of life – the moments that shape us, traumatise us, and ultimately remind us of our true value, despite what we’re told to believe of ourselves. From a frustratingly realistic depiction of the exhausting nature of microaggressions, to a surprising recount of a traumatic robbery, to a truly kind reminder of how important it is to check your judgements of others at the door – there’s plenty of food for thought here. What better time to sit back, have a read, and then celebrate the unique value you bring to the world.

society’s more vulnerable so we stop the spread of COVID-19 sooner rather than later. But also, stay connected to your friends and loved ones, eat some yummy food, try not to stress too much about moving less or working less or creating less, and slow the hell down if that’s what you need to do to function. This is a once-in-a-lifetime situation, hopefully, and we should not be expected to be our ‘best selves’. Staying safe and not endangering anyone is enough. Try not to be too hard on yourself for not doing ‘enough’ during this isolation period. We’re doing what we can! Take a deep breath and give yourself permission to relax, guilt-free. This leads me to this very important, beautiful edition: Representation. Unfortunately this edition will only be available as you’re reading it, digitally, since nobody will be on campus to read it in its physical form. But how much better is reading a magazine in bed, on your phone or laptop? You can pick your nose without anyone staring at you weirdly, I mean what, and you don’t have to bother propping yourself up to appear awake and chipper.

Enjoy this edition, stay safe, and if you need an isolation buddy, hit me up at editor@ssu. org.au – I’m small and annoying but I’m kinda friendly, promise! Tina xx

four minutes four minutes Ana Tinc

our minutes. That’s all it took. Four minutes that felt a lifetime.

No one teaches you how to think when someone is pointing a gun to your chest. All they say is ‘call the police’, as if the man with the gun will be kind enough to let you do that. No. The truth is, no one knows what to do and no one knows what to say, and that’s okay. Everyone who chooses to point a gun has their reasons, their limits, and their fears. There is no ‘bad guy’ cookie cutter stereotype that these people adhere to. Some might be violent and others, they’re more scared than you.

It’s the middle of the night and Levi’s barking stirs me. Is it time for work already? It can’t be, surely. I shush him and sink further into my pillow. But, of course, he never listens. It’s funny - Brad and I never wanted to tell him off for barking in case there was an intruder, but times like these, it sure would’ve been handy.

Disconnected. Fuck that’s the New Zealand emergency. ‘Stop fucking lying and tell me where the keys are,’ he says, his voice booming through my bedroom door. ‘I don’t know!’ Why is that the only thing I can think of ? Do I know? Am I lying? Even I can’t tell.

Ping. Levi’s water bowl in the kitchen spills. I hear the water splash along the tiles. Brad must be getting a drink. Footsteps. Yup, definitely Brad, how can Levi not tell? Damn dog.

‘Ana, just give him the keys,’ Brad says to me. ‘I’ll have to find them in the kitchen,’ I say, fiddling as I switch the light on. ‘I need to go in the kitchen.’

I shift and wriggle, finding a comfortable spot and brush against a hip…but Levi’s in his crate so it must be...

I pass Brad my phone and whisper, ‘Call the police.’

‘Who’s there?’ The words escape my mind before I can register, feet planted on the hardwood floor.

I try to open the door to the bedroom, but the man is pressed against it. He doesn’t want us to come out, he doesn’t want to be seen.

‘Give me your car keys, I’ve got a gun.’ Fuck. Even in the dark, Brad and I look at each other. My heart finds its way into the bottommost part of my body. His sharp, bogan voice ignites a territorial bark in Levi that I have never heard, a pitch that scares even me.

‘If you want the car keys, I’ll need to find them.’ The door slackens. I inhale. This is it, I think, and swing the door open. I stare at him as I walk towards the kitchen. There’s a grey hood pulled over his face. His white skin and shaved head peep through only slightly.

‘Where the fuck are your car keys,’ he bellows, breaking me from my stillness. ‘I… I don’t know,’ I say, buying time as I reach for my phone.

He keeps his distance, aware of my gaze. Then I notice his eyes. Those frightened eyes; their fear so potent I can’t even see

What’s the number? 911? No… I type 111. 10

their colour. Then, down further, his gun bulges from underneath his hoodie. My mind stops picking up on the details. They are no longer relevant. In the quiet, stagnant air, I feel how sure I am of wanting to live. The only noise I hear is the blood thumping in my neck. But then it happens. His first mistake. I flick the kitchen lights on, eyes only on him. And there, in his fear, in this scenario that seems to make his skin itch, he flashes the gun. A deep brown pistol with a black patina. Plastic. So fucking plastic. $2 Dollar Shop material. I can’t believe it. I stifle my rage and creeping confidence. The next time we lock eyes, I sense that he knows. His eyes seem restless, like he just screwed up. He knows what I just saw. ‘Where are the fucking keys,’ he booms. He must be trying to intimidate me. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, pretending to look around and not see them. Please lord let the police be on their way. My eyes can’t help passing over the keys on the counter, time after time, leading him straight to them. He moves. No. I can’t let him take them. I move. ‘Get the fuck out of my house,’ I say, grabbing the keys off the counter. Fuck him for threatening me with a fake gun,

fuck him for trying to take the only things we have. God, how I grab onto those keys. But my anger and confidence do not scare him. He charges at me, enveloping me in a violent embrace, pressing his forearm into my throat. ‘Get off my girlfriend!’ Brad, in his boxers, connects with the man’s face, tearing him off me. I watch them grapple. I watch them slip on the kitchen tiles. I watch as a hand grabs my wallet. Thank God, Brad has my wallet. I see Brad’s neck and jaw redden from the punches. What the fuck can I do? I punch the man’s head, but I may as well have been invisible. I need a weapon. There, on the chopping board lays a chef ’s knife. I slide it into a drawer, terrified of what would happen if he takes it off me. What he could be capable of. The Keys! I turn and watch as Brad has him by his scuff, staring at him face to face. I lunge the key into the man’s head. Blood trickles on the tiles, his skin bulging. ‘Get out of my house! ‘Get out of my house! ‘Get out of my house!’ I scream at the top of my lungs. No, I screech. I channel the crazy Latin blood pulsing through me and watch as he scrambles out the back door. He is out of my house. He didn’t take our cars. He didn’t take our lives. 12

‘You grabbed my wallet, right?’ ‘No, it must’ve been him,’ Brad says. Fuck. My wallet. But we do not think to run after him. We lock the doors and let Levi out into the bedroom. We leave the blood and smeared fingerprints and broken things and wet floor to sit in the tainted kitchen. We wait, not knowing how long to wait for, as the police makes their way to us, to our crime scene. +++ Four minutes. Four minutes that felt like a lifetime. Four minutes that made us sound brave and hard, when all we were was scared. Scared and angry and adrenaline-fueled. Just like him. More than him. Four minutes where we all acted without thought, without a plan, without calm. Just a pit of tumultuous, temperamental energy. The type that stains and blackens. He may not have taken our cars, but that man left after him a trail of destruction, a molten pessimism of the world, an untrusting stake of mind. Whatever made him do what he did – trauma, fear, frustration - he left all those things with us and now we have to carry them, heal them, prevent them from seeping from us dangerously. We didn’t even know it was there, the anxiety and distrust, until we found ourselves sitting, suffocating in public. What are you capable of? I think, staring at men at Medicare, at a bar, on the train. What are you capable of?

Lovers Laura Wild

’m lying in bed scrolling through my Facebook feed, listening to him potter around the apartment and getting ready to join me. We’re going to bed late, again. Every morning we feel like hell and promise ‘Tonight, I’m going to bed early’ and every night we stay up for one last drink, one last episode, one last game, and then suffer with the sunlight. I hear him move into the bedroom, and maybe some part of me subconsciously registers that he sounds different. There’s no wandering, no randomly picking things up or stumbling to pull off socks. He doesn’t sing any of his usual dumb/adorable/ridiculous songs about my butt to the tune of ‘Barracuda’ by Heart. He stops, a mansized lump framed by the light filtering out the en suite bathroom doorway. My back is to him, trying to fit in as much time lying on my right as possible before he gets in bed to cuddle. He will whinge if I don’t roll over so he can spoon me on his left side. My back is to him, so I don’t see the way he doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t breathe. The small signs that mark us as human. I tell him to get in bed already.

The mattress dips as he crawls in behind me. I wriggle over a little, not too much. I always end up crowded against the wall if I don’t make a stand early – even if the serial bed hog insists I’m the one taking up all the room. Liar. An arm, too heavy and too long (do I notice that his arm is too long? Maybe.) snakes around me, pulls me in. His skin is rough, I wonder if his psoriasis is playing up again. ‘You smell weird.’ I tell him and scroll past the wedding photo my friend insists on reposting every six weeks. He presses his face into my shoulder. ‘Seriously, you smell so weird.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘If it’s that new aftershave, it smells like garbage.’ Literal garbage, like something rotten. Metallic like spoiling meat. I think maybe that’s when I notice. He grins against my shoulder and I feel too many teeth.

A little girl valued pretty pink dresses baby soft faces lashes with length with no trace of braces

Dave’, for a few bloody beers’ don’t get me wrong she was cute for her age but come on when you start smelling musty you know you’ve reached ‘that stage’

Like her toy doll! She was Pink Paddy cute and off-white not rake thin or fat what all girls should be just. bloody. right.

Though girl paid no heed her love would persist Paddy’s value shone clear as brother’s hands morphed to strong angry fists

Not too bloody...right? He ripped Paddy’s head off a raging big brute no need for cunning when murder’s deemed moot

Girl loved her to bits truly, she did Paddy was baby, friend, confidant even when her legs stained with an off-yellow kiss

for the girl cried and screamed ‘you did it, you did’ yet later she apologised for flipping her usually placid lid

see Paddy was old she’d been there for years adults joked ‘let’s trade her in

Tina Tsironis

Pretty, Placid & Pink 17

Dog's

d n e B

Andrew Dopper

he hum of car on bitumen melted into the crackle of car on dirt. Neil drew a breath. They were close to the sun-baked town of Noble he’d grown up in. ‘While since you been home,’ said his brother from the driver’s seat. ‘A lot’s changed.’ ‘Yeah?’ said Neil. ‘Got the internet now?’ A smile appeared amongst Tom’s beard. A smile that hinted he was going to say something witty, but he never did. Only a few years older than Neil, Tom looked close to fifty––years of labouring had been unkind to him. Neil watched the gum-tree-dotted paddocks shift by. ‘Gunna be a lot of people happy you’re back,’ said Tom. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Mum would be happy.’ ‘Don’t start.’ Tom raised an innocent hand. ‘I was just saying.’ ‘Save it.’ They both sat quiet for a moment. ‘It was just weird you didn’t come to the funeral, mate.’ ‘You know why I didn’t come.’ Tom scratched at his dusty beard and poked the radio on. He never liked confrontation. He was always good at starting it, though. Neil shifted in his seat. ‘I’m sorry, alright?’ ‘I know, mate.’ They passed a railway crossing––signs peppered with bullet holes. Tom didn’t bother slowing for the 18

crossing. Neil melted into his seat and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. ‘Never re-opened the mill?’ ‘Nope. The blokes lookin to buy it bailed. Somethin about the Chinese being cheaper.’ ‘What does a bloke do for work now?’ said Neil. ‘Work on the new housing estates.’ ‘Why would anyone want to move to Noble?’ Tom shrugged. ‘To work on the housing estates?’ Neil shook his head. ‘What a pointless goddamn world we live in.’ Tom wound down his window and slipped a beefy arm up, fingers catching the wind. ‘You movin back for long?’ said Tom. ‘Dunno. Depends how I go.’ Another pause. Neil knew it was coming. ‘How’s Jamie?’ asked Tom. ‘How would I know?’ ‘Don’t talk?’ ‘Nah.’ ‘After ten years ya just stop talkin?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘That’s crazy.’ ‘Mum would be happy.’ Tom changed the radio station. They turned down Dog’s bend. As kids, Tom and Neil would ride bikes out here, looking for a big black dog - the old story was that it would appear at sunset. How that dog haunted Neil’s childhood. Years later, they’d found out Dogs Bend was actually called Doug’s Bend, after the man who’d owned farms on both sides. ‘Weird the way things turn out,’ said Neil. Tom smiled. ‘Never thought an idiot like you would become a lawyer.’ Neil couldn’t help thinking about his Mum as they turned into the driveway. He half expected to see her hunched over the lines of rose bushes that framed the driveway, picking off dead flowers, crunchy and dry from the heat. ‘Never thought I’d come back.’ ‘She was proud,’ said Tom pointedly. ‘And she liked Jamie, I reckon. Despite everythin.’ Neil didn’t answer. ‘No sugar thanks, Dad,’ said Neil, sitting down at the kitchen table. It was all as Neil had remembered. His Dad had kept everything 19

the same. Every doily, vase, wooden crucifix, hideous duck statuette. The rustic duck in flight scene she’d painted on the tiles above the kettle was as brown and ill-looking as the day she painted it. Neil laughed. ‘Reckon you should get rid of that crap of now, Dad.’ Dad filled the mugs, focusing on them a little too hard – like they held the answers to some age-old question. ‘Old girl’d haunt me from Heaven.’ Tom fiddled with the wick of a candle in the middle of the table. ‘She didn’t even like ducks.’ Neil took the mug as Dad sat down. ‘Rubbish, that was her whole bloody thing.’ ‘Nah, Tom’s right,’ said Dad. ‘One of the girls from the mill office gave her one years ago. You know how people are, they seen the bloody thing and before you know it, everyone was giving her friggin ducks. Girls from church’d give her one every Easter. Bugger me if I knew where they got em from.’ Neil scoffed. They all sat quiet for a moment, looking out the sliding doors across the yard as Hi Vis clothing danced lethargically about the clothesline. Tom yawned and stretched out his back, belly poking out. ‘Few new houses up the road,’ said Dad. ‘Phil sub-divided his back-paddock. Reckon he’ll rent ya one.’ ‘Probably want something closer into town,’ said Neil. ‘I’ll just rent a room down there till I set up.’ ‘Good to be close to work,’ said Dad. ‘Reckon you’ll do alright. Other lawyers in town are a couple o’ yuppies.’ Tom scoffed. ‘Old Davo’s alright.’

Dad’s eyes went wide. ‘That’s only cos you got the hots for his daughter.’ Tom winked at Neil. Neil laughed. ‘Got some stories about her.’ Dad looked back out across the yard. ‘Ya can save em for the pub.’ When Tom laughed his whole body laughed with him. Neil found himself laughing at Tom more than anything. He’d dribbled tea down his chin–– droplets gleaming in his beard. ‘Dirty buggers,’ said Dad downing the rest of his tea. ‘Gotta get the tools off the ute before dark.’ ‘Coming to the pub later?’ said Neil. ‘Yeah righto,’ said Dad, sliding the fly-wire door closed with a rattle and squeak. The old duck-shaped clock clacked away across the room. A reminder that time was passing. Something one could forget out here. ‘Shouldn’t o said that,’ said Tom. ‘What?’ ‘About the duck painting.’ Neil sniffed. ‘Mate, I was only joking.’ ‘You know how he gets.’ ‘It’s been a year, Tom.’ ‘Just go easy on the old bugger.’ ‘Alright,’ said Neil, as the clock continued clacking. Tom scratched at his beard and smiled. ‘It is friggin ugly though.’ The two brothers stood sipping their tea, looking out at the paddock across the yard. The scene was all stained red and bruised orange underneath the dying sun, but 21

Tom noticed the top of a silo poking up from the line of gums on the other side, like nothing had ever happened. ‘How’s business now you’ve joined Dad?’ Neil asked. ‘Good,’ Tom nodded. ‘Couple of new landscapers in town, but we’re still busy. We’ll pick up work in other towns if we get quiet.’ Something disturbed a flock of cockatoos on the other side of the paddock, making them flurry up into the sky, their screeches washing over the land. ‘Tom said they never re-opened the mill,’ said Neil, wandering into the carport. Dad snapped the straps down on the tray of the Ute. ‘Pete Carlisle bought it out. Gunna knock it down. Build a golf course out there.’ Neil leant on a broken-down ride-on mower, now a bench for garden tools and planters. ‘What doesn’t that bastard own?’ ‘Carlisle?’ Dad wiped his brow and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Not much he don’t own. Wants the land up near the river too. Though the mob that owns it wants to turn it into parkland or somethin. Lots o’ drama. You’d probably know more about that stuff than me.’ Neil nodded. ‘Might be I could get some work out here.’ ‘None in Melbourne?’ ‘There’s heaps. But I’m not that good of a property lawyer.’ Dad leant up against the old Holden. ‘Well, there’s lots o’ blokes out here fightin over dirt. Never bloody ending. Shoulda heard the stories ya Mother would bring home from work. If that mill could

talk…’ Dad slowly shook his head. ‘Things have changed since you lived here.’ Neil plucked up a rusty garden spade. ‘So I heard.’ ‘Where’d Tom go?’ ‘Shower.’ Dad watched with a sad smile as Neil weighed the spade in his hands. ‘She was proud of ya.’ ‘So I heard.’ Dad thumbed at a dint in the Ute as if he was peeved he’d never spotted it before, amongst the thousands of other dints and scratches. ‘Trudy would really like to see ya.’ Neil put down the spade. ‘I should go visit her. She doing alright?’ Dad gave a little wave of his hand. ‘She’s fine. All healed. Grows her hair long to cover the burns. But no one round ere cares. Just glad she’s alright. She feels bad more’n anythin. For the others losin their jobs. For ya Mother. Feels bad she couldn’t do anything.’ Neil realised he’d never talked about that day since it happened. ‘Not her fault. Place had always been a fire hazard.’ Dad drew a long breath, while watching a skink scuttle about the line of roses. ‘She did like Jamie, you know.’ Neil scoffed. ‘Yeah, she liked him when she thought we were just mates.’

t g n g e r n t e S tr S 24

h t

Strength is not in power But in resilience. It is picking yourself back up Rather than being too strong to fall. Strength does not come without mistakes It means acknowledging the ones you make. Instead of keeping up walls You let them see who you are. Raw And youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not too afraid of that at all Elise Cara

How g ful I am After delaying my morning by 10, 20, 30 minutes, I’m ready to start my day. First, I need to paint my face. I can’t be too unsavoury, after all…not when the world is about to see me. So I set my phone on the counter, switch on the latest TV show I’m obsessively consuming and slip, slop, slap. Rub the sunscreen into my skin.

Dab, dab, dab. Make my skin look fab. Because maybe if I blend hard enough, my skin will lighten to an acceptable shade. You won't think I’m trying to dilute the essence of this ‘great nation’ because now, I'll fit in with your majority. All the while I train a firm eye on my phone screen, looking out for a token sister.

Her appearance, of course, is a rare occurrence. So concealer under the eyes it is, to cover up the nights spent wondering if I’ll ever see her in my lifetime. If I’ll ever get to experience the happiness of seeing someone like me. Now I’m acceptable. Presentable. But I’m still wondering where that someone is. I make eye contact with my neighbours as I shuffle out the door.

Kushlani Premachandra.

They smile hesitantly while refusing to meet my eyes, but they smile nonetheless. How grateful I am for their kindness.

I drive to work and go about my day on autopilot. Switching off my brain is essential to staying alive. I want to look out for that girl, the one who looks like me, but it’s too hard. It’s so tiring. She’s

barely there. `But I need to see her. What about that show with that brown doctor girl? The Something Project? Why isn’t that enough? Ah yes, that one show about the South Asian/American girl. I’m not Indian, but she is, and she’s brown just like me. So it’s fine.

grate m. You’re all the same, right?

How ungrateful I am, to not just accept what is served to me on a silver platter. To ask for anything, while I possess so much. Do I not see my privilege? I’m so lucky to have a job, and neighbours who acknowledge me, and a TV show to watch with a main character just like me. I’m so lucky to even exist. Why can’t I just appreciate that? I’ve never been on more equal ground to my white counterpart, in this all-expansive world filled with love and completely void of racism. Racism doesn’t exist anymore, right?

Things are different now. After all, we no longer live in an era where people are attacked on the streets for the colour of their skin or vilified in the media because a ‘leader’ has okayed it. Right?

So I end my day by picking up my ideals and tucking them away in their little pocket, next to the optimism hidden right at the bottom of my backpack. Grateful as always.

Rape Kills

Girish Gupta 28

Content Warning: this poem contains references to sexual assault. There was a time when it almost made sense to you it still does, but does it to her? She’s barren to the soul, and broken to the core With a smile all plastic drowning on your shore The mess of her hair she once thought so bright Is losing its shine because of your pitiful crime She’s falling apart by your act of disgust And blaming herself for your uncontrollable lust You fed on her bones, and gulped her down with wine Destroyed her happiness and she’s only just nine She’s facing insomnia and choking on pills You fed your hungry soul, but you know what? Rape kills

WTF is Trolling,

is it really even a big deal? nd

t is clear, both when researching and engaging in general conversation on this topic, that defining ‘trolling’ is not an easy task. The term is often used broadly, to refer to a range of different behaviours. These muddy waters heighten the lack of clarity around the nature of trolling, and essentially, contribute to a continued lack of understanding of the gravity of the issue. Because if we look closer trolling, in its most serious forms, is indeed a problem. The term ‘trolling’ has become fairly mainstream over the years, but since entering our general vernacular, it has lost some its clarity due to its overuse. Most people recognise the word trolling, but many lack a nuanced understanding of what it actually means. When we’re unclear on what is actually being described, it becomes far easier to minimise its impact.

Jessica Murdoch

In her book Troll Hunting, Ginger Gorman outlines the evolution of trolling, and discusses the spectrum of its usage – from harmless jokes, rick-rolling, and pranks, to needling or shitposting, all the way to deliberate, targeted bullying. With such a multifaceted range of behaviours covered by this spectrum, it is worth breaking down the term further and developing clearer language to discuss what trolling looks like, and how it might impact us when it takes the more serious form of bullying. 31

Gorman came up with the term ‘predator troll’ to describe the types of trolls who ‘set out to do real life harm’. It can be easy to believe that what happens online can be easily avoided (‘just get off the internet!’ *eye-roll*) but ultimately, asking someone to simply log off is useless, terrible advice. Firstly, doing so blames the victim and removes all responsibility from the perpetrators. Secondly, ‘getting off ’ the internet is simply unrealistic – being online is an integral part of our lives these days, for work, play and in between.

dollars to date. The survey also found that this isn’t a small-scale problem, limited to just a few cases. More than one in three of all internet users have experienced some form of online harassment or abuse, and this harassment can go well beyond oneoff events. 8% of survey respondents say they have experienced ‘cyberhate’ or 'repeated, sustained threats or attacks’. This is equivalent to 1.3 million Australians. Of those who said they had experienced harassment or cyberhate, one in four said they had seen a medical professional as a result, and one in four also said it had impacted their work.

"It is also important to note that the harm caused by these targeted attacks don’t just eventuate in ‘hurt feelings’. This is yet another way trolling behaviours are often diminished. In truth, the effects can be social, physical, mental and even economic."

In exploring what drives trolls and the various myths surrounding who predator trolls are, Gorman found that their motivations turned out to be more complex than she initially imagined. Ultimately, however, she believes it comes down to the way we function as a society. After all, bigotry and hatred didn’t start online.

According to Gorman, the effects of trolling can lead to individuals losing their jobs or needing to take unpaid time off work. They may also be forced to cover other expenses such as medical fees, child care, moving house, legal fees, interstate travel and accommodation to attend court, or the cost of employing third parties to help them manage social media accounts, or even security. Gorman wanted to put a dollar amount on some of these costs, so she commissioned The Australia Institute (TAI) to do some research. Taking into account only medical costs and lost income, the survey from TAI estimated that cyberhate and online harassment has cost adult Australians up to 3.7 billion

Unsurprisingly, there are particular groups that are more likely to be targeted by cyber hate and trolling. TAI found that:

‘While substantial numbers of both men and women experienced harassment, women were more likely to experience it - particularly sexual forms of harassment.’ Dr Emma Jane, Associate Professor at UNSW’s School of the Arts & Media, has been trying to fill some of the research gaps in this area by examining the gendered 32

cyber harassment from a work-place safety and economic perspective.

"Workers who receive gendered cyberhate in forms that constitute workplace harassment and/ or economic vandalism, have few to no means of obtaining support or redress" Thinking about the effects of trolling in this gendered way is important, because along with the significant personal costs outlined by Jane and the TAI, it comes with a larger societal impact. Jane argues that, in an era where online spaces are becoming an integral element of workplaces, predatory trolling is an occupational health and safety issue. Drawing on a number of case studies, she draws parallels from present day experiences online, to the way feminist activists in the 60s and 70s fought against the accepted idea that objectionable, sexist behaviours simply came ‘at the cost of doing business for working women.’ Just like women experienced (and still experience) backlash as they fought for access to workspaces, similar patterns are today demonstrated in online spaces. Jane’s research into the dismissal faced by women and other marginalised groups experiencing cyber harassment, leads us to a term Adrienne Massanari describes as ‘toxic techno cultures’. Massanari, Associate Professor of Communication at the University of Illinois, explains that these cultures are emblematic of online abuse or trolling culture. She points to #GamerGate as an example – while those ‘that rallied behind the hashtag’ claimed it was a movement about ethics in 34

gaming, it was actually ‘a campaign of systematic harassment of female and minority game developers, journalists, and critics and their allies’. Campaigns like #GamerGate, then, are examples of the ongoing backlash against women and their use of technology and participation in public life, and demonstrate how existing power structures that exist online, are reflective of those offline. The goal for this type of backlash is to ensure that systemic power structures are upheld. Jane also points out that when these attacks are directed at women, they are more often than not ‘threats and/or fantasies of violent sex acts which are often framed as ‘correctives’’. Their impact ensures that women or other targeted identities will hesitate to share their opinions online, and fail to reap the benefits of healthy digital engagement. Overall, trolling is a complex problem with no easy solutions. The Australian eSafety commissioner website links to resources designed to help Australians enjoy a safer and healthier experience online, but there is still a lot of work that needs to be done As both Gorman and Jane note, there seems to be little concrete recourse for victims. Although there are laws in place that can be used to protect people, law enforcement is often unwilling or unclear on exactly how to apply these laws to online contexts. This could be changing though – organisations like the AFL are beginning to recognise that this cyberhate is a health and safety issue, and are developing policies that reflect a more nuanced, understanding response to helping their employees. So, the short answer? Yeah, trolling is a pretty big deal that presents an especially disproportionate cost to marginalized identities. Unfortunately, we are only just starting to recognise this cost, let alone address it effectively. 35

Visibility for Disability

Millicent Spencer

alking into the Melbourne Pavilion on a humid spring evening, I was surrounded by a crowd of people dressed to the nines. The DJ was on a raised platform spinning tracks, champagne was flowing freely, and the warm purple and blue LEDs obscured what was ahead. This was my first experience at Virgin Australia Melbourne Fashion Week (VAMFF). I must admit that I have a bittersweet relationship with the fashion industry. On the one hand, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a shopaholic and enjoy glamming myself up but on the other hand, I am acutely aware that the fashion industry is far from inclusive. It continuously promotes unrealistic beauty standards and for years, has failed to represent people living with disability. This love hate relationship

ultimately lead me to the VAMFF show 2020 Vision. Samantha Moffatt, Activations Manager for Guide Dogs VIC/NSW & ACT 2020 told me that the show was made possible through Guide Dog Australia’s partnership with Kangan Institute, intended to promote accessibility to a younger generation. “The brief was for students to take accessibility to another level and design four garments for four of our clients that were in line with their aesthetic, but also promoted accessibility and inclusion,” Samantha said. What does ‘accessible fashion’ actually look like, however? And what does a designer need to keep in mind when seeking to design accessible clothing?

feel comfortable and they want it to be practical.” One of the models who walked the runway, Steph Agnew, said colour was a key factor in determining her clothing choices. “It shows personality. Some colours don’t look good on people. When you are blind it is hard to tell that, so you need to know what colours suit you.” Another model I caught up, who along with Steph is legally blind, said that she “never undervalues a pocket.” “Also, material that doesn’t sweat. I'm active as I'm walking [guide dog] Sammie and my feet are my primary mode of transportation.”

Ultimately, Samantha said that clients seeking accessible clothing want to “feel like you and I.”

Though there are plenty of accessible clothing options available, there are just as many, if not more, barriers hindering clothing shoppers with disabilities. When I visit fashion stores, particularly in the city, the one thing that never changes in the shop windows are those tall, thin, white

“Our clients are humans - they are no different. Everyone needs to just be treated as a human whether you’re a boy or girl, disabled or not. You are a human and that’s what it comes down to. And humans want to feel pretty, they want to 38

mannequins – with those mannequins everywhere, how could barriers not exist for people with disabilities, barriers which hinder seemingly mundane tasks like shopping for clothes?

“Personally,” Steph said, “I have never seen anyone with vision loss or someone who is blind on a runway, or modelling. Sure, there are a few around but there definitely needs to be more.”

Steph said one of the main barriers she faces is online shopping. "Hardly any descriptions are on online. It's really hard to figure out what that item of clothing is about. It’ll have the name and possibly a colour. It’ll have a made up a colour that they’ve called it, but you have no idea what it is."

Samantha agreed. “No, I don’t think people with a disability get a fair shot. I don’t see them in ad campaigns, I don’t see them walking the runway”. Improving disability representation in the fashion industry, Samantha added, involves "making sure our younger generation are aware of people with a disability and are aware that they are human, that we are all human."

The other model I spoke to faced similar barriers. “Stores are not accessible. They are small, crammed and have shit hanging from the ceiling. My dog will miss things that might be above head height – they miss things because they are a dog."

Events like VAMFF’s 2020 Vision act as crucial steps that must be taken to redefine equality and diversity within this industry. Of 2020 Vision, Samantha said that she hopes “that people sitting in the runway have a bit more of an open mind of what their idea of beauty is.” “I think that our clients are probably the most beautiful people backstage by far. They have to go through hurdles and the inner beauty and inner strength that you’ve gone through makes you more beautiful on the outside.” For Steph, the fashion show has been a transformative experience. “It's so important to have people with disabilities on runways and it is starting to happen a bit more,” Steph said. “The media around it has been amazing. This experience for me has definitely given me more confidence to know that that’s something else I can do.” 39

All Those Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Meet Aisha Noorani

Well, well, well, You are ready, you say, For new places and new days, And to be off and away, You seem to be resolute, A trait deemed very cute, Or perhaps you’re afraid and unsure, And prefer to follow suit, Oh, all those you’ll meet,

Well, that’s alright, In fact reasonably right, Because in a tie and a suit, You don’t always have to be absolute,

Some big, And some small, Those that walk, And those that crawl, Some that make their heads their Like with all those you’ll meet, hearts, Not all will be your kind of sweet, And those that make their hearts But, regardless, never forget to smile their minds, and greet, And then find the ones that match Some who are hard and harsh, your beat, Or those forever soft, Yet filled with great might, Oh, all those you’ll meet, Some who always know how to make things right, Some with red curls and blue eyes, And those who want to keep picking And turquoise silk sarees that glisten a fight, and glide, Some with blue bangs that cover Some that are richer than rich yet their eyes, long for some joy, And dress head to toe in one colour And many labelled poor who are the that seems right, richest in love, Or those that make marshmallow Some with one mum and two dads, teacakes, Or two mums and no dad, Who dress in all the colours that And some with only a pair of make up white, beloved grandparents, But still prefer homemade vegan pumpkin pies, So, with all those you’ll meet, Remember not all will be sugar and sweet, But always be kind when you meet, Because they are also human, Just like you and me. 41

Queer Officer

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s already time for Part 2 of our SSU Representative Interview Series, and this one is an absolute gem! Our editor Tina Tsironis spoke to Queer Officer Alex Edwards about how queer students can stay supported and connected from a distance, the importance of queer representation in the university space, and his plans for the rest of the year â&#x20AC;&#x201C; when we (hopefully) emerge victorious and healthy, post isolation.

T: What does your role as Queer Officer involve? A: Organising events for the queer students, overseeing the Queer Space to make sure it’s the best we can make it, and really just being there to help the queer students enjoy university and life in general. T: Let’s back up for a moment – how did you first get involved in the SSU? A: Now that’s going back a bit. I first got involved with the SSU back in 2014 through the queer department. Actually, I started by helping out at O’Week then some of my friends volunteered and became general representatives, so I started volunteering at the Wednesday BBQs and some other events…which is when I got to meet the awesome SSU team we have this year. We became friends and so come election time, I put my hand up to become queer rep. T: What do you feel are some of the most pressing issues facing LGBTQIA+ students at Swinburne, or even within the broader Higher Education sector? A: This is a big question! The first thing that comes to mind is poverty. This is something affecting the majority of students I talk to, whether they’re queer or not. Another thing is coming to understand themselves.

"Queer students are quite often just starting or part way through the realisation that they’re queer, and then they have to grapple with exactly what that means for them. Is it a gender thing or sexuality? That can be a very stressful and difficult process, which is why we are always trying to make the queer community at Swinburne as amazing, supportive and active as possible." T: What support services are available to LGBTQIA+ students attending Swinburne?

T: Do you feel that queer students are well represented when it comes to policy formation, and even on high-level decisionmaking boards within the university?

A: As well as the queer collective itself there is also Swinburne’s health services at Level 4 of the George Building, which provides help for both mental and physical ailments. The queer collective also provides in-depth information about various queer based health and support services such as Thorne Harbor health, Switchboard, and Equinox.

"I would love to answer yes and say there is great representation, however sadly at the moment that isn’t the case and it’s definitely something that needs fixing. We’re slowly getting there and sadly this isn’t something we can fix overnight, but we will get there." T: What can the university do to improve this? A: Put better policies and procedures in place around queerphobia, involve queer students in discussions around these 45

policies and procedures, ask us for our input on queer events and hold more of these events in the first place, and hold lecturers and tutors accountable if they behave in queerphobic ways. T: How can queer students be supported ‘from a distance’ at Swinburne, especially considering (at the time of print) the recent, temporary transition to online classes in the face of COVID-19?

@sarowarrr

A: The best way to be supported by the Swinburne queer community is via our Facebook group, which is set up to be private so anyone can join without fear of being outed. We promote our events on there and really just engage in general discussion and banter. T: What are some of your plans for the rest of the year? A: I’m planning to run events around queer history, as well as an event on safe sex and then some other events that will enable students to have some fun and make new friends. T: What do you enjoy most about being the SSU’s Queer Officer? A: Having the ability to both represent and help Swinburne’s queer community. T: What words of wisdom would you provide to LGBTQIA+ students who’ve just started at Swinburne?

@anjalichakra

A: Join the Queer Collective – it will help you make friends and get involved with the queer community to a level you might not otherwise. And have fun! 46

Cover Artwork By Nethmini Gunasekera