The Big Issue Australia #570 – Love

B IG I SS U E VE N DOR WE DDI NG

ALYSSA M I LANO

$7

No 570 7 - 20 Sep 2018

BAKE BAKLAVA

HELPING PEOPLE HELP THEMSELVES $3.50 of the cover price goes to your vendor

NATIONAL OFFICE Chief Executive Officer Steven Persson Chief Operating Officer Sally Hines Editor Amy Hetherington Chief Financial Officer Jon Whitehead National Marketing and Partnerships Manager Louise Gray National Operations Manager Jeremy Urquhart

The Big Issue is Australia’s leading social enterprise. We are an independent, not-for-profit organisation that develops solutions to help homeless, disadvantaged and marginalised people positively change their lives.

The Big Issue magazine is published fortnightly and sold on the streets by vendors who purchase copies for $3.50 and sell them for $7, keeping the difference. Subscriptions are also available and provide employment for disadvantaged women as dispatch assistants.

For details on all our enterprises visit thebigissue.org.au.

Principal Partners

CONTACT US Tel (03) 9663 4533 Fax (03) 9639 4076 GPO Box 4911 Melbourne VIC 3001 hello@bigissue.org.au thebigissue.org.au WANT TO BECOME A VENDOR? If you’d like to become a vendor contact the vendor support team in your state.

ACT – (02) 6234 6814 Supported by Woden Community Service NSW – (02) 8332 7200 Chris Campbell NSW + ACT Operations Manager Qld – (07) 3221 3513 Susie Longman Qld Operations Manager SA – (08) 8359 3450 Matthew Stedman SA + NT Operations Manager Vic – (03) 9602 7600 Gemma Pidutti Vic + Tas Operations Manager WA – (08) 9225 7792 Andrew Joske WA Operations Manager

Major Partners Allens Linklaters, Corrs Chambers Westgarth, Clayton Utz, Fluor Australia, Herbert Smith Freehills, Macquarie Group, MinterEllison, Mutual Trust Pty Ltd, NAB, PwC, Qantas, Realestate.com.au, Salesforce, The Ian Potter Foundation, William Buck Marketing/Media Partners Adstream, C2, Carat & Aegis Media, Chocolate Studios, Getty Images, Realview Digital, Res Publica, Roy Morgan Research, Town Square Distribution and Community Partners The Big Issue is grateful for all assistance received from our distribution and community partners. A full list of these partners can be found at thebigissue.org.au.

The Big Issue is a proud member of the INSP, which incorporates 122 street publications like The Big Issue in 41 countries.

NEWLYWEDS AND BIG ISSUE VENDORS KELLY AND GREG. PHOTO BY AUTUMN MOONEY

CONTENTS

#

570

COVER STORIES 14 THE POWER OF LOVE

Love bloomed over a wheelchair touch football match – and the rest was history.

18 PEOPLE WHO NEED PEOPLE

A retired surf-lifesaver, an overworked parent and a mother getting older, on one woman’s massage table.

19 THE SPACE BETWEEN US

You don’t need to teach this old dog new tricks, it already knows about love.

20 LOVE IS THE WORD

How would you feel if your son found your love letters?

21 LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR

Author and activist Kon Karapanagiotidis on compassion, action and why we need love more than ever.

FEATURES 22 AIN’T LOVE GRANNY

THE BIG PICTURE Whether it’s Nanna, Bubbe or Yiayia, grandmothers hold a special place in our hearts.

26 LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF

Alyssa Milano talks about Who’s the Boss?, mental health and using her celebrity to achieve good.

29 HIDDEN HOMELESSNESS

LIVING HOMELESS Making a life on the streets without anyone knowing.

30 THE BOUNTY OF HUNTER

Anna Calvi lays it all on the table with her new album.

32 THE BROKEN AVENGER

Actor Joaquin Phoenix and director Lynne Ramsay make a dynamic team.

35 WINTERING IS COMING

Krissy Kneen ventures into the spooky Tasmanian wilderness.

40 TASTES LIKE HOME

Learn the right way to make baklawa.

REGULARS 04 ED’S LETTER,

YOUR SAY 05 MEET YOUR VENDOR 07 STREETSHEET 08 HEARSAY 11 MY WORD 12 RICKY 13 FIONA

36 FILM 37 SMALL SCREENS 38 MUSIC 39 BOOKS 43 PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT 44 PUZZLES 46 CLICK

ED’S LETTER

YOUR SAY

LOVE, ALWAYS

MUSINGS ON MUSIC

OUR HISTORIES ARE littered with love

stories. Both sets of my grandparents met on a dancefloor. My Scottish mama tells a story of how she knew she was going to marry my papa the moment she locked eyes with him at a local dancehall in Aberdeen. My Aussie-born nanna met my granddad at a dance in Pyramid Hill, rural Victoria. He asked her to partner him in a waltzing competition. As the story goes, the winners were announced as “Miss Le Batt and her partner”. When granddad started clapping, she gave him a nudge and said, “That’s us.” It was their second turn at love; both had been widowed young. Me, well, I met my love online some nine years ago. Okay, so it’s not much of a Hollywood-style meetcute, but he’s all my love songs. Saying that, I showed him this column and he called me a ham. Ah, love!

We all need love stories, because we need the soul-affirming boost of goodness that they deliver. Not just tales of romantic love, but also accounts of compassion and connection. Of friendship and kindness. They are an antidote to the bad news cycle. It’s why we’ve decided to dedicate this edition to love, in all its guises. We bring you a series of love stories to make your heart sing and your eyes tingle: neighbourly love; love letters; love for family; and love for an old dog.

Plus a photo series on someone we all hold dear – grandma.

And, in a first for this magazine, we bring you a Big Issue wedding. Sydney vendors Kelly and Greg have invited us to share in their big day, an intimate backyard wedding organised in just 48 hours. Theirs is a story of love under the toughest of circumstances. Says Greg, “Thanks for the opportunity to share our story and show others what is truly possible.” Their story is also a reminder of what is truly important.

Amy Hetherington, Editor

I really loved Fiona ScottNorman’s recent piece in The Big Issue about “music to swipe to” [Ed#560]. It totally nailed the current state of musical fuckery. I want to share the piece with others but don’t know how. I mean I guess it’d be fun to just post them my copy of the magazine! But I was wondering if those words exist digitally anywhere?

Pablo Latona, Turner, ACT. Ed – thanks Pablo. We’ve posted Fiona’s column on our blog, check it out at thebigissue.org.au.

As winner of this edition’s Letter of the Fortnight, Pablo wins a copy of author Krissy Kneen’s new psychological thriller Wintering. See our interview with Kneen, p35.

I meet Daryl Whilst waiting for my morning caffeine hit His eccentric baroque duster catches my eye He’s suited up complete with a waistcoat and what I see is someone who has dignity in who they are despite their circumstances.

I watch as he maintains composure Stands tall and mighty Amongst the sea of rejection and discouragement.

I’m instantly curious.

I walk over and he’s courteous and open.

He tells me how that he’s studying counselling and psychology And how it helps him to understand people.

He tells me how @bigissueaustralia provides help for him to help himself. @thecircusrunawaycat via Instagram

The first piece of fiction I ever had published was a short story in The Big Issue’s annual fiction edition and I still remember how exciting that was. The Big Issue is a truly enlightening read all year round and every copy sold provides a much-needed income for homeless, marginalised and disadvantaged Australians.

Jane Harper (The Dry) via Instagram @JoyceLauNews @TheBigIssue’s Aug 2018 #fiction edition is very good. I’m saying that as a book reviewer, and not out of any sympathy because it’s a #socialenterprise that helps the homeless. The #writing is fantastic. If you’re in #Australia, find one of their vendors on the street & buy one.

We will be offering Liane Moriarty’s new novel Nine Perfect Strangers to the next edition’s Letter of the Fortnight.

So send in your thoughts, feedback or TBI experiences for your chance to win: submissions@bigissue.org.au.

COVER #570 ILLUSTRATION BY BROLGA/THE JACKY WINTER GROUP

THE BIG ISSUE USES MACQUARIE DICTIONARY AS OUR REFERENCE. MACQUARIEDICTIONARY.COM.AU

» ‘Your Say’ submissions must be 100 words or less, contain the writer’s full name and home address, and may be edited for clarity or space.

MEET YOUR VENDOR CAMERON O SELLS THE BIG ISSUE ON THE CORNER OF GOLD COAST HWY AND LAVARACK ST, NOBBYS BEACH, QLD. I ENJOYED SCHOOL and had some great friends in primary school

– though I did get picked on a fair bit. I missed a lot of school because I was in hospital for long periods of time. Mum said that I was strangled by my umbilical cord during birth which caused some trouble with my brain and my memory, which gave me some learning difficulties. I went to high school and was put in special classes.

I have had quite a few jobs in gardening, property maintenance and as a stable hand. Being a stable hand was my favourite, but my boss went broke. He was really kind and let me sleep in the stables as I had no housing.

I slept rough for a few years on the beach. I had a tent and some “I HAVE BEEN basic things. I buried a wheelie bin and kept my stuff in that every SELLING FOR day – so I only had to carry a backpack around during the day.

NEARLY A YEAR I would get back to my spot late at night and uncover the wheelie AND I LOVE IT.” bin and put up my tent. Everything stayed clean and dry. I’ve had – CAMERON O secure housing for the past 18 months. It is only transitional housing, but I have a roof over my head and my own space.

One of my neighbours, Mark, told me about The Big Issue.

I have been selling for nearly a year and I love it.

Valentine’s Day this year was the best day of my whole life! I had this idea to give a red rose to everyone who bought a Big Issue on Valentine’s Day. I told one of my customers Lance about it – he said that he wanted to help me. He wanted to buy the roses, but I said no as I wanted them to be from my heart. In the end we went halves, he bought 50 and I bought 50. The night before Valentine’s Day, Lance put a post on Facebook and it went viral. One of my friends called me before I even got to my pitch and said that they were talking about me on the radio. By the time I got to my pitch three TV stations were there! I was on radio and TV and all over the internet! Lance had to go buy more roses and one of the radio stations bought me a big bunch as well. A Hollywood actress called Minnie Driver even tweeted about me. People travelled for over an hour to come and say hi and buy a magazine and get a rose from me. Lance has been a very good friend to me.

I gave away over 250 roses, and I sold out of magazines!

I can’t wait until next Valentine’s Day – I am going to give out roses again. It made me so happy to make other people happy.

I felt so much love in the air.

Working for The Big Issue has been great – it has given me a reason to get up every day. I have lots of regular customers and they are so kind and friendly. Some of them buy me a coffee or a doughnut. My self-confidence has really improved and I have bought a few things for my unit. I have suffered from depression in the past and The Big Issue has really helped me with that.

interview by Susie Longman photo by Nathan Brayshaw

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

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STREETSHEET

Vendor Les F sadly passed away in June after a courageous battle. Les had been a Big Issue vendor since 2004. He pioneered selling the magazine in regional Victoria, first starting in Wangaratta before moving to Bendigo. There he not only sold The Big Issue but also took part in the community Street Soccer Program. Every Tuesday, without fail, Les would be there. He was even selected several times to represent regional Victoria in The Big Issue’s annual national street soccer tournament. Les loved to travel and I would often get a call saying, “I’m in Echuca and have organised a spot at the market to sell, can you send me some mags?” He later moved to Maryborough where he once again set about gaining permission to sell The Big Issue in the main street and its markets.

The Big Issue gave Les the opportunity to do his favourite things – to travel and meet people. He’ll be missed.

Kirstie P, Vendor Support Manager, Melbourne.

Stories, poems and pictures by Big Issue vendors and friends SAY A LITTLE PRAYER

Sad to hear about Aretha Franklin; her music was so uplifting when I needed to cheer up. ‘Think’, ‘Respect’, ‘I Say a Little Prayer’ are just a few of her songs that I really relate to. Aretha will be missed, but her music lives on forever. This lovely, talented, beautiful woman had a gorgeous, generous nature and she was a humble celebrity. Another song that comes to mind is ‘Freeway of Love’.

AnneMarie works in the Women’s Subscription Enterprise, Sydney.

UP AND UP

I love to play basketball, I play in the Division One team and last term my coach asked me if I would like to coach the Division Two team! I coach them every Wednesday for one hour and teach them general ball skills, and offence and defence skills too. We made it to the grand final in June. Even though we lost, the team played really well and I’m really proud of them.

Coaching has been really great fun and the players look up to me as I’m in the state team. My confidence has also improved and I enjoy supporting them to become better players.

Kellee sells The Big Issue at Hay St Body Shop and Miss Maud’s, Perth.

THE BIG 5-0!

It was my birthday on 13 July. I finally turned the BIG 5-0! I had my party on the Saturday night, which my friends and family attended. My exceptionally talented friend made my birthday cake.

The flavour was vanilla with salted caramel and it was delish! I had a really good night and a great time.

Caroline sells The Big Issue at London Court, St Georges Tce, Perth.

DO YOU SEE?

In the blink of an eye, I watch a thousand versions of myself walk by.

In their eye, who am I? Am I important to you, like you are to me?

My dreams are equal to yours.

Do you see what I see?

Megan L sells The Big Issue at Railway Square, Sydney.

FELINE FINE

What a year it has been so far for me and my cat Squishy. Me being in the magazine’s vendor profile [Ed#552] and moving house. So me and Squishy are doing good and want to thank everybody.

Garry sells The Big Issue at Flagstaff Station, Melbourne.

BIG LUNCH, BIG WIN

I just want to thank all the people who attended The Big Issue’s Big Lunch at Adelaide Central Market and bought a magazine from me. Your help means a

lot! The money I made that day helped me pay my school fees – I paid for the next two semesters in advance. It felt really good being at The Big Lunch. I was a bit nervous at first as I’ve never been to anything like it, never spoken to a big group of people like that. But Amanda Blair was great as the MC. Once she started cracking jokes it made me really comfy. Being able to tell my story to an audience made me feel proud of myself. I feel more confident now.

I’m so glad I am able to go to TAFE and study literacy. I used to be so ashamed of myself, but this is no longer the case.

If you have trouble reading, writing or with your maths, don’t be ashamed, don’t be scared of speaking to someone.

You can call the Reading Writing Hotline on 1300 655 506 and they will put you onto a course. Good luck!

Ron K sells The Big Issue in Pirie St and around the Adelaide CBD.

» All vendor contributors to Streetsheet are paid for their work.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

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HEARSAY WRITER RICHARD CASTLES

» CARTOONIST ANDREW WELDON

I’VE LOST MY VOICE AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. U2’s Bono, who lost his voice during a gig in Berlin, which meant he had to stop talking and singing.

– The New York Times (US)

EAR2GROUND “I get too emotionally affected by these shows.

Like, right now, I actually feel like I am the Queen.”

The dangers of bingewatching The Crown. Overheard

by John of Templestowe, Victoria.

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THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

“There’s this thinking that athletes should just run up and down the field, run around the bases, run down the court, play ball and shut the fuck up. But there’s a history of that not being the case. And the powers that be don’t like that.”

Filmmaker Spike Lee (BlacKkKlansmen) on athletes stepping outside their jock duties and speaking out.

– Time (US) “Being a parent makes me hopeful... I am extremely hopeful there is a large group of young people who are better than I am.

Better than the generation that came before them. It gives me hope.”

American TV host Stephen Colbert on his optimism about the future.

– Rolling Stone (US) “People get uncomfortable when you tell the truth. I don’t. I’m happy to feel. I wanna feel every single fucking thing. I want to feel the breeze, the punch, the disappointment. I want to feel love, lust and everything in between because I’m here for

an infinitesimal amount of time.

I wanna feel it all. I’m a greedy motherfucker. If that makes me dark, so be it.”

Lead singer of band Garbage, Shirley Manson, on critics thinking her songs are “dark”.

– The Guardian (UK) “Now we have the problem that they tell us Logan is a great movie. Well, it’s a great superhero movie. It still involves people in tights with metal coming out of their hands. It’s not Bresson. It’s not Bergman. But they talk about it like it is.”

Actor Ethan Hawke (Before Sunrise; Dead Poets Society) on what he thinks of superhero movies, even those in which he features.

– Esquire (UK) “This is the first century for the rest of time when it all works for seven billion people or we’re going to wipe ourselves off the planet... I want moderate people to understand that these are the stakes. I want people, moderate people like me, to get politicised, because it’s going to get rough and

PHOTO BY GETTY

“I used to think that the driver was society itself, and that technology only accelerated it. But I’m beginning to think causality moves the other way: that we wouldn’t be where we are if not for the internet and social media. This is something future historians will have to unpack.”

Francis Fukuyama, who became famous with his “end of history” thesis in the 1990s, on how the internet and social media might be shaping us.

– The Chronicle of Higher Education (US)

we’d better work out how we’re going to make it work. It’s up to us. I don’t believe in God. If a floaty guy didn’t come down for World War II, then he’s not going to come down for this. We’re on our own.”

Comedian and actor Eddie Izzard on why he hopes to run for a seat at the next British election.

– The Saturday Paper (Aus)

“Jokes are not real. People assume that when you say something that you believe it. It’s purely comedic invention. You know, I do this whole bit about Pop-Tarts and how much I love them. I don’t love Pop-Tarts. It’s just funny. It’s funny to say it, so I say it.”

Comedian Jerry Seinfeld on why he’s never apologised for a joke.

– The New York Times (US)

“I went on a couple of dates, and they were nice. It was very funny, and it was great practice.

I’m trying to practise intimacy. ’Cause we don’t date in Australia.

We just get together.”

Pop star Sia, who for years has obscured her face with an oversized blonde wig whenever she performs, on dating and intimacy.

– Rolling Stone (US)

“I often cry when people do things well, like on Britain’s Got Talent; I cried at the old ladies doing finger knitting.”

Martin Clunes, best known as TV’s grumpy Doc Martin.

– The Guardian (UK) “In the United States, we live in a domestic, violent occupation.

What’s happened is a mentality of

we’re going into a neighbourhood and we’re not policing it, we’re patrolling it... The police are now the military and the military is very much the police force.”

Chelsea Manning, who was denied a visa to Australia because of her criminal record, but spoke at Sydney’s Antidote Festival anyway, via satellite.

– Sydney Morning Herald “I was quite keen on Jesus and toyed with Christianity in my teens. I went to Bible classes with the vicar who lived next door, and I remember saying: ‘My uncle is a homosexual, would he be allowed into heaven?’ The vicar paused, and at that moment I knew I was done with religion.”

Actor Emma Thompson (In the Name of the Father) on losing her religion.

– The Guardian (UK)

» Frequently overhear tantalising tidbits? Don’t waste them on your friends – share them with the world at submissions@bigissue.org.au

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

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MY WORD

The Final Quarter Vin Maskell still gets a kick out of his childhood love.

LEONARD COHEN PROBABLY never

kicked an Australian Rules football but I know what he meant when he sang, “I ache in the places where I used to play”, in ‘Tower of Song’.

Bob Murphy, retired Western Bulldogs footballer (312 games), kicked many a footy, and I do know what he meant when he wrote that your last game is like the end of childhood.

I have been trying to stave off the end of my childhood all my life, but now I ache in the hips and the back when I kick a footy.

Not that I ever played games for a club, unless you count Under 14s. And not that I even kick a full-size footy these days. It’s a size three Sherrin, Lyrebird brand. Better to kick a kid’s footy than no footy at all.

Nearing 60 years old, I’m pretty much playing the last quarter of my life. It is, of course, a quarter one hopes never ends.

No-one wants to hear the final siren. Noone wants the umpire to blow the whistle, raise the arms and signal game over.

So that’s why you’ll find me on a Sunday morning kicking a small footy with a few mates, some much younger, a few my age or a little older. Just halfa-dozen of us on a good day, barring injuries, family commitments and the weather. We form a loose circle and move around within half the ground.

Sometimes there are only two of us, so it is strictly kick to kick, back and forth, back and forth.

And sometimes there’s just myself, bouncing the yellow footy into the

green grass, walking to the centre circle, the firmest part of the ground.

Then walking down to the goals, perhaps imagining a Saturday game here by the local amateurs, perhaps thinking of the week behind and the years ahead. Or the years behind and the weeks ahead. All the while bouncing air out of that ball.

We play all-year round because life is all-year round. The official season may be over but that’s when we’re starting to hit our stride. That’s when – October, November, early December – the weather is kinder to our bodies. Even if some of us can only kick a small footy 30 metres, not much beats the sun on your back under warm skies. (I’ve been known to occasionally play bare-chested on warm mornings.)

As we run (well, jog) toward an errant, misdirected kick, it could be our childhood, and our mortality, that we’re chasing.

As we mark a perfectly directed and perfectly weighted kick – the right speed, the right height, the right distance – we thank our good fortune to be alive and relatively healthy.

We are not footballers. We do not play in a team or in a competition.

We do not belong to a club. But we belong to each other for that hour of a Sunday morning. Small talk is saved for the end of the session. Even then, one of our best players – and we are players of a kind – hardly says a word.

Conversely, our oldest player – nearing 65 – has the gift of the

gab. If the kicking and marking is getting sloppy, inevitable as the morning lengthens, he will encourage us by calling and cajoling and joking. And delivering some very accurate old-fashioned kicks.

Anyone remember torpedoes, drop-kicks, stab-passes?

Or he may start “the count”, to see how many marks we can take collectively and successively. The idea is to keep the ball off the ground for as long as possible, for as many kicks as possible. This makes us play with more care. It turns that part of the morning into, perhaps, a numbered meditation.

No-one wants to break the chain.

Eventually, of course, a kick goes awry or hands fumble or the sun gets in your eyes and the count is over. These days we don’t get anywhere near the century we managed 10 years back, but that’s just another sign of the times.

Soon enough our lungs and our limbs, our hips and our backs, tell us to head to the boundary to “warm down” with shots at goal from all of 20 metres.

If we have not ached now, we may ache during the week. Sometimes players disappear for a month or more.

Groin. Hammy. Hip. But we come back. To re-live childhood. To stave off childhood.

To find some wonder and some innocence before the final siren.

It’s the final quarter.

» Vin Maskell is a regular contributor to The Big Issue.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

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RICKY A FREEZING SOUTHERLY streaked from

right to left across the rugby league ground, where home team the Moree Boomerangs were giving the Inverell Hawks a good hiding, cementing a place in the local grand final. In Moree, rugby league is the blackfellas’ game, and with over 20 per cent of Moree Plains Shire in northern NSW being Indigenous, the Boomerangs command a solid following.

Tom the school teacher was showing me round town. He was a popular man; kids he’d taught who now played for the Boomerangs came up and chatted and shook his hand.

Tom had spent the best part of 20 years in town, often picking up Indigenous kids from their homes and taking them to school, striving to get them engaged and break the destructive cycle threatening to trap them.

After the game we jumped in his car, turned into Barwon Avenue. Tom wanted to show me something. The houses were trashed, falling apart, burnt and gutted. It was a slum, an Australian ghetto. It got worse. Tom showed me “The Mish”.

It was the former mission on the outskirts of town. Now a line of government houses, it looked like a cyclone had gone through, obliterating everything. Tom said, “These are some tough streets.” But they weren’t tough in the slightest. They were utterly broken and beaten.

It was hard to believe Australians were living like this, and our next stop on the unofficial Moree tourist drive made it even harder to believe. We passed the golf course and turned into a block of streets so pretty it hurt. Grand, stately houses stood surrounded by manicured lawns, curved driveways and stone archways. In the space of two minutes we’d gone from downtown LA to gorgeous Alabama plantation homes.

“Moree is incredibly rich,” Tom said. “This area is your ex-farmers and businesspeople.

When the cropping guys have a big year, man they have a big year.” Cotton had been huge in the early 1990s. But then improved farming technology, including GM crops resistant to herbicide, spelled the end of the

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“Tom said, ‘These are some tough streets.’ But they weren’t tough in the slightest. They were utterly broken and beaten.”

cotton chipping industry. Gone were the low-skilled but plentiful jobs removing weeds from the cotton. Flow-on jobs like aerial spraying dried up, too, and money generated in the area wasn’t being spent there. Tom said, “Wealthy parents send their kids to boarding school and bam, there’s $50,000 suddenly not being spent in Moree. Parents are away on the weekend, visiting their kids, doing their shopping elsewhere; slowly but surely your town dies. There’s no meatworks, no factories, no jobs for the working-class.

There’s no middle-class here either, really, you’re either top or bottom.”

We drove to the rugby union oval. Out here, the whitefellas’ code. Blackfellas lived on the outskirts of town and the outskirts of life. Moree was still top camp and bottom camp. Segregation was no longer an official policy, but in practice it was everywhere.

In this regard Moree wasn’t unique in an Australian or even a global sense, but Tom said, “No town shows it quite like Moree.”

Tom parked the car next to the home of a boy he used to pick up and drive to school.

It was burnt out and boarded up. “This used to be the wealthiest shire in Australia. My dad would always say nowhere bounces back like Moree.”

I asked Tom what happened to the boy. Tom smiled. “He stayed at school. Got a job at the post office and is now at Armidale at uni. His kids will follow him, the cycle will be broken.”

It was nearly sunset and kangaroos were bounding across the orange plains. We drove on and stopped by a mansion. A waterslide tumbled into a glistening outdoor pool. Tom said, “If you’re a kid growing up in Moree and this is your life – a beautiful home backing onto endless fields, and you go to school on the Gold Coast and spend weekends here, you’d say you bloody loved Moree. You’d say it’s idyllic. Grow up in Barwon Avenue and it’s a whole different story.”

» Ricky French (@frenchricky) is a writer, musician and moree than meets the eye.

PHOTOS BY JAMES BRAUND

Reading the Codes

FIONA

Stick That in Your Pipe I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T say this, because cancer and butt litter and the environment and fossil fuels, but I miss the old days when cars and cigarettes were “sexy”. When they were the cultural signifiers for sex. Those were the days. Terrible, gorgeous, poisonfilled days. This is why, I suspect, we’re obsessed with retro, aka nostalgia porn, because it’s a chance to perv at times gone by, when cars had curves and style and were an unabashed pleasure. Dear lord, show me a low-slung vehicle with sweet lines, a hood ornament with heft, and an aesthetic that turns your head and purses your lips into a low whistle. And while you’re at it, someone wearing leather leaning against that car, basking in some melanomic sun, sucking on a soft-pack smoke like it’s an actual phallus.

Give me anything, really, that’s been designed with joy in mind.

Safety standards and fear have stranded us in a world of ugly. I’m not sure what ciggies signify today, besides slow painful death for the people who smoke them and marine animals who ingest the butts, but it’s no longer horseriding and an international passport to smoking pleasure. I quit in the early 1990s because I’m not an idiot, but lately I’ve mourned the glamour.

Last week I was waiting at a 7-Eleven counter while a guy bought a packet of durries, and when the bolted metal doors swung open it was a portal into a Boschian hell. A full wall of rotting teeth, ulcerous gums, a mouth cancer the size of a mouse, gangrenous feet, black lungs, an actual dead person. Jesus. I mean, job done Cancer Council Australia, nice work, but the Sev staff must have PTSD. I’m sure it’s effective, but rusted-on smokers must hate themselves even more, and wherever smokers hang out (clue: everywhere, because they’re people), the world is gifted random glimpses of pop-up horror that cannot be unseen. “Glass of wine, madam? Oh look, a close-up of a blinded eyeball with the lids wrenched open with multiple tiny hooks.

Enjoy your evening!”

And cars? They all look as though they

“I miss the old days when cars and cigarettes were ‘sexy’. Those were the days. Terrible, gorgeous, poisonfilled days.”

were designed at a three-hour angermanagement intervention at a particularly dysfunctional regional council. One where everyone really hates each other, and people leave passive-aggressive post-it notes in the fridge warning others not to touch their milk.

Modern cars manage to be both aggressive and bland. No personality but always about to go you. The cars’ “faces” are all wasp-like with frowning LED eyebrows. Grilles like a snarl. Are they angry because they’re so boring? I would be. Every glance in the rearview mirror is a scene from the movie Duel, with a malevolent presence bearing down.

There is nothing remotely fabulous about contemporary automotive design, unless you get turned on by heated seats, industrialstrength genericism and 83 varieties of grey.

Cars have pivoted from being thinly veiled metaphors for a dude’s straining manhood, to fearsome, plain cocoons.

They’re wombs with cup-holders, air-bags, bluetooth and shouted ads on breakfast radio. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Modern cars, designed around safety features to a minimum budget, have no swag. There is nothing to admire, just bumper-tobumper “bleah”.

Concerned only with safety and savings, we’re remaking our world with no beauty, and compensating for our lack of joy by watching cat videos. Buildings are the same, as anything with grace and intrigue is torn down and replaced with featureless boxes. Bunkers, really. I used to marvel at shopping centres, and how invisible they are; giant squatting silos of featureless concrete that our eyes slide away from. That’s now the look for everything. Nothing to look at! No wonder we’re all turning in, attention fixed on our devices. The poison’s on the outside these days.

» Fiona Scott-Norman (@FScottNorman) is a writer, comedian and reformed smoker.

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COVER STORY

ALL YOU READ IS LOVE

The Power of Love This Big Issue love story begins at a wheelchair touch football game and continues on through joy, devastation and more love. An abundance of it.

Amy Hetherington speaks to newlywed vendors Kelly and Greg.

PHOTOS BY AUTUMN MOONEY (AUTUMNMOONEY.COM). FLOWERS BY iSTOCK

IT’S THE FIRST of July in a backyard

in western Sydney. A few friends have gathered on this winter’s day to witness a wedding ceremony, organised in haste.

And heartache. The courtyard is dappled in sunshine, and the fence has been decorated with two small signs: “love” and “hope”.

As a Celine Dion love song starts up, our bride, Kelly, begins her way down the aisle, traversing the long driveway, through the garage, and down the path.

There’s a special green carpet laid out for her arrival, bordered by pebbles and pot plants. Kelly is wearing a new blue dress, and carrying a posy of roses, baby-pink, red and yellow; a gift from her parents in Queensland.

The groom, Greg, is at the end of the carpet, waiting. He’s grinning, crying.

“With a beautiful bride coming down the pathway, I felt amazing,” says Greg later.

“I had tears, I did.”

A gold sign reading ‘Mr and Mrs Standen’ glints behind his head, waving from a washing line transformed into a backdrop with purple sheets for this special moment.

“Going down the aisle was the best feeling of my life,” says Kelly, “because I already knew we were destined to be together. When I said ‘I do’ I was over the moon! I couldn’t stop smiling. I still can’t stop smiling.”

IT’S NOT EVERY day that a wedding is

organised in 48 hours. But that’s what Big Issue vendors Greg and Kelly had to do, bringing forward their original plans on doctor’s orders.

“We’ve both got spina bifida,” explains Greg. “I was very independent as a child.

I was encouraged to do everything.

I did the athletics carnivals, swimming carnivals. Then at 25 my balance

became very unsteady.” After a series of operations, Greg collapsed and “they basically said get used to life in a chair”.

That was 20-odd years ago.

For Kelly, it’s even more complicated.

From a young age, her mobility was compromised. Then seven years ago, at the age of 30, she was diagnosed with syringomyelia, a build-up of fluid on her spinal cord. “My brain is herniating: it’s sucking my brain stem into my spine, and it’s crushing every internal organ in my body.” It’s left her with a host of health issues, including depression, anxiety and breathing difficulties.

She says matter of factly: “I am in pain 24/7…and things are just getting worse for me day by day, to the point where eventually it’s going to kill me.”

Remember those small signs: “love”, “hope”.

Kelly and Greg had originally planned a big white wedding for October 2019.

Their celebrant, Lou Szymkow, was booked to marry them in front of 120 guests in Auburn Botanic Gardens’ sunken rose gardens. The bride was to arrive in a horse-drawn carriage. She’d picked out her dream dress. And they’d planned a honeymoon cruise around Australia. Kelly, being Kelly, wanted to go on a cruise ship to help her get over her fear of heights – and water.

But during her monthly appointment with the spina bifida clinic, Kelly was advised to expedite their ceremony.

“I told my doctor all the plans for the wedding... and he said I should push our wedding as far forward as possible, because in his opinion I won’t be around in October next year,” she recalls.

They called Lou, and their two witnesses: Kelly’s matron of honour Heather, a former carer; and best man Flavio, who used to work with Greg in

his marketing business. The big white wedding quickly became a simple, intimate ceremony. And it was still overflowing with love.

“They are very loving to each other,” says Lou. “Greg is completely and utterly infatuated with Kelly, he’s constantly looking out for her.

“The wedding was a very beautiful moment. The sheer joy in her face as they made the announcement, it was very heart-warming. I think they were both overwhelmed… I can feel my own tears welling up now.”

They celebrated over lunch at their local bowling club, Dooleys Regents Park Sports Club, who surprised the newlyweds by decorating the table with flowers and a white tablecloth, also providing them with their own personal waiter for the afternoon.

While their wedding plans were hatched in an instant, the love story of Kelly and Greg has been 15-and-a-half years in the making. They met playing mixed wheelchair football. “One of my friends – she’s a quadriplegic – was on my team as well. One day I told her I like Greg, but not to tell him,” says Kelly.

Laughs Greg, “And she tormented me for weeks, ‘I know someone who likes you! I know someone who likes you!’”

The fates were listening. Greg moved into a villa in the same independent living community as Kelly, just around the corner.

“I was so excited,” Kelly says. “I was single. I had not had much good luck with men before.”

Adds Greg, “I was internet dating at the time. Then, we were hanging out one day and one thing led to another…” “…It was the best thing that’d ever happened to me,” says Kelly, beaming at her new husband. That was  THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018 

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“I’ve always wanted to marry him,” says Kelly.

“I love her smiley face,” says Greg.

19 December 2002, and they’ve been together since. “I love her smiley face, the fact that she’s so caring,” says Greg.

Adds Kelly, “He’s always funny, he’s always there for me – he knows when to pick me up when I’m down.”

GREG AND KELLY have been married

almost two months when we all catch up again, after their photo shoot in Circular Quay, the site of their improvised honeymoon celebrations.

“I thought, how can I recreate the cruise without leaving Sydney?” tells Greg. “We got on a ferry to Taronga Zoo to see the tigers – Kelly loves tigers – and I took her up to Centrepoint Tower’s 360 restaurant for dinner.

We had a great day.”

They’re back in their wedding finery, recreating their big day, as there was no official photographer on hand.

Greg is still wearing a red-and-gold ribbon on his ring finger – a memento of the special handfasting ceremony that bound them together as one during their vows. “Red is the colour of love, of courage,” Lou told them. “Gold is a symbol of all that is precious.”

Kelly’s proudly replaced her ribbon with her heart-shaped engagement ring.

She is recovering from the flu; there’s a deep relief that it didn’t develop into pneumonia. There is still that hope, that love, driving them to have the big wedding they’d originally planned.

“It’s just a matter of when we can afford it,” says Greg, who was introduced

to selling The Big Issue by Kelly, a longtime vendor. “What we’ve done already wouldn’t have been possible if we weren’t selling The Big Issue,” says Greg. “We’re both in government housing, both on disability pensions, and it just would not have been possible without that little bit of extra income.”

“Greg is the love of my life,” adds Kelly. “I’ve always wanted to marry him, since the day we met.”

Greg reaches out to take her hand, “Love you wifey.”

“Love you hubby,” she says right back.

by Amy Hetherington (@AmyHetherington), Editor. » Kelly and Greg sell The Big Issue in Parramatta, Sydney.  THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018 

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COVER STORY

ALL YOU READ IS LOVE

People Who Need People Karenlee Thompson uses her hands and elbows and skills to heal people’s bodies – but gets it all back, and more, in return.

MY SISTER TELLS me I look tired.

Mum says maybe it is time to retire.

My husband hands me a glass of pinot.

“Ah, but what would her clients do without her?” he asks.

“More to the point, what would I do without them?”

He throws me a lopsided grin and a wink. “Your people.”

Yes. My people. Like Richard*, whose days have become a decoupage of all previous days – some pieces highlighted crisp and varnished, others feathered and vanishing.

His daughter tells me it takes him almost three hours to shower and shave, to scan the pill schedule and check and triple-check before throwing the handful into his mouth and tossing it back with a waterfall.

He peers myopically at the calendar on the fridge and allows a rare smile before shuffling back to the bedroom to don his trunks. Budgie smugglers, Claire calls them. Navy blue with proud white lettering across the back: BONDI. When I arrive, Claire retreats to the courtyard, latest crime thriller in hand.

And her father and I begin our banter.

“How’s your week been Richard?”

“Oh, same as always,” he replies.

“Always the same.”

“Well, you’re looking fabulous.”

He says if he were any fitter he’d be dangerous. And he gets himself up on the table and tries not to groan as he turns to one side. Grabs at the sheet to cover the flaps that are now his thighs.

I ask him about some of his more dangerous surf rescues and I pretend I’ve not heard the stories before.

“How’s that pressure Richard?”

“Oh, it’s good,” he tells me, just like he always does. If he flinches and I ask if it is a little tender there, he lies and

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says it is not. He wants me to see him as the robust surfer he once was, giving up his weekends to keep the beaches safe.

Sometimes we talk about his time in the fire brigade and he might tell me the story about when the house of ill-repute went up in flames and the madam offered him and his mates all some special time “off the books”.

“YOU MUST FIND it very draining,” says

my sister matter of factly. I tell her I am fit and strong. I look after myself.

“Emotionally, I mean,” she says.

I try to explain that there is an exchange of energy. It’s the lay-days that leave me drained. On days off, I miss my clients. My people.

People like Julie who is a bank manager and mother of three grown children. Who runs 30km every Saturday to blow away the stress of the treadmill life she cannot escape.

We joke about her calves of steel and I try to release the trigger points in her upper back. She is face down on the table and her voice is muffled but I hear the strain beneath her words.

“Tough week?”

“Oh,” A long sigh. “Just the usual.”

Julie doesn’t like to complain. There are so many people worse off. She has a husband, a home, healthy children.

It would be a crime to whine, she tells me. As the fascia begins to release, she’ll talk about her misogynist boss and the unpaid hours she puts in. At the end of her allotted time, when I’m feeling a little drained, she hugs me fiercely and I am reinvigorated once more.

People like Lottie, who talks about every movie she has ever seen. Like Lance, who is dying slowly – but aren’t we all, he says with a grin. I see Martha on Wednesday mornings and she

brings me recipes and lemons from her tree. On Fridays I marvel at how well Carmel’s forward posture is correcting; she is just grateful that her jaw no longer aches.

“CAN YOU FIX Mum’s shoulder?” my sister asks, and I come at it with everything in my arsenal. Trigger point here, some slow myofascial release there. I get some increased range of motion and Mum looks at me as if I am some kind of miracle worker. Then I ease my hands down the length of her spine and feel the ravages of time.

I try to retain my professionalism, but my fingers betray me as they carry the weariness of years of pain from her body to mine and I know that this damage is too old and too pervasive for my hands to heal.

I am helpless and exhausted, but I try to pour every ounce of my love into her. Not to heal her. It is not possible.

Just to help. Just to say something with my hands that words cannot formulate.

Here is my love, I silently whisper, as my forearms glide softly over her back.

Here I am, say my hands to her body.

I help her dress. Excuse myself. In the bathroom, I muffle my sobs into one of her floral towels and then splash cold water over my face.

When I return, she has made tea.

“Oh, my darling, I feel so much better,” she says.

She hugs me with a strength I’d not have thought possible. *All names have been changed, except for one. Mum is Mum, always.

» Karenlee Thompson (@ KarenleeWriter) is a Qld-based author of Flame Tip. She writes fiction, non-fiction and poetry.

See karenleethompson.wordpress.com.

The Space Between Us Old dogs are our best friends, our loyal companions, their love unconditional – Rowena Lennox reflects on her love for her furry pal Zefa.

ZEFA, MY DOG, is old now. If we go for a walk in the dark, she stops to sniff and when she looks up it’s hard for her to pick out my shape; she doesn’t hear me when I call her, and when I clap or whistle she can’t tell which direction the sound is coming from.

But her sense of smell is insatiable.

Head down, top lip loose, her velvet snout quivers lovingly over a patch of grass, around the trunk of a tree and in seemingly random places as she inhales scent molecules that pass along her snout and lodge in a part of her nasal cavity where she can analyse them while she breathes. I don’t know whether she needs to spend more time sniffing now than when she was younger to inhale the same number of scent molecules, or whether she needs to take in more molecules for her brain to be able to process the information from them. Maybe immersing herself in scent simply gives her more pleasure now? It is as if each scent is incredibly stimulating, rich with connections.

It’s as though she’s reading an enthralling piece of writing with wise and devoted attention.

We are part of each other.

We inhale each other. Her fur lines our house. She walks in my shadow on hot days. Our routines order each other’s day. She watches us, her humans, knows our every move, especially in the kitchen. I hear her sigh before I go to sleep at night and I feel calm. My limbic system responds to the rhythm of her breath.

In the morning, to wake her up gently, I used to put my chest near her ear so she could hear my heartbeat because that seemed to make her lively, eager to come outside to pee. I don’t want to think about her dying because

I believe that, at some level, she can read my mind. When I think about what’s going through her mind I reach simple, predictable conclusions – that she wants a walk, or food, or to be let outside – which probably shows my impoverishment more than hers.

I once watched a YouTube film of a woman communicating telepathically with a captive black leopard called Diablo and, after, I tried to concentrate on what Zefa might be thinking. I looked into her eyes and tried to keep my mind neutral, focusing on what was going on in her mind. But I got a sense – from the way she moved her head, the way she lay down facing away from me – that this method was too invasive; she

head to the floor. When I open them she is watching. Why do we want to keep looking at each other? What is this connection between us? A bond that is inside us and outside us.

We don’t see each other the same way as when Zefa was a pup and I was much younger. We have aged.

Our bodies, capacities, perceptions, thoughts and beliefs have changed.

I do not know what pain she feels from her arthritis. She does not know the specifics of what I bang away on my computer about. Our lives have changed. Our walks have changed.

We are hardly the same beings we were 16 years ago when we first met but this connection, this thing inside us and outside us, is consistent.

“I know I am me because when I look at Zefa I love her. She knows who she is because I am her person. The feedback loop makes us who we are.” wanted her privacy. Was she so used to being receptive to me that it was too difficult and disturbing to change the dynamic? Or was what was going on in her mind the last thing she could keep to herself? Either way, I don’t want to try and get inside her mind if she doesn’t want me there.

So instead I concentrate on my heart, the pleasure I feel when I am with her, hearing her breathe, smelling her fur. I can’t physically perceive her heartbeat from the other side of the room or even when I am close to her, but I know her heart is there, held in her body as if in a hammock. We gaze at each other.

She holds me in her calm brown eyes.

When I close my eyes she drops her

Our relationship – so invested in emotions, which can be so contingent and tenuous, even capricious – makes us who we are. I know I am still me because when I look at Zefa I love her.

She knows who she is because I am her person. The feedback loop – the love I feel for Zefa and the way she regards me; whatever Zefa feels for me and the way I behold her – makes us who we are. It is as though this love exists outside of our bodies, outside of ourselves, in the space between us.

» Rowena Lennox lives in Sydney

with her family, including her kelpie cattle dog Zefa. She is writing a book about dingoes on K’gari (Fraser Island).

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Love Is the Word What can our parents teach us about the nature of love?

Everything, writes Deborah Wardle.

IF MY SON ever found my love letters,

would I blush? Yes. Would I worry? No. A mother’s love letters are not at first written to her children. They are written in moments of desire, in efforts to find words for the potency of lust. They don’t evoke the hard work it takes to contribute to enduring relationships. It’s harder to express the daily decision-making that is love, to find words about those choices to be open-hearted. Those early passionate letters came before the hard work of parenting. The slower, gentler messages, the carefully worded birthday cards, came later.

Letters to my partner of nearly 10 years are less raunchy, now. They talk of the courage we aspire towards, they talk of acknowledging suffering, of forgiving.

It was my parents who relayed to me the idea that love is a decision.

“It’s not just the overwhelming feelings. They pass. Love becomes what you decide,” Mum would say.

It didn’t make sense to me as a 15-year-old. Now it does. Mum and Dad would lean towards each other, hold hands in the street. Dad would skip a step to walk in time; their hips would swing together when they walked arm-in-arm. They were drawn to each other, something magnetic.

They visited their new grandchild, watching me dote and fuss over a newborn son. Before him, they had wondered how their lesbian daughter would have children. I had assured them that there was nothing artificial in the generous gift of sperm from a longtime friend, nothing but richness in the

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ongoing enmeshments of our families.

Mum drew me aside. “If you and Margaret and your baby were on a sinking boat, who would you save?”

I almost gasped, cast afloat on a coracle on a turbulent sea. While I puzzled, flummoxed, she continued, firm and resolute. “You save Margaret. With two of you strong, together, the baby will always be alright.” That message stayed with me, a gift of love.

Margaret and I loved that boy.

Still do. We were the women on the soccer sidelines, the women at parentteacher interviews, the women taking

love is potent. I hope so.

As a parent, all I want is for my son to know love. It is, I know, up to him. I can only trust that he becomes a partner who decides to take time for love. I wonder whether those times soaking up the warmth from ageless slabs of rock were part of kindling his capacity to decide how to love well.

If he has children, I will pass on my mother’s missive.

LOVE SEEMS LIKE a longer inheritance

than a passing flash of desire, more than a moment of passion written in a

“Love seems like a longer inheritance than a passing flash of desire, more than a moment of passion written in a letter.” him camping, to the beach, to local swimming holes on hot summer days where we lazed together on warm granite. I hoped that love and warmth was seeping into his bones.

But it didn’t mean that we should stay together for the child’s sake.

My relationship with Margaret changed. We live in different places now, but we plant trees together.

Our families holiday together.

Twenty-five years later, our beautiful boy is out in the world finding his own way, finding ways to love. My heart longs for his smells, my thoughts drift to his whereabouts, my feelings like iron filings drawn to a magnetic pole. I don’t ask too many questions. I wait for his stories to emerge. They say a mother’s

letter. I absorbed something from the love between my parents. I was very lucky. Have I passed on this legacy of love? They are his decisions now.

The daily decision to love is the most important gesture I make. I still write what I hope are delectable verses to the woman I now love. Tender messages about shared moments and aspirations. She stores them somewhere secret. Perhaps if, some time in the future, my son were to find them, he would know more of the deep sedimentation, the bone-filling permeability of love.

I may blush, but I’m not worried.

» Deborah Wardle is a writer, editor and full-time PhD student in Melbourne.

Love Thy Neighbour As the CEO and founder of the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre, Kon Karapanagiotidis has his own perspective on love – and why we need it now more than ever.

THE POWER OF love is something we don’t speak of enough. I’m talking not of romantic notions of love but rather love for humanity, love for each other, love for justice, welcome, decency and equality. In essence: Love Thy Neighbour.

In Greek culture we have a word for this, filoxenia, which means love for the stranger. Almost all cultures and faiths have a variation on this theme. It is rooted in the universal understanding that our freedom, safety and security is nothing more than a birthright lottery.

That for many of us, like me, we have just won the lottery of time and place.

A century ago I’m my grandad fleeing his homeland as a refugee; and 75 years ago I am my father in a village that is being occupied by the Nazis.

Love Thy Neighbour. At a time where we are being told by our political leaders to fear the other and follow the drumbeat of hate, bigotry and xenophobia, love matters even more. Every day for the past 17 years, I have worked with refugees – people in search of peace, freedom and hope – at the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre (ASRC) in Melbourne’s west.

People seeking asylum are the brave and resilient, willing to split the earth in half and cross sea and land just to save their families. Yet they are never spoken of as the heroes they are but rather as the villain, as if architects of their own misery.

When I speak publicly I often ask people to stand up if they or their ancestors once crossed sea or land in search of a better life or safety here in

Australia. Unless they are Indigenous to this land, everyone stands. I do this exercise to remind people that the story of the refugee and migrant is the story of many of us. Their story is our story and we need to keep telling it proudly and fiercely.

Love Thy Neighbour. In the face of a time of great cruelty and fear, kindness, decency, compassion and welcome are in fact radical acts.

Radical empathy is the commitment to see the human in us all – our shared journeys, vulnerabilities, struggles and aspirations. It is to see the person behind the label and the story behind the stereotype. It demands of us that we do not allow our compassion to be fatigued by the apathetic and our hearts drained by the cynical. I remind myself, often, that it is better to have a bleeding heart than no heart at all.

Love Thy Neighbour. Love humanises all it touches, it centres that which we have in common and it sees our shared worth simply for being human. But who is our neighbour? It is all of us. Our neighbour is everyone from First Nations people who have blessed this land for 65,000 years with their culture, stories and histories, to the newest Australians seeking asylum from as far as Afghanistan and Sudan.

Our neighbours are the 116,000 Australians without a safe and secure place to call home tonight, to the 2.2 million people living in poverty right now. Our neighbours are women fleeing violence in the midnight hour, to young people of all faiths and

backgrounds despairing at the bleak prospects of finding their first job.

Love Thy Neighbour. Despair is not a strategy. Guilt and shame will take us nowhere. Now is the time to lead with community at the centre.

You don’t need to be an expert to care and you don’t need to be across the latest government policies to have compassion. Your heart and your ability to think critically and understand right from wrong is all that you need.

Imagine if we all started this tomorrow. Taking our boundless imagination, our infinite compassion and our transformative love and all just did our bit.

I’m continually inspired by the staff and volunteers at the ASRC – they are the embodiment of love in action. From bearing witness to the persecution people have escaped, to finding their first job so they can have purpose and meaning once again.

They open their hearts, arms and minds to welcome those who cross our boundless seas in search of freedom.

Love Thy Neighbour. We need not be seeking to build higher walls or tougher borders, but longer tables so there is a seat for us all. We all belong. We all matter. Let us build together a community where it is love that prevails.

» Kon Karapanagiotidis OAM (@Kon_K) is the CEO and founder of the Melbournebased Asylum Seeker Resource Centre.

His book The Power of Hope is out now.

Find out more at asrc.org.au.

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THE BIG PICTURE

SERIES BY ELLI BARDAS

Ain’t Love Granny “JEDDAH” Wafa Fahour “I was born in Lebanon, in Tripoli. My parents came to Australia when I was eight months old; we were invited to Australia.

My parents wanted a better life for their three children – a better education, freedom and freedom of speech – so we found ourselves in Melbourne living in Carlton. Dad became an avid Carlton supporter! This is home for us. I went back to the Middle East in 1998 and, as wonderful as it was going back to where my parents grew up, Australia is home.

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I’ve been volunteering at the Islamic Museum of Australia since before we opened, so almost five years. I absolutely love it. I love meeting people. I love people to come in and get an education, meet a Muslim lady… A lot of people have never interacted with a Muslim lady and they find that we are quite normal under the hijab! I love doing tours and sharing with them the rich history of Muslims in Australia.

I’m a grandmother of three beautiful

grandchildren. They are the apple of my eye. I was 41 when I became a grandmother. My own grandmother was elderly. I adored her, but there was no such thing as getting on the floor and playing around. It was more about cooking together, helping grandmother clean up, gardening…

I always remind my children when their grandmothers talk about the old days, listen to them because you’ll appreciate it when you are older.”

PHOTOS COURTESY OF THE MMV GRANDMOTHERS PROJECT, AND THE LOVE & LEGACY EXHIBITION.

Nonna, Yiayia, Nai Nai, Nanna, Teta, Savta.

No matter where you come from, grandmothers hold a special place in our hearts. They are storytellers, dispensers of warm hugs, keepers of hard-earned wisdom. Multicultural Museums Victoria celebrates grannies in a joint exhibition with the Jewish, Islamic, Chinese, Hellenic and Italian museums of Melbourne.

“WÀIPÓ” Diana Poon “I was born in Australia, as were my own mother and grandmother.

My grandmother died at 108. She was born in Sydney. My own mother died two years ago at 106. They were quite amazing people.

My family here in Australia goes very far back, but we can’t seem to trace all the way to when they first came to Australia because it’s a long, long time ago!

I knew my grandmother and used

to see her a lot until she passed away.

We were close but not super close. You see, my mum and her sister were from my grandmother’s first marriage, so they probably weren’t as close as the second husband’s three children.

I worked as a stenographer before becoming a secretary at the Junior Red Cross. Then I had my first daughter, Debbie, then Janette and then my son Darren. So I had three children very young, and had to stop working. After

many years I became a tai chi instructor and had my own tai chi school. I did it for 15 years. I taught all over the western suburbs and had instructors working under me.

I’ve got 10 grandchildren – the youngest just turned six and the eldest is 25. The littlies live in Queensland but we see the older grandchildren quite a bit because they live close. The others not quite as much because they get so involved in their own world!”

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“BUBBE” Rachel Vivat “I was born in Jerusalem. I started working as a messenger girl for a bank when I was 15 and continued to go up and up until I was in charge of the loan department. I enjoyed every minute. I met my husband there, which is even better.

We have two beautiful girls and I have five grandchildren and three-and-a-half greatgrandchildren – one is on the way!

When I arrived in Australia I went to The Jewish News to place an ad for my husband to find a job, but they offered me

a job instead. They asked if I could start on Monday and I nearly fell off of the chair!

I started working for them, but it was very difficult – my daughters were 13 and 10 at the time. Then an ad for a teaching position went in the paper. Back home I was learning to be a teacher at night, but I left school to come here, so I didn’t have the full certificate. The next day I took a taxi and I went to Mount Scopus College to be interviewed. I worked as a teacher there for over 20 years. It was fantastic.

My grandmother was born in Russia.

She lost her husband at a very young age and had five children to look after. My father was nine when they came to Israel in 1919. His mother found a job in the market, so my father and his big brother started working – the other three went to an orphanage, because she had to work.

I’m a modern grandmother.

I understand everything the children are thinking. I enjoy telling them my stories, and they love listening to my stories.”

“YIAYIA” Despina Christodoulou “I was born in Cyprus in 1946 and arrived in Australia in 1956, just in time for the Olympic Games. There were six of us kids.

When we arrived I went straight to school, I spoke no English. I would turn up with a chunk of bread and a couple of boiled eggs and olives, and all the Aussie kids would have triangles of Vegemite sandwiches and stare at our Greek food!

I started off with an amazing teacher who would take us outside and read us books and teach us words. When I went to

tech I did well and became form captain.

My grandmother lived with my uncle across the road from our house in the village, so I spent a lot of time with her. I was named after her. Once we arrived in Australia we didn’t get a chance to go back to Cyprus until after the 1974 war. At that stage, my grandmother had died.

I have one biological son and two adopted children – a daughter who is Australian and a son from Sri Lanka. Now I have five grandkids. When the Hellenic

Museum first asked me to do this I said, ‘Are you sure you want me? Because I’m not your typical Greek grandmother.’ But they said, ‘That’s what we want, diversity.’

Grandmothers today are more active.

We play games with the grandkids, take them to the movies, to the park…and, of course, I took them to see the exhibition.”

by Anastasia Safioleas (@anast), Contributing Editor » For more info, go to mmv.org.au.  THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018 

25

LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF ALYSSA MIL ANO

With one tweet, Alyssa Milano changed #MeToo from a grassroots campaign into a global social media movement.

But the actor has been using her celebrity to achieve good for a lot longer than that.

She’s The

Boss 26

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I WAS A very introverted artistic child who would do interpretive dance in the living room. My parents were amazing in that they always worked hard so I could have dance lessons and music lessons. That really shaped the artist that I strive to be still to this day.

I started working at seven. Being in [the stage musical] Annie obviously turned it all into a very different thing – it was a job. I took that responsibility very seriously. I was in first grade. I was super young! And having to go to work every day and rehearse for Annie was hard work. I look at my son who is six and I can’t imagine him going to work.

I was forced into growing up quickly. I was surrounded by adults my whole childhood. People treated me as an adult, too. I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders, not just my own teenage angst, but I was also really affected by things that were going on in the world because I was surrounded by adults who talked about them. I worried a lot. I have an anxiety disorder, but I wasn’t diagnosed with that until I was much older. So it was that as well – having a mental illness and not knowing it at that time.

Once I got into high school, there was a whole other issue. This is when I was doing Who’s the Boss? I was missing out on dating, going to the prom… I wondered what other kids were doing and if I was missing out on things and it weighed very heavily on me. I didn’t get some of the life lessons that normal kids get, but I don’t think I’m

PHOTOS BY GETTY

any worse off. I didn’t have to deal with peer pressure, which was probably a good thing; I was able to be a free thinker from an early age. I didn’t deal with bullying until I got older.

If I bumped into my 16-year-old self now I would think that she would probably be someone who is pretending to be a lot more mature than what she feels on the inside. I think I would say to her, “You are taking everything way too seriously, don’t worry so much.” I would say that it’s all going to be okay.

You will be okay. It’s hard, but it was going to be hard anyway. Growing up in the business is hard even in the best of circumstances. I had an amazing family and I had an amazing cast on the set, but it was still hard.

When it comes to things like #MeToo, it’s much better to speak about them and not sweep them under the rug. Then you can dissect how you feel about issues and also expose other people to a different perspective of your own truth. I’ve grown up in the public eye and I continue to grow up in the public eye – whether that means standing up and saying I was sexually harassed and assaulted as well, or coming forward about having an anxiety disorder.

These are my truths. But as a nearly 46-year-old woman, I’m okay and almost better for all of the struggle.

Becoming a parent changes everything. There’s a lot more to be fearful of. I’m going to be super honest about that. We often portray motherhood as this really romantic beautiful thing but it’s not only hard and exhausting, it’s also terrifying. I love my kids more than anything in this world, but it’s a scary thing to mould and shape the minds of two human beings.

You become a lot more self-reflective, for sure, and there’s a lot to be scared about in the world right now.

The biggest surprise of my life is the fact that I’m still working! Not to say that I don’t want to be working – but I’m still getting roles. Often child actors don’t make it to be adult actors.

So that’s what’s surprising, that I made a real career out of being an actress. I also think we are programmed to believe that we won’t get roles after 40. That once

“If I bumped into my 16-year-old self now…I think I would say to her.

‘You are taking everything way too seriously, don’t worry so much.’”

— ABOVE MIL ANO (LEFT) IN HER CHARMED LIFE, WITH SHANNEN DOHERT Y AND HOLLY MARIE COMBS. — LEFT MIL ANO (CENTRE) WITH CASTMATES FROM WHO’S THE BOSS?

you hit 40 all the roles go downhill and you just have to play people’s moms and it’s not that interesting. One of the things I love about my new show Insatiable is that at 45 I’m getting to play a role that is so uncomfortably hilarious and juicy, way juicier than I’ve ever been able to do before.

If I could go back to any particular time or place, um… [Long silence] When I think about that…it’s hard without it being too much of a personal story. I don’t know if I want to go there. I immediately went to a dark place and I would rather not do that.

The country is in a very dark place right now. I’ve been an activist since I was 15 years old and it started with a kiss with Ryan White. [Milano kissed White, who had contracted AIDS at 13, on TV to prove you couldn’t contract HIV/

AIDS from casual contact.] He changed my life in a really profound way. He made me realise that everything that I thought was hard about being a celebrity at 15 years old was actually worth it, because I could change people’s minds or shine a light on an issue and use my platform for good. Like 3D-printed guns. I don’t know in what world anyone would think that is a good idea… Gun violence is such an epidemic in my country.

Every day is a new battle. Whether it be gender equality or immigration or civil liberties. I’ve been doing this a long time and we would normally have two or three issues to fight per year – now it’s two or three issues a day! It is incredibly rewarding work, but it’s hard. interview by Anastasia Safioleas (@anast)

» Insatiable is screening now on Netflix.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

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L

HOMEL

ES S

Hidden Homelessness

I

NG VI

The Big Issue shares a story from a fellow street paper in Germany, about Nicole, who is determined to thrive while living in her car.

TRANSLATED FROM GERMAN BY EDWARD ALASZEWSKI. COURTESY OF HINZ&KUNZT/INSP.NGO; ILLUSTRATION BY MICHEL STREICH

I’M NICOLE, I’M 59 years old – and

homeless. Although my homelessness was not planned, I still see selfdetermination in my situation. I’m not ashamed, I’m actually proud that I can shine without a home or money. I see it as an adventure with challenges of a very special kind.

“But how does a person like you become homeless?” people always ask me.

“You don’t look like that kind of person!”

When I was still living in a flat, my landlord told me that he was going to have to sell. That was five years ago. For two years I stayed with friends here and there, until I got fed up with constantly imposing on my social circle in this way.

To begin with I slept in my car. It took a lot of effort. I squeezed my travel bag in front of the passenger seat to act as an extended mattress, then I stuffed various items of clothing between the handbrake and the downturned seats.

I ended up with a flat, comfortable reclined surface, so I could sleep diagonally in my car. I found the best location I could and stayed there until my car was deregistered and towed.

My “place” was strategically located right next to a reasonably clean public toilet; unfortunately there was only cold water. As I like things to look good, I decorated the toilet with flowers I found in the bin of a florist nearby. I placed beautiful bouquets near the mirror and in the cubicles. The local women loved it.

I’m not embarrassed about being homeless and I don’t hide the fact, but it took quite a while before people found out that I slept in my car. Then more and more people came to me to offer help.

Even so, I sometimes don’t know where my next meal is coming from. The food I can’t find in bins I buy from the

money I earn collecting and recycling bottles. By cleaning up rubbish, you’re not only doing something for the environment, but also keeping fit in the process. I started putting money aside for things like laundry, soap, toiletries and treats, which was how I bought my mobile phone.

After my car was towed, I was sleeping on my mattress right there in the car park, where my car used to be.

On several occasions I had the honour of visits by police in the middle of

up my bed, people ask me if I live in there and I always say: “No, I sleep in the trailer, but I live everywhere.” I have a good supply of warm clothes, blankets and sleeping bags that protect me from the cold of a Hamburg winter.

It sounds like I am being very hard on myself, but readers can rest easy.

I’ve still made a good life for myself. I do everything that ordinary people do; I take as much care of myself as I did when I lived in a flat. I wash and iron my clothes, clean my shoes, do exercise

“I’ve still made a good life for myself.

I do everything that ordinary people do.” the night, which is always a bit like a science-fiction movie. I was torn from a deep sleep and completely blinded by the lights of the patrol car. Nevertheless, the police were always quite friendly and concerned for me, especially in cold weather.

After a night when I was totally soaked through, I obtained two tarpaulins from a nearby construction site. I was somewhat protected from the weather, but it was only when I was given two tents, by some very dear people, that I could stay dry.

Camping in a car park is original, but not necessarily permitted. So I needed another solution.

Then a friend came to my assistance with a trailer. When I say trailer, many people think of a caravan. No, I mean a car trailer, the kind for loading and transporting this and that.

Sometimes, when I am setting

and I enjoy dressing up and doing my hair. I have a very structured daily routine, I am very disciplined. I get up at a certain time in the morning, do my work-outs, go to my favourite soup kitchen or to my daily work as a volunteer for a women’s group. I am an honest, reliable person.

On weekends and when I get a spare moment, I sit in my favourite cafe, where I can have a coffee or tea and use the internet for free, and charge my mobile. There I work on my big plans for the future or read a good book. This is my living room and office. I make myself comfortable, my friends call me and ask if I’m in my headquarters so they can come and visit. This is one of the few things that I need money for, but I treat myself to this.

» Nicole spoke with Hinz&Kunzt magazine in Hamburg, Germany.

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The Bounty

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English singer-guitarist Anna Calvi cuts loose on her third album, freeing herself from all sort of shackles. experiences, I want agency, I want sexual freedom, I want intimacy, I want to feel strong, I want to feel protected and I want to find something beautiful in all the mess,” declared Anna Calvi, in a public statement to mark the release of her third album, Hunter.

It’s these themes the UK singer is also keen to discuss in conversation. “I had this urge to be braver, to take some more risks. I was imagining: ‘If this was the last music I ever did, what would I want to say? How would I want to leave things in my musical world?’ I really wanted to do something powerful and visceral, something ugly and brutal… I was really trying to find the most animalistic part of myself, in the most beautiful way.”

Calvi’s albums have long carried that contrast, between the beauty of her near operatic voice, and the force and fury of her guitar playing. Her music is routinely called “dramatic”, though Calvi doesn’t like that the “the word

this record, that I really wanted to give to the world this whole person, and I wanted to say it in a very honest and intimate way.”

This inspiration came to Calvi when, after touring her records One Breath (2013) and the covers EP Strange Weather (2014), she found herself living in France, having moved across the Channel to live with her French girlfriend. She “didn’t really know anybody”, and is, still, “actually quite bad at French”, so she would find herself retreating into isolation. In turn, the songs she started writing were examinations of self: of womanhood, gender, sexuality and art-making.

“These songs started coming that were really questioning my gender,” Calvi recounts. “When I wrote the song ‘Hunter’, the themes that was about – seeing women as the hunter, as opposed to how we usually see women in society, as being hunted – really resonated with me, and felt important

a man” – would’ve meant so much. So many of her formative artistic figures – songwriters like Leonard Cohen, guitar heroes like Jimi Hendrix – were men. “I remember hearing ‘Gloria’ by Patti Smith, and I think it was the first song in which I really recognised its depiction of a woman. It felt real and honest, and it really moved me,” she recounts. “I didn’t have many female role models, otherwise, that I felt like I could really relate to.”

Even though on Hunter Calvi has pushed past her natural shyness to

‘drama’ implies something that isn’t true, that is exaggerated or theatrical”. Her approach, instead, is to take a truth and push it to a grand extreme. On Hunter, that meant tapping into her own truth, and making something less cerebral – more emotionally raw – with lyrics that communicated clear ideas and personal sentiments. It’s this “bravery” she had in mind when making the album.

“Unconsciously, I had [previously] been a bit reserved with lyrics,” Calvi admits. “I’d seen them as only part of the picture, describing what the music is describing. This time, I wanted them to be direct enough that people who heard them would know exactly where I was coming from, what my intimate feelings were. I’m a quiet person; I usually don’t share my inner thoughts publicly. But, I felt so passionately about the ideas on

to me. I wanted to write songs around this idea of freedom, as a woman, to be and do what you want.”

These are sentiments that Calvi had long been thinking about, but failed to see reflected in the public discourse, or the art the world gave her. “Rare is it that I see a woman in a film that represents any of the women that I know; women who are imperfect and funny and messy, who knows what they want, knows what they needs,” she offers. “As well as rarely seeing queer women on screen.

It’s always something that I’ve found frustrating.”

Calvi imagined, then, making Hunter for “the teenage version” of herself, feeling as if an album like this – “a representation of womanhood that is more realistic, and less the impression of a woman through the perspective of

deliver something very personal, she still doesn’t like to think of herself as a public figure. Seven years since the release of her self-titled debut LP, Calvi has yet to get used to the phenomenon whereby her own name is no longer her own.

“When you use your own name,” she explains, “[it] takes on this meaning, and stops being yours, in a weird way. It’s like I can’t say my own name now, without it being my music. But then, when you’re an artist, your work is your identity.

It’s not completely healthy to have your identity completely intertwined with the work that you do. But, sometimes, it’s impossible to separate it, because you care about it so much, and it’s so central to who you are, and to your life.”

“I’M HUNTING FOR something – I want

“I wanted to write songs around this idea of freedom, as a woman, to be and do what you want.”

PHOTO BY MAISIE COUSINS

of Hunter – ANNA CALVI

by Anthony Carew » Hunter is out now.

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The Broken Avenger Director Lynne Ramsay teams up with Joaquin Phoenix to deliver a tale of savage justice in this powerful cinematic assault. a web of politics and stopping the WHILE A BRIEF synopsis of trafficking of children – and his You Were Never Really Here mental and physical strength might ostensibly plant it is pushed to the limit. in the territory of your You Were Never Really typical crime-thriller, Lynne Here transcends the usual Ramsay’s latest scorcher of urban vigilante clichés – seen, a film is a deep dive across a for example, when the steely range of complex emotions, Joe returns home to care powerfully tackling grief, — DIRECTOR LYNNE RAMSAY for his frail mother (Judith trauma, loss and anger.

Roberts) – but Ramsay is the first person Premiering at last year’s Cannes Film to celebrate the generic foundations Festival – where Ramsay was awarded of her movie. “I love genre films, I was Best Screenplay and the film’s star, brought up on them,” says the Scottish Joaquin Phoenix, Best Actor – the film auteur on the origins of her passion follows Joe, an ex-war veteran and FBI for filmmaking. “My mum and dad are agent who has taken his skills freelance. working-class folks, but they love movies Wrestling with severe post-traumatic – they call it ‘going to see the pictures’.” stress disorder, he becomes entangled in 32

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The film is based on Jonathan Ames’ 2013 novella of the same name, which Ramsay notes is really “about a man having a midlife crisis in many ways”.

As with her previous book-to-film adaptations – Alan Warner’s Morvern Callar and Lionel Shriver’s We Need to Talk About Kevin – Ramsay considers her latest to be a re-imagining rather than a straight remake. She was excited about taking Ames’ story and doing something fresh with the material.

This inventiveness extends to Ramsay’s experiments with genre. The film is a slick exercise in edgy detective fiction and film noir, but it surprises as it upsets assumptions, not playing out to the usual script. “It’s about this fallible

“When I got to New York, it was sirens everywhere; when you closed your eyes, it sounded like hell or war.”

– DIRECTOR LYNNE RAMSAY

— JOAQUIN PHOENIX RESCUES CHILDREN FROM SEX TRAFFICKING IN YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE.

man, but he doesn’t get the girl,” she says.

“There’s no big denouement, everything’s a bit topsy-turvy.”

In You Were Never Really Here – as in each of Ramsay’s four features – her characters are stained by sadness and anger, linked to trauma. Ramsay’s Joe is a broken man trying to right the wrongs of the world, one atrocity at a time.

With a thick, raggedy beard and deadinside eyes, he appears as shattered as his country. “Some people like the catharsis of something uber-violent, but this is the antithesis – he’s not particularly cool, he looks like a bum, he’s got a belly, he doesn’t have a six-pack. But he’s such an engaging character,” she says.

In addition to her own research, she sought a greater understanding of trauma through her sister, an undercover cop. “Things like noises can bring up this stuff,” Ramsay explains. “Trying to

do that justice – rather than just doing the ‘here’s what happened in the past’ backstory – is much more emotional.”

She brings this emotion to life, communicating fear and fury through evocative, elliptical and sometimes gory imagery, and a pulsing, grief-filled score

by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood.

Taking inspiration in the early stages from music, and developing ideas around images rather than plot, she openly admits her approach to filmmaking is hardly traditional. But as she soon discovered, neither was Phoenix’s, making him a perfect collaborator. “[He was] always searching, always pushing himself above and beyond what’s there, even if what’s there is great,” she says. “It was a bit like meeting a brother from another mother. It was a strange thing: ‘Oh my god, he works in the same way I do.’”

Ultimately, You Were Never Really Here is as much a sophisticated character study as it is an intoxicating – and at times deeply disturbing – Taxi Driver-esque tale about Manhattan’s mean streets.

Moving from what she describes as “a very quiet village with no cars” to New York City in order to make the film gave Ramsay personal insight into the experience of shock. “When I got to New York, it was sirens everywhere; when you closed your eyes, it sounded like hell or war,” she explains.

Ramsay recalls sitting in her garden one evening and hearing a sudden burst of explosions. Disorientated, she remembered it was the Fourth of July celebrations: “I recorded it and gave it to Joaquin and said, ‘That’s what you hear in your brain every day… It’s like your head is full of broken shards of glass that poke through now and again’, and he really got that.”

Ramsay and Phoenix shared a desire to “get inside the head of a character”, and it’s this intense focus upon characters’ internal lives that makes this story so harrowing. “You see a lot of spectacle films like superhero films with big set pieces, but it’s extraordinary what you can do with so little,” she says.

And it was New York that brought the excitement as soon as they began shooting. “It was horrific intense heat, people were passing out – there’s real grime and sweat in the movie.” And it’s this intensity that lights up the screen.

“There was real excitement among the crew, and it re-energised me, too.”

by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas (@suspirialex) » You Were Never Really Here is in cinemas now.

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Wintering is coming

PHOTO BY ANTHONY MULLINS

It’s hard keeping up with author Krissy Kneen, who’s latest novel is a psychological thriller set in Tasmanian mist.

A DECADE AGO, Krissy Kneen and her father spent three weeks motorcycling and camping around Tasmania.

Despite a surplus — KRISSY KNEEN of rain, the holiday made such an impression on Kneen’s father that he soon relocated to the southernmost state from their native Queensland. Tassie has exhibited a similar sway over Kneen, first as a secluded destination for writing and now as the eerie, untamed setting for her new novel.

“I’ve spent many a winter down there,” says Kneen, who’s still based in Brisbane. “Because I’ve been writing other books, I hadn’t been focused on the landscape around me.

But it kind of pushed in, and insisted on being written.”

The result is Wintering, a psychological thriller that takes supernatural cues from Tasmania’s ancient forest landscape as well as its lingering emblem, the thylacine. On her regular trips to visit her father and write, Kneen found herself drawn to the terrain’s inherent creepiness, especially in the colder months. That nagging uncanniness informs the story of Jessica, a PhD student and science journalist from Queensland, who’s forced to face things she can’t explain when her partner vanishes into the woods one night.

The book blurs the lines between domestic noir and magic realism, but its more fantastic elements remain satisfyingly grounded in the real world.

“Science is just our way of explaining magic,” says Kneen. And indeed, one passage from the book reads: “There is no magic, only things that we do not yet understand.”

Another prominent theme in the book

is how domestic violence can flourish in subtle forms. After Jessica’s partner disappears, she slowly comes to see how damaging their relationship has been – and uncovers some of his many dark secrets. As Jessica reflects on the traumas of her own upbringing, she begins to confront her partner’s emotional and physical violence.

“It’s something I’ve been wanting to write about for a while,” says Kneen.

“So many of my female friends have had relationships that are clearly not equal.

You can see it from the outside, but not [from] in the relationship.” She once found herself in a situation like that: “I just couldn’t see it at the time.”

But Kneen was more concerned with writing a successful story in its own right than dwelling on a single topic. “I didn’t want it to be an issue book,” she says.

“I still wanted it to be a psychological thriller [and] a real story to read. And yet I wanted that issue to be front and centre in the telling of the story.”

Penning a psychological thriller was new for Kneen, who’s well known for moving fluidly across different genres.

Her Stella Prize-shortlisted 2017 novel, An Uncertain Grace, brought mindbending speculative concepts to literary fiction, while her earlier books are rightly acclaimed as erotic fiction. She has also dabbled in memoir, with 2010’s sexuality-focused Affection, and poetry, with the heart-wrenching 2015 collection Eating My Grandmother.

“I don’t want to repeat myself,” she confirms. “I’d personally be bored if I were retelling the same story, whereas switching to a new format keeps me hungry.” Kneen actually wrote Wintering while stuck on another book, about nonverbal people with severe autism. She has since finished that one, but not without a struggle.

“I’ve been dealing with all those questions of cultural appropriation,”

she explains. “How can I write this story when I’m not a non-verbal person with autism? And how can I write it without marginalising those people? So it’s taken me years to fight through my own ethics to get that book done.”

Also during the writing of Wintering, she collaborated on a screenplay version of the story with her partner, screenwriter Anthony Mullins. Kneen has written and directed award-winning documentaries for SBS and the ABC in the past, but a narrative feature is something new for her. While her previous books were perhaps too internal and conceptual to translate to the screen, Wintering is more straightforward. Detouring with the screenplay also helped Kneen to work through some of the structural issues she was having with the novel.

With so many divergent projects on the go, you wouldn’t expect Kneen to find time for much else. But she has worked at the much-loved Brisbane bookshop The Avid Reader for nearly two decades, now running its event program. She works there three days a week and writes another three, though the prolific writer just enjoyed a few months overseas, writing and researching a new book thanks to a grant. Kneen mostly worked in Slovenia, but also went to Egypt as part of her research. That project is a memoir that she describes as a mix of fiction and non-fiction, telling the story of her great-grandmother alongside her own personal history.

“It feels like something bigger than anything I’ve ever told before,” she says, adding that working on multiple books can provide a safety net for writers. That way, you’re not as emotionally invested in the current one that’s just coming out. Laughing, she warns, “Otherwise you’d crumble.”

by Doug Wallen (@wallendoug) » Wintering is out now.

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FILM CRAZY RICH ASIANS FROM VĚRA CHYTILOVÁ'S DAISIES (1966).



ANNABEL BRADY-BROWN > Film Editor

CHRISTOPHER ROBIN 

“I WAS DARING enough to want absolute freedom, even if it was a mistake.” So said Věra Chytilová near the end of her life, by which time she was deservingly canonised as one of cinema’s boldest rebels. Like many of her counterparts in the Czech New Wave, Chytilová’s rabble-rousing, exuberant cinema was suppressed by Soviet rule after the Prague Spring. But a half-century on, her oeuvre is still wooing new fans.

This continues in Australia thanks to the efforts of the wonderful Czech and Slovak Film Festival, whose feast of a program includes a Chytilová retrospective in Melbourne this month – and Canberra in October. The eight Chytilová films on show include her best known, Daisies (1966), in which two impertinent young women declare that since “everything’s gone bad in this world”, they’ll go bad too. The original riot grrls unleash a whirlwind of destructive zeal, mirrored in Chytilová’s audacious formal experiments.

Such antics middle-fingered the authorities, who promptly banned Daisies. After the release of the equally breathless Fruit of Paradise (1970), Chytilová found herself effectively barred from filmmaking until 1975. Her maternity ward screwball comedy The Apple Game (1977) marked her return. My favourite remains her debut feature, Something Different (1963). The film gracefully intercuts between the constricted lives of two Czech women – a housewife and a real-life Olympic gymnast – whose parallel arenas become hotbeds of revolution. As ever, Chytilová dares us to yearn for something more.

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To say that this is essentially a love story wrapped up in designer frippery does a disservice to this exuberant adaptation of the first of Kevin Kwan’s satirical trilogy. Of course there’s much vicarious joy in watching the trappings of astronomical affluence indulged and peacocked, but director Jon Chu’s glamorous outing also explores class, filial duty and guilt passed down through generations. When native New Yorker Rachel Chu (Constance Wu) agrees to go to Singapore with boyfriend Nick Young (Henry Golding) to attend his friend’s wedding, little does she know that, as heir to a vast fortune, Nick is the most eligible bachelor on the island. Rachel, though decorative and highly educated, is deemed unworthy (too poor, too American) by his matriarchal protectors.

Starring an all-Asian cast, the young protagonists are as winsome and pretty as expected, while among the glittery entourage Michelle Yeoh as Nick’s mother particularly shines. This is eye-candy escapism with lots of heart. THUY ON

What happens to Christopher Robin after the end of AA Milne’s The House at Pooh Corner? According to Christopher Robin, he farewells the creatures of the Hundred Acre Wood, goes to boarding school, becomes Ewan McGregor, serves in WWII, marries Evelyn (Hayley Atwell), has a daughter named Madeline (Bronte Carmichael) and gets a high-pressure London job as an efficiency expert at a luggage company. Then, on a weekend where he’s had to blow off a family vacation to try and find the big workplace cuts his slimy boss (Mark Gatiss) demands, Pooh Bear (voiced by Jim Cummings) arrives.

This mix of grim midlife crisis and heartfelt stuffed animal adventure isn’t seamless, but McGregor’s combination of grown-up stress and exasperated yet loving acceptance is the glue holding both halves together. The pleasures here are small but satisfying; the Hundred Acre Wood is gorgeous, the CGI is first-rate, and Milne’s characters are as charming as ever. Manipulative?

Sure. But even dads deserve tearjerkers. ANTHONY MORRIS

McQUEEN 

A glittering memorial to London designer Lee Alexander McQueen, this doco stitches together runway footage and home videos of a prodigious talent lost to suicide.

Knowing how his story ends makes the morbidity of McQueen’s work all the more fascinating; his first collection as a fashion student was based on Jack the Ripper, after all. McQueen is eulogised as a Mozart-esque figure, at once a jawdropping creative genius and a kind of overgrown naughty schoolboy: “Sod the lot of ya,” he announces to the press. “I do what I like.”

Talking heads speak glowingly of his outrageous designs: a catwalk car fire; graffiti-spraying robots; models dressed like sea creatures, saints and psychiatric hospital patients.

Lush CGI title-cards bring McQueen’s trademark skull motifs to life, but the co-directors Ian Bonhôte and Peter Ettedgui seem to miss their mark when it comes to their subject’s isolated final years. No big deal – in a film starring a holographic Kate Moss, you can’t expect substance to always equal style. ELIZA JANSSEN

SMALL SCREENS NUDE

 Bonjour and welcome to France, circa 2026, where the edict of liberté, égalité, fraternité now incorporates a new swerve: nudité. The “Transparency Law” has caused “a record fall in insecurity” for a society disrupted by terrorism and climate change. It’s all thanks to the radical step of getting one’s gear off…permanently. Hey, when no-one has anything to hide, there’s nothing to fear, right? A gentle social satire packing the odd stealthy sucker punch, Nude explores this brave new world via Frank (Satya Dusaugey), a cop who emerges from an eight-year coma into full-frontal Europe. Flustered by this state of affairs, Frank is thrust into a mystery when, alongside former partner Lucie (Malya Roman), he investigates the death of the Transparency Law’s mastermind – in a cute twist, it’s a shock when his body is found clothed. While Nude plays Frank’s awkwardness for laughs, the series’ subtle digs at full disclosure and the loss of secrecy and mystery are effective and provocative.

Premieres on SBS Viceland 7 September. GUY DAVIS

THE PINK HOUSE 

Mining the land is often equated with violating women, in metaphors of pure bodies desecrated by patriarchal greed. This is literalised in The Pink House, a documentary about the oldest brothel in Kalgoorlie where, since the 1893 gold rush, the country’s spoils have been squandered on ladies of the night. “It’s always been a wild west town,” says veteran sex worker “BJ”. Questa Casa is presided over by Madam Carmel, who maintains toffy airs as she dusts sex toys and bondage equipment, but business is drying up. Mirroring racist rhetoric of the 19th century goldfields, Carmel claims cheaper and nastier “Asians” are stealing all the profits. Filmmaker Sascha Ettinger-Epstein gestures toward the cyclical history this story repeats, but research feels cursory. So too is the film’s empathy for BJ, who’s clearly burdened by trauma and mental illness. She’s made into a symbol of a dying trade, when a real woman suffers before us. On SBS 8 September. REBECCA HARKINS-CROSS

AIMEE KNIGHT > Small Screens Editor

Ashleigh Smith explains the difference between augmented reality and virtual reality. She says the former creates an effect like the holographic shark emerging from the Jaws 19 poster in Marty McFly’s speculative 2015 (pictured). In an augmented reality, the shark appears in our environs.

By contrast, donning a virtual reality headset throws you into the great white’s dining room, or so it feels. Is this the future of home entertainment? Not to mention education, health care, tourism, defence and then some? You bet.

Smith is a neurophysiologist at the University of South Australia. I first encountered her work at the panel discussion ‘The Future of Reality’, held at Adelaide’s Museum of Discovery (check it out if you’re in town). Her research explores the intersections between neuroscience, physical activity and cognitive ageing. Like her, I’m intrigued by the potential health benefits of new “mixed realities” produced by cutting-edge tech.

Beyond fuelling Pokémon Go, there’s an AR platform in

BLU-RAY

STREAMING

TELEVISION

 New York City, 1987. The streets throb with capitalist greed. Underground, a kaleidoscopic subculture strikes a pose beneath neons and glitter. This, queens, is “ball culture” – a safe place for LGBTQI+ youth to walk, vogue and shade their way to notoriety, backed by the fabulous, factional “houses” that fuel the scene. Pose vivifies two fictitious houses – those of Abundance and Evangelista – wherein self-appointed “mothers” create families for young people estranged from their biological kin. As the HIV and AIDS crises sweep through the queer community, the houses are havens.

In the feature-length pilot, these ball competitions are hypnotic: as pleasingly dizzying as staring at a mirror ball. In the light of day, there’s a plethora of characters to introduce, played by the largest-ever cast of transgender actors in a narrative TV show.

If (shante) you stay with it, Pose won’t feel like wooork. Premieres on Foxtel’s Showcase 11 September. AIMEE KNIGHT

IS THAT SHARK AUGMENTED OR VIRTUAL?

OPENING WITH A Back to the Future II reference, Dr

DVD

POSE

PAY TV

development that can project a 3D MRI map of a patient’s brain. Virtual tourism is unfurling new opportunities for isolated people, and those with mobility issues. As mixed reality devices like Windows Holographic become run of the mill, they’ll give our short-term and spatial memories a workout. Futuristic tech can sound as enticing as swimming with sharks, but it might keep us safe as we age.

PODCAST

APP

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

37

MUSIC MADONNA: AGEING DISGRACEFULLY. AND LOVING IT.

SARAH SMITH > Music Editor IF MUSIC IS a young person’s game, then the world of pop is peekaboo. In a space where what’s hot is new, and what’s new is usually under 25, it has long proved almost impossible for pop stars to age with their art – especially if you are a woman.

You see, it’s okay for Mick Jagger – a 75-yearold great-grandfather – to squeeze into skinny black jeans and thrust his lithe hips, while singing “I can’t get no satisfaction”, but should Madonna plant a performative kiss on Drake’s lips during a choreographed duet at Coachella (as she did in 2015), then the internet will explode with disgust.

One of (if not, the) single most culturally influential musicians of her time, she has been talking about ageism in pop music since turning 31, the same year she released Like a Prayer.

Despite (or perhaps, in spite of) the criticism, Madonna has continued to make music and create headlines for three decades. Often she has let her work do the talking, but at the end of 2016, while accepting Billboard’s Woman of the Year award, the singer snapped back: “To age is a sin,” she told the audience. “You will be criticised, you will be vilified and you will definitely not be played on the radio.”

A few weeks ago Madonna turned 60. To mark the occasion she released a snippet of herself performing new song ‘Beautiful Game’ at New York’s Met Gala. The track will feature on her next record. Bring it on, Madge!

38

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

WE’RE NOT TALKING THE GOON SAX 

We’re Not Talking, the second album from Brisbane three-piece The Goon Sax, is thick with growing pains and adolescent uncertainty, but is far from naive. A frank meditation on the finer points of love and communication, We’re Not Talking is utterly raw in its portrayal of what it is to be young and falling out of love. These are pop songs rendered in punk simplicity: string arrangements and cowbell lines are deft accompaniments, not adornments. Each member sings lead vocals on this album, with drummer Riley Jones’ voice providing a sonic and narrative counterpoint to guitarists Louis Forster and James Harrison, who sang lead on the band’s debut. The songs are riddled with questions and contradictions: on ‘Get Out’ Forster sings, “I need you around/And how can I say that/I want you to stay/When that would be cruel/And it’s just as hard for you?” Both assured and restless, hopeless and hopeful, We’re Not Talking is near perfect in its state of imperfection. GREER CLEMENS

AN AMERICAN TREASURE TOM PETTY 

Rock’n’roll lost one of its most distinctive, reassuring voices when Tom Petty died last October. While Petty’s hits have long been canonised, this 60-track box set focuses on the other end of his catalogue: deep cuts, live tracks and rarities. Spanning four decades, it’s the first posthumous release from the American legend, curated with great care by his wife, daughter and band mates. There are no huge surprises – sizzling live cuts were a hallmark of Petty and his trusty Heartbreakers, and many of the alternative versions aren’t too different.

Highlights include a rousing acoustic live version of ‘Even the Losers’, a countrified demo of ‘The Apartment Song’ with Stevie Nicks singing backup, and the Van Morrison-indebted ‘Lost in Your Eyes’ from Petty’s early band Mudcrutch. We also hear Petty and collaborators age gracefully together, growing only more profound. This is a generous banquet of top-shelf comfort food, showcasing the timeless, truthful ring to his songwriting. DOUG WALLEN

FEELINGS BLOODS 

It’s all there in the name. Feelings, the second album from Sydney-Melbourne band Bloods, is unapologetically earnest. “I’m trying to be happy without you,” goes the chorus of the title track, hearts firmly on sleeves. From love lost to new hope, this collection of 10 garage-pop tracks runs the gamut of emotions while delivering killer hooks and vocal harmonies. The rambunctious ‘Talk’ is a highlight, with singer MC’s shimmering voice taking centre stage for the verses before an explosive, jangly earworm-of-a-chorus takes over, distortion turned all the way up for added guts. With the exception of a handful of dreamier mid-tempo tracks (‘Slow Break’, ‘Broken Heart’), the breathless excitement never lets up – a palpable sense of joy washing over all. With the recent addition of second guitarist Mike Morgan, Bloods have gained confidence on this assured and infectious release. GISELLE AU-NHIEN NGUYEN VINYL

CD

DOWNLOAD

BOOKS THUY ON > Books Editor A COMBINED EFFORT from Dr Steve Ellen and Catherine Deveny, Mental

is a compendium of “everything you never knew you needed to know about mental health”. Both contributors are well placed to write this book.

Dr Ellen is a teacher, researcher and psychiatrist who’s worked as a clinician dealing with a wide range of medical and surgical problems. A bout of depression that lasted for about a year also gave him insight into visits from the Black Dog and helped inspire this work. Deveny – a writer, comedian and social commentator – has also experienced a number of mental health conditions and, as she says, “Getting the right help is not as easy as many people think.” Divided into three sections – The Big Picture, The Disorders and The Treatments – Mental offers advice on how to deal with various mental illnesses, for both sufferers and support carers. The book canvases a wide spectrum, including anxiety, psychosis, eating disorders and child and adolescent mental health. Possible treatments explored include medications, psychotherapy and self-help. The writing is accessible, with information cleanly presented and not overburdened by terminology. The fact, too, that both Dr Ellen and Deveny were prepared to talk openly about their own battles lends the book a personal touch.

THE HONEY FACTORY JURGEN TAUTZ AND DIEDRICH STEEN

MAN OUT OF TIME STEPHANIE BISHOP

German authors Jürgen Tautz and Diedrich Steen are well equipped to write about bees, and The Honey Factory gets off to a promising start.

But while this non-fiction book dispenses plenty of wowing facts, it’s missing a strong guiding voice. That’s because Tautz (a professor and bee expert) and Steen (a publishing director and beekeeper) tell their stories in tandem, respectively dwelling on hard science and everyday anecdotes about beekeeping. Besides that split narrative, in different fonts, the book is hindered by placeholders like “we’ll return to this later” and other awkward touches that should have been addressed in the editing. Still, the authors’ enthusiasm for their buzzing subjects certainly comes through, and they shine when it comes to mythbusting, questioning the popular ideas of the “busy bee” and an endangered bee population. If you can get past the stilted delivery, there are many fascinating revelations on offer. It’s just a shame that this earnest valentine to our enduring honey suppliers proves so uneven. DOUG WALLEN

Stephanie Bishop’s third novel, Man Out of Time, is ambitious but may also frustrate many readers. All his life, Leon has struggled with mental illness. His wife Frances and daughter Stella know well the nature and seriousness of his condition, so it comes as no surprise when they learn that he is missing. Set in the early days of September 2001, there is an eerie sense of impending doom.

Leon’s voice is complex and distant, told in second- and third-person narration which confuses the narrative in places and forms a barrier to our understanding. We follow the small family as they struggle to cope with Leon’s breakdowns, treatments and hospitalisations, drifting in and out of his delusions and Stella’s reality, and moving through past and present. Bishop is an elegant writer with a talent for minute observation and beautiful description. Her way of telling this complex story (which includes a selection of snapshots, taken

by Leon in his lost days) is both unique and original, but at times she misses the heights for which she strives so hard.



REAL PIGEONS FIGHT CRIME ANDREW MCDONALD AND BEN WOOD 

You may think that those cooing grey-blue birds don’t do much at all except flap about, but Andrew McDonald (who also happens to be The Big Issue’s digital marketing coordinator) has news for you. He happens to know a posse of pigeons, led by Rock (Master of Disguise), who are intrepid superheroes (they don’t even need capes). After all, pigeons are perfect crime fighters because they’re everywhere, they are fast and they can attack. Along with Homey (Directions Champ), Tumbler (So Bendy) and Frillback (Super Strong), the flying team are off to investigate three mysteries: the case of the missing breadcrumbs in the city, the case of the trapped bats and the case at the food truck fair. Along the way they have to combat some fearsome crows and wrangle with some tricky disguises. Ben Wood’s illustrations are a joy, the feathery ones are depicted with energetic gusto on every page. Fast-paced and inventive, this is a fun and silly book, perfect for the early primary school reader. THUY ON PRINT

E-BOOK



ANGELA ELIZABETH

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

39

“

We love it here: the safety, the lovely country, the multicultural society and the very friendly people.

“

Salwa Sharabah’s

Rolled Baklawa Ingredients

Equipment

2 cups sugar

1 tablespoon cinnamon powder (optional)

1 cup water

1 cup rose water

large baking tray

1 cinnamon quill

375g Antoniou Thin Filo Pastr y (chilled not frozen)

1 lemon, juice only

500g ghee, melted, kept warm 800g pistachios or walnuts

PHOTOS BY JENNI WHITE/ COURTESY OF ASRC

Method Pre-heat the oven to 170ºC. Grease a large baking tray with some melted ghee before placing the tray in the fridge for 10 minutes. To make the sugar syrup, combine the lemon juice, sugar, water and cinnamon quill in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to the boil, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Set aside to cool.

Chop the nuts, but not too finely. If using walnuts add the cinnamon powder to the chopped nuts. If using pistachios omit the cinnamon. Put aside a handful of the chopped nuts to be used as a garnish at the end; and mix remaining nuts with half of the sugar syrup and all of the rose water to create a thick paste.

Place a single sheet of filo on a flat work surface; sprinkle it with a little cornflour before placing a second sheet of filo over the first. The cornflour keeps the layers separate.

Take a skewer and place it across the filo, one-third of the way down. You can roll your filo either horizontally or vertically. Fold the filo over the skewer. Sprinkle a handful of the nut mixture over the filo, leaving a 1cm gap at the top and bottom edges of the pastry. Gently begin rolling filo over the nuts like a cigar until you’ve almost reached the end. Once near the end, brush some ghee along the end of the top sheet of filo and glue this onto the roll. Then repeat with the end of the second sheet. Remove the skewer, and place the roll seam-side down on the cold baking tray. You have just made your first roll of baklawa!

Repeat with remaining filo and nut filling, laying each roll side by side in the baking tray. With a sharp knife cut rolls into 2cm pieces. Pour remaining warm ghee over the baklawa. This will form a layer of ghee at the bottom of the tray but will ensure the baklawa becomes crisp.

Place in oven for 30 minutes or until the filo turns golden. Take it out and pour away the ghee. While hot, brush remaining sugar syrup over the baklawa. Once cool, sprinkle reserved crushed nuts over each piece of baklawa.

It is best eaten at room temperature, and can be stored in an airtight container in the pantry for up to a month.

wooden skewer

100g cornflour

Salwa says…

In 2012, the fiery, dirty civil war in Syria caught up with us in Aleppo city.

It destroyed our properties, and life became completely unsafe. It forced me to escape with my husband and two daughters to Saudi Arabia. Then, after three years, we arrived in Australia to seek asylum. We love it here: the safety, the lovely country, the multicultural society, and the very friendly people.

As a girl growing up in Syria I developed an early relationship with Middle Eastern food and Syrian sweets. In my country a young girl must help her mother with housework and learn how to make the local food. So I did. I was part of a large family – at my grandmother’s together with my uncles and their wives.

My family used to receive a lot of guests during the day and frequently in the evenings for special celebrations and public holidays.

The food I learned to prepare included several kinds of kubba (dumpling), various kebab dishes and a lot of other fatty foods filled with meat. There were several types of sweets, including baklawa (with either pistachio or walnut); kunafa, which is like a cheese danish made with ricotta or other fresh cheese; and qatayef, a sweet dumpling.

According to Syrian tradition, it is not appropriate behaviour to invite relatives and close friends to eat with you outside your home.

They should be invited to the house, not to a restaurant.

My family, of course, was part of this heritage so my mother taught me everything about the needs of the house, as her mother did with her and, of course, I do with my own daughters. They are now learning to make several new kinds of sweets and food at home too.

I give you this recipe in gratitude of what Australia has given to me and my family. I stand with an open heart in wishing you all peace, security and stability. We have a proverb in Syria: drop after drop will make a flood. So no matter how small, whatever people are doing, they are helping.

» The Asylum Seeker Resource Centre helped coordinate Salwa’s recipe.

For more information on the ASRC, go to asrc.org.au.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

41

LORIN PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Press WELL DONE. CONGRATULATIONS. What a wild ride, huh?

What an adventure. Life! Full of twists and turns. Not for the faint-hearted, am I right?

Want to take a quick break? Little lie down? Teensy nap?

No worries. Step this way. We’ll just press pause on the universe for a bit.

Except, ah, we can’t. Humans, though occasionally clever, haven’t figured out how to pause time quite yet.

What you can do though, if you’re getting a bit sick of the main storyline, is to notice the subplots. Glance at a few of the smaller characters. Glimpse the possibilities for future plot twists. Enjoy the scenery. Step back from the central story. It will sort itself out. Indulge in the rich detail of the world you’re in.

NOTICE THE SETTING. Imagine it written on the page for a reader for whom this is magic realism. How on earth would you describe a rainbow, or the feeling of having had a shower, or why it is human instinct to surf your hand into the breeze out a car window or cartwheel on a beach?

Look up “crown shyness”. It’s the effect you see when you peer up at a tall tree and all the branches avoid jutting into one another’s personal space. It’s a total mystery why tree branches are shy of one another. Hopefully nobody figures it out and it remains a noble, gentle secret that happens around us all the time, only to be noticed by people who take the time to look up.

Seriously, the setting is often the most amazing part.

Look at open fires. Look at skyscrapers with the sun belting off them and the clouds reflected in their windows. Look at the way rain comes down the bus window and some of the bigger drops use the little drops to catch up with further-down drops and get up so much speed they create whole highways. Just like crown shyness, this wonderful raindrop magnetism happens all the time. Little worlds of movement and activity, a kind of natural logic, that have nothing to do with whatever it is you’re worried about.

Other great elements of the set not to be disregarded include sheds, doughnut vans, little windy paths carved out in the bush, hills kids can roll down, and second-hand bookshops.

Think about the characters. The people. The ones you know. The ones you don’t know. The fact that right now, in this instance, while you’re reading this, someone is experiencing

Pause a momentous event. Someone – NOW! – just this second, heart thumping, head full of sound, finally took the plunge and kissed someone. NOW! – this very second – the lights went down and the audience went silent on someone’s opening night and her heart flipped like a fish.

Think about your favourite side characters. The ones you don’t see enough of but when they have a scene you sit back and really enjoy it.

Think of the special effects. The feeling of wearing new shoes. The way moisturiser feels after a walk on a windy beach.

A thunderstorm. Icing.

There are other effects, too. What about the bizarre nonhuman characters? The monsters. Bears. Crocodiles. Snakes.

Politicians who snap “If I could just answer your question” at journalists before steadfastly not answering the question or indeed any question. Ever. Monsters are great to think about because you’re not one. You’re a human in a world where crocodiles and bears and snakes and Peter Dutton exist, so you’re doing quite well, really.

Isn’t the lighting lovely? The way a car driving past in the street outside can send a triangle of light across your ceiling, elongating and then disappearing with the sound of the car.

The way afternoon shadows make you feel a bit happy and a bit sad when really all that’s happening is that a series of objects are interrupting sunlight’s journey to earth.

The sound design can be spectacular, too. The sound of someone making a cup of tea in the other room: superb. The sound of beach cricket. The ABC news wafting like the smell of a Sunday roast from someone’s house when you’re walking the dog. The final siren at the footy. A bellbird. A sprinkler. The distant, insistent sound of church bells on a Sunday.

When you have a look at the mise en scene of life, you realise you’re a small part of a series of intertwined narratives.

Remember to enjoy the film. This has been a Public Service Announcement.

» Lorin Clarke (@lorinimus) is a Melbourne-based writer.

Her new radio serial, The Fitzroy Diaries, is on the ABC’s Radio National. You can also find it wherever you get your podcasts, or on the ABC Listen app.

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

43

PUZZLES

2017-18 - Puzzle 10

BY LINGO! SENATE If you think that politics is full of old men, you’re more right than you realise. Our word Senate comes from the ancient Roman political system, which literally meant “assembly of old men”, invoking the wisdom of age. It’s one of a number of English sen- words with the meaning “old”, including senior, senile and sir. The Senatus was the highest council of the state, and from the 14th century onwards, countries across Europe took inspiration from Rome, using senate to refer to their governing bodies, as did the US and Australia. Senators in Rome were not elected by the people, but appointed by a magistrate. And if you’re wondering what made Romans old enough to qualify, 32 was the minimum age. In the US, it’s 30; in Australia, 18.

by Lauren Gawne (lingthusiasm.com)

2017-18 - Puzzle 9 SOLUTIONS #569

ADDER’S COIL

by Wylie Ideas wylieideas.com.au

HOW TO PLAY Place a number in each empty square to make a path through squares of the grid following the numbers 1 to 9 in order, repeated as many times as necessary.

After 9, start again with 1.

The path tracks through adjacent squares horizontally or vertically, but not diagonally, to form a continuous loop that does not cross itself, split or reach a dead-end at any point.

Solution next edition!

44

11 Reraise 12 Memento 13 Zest 14 Adolescent 16 Permafrost 19 Hurt 21 Epitome 22 Diurnal 24 Image 25 Interview 26 Sadists 27 Display DOWN 1 Labor 2 Barbra Streisand 3 Roadie 4 Lou Reed 5 Trammel 6 Endemism 7 Inconsequential 8 Tit for tat 13 Zeppelins 15 Parolees 17 Reedits 18 Sedated 20 Guards 23 Lowly

CONTRIBUTORS Film Editor Annabel Brady-Brown Small Screens Editor Aimee Knight Music Editor Sarah Smith Books Editor Thuy On Cartoonist Andrew Weldon

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

ENQUIRIES Advertising Jenny La Brooy on (03) 9663 4533 jlabrooy@bigissue.org.au Subscriptions (03) 9663 4533 subscribe@bigissue.org.au Editorial Tel (03) 9663 4522 editorial@bigissue.org.au The Big Issue, GPO Box 4911, Melbourne, VIC 3001 thebigissue.org.au © 2018 Big Issue In Australia Ltd

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited.

PUBLISHED BY Big Issue In Australia Ltd (ABN 61 071 598 439) 227 Collins St Melbourne VIC 3000

PRINTER PMP Limited 8 Priddle St Warwick Farm NSW 2170

CARTOON BY ANDREW WELDON

EDITORIAL Editor Amy Hetherington Deputy Editor Katherine Smyrk Contributing Editor Michael Epis Contributing Editor Anastasia Safioleas Editorial Coordinator Lorraine Pink Intern Mel Fulton Art Direction & Design Gozer (gozer.com.au)

CROSSWORD

ACROSS 1 Liberal 5 The Mint 9 Barracuda 10 Ducat

CROSSWORD » by Siobhan Linde (@siobhanlinde) 1

2 1

3

4

1

1

1

9

1 1

1

1

11 1

1

14 1 18 1

5

1

1

1 1

15

17

1

12

13

1

1

1

1

1

1

28

CRYPTIC CLUES ACROSS

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

26 1

1 1

1

DOWN

1

1

1

1

1

20

21

22

1

1

1

24

1

25

1

1

1

1

27 1

1

1

1 29

The answers for the cryptic and quick clues are the same.

1. Facial hair must hurt when inhaling oxygen (9) 6. Congratulations – it’s very noble to return missing key (5) 9. Cheat wins about 500 pounds by the end (7) 10. Port supporter returned in 60 minutes (7) 11. Showered and dried off, ignoring feet (6) 12. Vikings and knights with different leader (8) 14. Friends from Darwin start boarding bus (4) 15. Appointed marshal sided with agent (10) 18. Delightful tank engine, endlessly cheerful, heads to work (10) 20. Mediterranean hoards change (4) 23. Re: Footy player in US? (8) 24. Bear eats vole skin and rodent (6) 26. Colour in ugly name tag (7) 27. We take his temperature with large instrument (7) 28. Requires directions to get around central India (5) 29. Tired men lost no ground (9)

8

16

23 1

7

1

19 1

6

10

1 1

1

1. Sad armies shot every other bullet (9) 2. A French diamond ring if I get married (7) 3. Cleaned it up then departed (6) 4. Cook cabbage, having eggs for starters (4) 5. This involves piano tuned by East Africans (10) 6. Oil repaired sore knee (8) 7. Duck into bedroom, visiting submissive person (7) 8. Rinse out 27-across (5) 13. Slips over in attic (step broken) (10) 16. Discourage male cleaner (9) 17. Cares about two new rifles (8) 19. Caught one covering diary in perfume (7) 21. Band T-shirt for fan (7) 22. Woman wrapped in 1-across wool (6) 23. Colour described by one person or another?

(5) 25. Guru briefly took a dip (4)

QUICK CLUES ACROSS

1. Facial hair (9) 6. Praise (5) 9. Trick (7) 10. Protect (7) 11. Showered (6) 12. Vikings (8) 14. Plant embryos (4) 15. Appointed (10) 18. Attractive (10) 20. Alter (4) 23. American football position (8) 24. Dam builder (6) 26. Shade (7) 27. Umpire’s call? (7) 28. Lacks (5) 29. Drowsy (9)

DOWN

1. Down (9) 2. Joined (7) 3. Cleaned (6) 4. Cook (4) 5. Africans (10) 6. Fuel (8) 7. Submissive person (7) 8. She’s got a killer voice (5) 13. Slips (10) 16. Cleanser (9) 17. Rifles (8) 19. Toilet water (7) 21. Fan (7) 22. Breed of sheep (6) 23. Person (5) 25. Was saturated (4)

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU 7–20 SEP 2018

45

CLICK WORDS BY MICHAEL EPIS » PHOTOGRAPH BY GETTY

Richard Burton, Eddie Fisher, Elizabeth Taylor, 1961 CLEOPATRA WAS BIGGER than Ben Hur –

the 1959 epic was the most expensive film made, at $15 million, until four years later along came Cleopatra, at $44 million.

Further, Cleopatra gave the world its biggest celebrity news story: in an irresistible art-imitates-life plot, the star, Elizabeth Taylor, left her husband, crooner Eddie Fisher, for her co-star, Richard Burton. In the film, Burton plays Antony, the right-hand man of Julius Caesar, who had a child with his mistress, the deposed Queen of Egypt, Cleopatra (Elizabeth Taylor, natch). Caesar, of course, gets bumped. Cleopatra returns home. Antony follows. He falls for the queen, but is told, falsely, she has died – so he falls on his sword. He survives long enough to discover the truth and see her one last time, which prompts Cleopatra to follow him to the grave. In real life, things were only marginally less painful.

You see, Taylor’s marriage to Fisher was its own scandal. Her (third) husband, Mike Todd, died in a plane crash in 1958, leaving her a 26-year-old widow with three children. Six months later she was keeping company with Fisher – her dead husband’s best friend.

Worse, Fisher was married. Even worse, he was married to Debbie Reynolds – one of Taylor’s besties. Fisher had been Todd’s best man; Reynolds was Taylor’s matron of honour. Worse still, Reynolds and Todd had two children – a son, Todd, named after guess who, and Carrie (yes, that Carrie Fisher). Worst of all, they were “America’s sweethearts”.

So now that “family-wrecker” Taylor was dumping Fisher for Burton – who, by the way, was also a married man, also with two children.

Then filming was delayed for six months after Taylor almost died from

pneumonia. “I had the chance to read my own obituaries,” she later said. “They were the best reviews I’d ever gotten.”

The delay meant a change of cast – exit Stephen Boyd (who?), enter Richard Burton. Taylor said that when she simply looked at him in their first scene together, no dialogue, that was it – she was smitten.

In 1964 Burton and Taylor wed. It lasted 10 years. Then they married again the year after they divorced. Then they divorced again a year after that.

Their love, though, was not in doubt, as Burton recorded in his diary in Paris on 19 November 1968: I have been inordinately lucky all my life but the greatest luck of all has been Elizabeth. She has turned me into a model man but not a prig, she is a wildly exciting lover-mistress, she is shy and witty, she is nobody’s fool. She is a brilliant actress, she is beautiful beyond dreams and…she loves me.

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