Woroni Edition Two 2017

Woroni Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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by Kard Wa Womens Pull Out on Pages 29-36

Page 35 Page 4

Lights On, No One Home: Bruce Hall After SA5

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Asexual Women in a Hypersexual World

Jasper Lindell

Lenna Nicholson, Rebecca Hobson and Anonymous

Page 17

Page 48

Feudalism and Facebook: Modern Political Dynasties

Split Perspectives: Sobriety at College

Madeleine Birdsey

Campbell Clapp and Rebecca Schneider

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Contents Editor’s Letter News 3

Voyeuristic Instagram Targets Female ANU Students Alex Joske Johns Students Disciplined for Sexist Chant Jasper Lindell University Backs Down on Exam Schedule Changes Lorane Gaborit and Alex Joske 4

Lights On, No One Home: Bruce Hall After SA5 Jasper Lindell 5

Rudd Warns Against Second Stolen Generation Lorenzo McMiken Consent Matters in New ANU Learning Module Bella Dimattina 6

Campus Pop-Up Village to Open Mid-Year Jasper Lindell ANU Indigenous Scholar Receives Fulbright Scholarship Alex Joske 7

Sunday Penalty Rates Cut, Affecting Student Workers Lorenzo McMiken and Alex Joske ANU Medical School Launches AntiBullying and Harassment Campaign Lorane Gaborit 8

Students Rally Against Penalty Rate Cuts Alex Joske

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I Feel Mahalia Crawshaw Thus We Are Lily Lervasi Conflagration Kayla Purdon-Brown multilingual 21

Il Matrimonio? Preferisco Guidare Il Mio Motorino In Giro Per L’Africa Prima Rosalind Moran 22

Ngoài kịch bản Athenodora 23

Throwing Out The Script Athenodora features 27

What do Guts Really Look Like?

Vaishnavi Rathinam 28

The Phrenological Brain: Toward a More Functional Approach in Neuroscience Tiahn Hannaford

LIfe and style 43

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We pay our respects to Elders past, present and future.

Trove: One of Canberra’s Best-Kept Secrets Alexandra Green A Pen Worth Writing For Yashi Kotnala 46

Don’t Call Me Honey Bec Kriesler 47

Dear Woroni Mary-Anne Nolan 48

Split Perspectives: Sobriety at College Campbell Clapp and Rebecca Schneider 49

The Universality of Butt Sex Phoebe Hamra environment 50

Menstrual cups: Will They be Your Cup of Tea? Amelia Barclay Start with Your Plate Ruby Smyth

Confessions of a White Feminist Imogen McKay and Laksshini Sundaramoorthy

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Suck it up, Darlin’: The Endometriosis Journey Hannah Wolfhagen

Sparking Change Lydia J Kim Keep Calm and (Don’t) Carry On: Understanding Climate Extremes with Dr Sophie Lewis Matthew Teh and Grace Dudley

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Girls to the Front Charlotte Chapman

science

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Om Kasthury Paramiswaran

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Speaking with Us, Not for Us Sumithri Venketasubramanian Malcolm’s Still in the Middle Rahel Alemseged 11

Interview with Dom Cradick: Deputy of the ANU Labor Left Isabel Wilson 12

Inside the Mind of Frank Jackson: Part II Anthony Merlino 13

That We Could Take the Identity out of Politics Matthew James Evans 14

Behind Closed Doors: Domestic Abuse in Colleges Stephanie Kim 15

Weekend Penalty Rates: An (Abridged) History Matt Barton 16

Voluntourism: Who are You Really Helping?

Madeleine Dove International 17

Feudalism and Facebook: Modern Political Dynasties Madeleine Birdsey

No Take-Backs Emily Dickey

Finding Helen Kane 33

Contemporary Online Feminism Blair Williams 34

Challenging Misconceptions About Islamic Feminism Holly Louise 35

Asexual Women in a Hypersexual World Lenna Nicholson, Rebecca Hobson and Anonymous 36

Demanding Equality Consistently: An Intersectional Viewpoint Jasmine Dickinson

A Call for Science in PostTruth Politics Aqeel Akber The Cinematic Scientist Imogen Brown business & economics 56

Exchange Rate 2: Electric Boogaloo Wayne Wang 57

Islands of Tolerance Sara Gillespie 58

‘Excessive CEO Salaries’: Unravelling the Complexity of Executive Compensation and Regulatory Reform Nick Blood 59

To Kill a Technocrat Samuel Duncan

arts

sport

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Cultural Identity and Authenticity: Am I a Fraud?

Janice Peh

Not just Fun and Games: Why I Actually Love Sport Ollie Brown

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A Sea of White: A Glimpse into Canberra’s Classical Music Scene Liam Brewin Higgins

Touching a Nerve: A Look at the Road to Recovery from Sporting Injury Olivia Ireland with Luca Sdraulig

Event Guide

satire

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The Fascinating Life of the Rich and Famous Rowan Everard with Robert Wellington

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Flynn: The Dutiful General Lavanyaa Rhaasa

Reviews

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Process by Sampha – Young Turks Records, 2017 Ruben Seaton

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Reflections Beyond Mirrors Una Chen 19

Does the Pacific Get Drained with the Swamp?

Lewis Pope 24

For Whom the Curtain Calls Anonymous 25

The Language of Flirtation Caroline Hendy

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The Morrisons at Smiths Alternative Alexander Unikowski 42

20for20: Parlour Hannah Wolfhagen

Acknowledgement of Country

We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the traditional owners of the land on which Woroni is written, edited and printed.

Style on Campus

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Feeling Salty: 95 Theses, Scores of Executive Orders Elizabeth Harris The Fate of Fresher Flu James Atkinson Not Quite North Shore Eleanor Armstrong

We would also like to acknowledge that this land – which we benefit from occupying – was stolen, and that sovereignty was never ceded. Within this ongoing echo of colonialism we commit, as writers and editors, to amplify the voices and stories of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people at our university.

We will honour the diversity of their stories and stand by their right to recognition.

Contact

Phone: (02) 6125 9574 Shop 15, Lena Karmel Building 26 Barry Drive, Acton 2601 Woroni is printed by Capital Fine Print.

Board of Editors

Editor in Chief: Bronte McHenry Managing Editor: Kat Carrington Deputy EiC/Radio Editor: Finn Pedersen Content Editor: Lauretta Flack News Editor: Alex Joske Radio Editor: Oscar Jolly TV Editor: Kanika Kirpalani Art Editor: Joanne Leong

staff and Sub-Editors

Admin Assistant: Arun Murali Financial Controller: Brendan Greenwood Business Development: Fred Weber Marketing: Mark Manantan Social Media: Laura Mendoza Garcia Instagram: Tony Gu Event Guide: Mehar Chawla Comment: Lewis Pope Comment: James Atkinson International: Nathalie Rosales Cheng Features: Amanda Dheerasekara Multilingual: Rosalind Moran Arts: Phoebe Hamra Reviews: Alex Green Life & Style: Georgia Leak Environment: Grace Dudley Science: Jenny Tinston Business & Economics: Victor Sukeerth Munagala Sport: Ollie Brown Creative Writing: Nadia Kim Creative Writing: Emilie Morscheck Satire & Humour: Eleanor Armstrong News: Lorenzo McMiken News: Jasper Lindell News: Lorane Gaborit News: James Turner News: Isabella Di Mattina-Beven Distributor and Radio Presenter Liason: Loretta Lackner Radio Technical Officer: Will Fletcher Music: Cosmo White Social Media: Poppy Perry-Evans Events & Sports: Stephanie David Art: Rowan Everard Art: Tom Campbell Design: Katie Ward Design: Julia Hammer Television Manager: Bremer Sharp Camera Operator: Prajdnik Awasthi Reporter: Casley Rowan Reporter: Jemimah Cooper Reporter: Linda Chen Photography: Dillon Vibes Photography: Chloe Tredea Photography: Marwan Elhassan Photography: Christine Song Woroni is powered by zooper doopers and twinings green tea!

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University Backs Down on Exam Schedule Changes no longer be pursuing Sunday exams, public holiday exams or standard classes running later than 6pm.

We expect to be able to announce arrangements in the very near future’, the spokesperson said.

An ANU spokesperson said that the University is looking into several options for accommodating exams, including the AIS and a building on Barry Drive.

Text: Alex Joske and Lorane Gaborit

The spokesperson also clarified that transport to the AIS will be organised by the University, should exams be held there.

In week one the University proposed introducing Sunday and public holiday exams as a way of managing the Union Court redevelopment construction period. The planned demolition of the Manning Clarke Centre and co-opting of Melville Hall to hold services currently in Union Court are believed to have motivated the proposal.

ANUSA President James Connolly and PARSA President Alyssa Shaw were informed on Monday 27 February by ANU executives that the University will

‘We are currently working on the options, which include modelling timetables as well as fit-out, with a priority of minimising disruption to students.

This initial proposal was met by significant opposition from students and staff through a social media campaign and petition attracting over 400 signatures

run by ANUSA and PARSA. In an article published on the ANUSA website on 27 February, Connolly stated that the administration’s release of an updated scheduling model was a significant development, reminding students to ‘stay engaged and provide feedback on the disruptions to come posed by the Union Court redevelopment’.

Connolly also noted that with other details regarding the newly proposed model yet to be released, ANUSA and PARSA will give students the opportunity to submit both online and in-person feedback when possible.

Johns Students Disciplined for Sexist Chant The Head of College, Geoff Johnston, confirmed that an incident in the ‘sexism area’ had taken place and that ‘appropriate action’ had been taken.

It is understood that the group of first year students made a sexist chant at the College, but not at a College-run or endorsed event.

Text: Jasper Lindell A group of first year John XXIII College students was disciplined in O-Week over an incident involving a sexist chant, Woroni can reveal.

Clifton, said that the College had taken a ‘harsh stance’ against the first years involved.

‘The College has taken a zero-tolerance approach,’ Clifton told Woroni.

The College is now working with the individuals, stressing the difference between the culture of high school and university college.

‘The severe disciplinary action really sets a precedent for returners and first years,’ she said, saying the action being taken at Johns XXIII College was in line with work being done at residential university colleges Australia-wide to combat sexist behaviour.

The president of the John XXIII College residents’ association, Lauren

Clifton noted that it was a ‘shame’ that the spotlight was on the College when

the issue was ‘not confined to Johns.’ She stressed the increasingly strong record on gender equality, noting that the past two residents’ association presidents have been female.

Five John XXIII College residents were expelled last year, and nine others disciplined, after alleged incidents of sexual harassment.

Content Warning: Alleged sexual harassment

Voyeuristic Instagram Targets Female ANU Students One video on the account features zoomed-in footage of a student exercising at what appears to be the ANU gym, set to dance music.

Text: Alex Joske

Another shows multiple clips and photos of a student in a red dress walking across campus, with the photographer following the student from Daley Road to Union Court.

An Instagram account containing sexualised images and videos of female students on campus has emerged.

The account, which was made private just after midnight of Friday, only has a handful of followers, but the two videos

have attracted over 200 views each.

It is unclear whether subjects of the videos consented to being filmed, and they appear to be unaware of the photographer’s presence.

ANUSA Women’s Officer Holly Haoyi Zhang condemned the account, saying that, ‘Online harassment and the distribution of visual images of young women without their consent is an ongoing issue that significantly and disproportionately impacts the safety and well-being of women-identifying students at ANU,

and is evidence of how pervasive rape culture is in our community and society more generally.’

Zhang added that she believes the University should do more to combat rape culture, particularly online.

Under Australian law, it is generally not a crime to film someone in a public place, but distributing humiliating images can be a form of criminal harassment or stalking.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

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Lights On, No One Home: Bruce Hall After SA5

Text: Jasper Lindell Photography: Dillon Vibes

At Bruce Hall, the lights are on and no one is home.

The Flugelman fountain is still dribbling away as weeds do their best to reclaim the edges, while temporary fencing surrounds the former residential wings of Australia’s first co-educational college in preparation for its demolition.

Inside, a textbook for STAT1008 with its spine cracked has been abandoned in the corridor, along with an iron and a pair of gumboots. There are odd sheets of paper, posters still on the notice boards and the detritus of student life: a fork here, a box of tennis balls there, memes still blutacked to the windows. Name tags are still on the locked doors of rooms.

In the quads, the grass has gone to seed and dried off, while white bed frames have been dismantled and stacked outside.

When Woroni visited at the end of O-Week, the former home of Bruce Hall was in a state of suspended animation – as if everyone had simply upped and walked out.

The Bruce Hall residents are now located at SA5 on Dickson Road – an imposingly tall, dark building of glass and steel and sliding doors, nestled in trees where the campus backs on to Clunies Ross Street.

The ANU has conceded that moving the Bruce Hall residents to this building is like putting a square peg in a round hole.

The President of the Bruce Hall Common Room Committee, Matthew Bowes, said that the new building has presented ‘immediate questions’ of how Bruce Hall would be run in a different space and students had settled in well.

‘We have had more returners than normal this year, which has been overwhelmingly positive,’ he said, speaking to Woroni after a long O-Week.

SA5 will only be Bruce Hall’s temporary home. ‘There was no chance to look at the new space before the start of the year, so we have had to adapt quickly to continue with how Bruce Hall is run,’ Mr Bowes said.

‘Some small things can’t easily transition. The old building had a large dining hall, whereas here we can’t easily run events over dinner,’ he said, noting that the new space had lent itself to creative thinking about how Bruce Hall’s culture could be maintained.

Mr Bowes said that the Bruce Hall Common Room Committee had been given assurances from the ANU that they would be included in consultations regarding the design of the new Bruce Hall, set for completion by 2019.

‘We’re particularly interested in the individual cost of things, like air-conditioning or hot water in every room.

We want to know whether it’s worth it, and present the case to students in terms of the effect on room cost,’ he said.

The new complex on the Bruce Hall site is set to house 800 students and fund an expansion of the Tuckwell scholarship program. Money for the new complex is being drawn from $100 million donated last year by Graham and Louise Tuckwell.

This followed a $50 million donation in 2013 to establish the eponymous scholarship.

One first-year Bruce Hall resident told Woroni that he felt ‘right at home’ in SA5, along with around 300 first years.

‘The senior residents were concerned that, because we aren’t in the same physical building, the Bruce Hall culture wouldn’t continue.

‘But I think they worked harder this year, and put extra effort in, to make sure there were plenty of events and that we all felt welcomed.’

A longer O-Week period, starting on the 8th, was a ‘masterstroke’, he said, as it allowed for Bruce Hall residents to get to know each other before the wider university campus.

‘Everyone has been saying that we were out of our rooms by 9am and not back there until 1am – because we were too busy socialising!’

But the move and redevelopment of the Bruce Hall site has faced harsh criticism.

Former Bruce Hall residents and staff have been calling for the protection of the original buildings, built in 1961.

Last November, the ACT Heritage Council decided not to add the buildings to its register, paving the way for its demolition. However, the ANU has previously signalled Bruce Hall’s heritage value – a view supported by the National Trust.

The National Capital Authority (NCA) approved the demolition plans for the residential wings in February, despite 127 of 129 submissions received in the consultation period opposing the work.

The public consultation period on the application to demolish the Bruce Dining Hall closed on 6 February, with the NCA yet to make a decision regarding this application.

The ANU still expects construction of the new student residences at Bruce Hall will begin in the second half of 2017.

Bruce Hall Common Room Committee President Matthew Bowes said that some older residents may be interested in a farewell to Bruce Hall event before it is demolished, but that they needed to strike a balance with the past and the future.

‘Our alumni are a crucial part of the Bruce Hall community – and we want to care for that, but at the same time we don’t want to dwell,’ he said.

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Rudd Warns Against Second Stolen Generation the current problems in this area pale in comparison to those created in the past under racially-driven government initiatives. But he was quick to raise the alarm over the risks of poor government policy creating ‘another generation of young Aboriginal children unnecessarily separated from their culture’.

Former prime minister Kevin Rudd warned an audience at the ANU on Monday 13 February that unless Aboriginal child protection policy is changed, a growing number of Indigenous children will be removed from their culture.

Rudd isolated the growing relaxation of the Child Placement Principle – a guideline designed to keep Aboriginal children in Aboriginal families even when they are removed from their original families – as a key driver of contemporary cultural separation. The principle, which is contained in legislation across all Australian jurisdictions, faces difficulty in implementation due to its being time-consuming and costly.

Rudd was careful to distinguish between the Stolen Generations and the current issues surrounding relocation of Aboriginal children. He emphasised that

In 2015, 15,432 Aboriginal children were situated in out-of-home care, with almost a third being relocated in a manner not in accordance with the policy. A

Text: Lorenzo McMiken

reflective Rudd lambasted this failure, stating, ‘no Indigenous organisation was consulted, no extended-family carer was found, no community carer was found.

These kids were taken away.’

In addition to his insistence that the Child Placement Principle be adhered to, the need for a new policy focused on prevention of family breakdown was also highlighted. Between 2006 and mid2015 the number of Aboriginal children in out-of-home care grew by almost 9,000 – an increase of over 100 percent.

Speaking on this trend, Rudd was adamant that something urgently needs to be done and criticised the government’s $500 million in cuts to various Indigenous programs as ‘extremely unhelpful’.

In spite of criticism that the targets of his Closing the Gap program have not been met, Rudd was adamant that jettisoning the program would be a mistake and a faddish political re-brand, rather than a

genuine attempt to advance Indigenous policy. In addition to the seven targets of Closing the Gap, Rudd restated his support for two new targets, relating to Indigenous higher education attendance rates and Aboriginal incarceration rates.

Rudd ended the speech by indicating that he remained optimistic that real solutions may be found for seemingly intractable issues. He furthermore announced a personal gift of $100,000 to the National Apology Foundation, as part of his efforts to close the gap.

With the last Closing the Gap update, given by Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull on 14 February, revealing that six of the program’s seven targets are not on track, it appears as though we are far away from ending the disadvantages faced by Indigenous Australians.

Consent Matters in New ANU Learning Module ability of universities to adequately respond to sexual assault.

Text: Bella Dimattina The ANU has unveiled a new online module, Consent Matters: Boundaries, Respect and Positive Intervention, designed to raise awareness of issues surrounding sexual consent. The module, available on Wattle, discusses issues of consent, healthy communication and being an ethical bystander.

The module, available on wattle, has been developed in the context of nation-wide concern about sexual discrimination and violence on university campuses. A 2015 National Union of Students survey found that 27 percent of respondents had experienced sexual assault while studying at university, and concerns have been raised about the

ANUSA Women’s Officer Holly Haoyi Zhang, said that she was ‘very glad to see the university take on its responsibilities in educating and planning for the wellbeing and safety of its students in a more holistic way’.

The module is part of a wider framework of sexual health and sexual assault education provided by residential halls.

Burton and Garran, Fenner and John XXIII have made the module compulsory for new students, with some also situating it within compulsory face-to-face sessions throughout the semester.

‘The additional compulsory session also helped me discuss issues I had never even considered before’, said Holly Stapleton, a Burton and Garran resident.

In some residential halls the module did not form part of a wider sexual assault and consent discussion, or was not made compulsory for students

‘A more embedded delivery program needs to accompany the online module which includes open discussions facilitated by professional educators experienced in delivering sexual consent training to ensure students are engaged in a deeper, guided consideration of its content’, said Zhang.

One Unilodge resident stated that he was ‘actually quite surprised at how little there’s been’ in the way of consent education and discussion. Students at Ursula Hall said they were unaware of the module’s existence.

End Rape on Campus Australia’s recent Connecting the Dots report raised concerns about the lack of coherence in the ANU’s policies towards students accused of domestic assault. ‘policies and procedures relating to sexual assault span over at least four different documents, not all of which refer to one another’, the report points out.

Three heads of hall admitted they had little or ‘no idea’ what of happens in

sexual assault investigations, according to the report.

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Campus Pop-Up Village to Open Mid-Year ‘While we are undertaking this revitalisation project we are installing a temporary pop-up village which will serve as the heart of the campus from mid-2017 through to early 2019 when the revitalisation is completed.

Text: Jasper Lindell During the first stage of the $220 million Union Court and University Avenue redevelopment project, a temporary pop-up village will provide a home for university life.

The vice-chancellor, Professor Brian Schmidt, says that a pop-up village featuring food outlets, a bar, a live music venue and student services is all part of ‘creating a much better and easier campus life for everyone’.

The ANU hopes that this will better connect the university with the Canberra city.

‘The new pop-up will be a vibrant new location where the ANU and the wider Canberra community can come together,’ Professor Schmidt told reporters in Union Court on Friday 25 February.

Professor Schmidt says the redevelopment is long overdue. ‘We have a huge opportunity to do it.

‘The scary part is that it’s 18 months of disruptions, so the pop-up village is really important. … I really think that’s going to be great, and so my hope is that that will ease the disruption during construction,’ he told Woroni TV. The PARSA president, Alyssa Shaw, says that she is ‘confident’ that the pop-up will cater for the post-graduate student body. However, she noted concerns

about the disruption to the post-graduate students working in the Copland building.

An ANU Union representative declined to comment on the pop-up and Union Court redevelopment project.

‘From everything I’ve seen to date, I’m confident the pop-up will be a great improvement.

The pop-up will include food vendors BrodDogs and Mr Papa. The ANU says a competitive tender process was used to select companies involved in the pop-up.

‘It looks like the businesses in the popup will better reflect the diversity of the post-grad cohort,’ Shaw said.

Shaw noted the the pop-up and Union Court redevelopment has the potential to better cater for an older demographic, including family-friendly events. ‘I’m hoping it’ll be real positive, so people feel better about the Union Court redevelopment.’

The pop-up will have a bar run by The Burley Group, replacing the long-term operator, the ANU Union.

The pop-up is set to open midway through 2017, with construction beginning in March.

The Union Court redevelopment project, slated for completion in 2019, will see the demolition of a number of existing buildings in Union Court to make way for new teaching spaces, student accommodation, gym and swimming pool facilities, a student services building, a cultures and events precinct, and underground car parking.

The Burley Group has committed to honour the history of live music at the present ANU Bar in the pop-up space and new bar in the redeveloped Union Court.

ANU Indigenous Scholar Receives Fulbright Scholarship Rogers’s long history of work in Indigenous studies has received widespread recognition through numerous awards including the NAIDOC Young Person of the Year award in 2010 and the ANU Vice Chancellor’s Staff Award for Reconciliation in 2014.

Text: Alex Joske Jessa Rogers, a leading indigenous scholar and ANU PhD candidate, will be travelling to Harvard’s Department of Anthropology under a Fulbright Postgraduate Scholarship later this year.

The highly competitive scholarship program encourages international academic exchange and aims to ‘bring a little more knowledge, a little more reason, and a little more compassion into world affairs’, in the words of founder Senator J. William Fulbright.

As a Harvard Fellow, Rogers hopes to ‘learn, collaborate and form links as a representative of Australia’ and build the next steps of her career as an Indigenous scholar.

Rogers’s research focuses on Indigenous girls in boarding schools, with Rogers having previously worked as a teacher.

As part of her work, she has also created an arts-based research method called Photoyarn that encourages grassroots research in Indigenous communities.

After completing her Master of Education at the University of Southern Queensland, Rogers was accepted by the

University of Cambridge’s PhD program but decided to study at the ANU due to its better opportunities for Indigenous studies.

Rogers, a Wiradjuri woman, was the first in her family to finish high school and said that moving to Canberra to study at the ANU was ‘one of the biggest personal growth experiences’ in her life.

‘Before I came to ANU, I had never lived out of Queensland by myself.’

‘It gave me the strength to apply for the Fulbright’, Rogers said, speaking fondly of her time at the ANU and of her appreciation for the mentorship of the Tjabal Centre’s Anne Martin, better known as Aunty Anne.

As a prominent ANU Indigenous scholar, Rogers was involved in the creation of the recently published ANU Strategic Plan 2017-2021, which emphasises

the ANU’s responsibility to Indigenous Australia.

No Indigenous post-doctoral positions at the ANU were available to Rogers, who is currently an Assistant Professor at the University of Canberra. However, the new strategic plan introduces a post-doctoral scheme that will offer a pathway for indigenous students looking to enter academia at the ANU. Rogers commented that the plans announced in the strategic plan are a step in the right direction, but that more work needs to be done so that the advancement of indigenous people occurs at all levels of society.

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Students Rally Against Penalty Rate Cuts

Text: Alex Joske Students gathered in Union Court on Monday 27 February to protest the Fair Work Commission’s plans to reduce penalty rates, cutting Sunday wages for casual workers by up to 25 percent.

Organised by ANUSA in conjunction with Unions ACT, United Voice and the National Union of Students (NUS), the event saw speakers rail against the planned changes to a crowd of around fifty.

ACT Deputy Chief Minister Yvette Berry praised the protesters while highlighting the potential impact the cuts would have on young Australians.

can have savings before this cut happens. For him, that’s a hundred dollars a week that he’s worse off now,’ Douros said.

‘For me and the ACT Government, we are absolutely 100 percent behind this campaign to build a better community here in the ACT and across the country that respects the rights of young people and families in our community, and that they should be able to earn a half-decent wage,’ Berry said.

‘Shame’, an audience member muttered.

Berry also urged students to support businesses that show that they ‘respect their employees’ by refusing to implement the penalty rate cuts.

ACT NUS Branch President Nick Douros spoke of a friend of his, Nathan Kerwood, who will be affected by the changes.

‘He’s decided to take extra shifts so he

A surprise appearance at the event was that of Humphrey McQueen, a widely published historian who – despite his advanced age – appeared as passionate as ever about student activism.

The Fair Work Commission, the independent umpire that sets penalty rates, was originally established by a Labor government in 2009. Yet the understanding of the Fair Work Commission as an independent body seems to have evaporated, with many speakers blaming the government for the changes, and the Labor Party contradicting the body it created.

‘Don’t be sold off before the election and be told that you don’t have to fight for your rights – you just have to vote for them. You’ve got to do everything! Fight for them’, McQueen urged the crowd in an impromptu speech.

Mere hours before the rally, Opposition Party Leader Bill Shorten announced that he would be i ntroducing a bill opposing the penalty rate changes.

ANU Medical School Launches Anti-Bullying and Harassment Campaign

Text: Lorane Gaborit The ANU Medical School has rung in the year with the launch of an anti-bullying and sexual harassment campaign.

The campaign has been led by the distribution of a booklet co-written by third year medical student Greg Threlfall and school graduate Dr Eilidh Gilritchie. The booklet provides advice for students on ‘the definitions, policies and avenues for reporting bullying, sexual harassment and discrimination.’

A 2015 study in the Medical Journal of Australia found that 81 percent of medical students had witnessed humiliation during adult clinical rotations and 74 percent had experienced it firsthand. In 2016 a Senate inquiry similarly found bullying and harassment to be significant cultural problems in the medical profession.

A 2013 nation-wide study conducted

by Beyond Blue found that one in five Australian medical students reported suicidal thoughts over the previous year, with 40 to 50 percent of students experiencing emotional exhaustion and symptoms of depression or anxiety above normal levels. An increased likelihood of experiencing or witnessing harassment and bullying is suggested to be a contributing factor to these findings.

ANU Medical School Dean Professor Imogen Mitchell herself admitted to

being a victim of bullying and harassment as a junior doctor early in her career.

On behalf of the Medical School, Professor Mitchell said that the university makes it very clear that ‘bullying, sexual harassment and discrimination have no place in the medical profession, and won’t be tolerated at the ANU Medical School.’

ANU Vice-Chancellor Professor Brian Schmidt reiterated this by telling students at the launch of the booklet that they have the support of the University to speak out against bullying, discrimination and harassment.

The campaign has also placed an emphasis on being proactive about improving the experiences of medical students. The reference guide launched last month ends with a message encouraging

students to take control and ‘enact positive change’ in order to ‘shift the culture surrounding bullying, sexual harassment and discrimination.’

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Sunday Penalty Rates Cut, Affecting Student Workers be introduced in July, with others to be gradually implemented.

Text: Lorenzo McMiken and Alex Joske Penalty rates for retail, hospitality and fast food workers have been cut in a decision announced on 23 February by the Fair Work Commission. Nearly half a million workers in these sectors will see their wages reduced by up to $6,000 a year, hitting some of Australia’s lowest paid workers. Most of the pay cuts will

For the retail sector, Sunday wages will be reduced from 200 percent of the standard rate to 150 percent for full-time and part-time staff. For full and parttime hospitality workers, Sunday penalty rates will be reduced from 175 percent to 150 percent. For fast-food employees working full or part-time in the level one class, the rate will go from 150 percent to 125 percent.

Casual workers in fast-food and retail will also see rates cut, though casual workers in hospitality will remain unaffected. The rate cuts will also apply to public holidays.

Lower Sunday and public holiday penalty rates will lead to increased services and trading hours, spur employment

growth and enable more people to get off welfare, according to the Fair Work Commission.

National Union of Students (NUS) Welfare Officer Jill Molloy was disappointed by the decision, saying that it would be of immense detriment to student welfare.

Molloy pointed out that students often work in the affected sectors on Sundays, due to weekday study commitments.

She added further that penalty rates are critical for many students to make ends meet and that the cuts would place them under significant financial duress. Molloy believes the rate cuts were motivated by the ongoing efforts of business lobby groups.

The ‘Say NO to Education and Welfare Cuts’ rally scheduled for 22 March

is now expected to include a protest against the penalty rate cuts, according to NUS ACT State Branch President Nick Douros.

The penalty rates decision appears to be a significant turning point in Australian industrial relations. Whereas many other advanced economies long ago jettisoned penalty rates, or variants of them, they have proven resilient in Australia.

The Fair Work Commission, which manages penalty rates as an independent umpire, was initially established by the Gillard Government in the context of increasing politicisation of penalty rates. This places the Labor Party in a difficult position of having to decide whether to back the independent umpire it established, or to contravene its ruling and head to the next election with a policy to legislate penalty rates.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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Speaking with Us, Not for Us Text: Sumithri Venketasubramanian Conflict is in all of our histories, presents and futures. Some people are oppressed, and some others do the oppressing, experiencing privilege at the expense of the former. Not all who benefit from oppression consciously discriminate, and those at the winning end – white people, straight people, cisgender men, wealthy people – have no reason to engage in conversations that could potentially endanger their privilege. So if it’s not realistic to expect oppressors to directly address what’s going on, how do we move forward in hope for a more just future?

Here’s where allies are super important. Essentially, allies are people who use their position of privilege to promote views that favour the oppressed.

Allies are in a position to relate to the oppressors, and have a significantly higher chance of being heard than the oppressed themselves. Straight and cisgender allies can navigate spaces that queer* people are unable to because their safety is not endangered as a direct result of their identity. A white person in a white family can discuss race in a

way that doesn’t confront their racist relatives because the issue is presented in a more distant and less confronting way – as compared to if a person of colour were present, calling them out on their language and actions.

Allyship is often perceived to come in public declarations: in e-mail signatures or laptop stickers claiming ‘I am an ally’, and in attending protests or sharing Facebook posts. While these gestures are important as they establish that an office, correspondence or space is safe for those who may be unsure of how they may be treated as a result of their identity, I have personally found what I term ‘private allyship’ to be just as important. These are your white friends who call their out white peers for racial microaggressions, siblings who casually bring up conversations of queerness* with your parents to prepare them for your potential coming out, and friends who you can talk to at night when you’ve just been through a rough time.

In instances where identity may not be explicitly visible – such as closeted queer* people, or those who experience mental illness – allies can serve to create a safe space for others without outing them.

This includes using the gender-neutral

pronoun – ‘they’, in English – referring to significant others as ‘partners’ instead of gendered terms like ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’, calling out others on ableist language and steering conversations in directions that will make the situation more comfortable for everybody.

Ultimately, allies are just that: supporting roles in a movie that should star those at the losing end of the unfortunate ‘-isms’ that feature in our lives. They provide platforms for lesser-heard voices and express solidarity without taking space away from the very people they are supporting. This includes knowing when to let others do the talking, stepping back to unlearn and relearn things from those affected, and recognising that sometimes people may not want to be fought for.

Being an ally involves actively acknowledging and challenging one’s privilege, and this can breed an unhealthy sort of ‘pseudo-guilt’ expressed through proclamations about how awful one’s fellow white, straight, cisgender or able-bodied people are without really doing much else to break down these systemic issues.

This is a form of ‘performative allyship’, which involves big gestures that people perform to appear to be in support of particular causes without sincerely

dedicating themselves to the fight. Unfortunately, these sorts of actions don’t do anything to promote social justice; they merely draw attention away from legitimate discourse about these issues.

Some allies, on the other hand, end up going a little too hard and put themselves in harm’s way – for example, attempting to push particular conversations in extremely hostile environments. Not looking out for their mental well-being while fighting the good fight isn’t smart either, as allies – being ‘advocates with privilege’ – are prone to activist burnouts as well. It is important to always recognise when to take a step back, as everybody has the right to put their safety and health first.

Conflict is in all our histories, presents and futures. But with more non-performative allies promoting social justice in their circles to support those who are discriminated against, expressing their solidarity, and most importantly listening to and uplifting the voices of the oppressed, the fight can be made just that little bit easier.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

COmment

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Malcolm’s Still in the Middle Text: Rahel Alemseged

According to the Australian Election Study conducted at ANU in 2014, 40 percent of the population are not satisfied with democracy in Australia. The 2017 parliamentary year, of course, is still in its infancy, but we have already seen frustrating stalemates on policy issues concerning energy and social security. The theatre of question time that facilitates fruitless bickering has also contributed to voters’ disillusionment with both sides of politics. And, one other key factor consistently said to be causing discontent with voters, is Prime Minister Turnbull’s lack of authority.

In the press conference held just before his seizure of power in 2015, Malcolm Turnbull invoked John Howard by praising his dedication to a thoroughly traditional cabinet system of government.

This was the first indication of what type of government Turnbull sought to lead, and was a welcome announcement from disgruntled and frustrated colleagues.

It is undeniable that if Turnbull was looking to emulate a former Australian leader, it would be that of John Howard. Whatever your personal politics, it’s hard to deny the stability that characterised this period of Australian government – a tenure of 11 years explains as much. It was clear that when he took over the leadership, Turnbull sought to present himself as the son of Howard.

So, 18 months into his prime ministership, how is he stacking up?

Throughout his tenure, John Howard strove to present himself as tough on issues by identifying a policy concern and pursuing it with full conviction – an approach many politicians are resolved to avoid. Where would Australia be without our tight gun laws, pursued by the Howard government in the face of immense opposition from constituents of the Liberal party’s coalition partner?

While Turnbull acknowledges that he is the leader of a broad church, Howard dealt with what was arguably a more contestable and controversial issue – he had the responsibility of arguing the merits not only to the Australian people, but to colleagues whose careers depended on their elector’s support.

Another clear example of Turnbull’s emulation of Howard can be seen when examining the issue of border security. In the midst of the 2001 election campaign Howard famously stated, ‘we will decide who comes to Australia and the circumstances in which they come.’ Similarly, Turnbull recently mimicked this line, albeit concerning foreign investment, when he stated, ‘we decide who invests

in Australia and the circumstances in which they invest.’

It is clear that strong language bolsters the population’s trust in their leader, however, this rhetoric hasn’t been manifested through the actions of the current government. Over the course of his prime ministership thus far, Turnbull has done the opposite of what strong leadership embodies.

While a consultative leader seems ideal, Turnbull appears to have taken this proposition a little too far. His tendency to back down on policy when faced with backbench pressure – such as in the climate policy debate late last year – does not instil confidence in his leadership. Of course, this can’t be a criticism pointed solely at Turnbull, given that he is caught between the competing wishes of the broad party that he leads. When prompted to respond to Donald Trump’s controversial immigration ban earlier this year, for example, Turnbull continually stated that it was not his job to comment. But surely we can expect our prime minister to have an opinion and to express it?

Interestingly, Turnbull now finds himself in a similar post-election position as Howard did. The LNP suffered a close election result in 2016, just as they did in 1998. Both leaders would like to attribute this to opposition scare tactics – the ‘Mediscare’ in 2016 and the GST contention in the late 90’s. The question is, how was Howard able to turn a tight result into a convincing win in 2001? Here is something that would surely be useful for Turnbull to consider if he is to reverse the trajectory he is currently on in time for the next election.

It is certainly true that conservative leaders are constantly on damage control, with their success being measured on how successfully they diffuse problems, rather than their legislative achievements.

While border security issues rose to the top of the political agenda during the Gillard years, the same debate was also at its height just before John Howard’s 2001 re-election. The reporting of this

issue in recent years has given the impression that the period we are currently in is to be regarded as a severely blemished period, and that Australia is sacrificing its international reputation. However, it is this rhetoric that was being used to describe the political environment during this crucial time in Howard’s prime ministership.

The arrival of the Tampa created a situation of genuine uncertainty concerning the level of Australian border control. Whatever your opinion on the moral implications of the Pacific Solution, its swift implementation by the Howard government presented an image of control and strength.

Appearances matter in politics.

And ultimately, when it was time to make a decision on the leadership of the nation, Australians trusted Howard’s government to make quick and decisive calls.

It would be remiss not to acknowledge the contrasting political climates that these leaders both faced. Above all, however, history has shown that if a prime minister is to be successful, the policy issues they focus on need to be prosecuted fully and with conviction. While Australian political history – for the most part – has shown that it is foolish to predict the outcome of an election too far in advance, I will still say that the next election won’t end ideally for Turnbull unless something changes.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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The ‘I’ in Ideology

Interview with Dom Cradick: Deputy of the ANU Labor Left Text: Isabel Wilson

IW: What is your general ideological position?

DC: Far left absolutely. I justify being in the Labor party because rather than appeasing views that exist in the community, you get the chance to move and change minds.

IW: How much have your parents and other relatives influenced your ideology? When did you start to engage with politics?

DC: The earliest I remember being political was maybe year seven, when I remember agreeing with Julia Gillard.

I was the most political in my school.

My parents aren’t that political although they are left wing. My grandad was such a Gough Whitlam fan – he named the cat Gough. On my father’s side, my grandad wasn’t a particularly political person, but he campaigned for nuclear disarmament in the UK. My great grandad was a communist, and he married into a middle-class family. Behind his back, they called him Rita’s little Bolshie. I joined the Labor party at the end of year 10.

IW: Has ANU made you more or less political?

DC: Being at ANU has made me way more political. Back home, talking about politics was considered boring. Here at ANU, and with pretty much anyone I come into contact with, politics is always up for discussion and not really off limits like it was back home. Where I come from on the Sunshine Coast is very conservative. When you have a left leaning community political discussion is encouraged, but when you have a conservative area the very fact that it’s not discussed means that people don’t think about it. They have simpler conservative positions because they don’t need to grapple with them.

IW: Have there been any issues or events that have had a significant impact on your ideological viewpoint?

DC: Refugees were the big issue. I remember the day when Kevin Rudd said that no person who comes to Australia would be able to make it home. I cried that day. That the party even then could adopt such a horrible, disgusting position was a big turning point for me. I wasn’t a member at that point, but that was something that led to me

understanding the system, and that you can’t be a puritan in these things. You need to work from within if you believe in policy change.

You can’t just sit back and be passive, you’ve got to be realistic. The only path forwards is with the Labor party. The change to mandatory detention and turn backs – that point will come under a Labor government.

IW: How much does ideology, and particularly ideological similarity, play in determining your personal relationships? Could you be friends with someone who you disagree with?

DC: I can only really think of one person, they are Libertarian. They are fundamentally concerned with equality the same as I am, but believe in getting there via a different path. I’m not friends with anyone who has a different opinion than me about refugees. I just don’t think I could ever be friends with someone that supports such a policy.

IW: How do you think ideology and class relate?

DC: I think it’s more determined by regional setting. One Nation policies are popular because they have a sort of welfare economic policy that appeals to people from working class backgrounds. In the ACT, there seems to be a pretty coherent relationship between being poorer and voting Labor. But on the Sunshine Coast I don’t think that’s necessarily true. On the Sunshine Coast we believe that we’re relatively middle class, but the gross average income is below the national average. Despite that, we’re still one of the safest Liberal seats in the country. The geographical position of an electorate plays a critical role.

IW: How would you describe the relationship between different ideological groups on campus?

DC: I think there have been issues in the past, but I know that a lot of the new people are very committed to having a fighting force against the administration’s recent anti-student stuff, and what they’re planning to do to this university.

Therefore, we need to have healthy relationships because we are all fundamentally concerned with student welfare.

IW: How do you think the modern emergence of populism will change traditional ideological politics?

DC: I’m of the belief that a lot of these far right groups will serve to benefit the left in the long run. Trump winning the election is terrible, but it could be good for the left because we finally have something to rally around. I think people will realise how terrible things can get if we continue to see this middle road to fascism approach and don’t start appealing to the working class base. I think it will ultimately serve the left. I think this popularity is very temporary and that we’ll soon start to see more left-wing movements across the world.

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Issue 2, Vol. 67

12

The Philosopher’s Stoned

Inside the Mind of Frank Jackson: Part II Text: Anthony Merlino In this regular column, Anthony Merlino seeks to capture the unique perspective of a different ANU philosopher each fortnight. In doing so, the column will act as a bridge between the School of Philosophy and the ANU student body.

Situated next to the famed – and now tragically deceased – Jacaranda tree in the quad, is the University of Sydney’s Philosophy Department.

Within this building, in 1974, political tumult entered the realm of academia.

At one stage, differences of opinion over the Vietnam War divided the department in two. When asked to capture the current landscape of academia, Professor Frank Jackson immediately turns to this partition. In one way, the split is emblematic of currents that still threaten academic departments today. On the other hand, it acts as a reminder to Jackson. From his perspective, the Australian National University’s School of Philosophy has become a secure island amongst these changing tides.

Jackson’s former colleague, Professor Peter Singer, is settled in front of a row of glaring cameras, as an episode of Q&A begins. On this program Singer aroused controversy by defending the claim, made in his capacity as a political philosopher, that the euthanasia of severely disabled infants is justified under specific conditions. However, in the field that Jackson is renowned for – the philosophy of mind – such political controversies are ‘more or less non-existent’. He refers his former lecturer, David Armstrong, who had ‘unpopular’ views on the Vietnam War. These opinions, however, had ‘no impact on his philosophy of mind’.

Within Jackson’s fields, evidently, there

is little tension between political ideologies. For this reason, Jackson does not regard himself as a public intellectual.

Regardless, he believes his work remains relevant to everyday life. He says, for example, ‘everyone is interested in whether their mind is something more than their brain and the way it works.’ In Jackson’s eyes, the life of a public intellectual begins when academia directly touches on public policy. Still, this does not diminish the practical import of other areas of philosophical inquiry.

On 1 March 2001, the University of Sydney’s two separate philosophy departments were reunited under a single banner after 27 years of divorce. Cognisant of these past disputes, Jackson considers himself fortunate, since the philosophy departments he has resided in have been ‘very friendly’. He believes this is partly because the ANU School of Philosophy places a particular emphasis on constructive debate. Within this department, academics are routinely ‘developing and debating reasoned lines of thought’, which makes philosophers more ‘tolerant’ of criticism. In fact, these debates are cause to reconsider the strength of one’s argument or ‘try and convince your discussant that they are wrong’. Jackson believes that ANU has fostered an environment conducive to reflection and deliberation, which prevents division.

Additionally, Jackson believes this exchange of ideas should emphasise an interconnectedness between the different sub-fields within philosophy. If a philosopher is interested in ethics, then they are interested in reasoning. Therefore, to properly investigate ethics, philosophers ‘need to pay attention to issues in philosophical logic about the nature of reasoning’. Relatedly, Jackson regards it as vital to ‘see connections between disciplines’. As such, an academic working in the philosophy of mind ‘should pay attention to evolutionary theory, to neuroscience, and to experimental psychology’. That being said, this interdisciplinary approach does not mean being ‘not so strong’ in several disciplines.

Ultimately, he believes an interdisciplinary method, if approached correctly, encourages informed academic discourse.

This exchange of ideas also attracts fervent criticism. There is a narrative that philosophy, and academia more generally, has an adverse ‘publish or perish’ culture. Jackson acknowledges there is ‘much more pressure now’ to constantly meet publishing requirements. Nowadays, to get a job and be promoted,

academics ‘must’ publish. He believes, however, the culture is broadly positive as it ‘puts a bit of pressure’ on staff to perform. But, quantity should not be the only concern. Whilst Jackson believes this culture helps stimulate important research, it can, at times, be to the detriment of insightful academic discourse.

Underneath the surface, the School of Philosophy has deeper divisions. John Farnham’s anthemic tune ‘The Voice’ implores the audience to recognise the similarities that bind humankind together as, ‘we’re all someone’s daughter, we’re all someone’s son’. In 1986, as these lyrics were carried across the globe, Jackson joined the School of Philosophy.

When he arrived, however, ‘no woman had ever held a faculty post’, which was ‘both surprising and disturbing’. Despite female academic appointments increasing since, Jackson believes that women still face additional barriers to entering philosophy. He is unsure what strategies are required to repair this ingrained division: ‘It is a puzzle as to why philosophy has been such a male dominated subject’. Happily, Jackson sees good indicators. He feels that ‘this situation is changing around the world’ with more women entering graduate school than in the past. As Jackson sees it, philosophy is gradually becoming less divided as progressive ideas infiltrate conservative frameworks.

As the sun descends above ANU, Frank Jackson returns to his nearby home.

When he reviews his prolific career, he recognises that the university has provided him with a secure platform that is free of overpowering division. Because of this, he has been able to refine the portrait of his philosophical inquiry. He hopes, also, that the university provides the first brush stroke for many others.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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That We Could Take the Identity out of Politics Text: Matthew James Evans Disclaimer: Identity politics is far too broad a topic and too contentious a subject for me to even hope to cover it in so few words, so I’m not going to bother with a complete overview. If you’re after more information, there are a lot of think pieces out on the internet written by far smarter and more established authors than I. The victory of Donald Trump in November and the Brexit referendum in June have had a profound impact on the state of world political thought, and Australia is no exception to this. As a small Western nation closely allied with the US and UK, the currents that guide them inevitably shape us and we cannot be blind to these movements.

The return of Pauline Hanson’s One Nation should remind us all that we are not exempt from the same systemic inequalities that exist abroad, and that faith in our political system is just as low as it is in other Western nations. Some will point to these developments and proclaim that the world of identity politics is over – that class considerations have triumphed over the elitist ‘tyranny’ of identity. As Waleed Aly said in The Age, ‘Class is back in politics. We ignore it at our peril.’

And to a certain extent, he’s right. Conventional identity politics as espoused by those on the left have been repudiated by a tired and betrayed populace that has seen their wages fall and living standards erode. But is this the fault of identity? The result of placing minority interests at the forefront of political discourse? And does identity naturally fall in opposition to class, such that one must rise as the other falls?

I don’t accept this. The return of class is a readjustment of the ship, yes, but it is not a replacement of it: class and identity are far more intertwined than many give them credit for. Aly is right: class is back, but identity is not going anywhere. Our peril is just as assured by ignoring the co-expression of the two.

What much of this debate seems to stem from is a fundamental misunderstanding of what the term ‘identity politics’ means. In popular liberal parlance, identity politics is taken to be the pushing forward of the politics, by those marginalised in society, against the institutional

forces that serve to oppress them – be it patriarchy or white privilege. These identity groups exist as autonomous divided units, based in a single issue and without any real unifying vision, bar protest at their undeserved marginalisation. They do not exist in coalition but as monolithic, divisive groups: the black, the gay, the trans, the immigrant, the Muslim. Such an arrangement forgets that identity, in many cases, is ephemeral: that it changes and distorts depending on the social and economic conditions of the society it arises from.

Shared identities are just as rooted in the social landscape of a nation as they are in their gendered or racial differences; they can change and evolve just as society does. Identity politics can also fall into the pitfalls of forgetting that groups cannot be defined by singular issues: that Catholic Latinos may be just as concerned about abortion rights as they are immigration; that gay women may oppose high taxes and large government.

Identities are not monoliths – they are comprised of individuals who have their own political agency, and you cannot merely pay lip service to their background and hope to court their support.

Identity politics are inherently intersectional with class and both must be considered when addressing political concerns: a poor white miner in WA has more in common with an impoverished Aboriginal Australian in the Kimberly region than he does with Gina Rinehart, and she is more like Patty Mills than either would care to admit. White privilege is real, but it is more complicated than ‘whites have it easier than [insert: gender/race/etc.], so don’t complain about your lot in life.’

Identity politics is confluent in all walks of society: the economic conditions of the white labourer is just as important to shaping his or her views as the racial lens of the Indigenous Australian. By limiting identity to a focus on racial or gendered grounds we arbitrarily forget the heavy importance class has on defining and dividing us.

To dismiss identity politics entirely, as some choose to do, is a step too far. Contemporary Australia is already haunted by ghosts, both past and present – the historic horrors of the White Australia policy and the current abuse of Asylum Seekers are amongst our other crimes.

We cannot forget the large swaths of the Australian population that are currently unable to marry or are subject to blatant discrimination and harassment; their voices must not be allowed to fade from

view. But this recognition cannot come at the expense of the class struggle that lies beneath the surface of our society.

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Issue 2, Vol. 67

14

Content Warning: Domestic violence

Behind Closed Doors: Domestic Abuse in Colleges Text: Stephanie Kim Living at college is a unique social experience – one where you are constantly surrounded by people who are morbidly curious about your every hook-up and casual fling. High-density living invites relationships to be formed quickly and intensely over your shared love of midnight toasties and binge-watching Scandal. Despite one in four women reporting experiences of physical, sexual, or emotional violence by an intimate partner, university students often view their relationships as immune to these confronting statistics.

Domestic violence (DV) is broadly identified by three behaviours: control, manipulation and isolation. DV is often a slow build-up of abusive behaviours: snide ‘jokes’ about one’s appearance, expecting full access to a partner’s texts at any given time and using private disclosures of trauma or mental health issues as ammunition in arguments.

All of these culminate into one partner conforming to the standards set by the other, under the constant threat of physical, sexual or emotional violence.

DV can be hard to spot – even by one’s closest friends – because often both the abuser and the abused will try to hide all the signs. What I’ve found terrifying about DV is how a passing remark or a ‘caring’ gesture was, in retrospect, a clear warning of abusive behaviour.

But, what terrifies me the most, is seeing my friends suffering from DV in their relationships.

‘He’s not violent. He just lets off steam. He would never hit me.’

‘They just get so jealous sometimes.’

‘I just need to tell him where I am.

He gets so anxious when I don’t text him.’

‘I’m not a victim. I love them.’

The crux of the issue is determining the subtle difference between the acts of a caring partner and a controlling abuser. Questioning why a ‘loving’ partner needs to grant permission for your friend to have a night out. Or why that partner never gives your friend space to breathe – constantly texting, dropping by their room without warning, or never letting them be alone.

The idea that DV is limited to physical aggression alone is an insult to DV survivors, because what it truly boils down to is a conditioned response of relentless and immobilising fear.

Fear of upsetting the abuser as well as a fear of losing them. It’s about manipulating someone into believing that the emotional abuse they suffer is love. That punching a wall during an argument is okay. That if their abuser uses guilt to force consent, then it’s not rape.

In a college environment where rumours spread like wildfire, victims feel trapped.

A DV victim will likely share friends with the abuser, and the abuser will generally be well-liked in the community. By leaving the relationship or revealing DV, victims risk receiving scrutiny from their friends, peers, and even administration. They open themselves up to victimisation: pitied by their friends and vilified by opinionated bystanders on Facebook. So they stay in their relationship, rationalising the abuse.

This article is in no way trying to help you identify DV situations. Quite the contrary. This article is simply a reminder that you should never assume a relationship is healthy, and should be alert to any differences you may see in your friends.

Victims are not always outwardly vulnerable or withdrawn, and abusers are not the Machiavellian villains we portray them to be. The sad truth is that you probably know someone who is experiencing DV in their relationship. It’s likely that these victims and abusers are your friends and the people you admire.

They are probably friendly, outgoing, and always up for a wild Thursday night.

They might be the shoulder you cry on and the ones you walk home with from disastrous exams. They might be in positions of power – they might be your senior residents, your RAs and your rescom.

That’s what is scary.

It’s scary to think someone you know is capable of hurting another person. It’s

scary to think one of your friends is silently suffering.

It would be be easier to forget your O-Week friend who suddenly withdrew after they found a partner, or to ignore the screaming matches you hear from your neighbours every weekend.

It would be easier to forget the offhand comments your best friend makes about their partner that make you uncomfortable.

Being a friend and a contributor to a college culture of safety is not easy.

We need to acknowledge that it is within our power to break the DV cycle through awareness, and the support of our friends. Take the time to catch up for coffee with your friends and listen. You may end up changing their life.

Notes: While statistics for domestic violence focus almost exclusively on hetero relationships, it is important to recognise that same-gender relationships are also susceptible to domestic violence. There may be fewer statistics, but that does not make DV in the LGBTQIA* community any less significant.

If you have been affected by the content of this article, please reach out to Lifeline and call 13 11 14.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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Weekend Penalty Rates: An (Abridged) History Text: Matt Barton Collage: Emma Dowden

‘Why not abolish the burden? What difference is there if a man works a Saturday or Sunday and has week days off?’

Penalty rates for weekend-work have long been mired in controversy. In the 70 years since they were introduced by the then Commonwealth Court of Conciliation and Arbitration in 1947, weekend penalty rates have been a battleground for unions and businesses. The question raised above, for example – all too familiar to us – can be seen not only in the present, but also from a Manly reader of Sydney’s The Sun newspaper in 1953.

The recent decision of the Fair Work Commissioner is a landmark one, primarily because it puts on trial the existence of weekend penalty rates, and invites us to reconsider the historical justifications that underpin their significance. But, despite the various calls for the end, continuation, or adjustment to penalty rates for weekend-work, there is surprisingly little information available about their conception. In fact, the introduction of the rates does not feature on the Australian Parliamentary employment law history website, nor is it listed on the Australian Trade Union Archive’s own timeline of industrial award achievements. The history of the weekend penalty rate, although brief – and very dry – is elusive to many affected by it. Yet, reviewing this history can be insightful in learning how the nature of the penalty rate has changed, and how we have remained in the same debate about the rates ever since they were introduced seven decades ago.

Weekend penalty rates were introduced primarily as a compensatory measure for Australians who were unable to enjoy or take advantage of weekends due to shift work. In the early-to-mid 20th century, weekends were considered days that ought to be reserved for family, church and community, and after the end of the Second World War that was more important than ever. It is for that reason that many businesses were closed over weekends, particularly on Sundays.

Those who had to work were seen to be sacrificing that precious time, and many workers, particularly unionists, demanded that they be compensated.

Years of union pressure and disruption had brought the issue of rates to a head in the Weekend Penalty Rates Case of 1947. The West Australian reported a strike conducted by employees of the

gun forging department of the Commonwealth Steel Company as early as October 1940. The workers, who were also members of the Australian Railways’ Union and the Amalgamated Engineering Unions, had demanded penalty rates for weekend work because wages overall had been frozen due to the war effort. They were struggling financially, and were also sacrificing time with their families.

The decision of the Arbitration Court was not met with universal acclaim in 1947, and the disruptive ‘tactics’ of the unions were criticised. The Goulbourn Evening Post on 1 April 1947 stated that ‘in the case of the Arbitration Court any

arrogant union or union official can throw mud or hurl threats without the slightest fear of going to gaol, much less paying a penalty.’ The newspaper stated that it was time for the Government to seriously consider the ‘lawless strikes and general contempt for responsibilities to the community as a whole’ that the unions had.

Seven decades on, while the remarks about unions remain the same, the nature of weekend penalty rates have changed.

Those campaigning in the 1940s for weekend penalty rates were predominantly men in their 30s and 40s with

families whom they wanted to spend time with. Today, on the other hand, those receiving the rates are generally younger, single, and in many cases reliant on the rate for financial stability.

Although weekends are still considered a time for family, we now live in a much more consumer-based society and expect businesses and services to operate 24/7. Furthermore, with the advent of technology and social media allowing people to communicate more readily, and the fact that millennials stay at home longer due to housing unaffordability, families are more connected than ever – weekends, therefore, don’t need to be reserved for family as often.

Thus, many echo the sentiments of the 1953 Manly resident in advancing that there is no difference between Saturday, Sunday or any other day of the week.

Having said this, many workplaces – particularly schools and universities – still operate on a Monday to Friday work week and this has, arguably, maintained some kind of distinction between weekday and weekend.

Ultimately, we are presented with a dilemma: look to weekend penalty rates in their 1940s conception as a compensatory measure, or recognise that the nature of the rate has changed and it is now centred, for many, on ensuring financial stability for workers.

The resolution of this dilemma, however, as the history above shows, may not be resolved for another couple of decades. The question, therefore, may lay in wage adjustments beyond just the realm of penalty rates.

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Issue 2, Vol. 67

16

Voluntourism: Who are you really helping?

Text: Madeleine Dove Did you notice the flyers last week littering the floor of Manning Clark? Maybe they got you. Maybe you’ve been convinced to abandon your summer plans in pursuit of a better you – a you who builds classrooms so you can teach English to African orphans and white water raft on the side. The best part is, you’ll have a fat resume to boot. If it sounds too good to be true, it’s because it is.

‘Voluntourism’ is not a label the industry accepts with open arms, and for good reasons. Marketing material never uses the phrase itself and, instead, opts for ‘travel for change’ or ‘adventure packed volunteering.’ These phrases are more palatable to their Western audience. The educated young traveller is not a tourist, thank you very much. Tourists do Contiki tours. They, however, ‘live like a local’ for two whole weeks of the year.

They’ll have you know that they ate dinner with a local man one night, but no, they can’t remember his name – it was kind of difficult to pronounce.

Voluntourism is so lucrative that an offshoot industry has appeared: orphan trafficking. Children are stolen and trafficked to become nothing more than tourist attractions who live in orphanages far away from their families. If you choose to participate in voluntourism, you are incentivising the institutionalisation and removal of children from their families. NGOs such as UNICEF and Save the Children remind us that

trafficked and institutionalised children are at a much higher risk of physical and sexual abuse. We’re sold the narrative that they need our help but, in reality, supporting voluntourism means you’re putting vulnerable children at more risk.

There is also a blatant double standard between our lives at home and what we expect those in host nations to accept.

Would you allow unqualified, unvetted strangers to teach your children for two weeks? Would you allow them to build a school? In Australia, you can’t even construct so much as a patio without government approval, let alone a whole public building. Why, then, do we expect Cambodians, Ugandans, or other nationalities to accept shoddy work by twenty-somethings who’ve never used a drill in their life? Too often, the infrastructure projects undertaken by voluntourists are determined by the tours that sell, rather than the needs of the receiving community. It’s an egotistical approach to aid, which ensures that we’re always in power. We drip feed the developing world leaky wells and bumpy roads – which they don’t need – purely so we can feel better about ourselves. Then, of course, we get to return to our comfortable suburban lives while these communities continue to suffer. But, hey, we get a beefed up resume and a guaranteed century on the next Facebook pic, so it was all worth it. Right?

The more immediate problems created by voluntourism are felt more significantly at the local level. Although voluntourists are unqualified, they fill roles as teachers, social workers, builders and

nurses, and they pay to do it. It’s easy to see why these exploitative companies would employ volunteers over local staff.

By taking important jobs from local sectors, voluntourists are denying these economies the chance to grow and become self-sufficient. Although colonial powers no longer explicitly control governance, they still have a disproportionate influence over the economies, education systems and political structures.

It’s the dependency narrative, in which the West dictates the reality of developing host countries, leaving them forever reliant on aid from their former colonial masters.

So, what are you buying when you tack a volunteer program on the end of your holiday? In her piece on backpacker’s privilege in the previous edition of Woroni, Rosie Heselev suggests that these programs exist as resume fillers.

Voluntourists use their privilege to buy academic credit, social capital, and to legitimise themselves as altruistic beings.

In doing this, they mitigate their colonial guilt by telling themselves that they are making a real difference, but ‘living like a local’ cannot negate the reality of your existence. The very privilege which allows you to take part in voluntourism programs is a direct result of the West’s exploitation of the underdeveloped world since colonial times.

Be honest with yourself. You are under-qualified to do these jobs and choosing to ignore the problems associated with voluntourism is selfish. You are indulging your ego, your future and your resume at the expense of the children

whom you are paying to teach. You trivialise and fetishise their impoverished existence, turning their reality into an experience to be purchased. Do they only exist for your selfish purposes?

To make you feel better about yourself, your life and your achievements? Please, be honest with yourself. Oh, and by the way, no one likes your tie-dye t-shirt.

If you have skills to donate, you won’t have to pay if they are truly needed.

Community organisations, internships and local volunteering are fantastic at finding somewhere you will be useful.

If you’re thinking of giving your time or money in the future, Givewell.org reviews and researches charities critically.

See their website for charities that make a difference.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

17

International

Feudalism and Facebook: Modern Political Dynasties Text: Madeleine Birdsey In the modern age we inhabit, dynastic power has been forced to evolve along with the new technology and social structures that have emerged. A dynasty is, most simply, a series of people from the same family who hold power in a certain country or regime. Most commonly associated with monarchies, emperors and dusty history books, it can be easy to think of political dynasties as relics of the past. However, as the recent US Presidential election has demonstrated, the days of a single clan of elites dominating the fate of nations are far from over. So how have they shaped our lives?

And to what extent have they influenced society?

Dynasties have been found in just about every society, from the legitimisation of the Mandate of Heaven in 2100 BCE China, to the Mayan States in Central America, to the patrician houses of Europe. They have helped shape human civilisation and led to significant advancements in art, science, technology and medicine. They have also been responsible for the repression, torture,and murder of millions of people in the name of greed and ego. Dynastic rule has shaped and reshaped our society, and it can be difficult to say whether this has been for the better.

Two prominent examples are the British House of Hanover and the Chinese Ming Dynasty, both of which demonstrate how dynasties help define their nations. The Hanovers gained power through succession, while the Ming dynasty seized power from the previous Yuan rulers. Both led their countries into eras of rapid expansion, which included economic and technological growth. The stability of these periods allowed for a more ordered government and society. But the ‘divine right to rule’ that sustained their claims to power also enabled them to enact serious harms against their populations, and other nations, for their benefit. These dynasties may have advanced their societies, but did so at an enormous human cost.

These days the distribution of power strives to be a bit more democratic, which seems like it would leave hereditary power in its meritocratic dust. Instead, however, dynasties have evolved, changing their message and tactics to maintain popular support. Families like the Kennedys, Bushs and Clintons have become American aristocrats, while closer to home, the Hughes, Turnbulls and Menzies have all produced generations of MPs, ministers and judges. In order to avoid the perception of elitism,

the message has changed, with a desire for public service replacing divine right.

But the outcome of these groups has not – since 1988, two families have controlled the White House for more than two decades.

Modern dynasties are not just politicians, with more than 90 percent of the world’s businesses being family managed or controlled, including multi-billion dollar companies such as News Corp, Samsung, and the infamous Koch brothers.

This evolution questions the fundamental definition of dynasties: Are dynasties just families? Or can you expand the definition to include organisations and companies too?

For many, the recent US Presidential Election became a question of the Establishment vs Outsiders. While there is no single family who controls the ‘establishment’ of US Republicans or Democrats, there was a feeling that all these

politicians were the same type. There are a number of parallels – supporting each other in order to maintain the status quo of their power and control, with cronyism instead of nepotism, friends and connections instead of relatives, and party loyalty instead of family loyalty.

Does that make these organisations dynasties?

Companies such as Google, Apple and Facebook are increasingly and openly politicised. They have access to huge amounts of resources, including significant lobbying power. The technology giants also have extremely loud voices and are using them. Apple under CEO Tim Cook has made a number of public statements on privacy, queer* and trans rights. Moreover, Google, Apple, Facebook and Uber have all recently signed a legal brief against the Trump Muslim Ban.

While companies have always taken sides politically, the scale and organisation of these corporations, as well as the scope of their influence, demonstrates the similarity between that and more traditional political families. The modern and future dynasties may no longer be actual families but rather groups who sustain themselves and their ideas, not through birth and education, but by handpicking the next generation from the same pool – young, high-achiever Silicon Valley progressives.

The implications of these type of modern dynasties are less clear, and their overall influence can only be increased in the future. Democratic governments are intended to allow anyone to advance if they are driven and talented.

If positions of power are concentrated in small groups of elites, does this demonstrate a failure of our systems? Or is it proof that the privileges of money, class and influence can undermine the principles of egalitarianism entirely?

Issue 2, Vol. 67

International

18

Made in China

Reflections Beyond Mirrors Text: Una Chen Una is a second year law/arts student who is passionate about voicing the concerns of the Asian minority. When she is not focused on decorating her apartment, she is dedicated to uncovering the hidden faces of society and dismantling Asian stereotypes.

Mulan.

Geisha.

Cho Chang.

All three are asian. All three are women. All three encounter similar problems when portrayed in the media, for entertainment and by society more generally.

Karlie Kloss’ new Vogue spread – titled ‘Spirited away’ – portrays her as the Geisha: her face is painted white, her lips inked red, and she wears a costume that resembles a traditional kimono.

How ironic. The shoot was for Vogue’s diversity issue, which also featured an Asian model (Liu Wen) inside its pages.

And yet Kloss got a six-page spread while Wen featured in one photo. It’s as if Wen was passed over in favour of a Caucasian woman. How sad is that?

‘Culture is not a costume’ is a phrase that has been employed numerous times to describe the difference between appropriation and appreciation. Although there is no set distinction or boundary, in this situation, it is clearly appropriation. This is not the first time that a white model or actress has been used to represent something that is definitively Asian. It is a slap to all of us – are we not good enough to represent our own culture? Are we too authentic for Western ideals of Asian beauty?

Trying on a kimono is not appropriation: you can respect, admire and take part in our culture. We rejoice in this.

Ask us questions, discover our history, learn about the importance of traditions – I love people wanting to learn about my culture because it shows that they want to know me as well. There is a

degree of responsibility that comes with exploring culture, however, and turning culture into costume is something that should not occur.

Vogue is using a ‘Diversity Issue’ to hide behind their apparent thoughtlessness.

There is beauty and enrichment in discovering new cultures and appreciating them, but it is disappointing that one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in the world refused to participate in true diversity – just the glossed over version that is as shiny and as shallow as the pages it is printed on I have come to realise that the when we stand back and look across all entertainment platforms, those who are ‘minorities’ in the Western World are secondary and represented in a manner that is stereotypical. Misrepresentation is extremely harmful – there is already a lack of Asian people in these roles without them getting less airtime than those representing a pastiche of their culture.

Asians who appear in entertainment are often portrayed in the same clichéd roles, reiterating this caricature.

There is also the serious issue of the lack of differentiation between non-distinct Asian cultures. The lead actress in the 2005 film adaptation of Memoirs of Geisha was played by a Chinese actress: although it’s a step in the right direction, she played a Japanese character. Japan and China: Two different countries, with two separate cultures, who fought on different sides of both world wars.

This amalgamation of all Asian cultures into a watered down and Westernised version of ‘Asian’ perpetuates confusion.

Racial caricatures are still far too prevalent, and it’s important to break away from them. When you think of Asian women across entertainment, you will notice that many play similar roles. Cho Chang, of course, was in Ravenclaw, and was a secondary character that was discarded after Harry Potter realised that he liked Ginny. The problem is no longer simply about a lack of Asian representation, but about how Asians are portrayed in literature. I want to see a character who feels real, rather than enforcing a stereotype – is that too much to ask?

Ultimately, what I find truly offensive are ‘sexy’ Geisha costumes in Halloween – slashed kimonos with fake blood and chopsticks for wearing in your hair.

The oriental sexualisation is a disgrace to the traditional culture of Japan, and the styles of the kimonos promote general confusion about Asian identities.

Red and orange dragons are distinctively Chinese. The collars that you see

on many ‘Asian’ costumes are also Chinese. Geta (which look like thongs) are Japanese. And chopsticks are for eating – you wouldn’t put a spoon or knife in your hair.

I am unsure whether or not to be offended by the representations around me. In year six, at my primary school, our final year play was Mulan. Beautiful, heroic Mulan, who decided to take her injured father’s place to fight a war for China.

Even though my primary school had plenty of talented Asian women – who, might I add, all auditioned – the lead roles all went to Caucasians. It’s not like Asian people couldn’t dance, sing or act, so why were none of the five lead roles given to them?

At times, I wonder whether I was reading too much into it. Perhaps the roles were given based on talent alone. Regardless, it’s exhausting to constantly be reminded that we can’t even represent ourselves.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

19

International

Flynn: The Dutiful General Text: Lavanyaa Rhaasa In a world of alternative realities and facts, the author has channelled her inner Sean Spicer and taken the resignation of National Security Adviser Michael Flynn by the figurative Russian Reigns to uncover the truth (fiction) of what happened.

‘It’s time.’ The voice said, laced with a thick accent, and breathing obnoxiously into the ear piece.

Flynn gets off the phone after a ‘lengthy’ conversation with the Russians, things were moving fast, and he was soon to receive a call from VP Pence asking for an update. While prepping himself for Pence’s call, he ponders what POTUS’ current position on the Russians is, given that he changes his mind as frequently as Flynn blinks. Thirty minutes tick by and the shrill ring of the phone indicate its Pence. Flynn delivers his debrief, definitely not leaving anything out.

He took the job out of a sense of duty to the nation, or so he justifies it – someone had to help control the crazed charlatan parading as President. It hadn’t been easy posing as a conservative Republican, but the dutiful General was as prepared as ever to sacrifice himself for the service of his country.

Nonetheless, Flynn found that he had to make concessions, such as being chummy with the Republicans and appearing

to disagree with the White House Generals over security issues. The way Flynn saw it, Trump needed to be socially conditioned to the ins and outs of the security environment slowly, like a child being walked through the alphabet. Just, in this case, it was the agency alphabet.

The only problem was that before he could finish his lessons, the month was out, and Trump’s temperament saw him kicked out of the White House. Kicked out, might I add, for the absurdist of reasons: ‘Failing to remember his conversation with the Russians about lifting sanctions’.

The accusation, of course, was a weak cover to hide the quagmire of confusion and chaos that was Trump’s administration. It was, after all, built around Trump’s erratic mind.

How could he, who had been the director of intelligence for numerous military intelligence bodies, including the International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan from 2008 - 2009, have forgotten an important detail! It’s the pot calling the kettle black, or maybe Russian.

Now what some may not know about Flynn is that he was forced out of the Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA) for his allegedly chaotic management style: being rude to staff, going against policy, poor management and listening skills and a disregard for facts. Perhaps it is more than tenable that he was dishonest with Pence about his conversation with the Russians.

No. He remembers the conversation.

Russians: You gotta lift sanctions.

Flynn: Why should I? Russians: You work for us, you imbecile.

Flynn: Mmmm.

Not convinced.

Russians: Sigh. *There’s a pause and murmuring* Russians: A matryoshka doll of the Trump Family?

Flynn: SOLD

The only conclusion that we the spectators can draw is that in trying to obfuscate the truth from the public, the administration has also confused themselves. Entangled in their web of lies, the walls of the White House are slowly crumbling. We may never know the truth about these people. We may never know if their intentions were good or not. All that we can hope for is that from the flames a Phoenix will rise and create a symphony from the cacophony.

Flynn sighs, picks up his luggage and walks towards the car waiting in the distance. Its February, but Russia is still cold as ice.

He becomes a lonely, shadowy figure in the distance. The spy has finally come in from the cold, and he waits for the others to follow.

(Scene)

International

Issue 2, Vol. 67

20

Does the Pacific Get Drained with the Swamp?

Text: Lewis Pope Where to now for Donald Trump? North to Asia or across the Pacific? I won’t pretend to know the answers to these perennial questions of Australian foreign policy, but perhaps I might colour the legal context. What seems clear is that President Trump is going to require some extraordinary zeal if he hopes to crack the backbone of the Australia-US alliance.

It might be tempting to view the volatility of the USA’s freshly minted President as a threat, even an existential one, to the historic alliance between our two countries. However, the alliance has proven particularly durable, both in itself and in the willingness of its parties to preserve it.

Notably, the alliance is what remains from the treaty formerly known as ANZUS. New Zealand is no longer a party to ANZUS, and the precipitating factor for the nation leaving this treaty was an incident involving the USS Buchanan. A bit of backstory: New Zealand denies port to any vessel which is nuclear powered or carries nuclear material.

During an incident in 1985, however, the Reagan administration insisted upon the Buchanan being permitted to dock; New Zealand, of course, refused. This set off a diplomatic incident which led to the US suspending their treaty obligations toward New Zealand.

Under international law, there is a general right of ships to dock at foreign ports which dates back to a 1923 convention, and confirmed in a 1958 Saudi-Arabian arbitration. However, the Law of the Sea Convention (LOSC) provided that nuclear-equipped vessels could be subject to a particular regulatory regime. So, both of the states had could claim they were in the right, but given the context of ANZUS surely New Zealand’s refusal was both surprising and inappropriate.

Notably, while New Zealand had not ratified the LOSC, it had signed it. This indicates that they were willing to be bound, but the Article in question did not officially bind them. That legal status, combined with overwhelming support by the public for the anti-nuclear rule – both historically and current – gave New Zealand enough of a basis to deny the request.

The Reagan administration’s desire to bullishly advance American interests, something which may sound familiar, was a factor in this hard-line approach.

However, realistically, downgrading from an ally to a friend did not break the relationships between the US and New Zealand, with many joint military activities to follow in the coming decades.

Reagan does provide an interesting allegory. Another feature of that administration’s conduct in this area was the hugely disruptive effect they had on the negotiation process of the LOSC. The negotiating process ran from 1973 to 82 and looked largely on track to a productive consensus. That was until Reagan got elected and tanked a lot of the negotiations because he was concerned that developed states wouldn’t get enough out of deep sea mining provisions. This tumult meant that the LOSC didn’t enter into force until 1994.

It seems like Trump is more likely to agitate where it is customarily possible to do so than overturn history and agreements. This may be somewhat evident through the following three case studies in Trump: The Trans-Pacific Partnership, the South China Sea, and the Australia-America refugee agreement.

Trump withdrew from the TPP during negotiations. He most certainly upended some expectations, but at no point was the US bound to fulfil any obligations which might arise under the TPP. Trump continues to act as international law police in the South China Sea, and has been conducting military exercises in the sea since his inauguration. The disputed region was recently subject to an arbitration award calling into question the extent of Chinese sovereignty.

The US, however, also has a history of sailing its warships into disputed waters to make clear their protest to the claim; it seems Trump is merely continuing the highly vigilant policy of the US to test and protest excessive territorial claims of this kind.

Then, regarding the recent refugee deal, Trump insisted that it was ‘dumb’ – but followed through anyway. This suggests that Trump, as volatile as he is, will oddly walk the walk even if he doesn’t talk the talk. Even if he’s foggy on the protocol, it seems Trump is at least somewhat sensitive to international custom.

Customary international law is formed from a combination of state practice and the opinion that law or necessity compel such practice. Trump may not have desired a deal to accept Australia’s refugees, and it very much conflicted with

his domestic attitude. However, he recognised that a promise had been made and that it was sufficiently necessary that he comply with the terms. Then, of course, there is the wild card – where Trump’s sheer unpredictability gives rise to some degree of diplomatic calamity, on some scale bilateral to global. Maybe this will come to pass, but for now the evidence would suggest that though Trump’s tendency may be to bloviate, he will then fall in line with what international custom states should happen.

The ‘Muslim ban’ is a key case to illustrate this inclination. The ban itself may seem ridiculous, and a departure from custom, but it also shielded Trump’s business connections from its wrath.

While there is no doubt madness, perhaps that is the method: Trump knows to be kind to his interests. It looks like for the time being the US’s non-allies are to be further maligned, and though his allies may be tested, they will likely endure.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

21

Multilingual

Il Matrimonio?

Preferisco Guidare Il Mio Motorino In Giro Per L’Africa Prima Text: Rosalind Moran

Mia nonna Patricia non ha mai mancato di coraggio, non era neanche conformista. Anche se nata nel 1928 ed è cresciuta nella campagna del New South Wales e del Queensland meridionale, le sue ambizioni si estendevano ben oltre quelli di diventare una giovane madre o una bibliotecaria locale, che avrebbero comunque dato la possibilità di mantenere la sua famiglia. Invece, dopo un’infanzia passata a crescere i suoi fratelli, e un’adolescenza durante il quale decise di diventare insegnante, si è rivelata una donna capace ed indipendente così ha deciso di ampliare il suo mondo di qualche migliaio di chilometri.

Nel 1956, quando aveva 28 anni, lei ed un’amica acquistarono biglietti aerei per l’Europa. Lì, comprarono un motorino: un ‘Zündapp Bella’, fabbricato in Germania (l’amica di Patricia non era contenta visto che nell’epoca c’era ancora risentimento del dopoguerra, ma quel motorino affidabile senza dubbio ha contribuito in modo significativo alla loro sopravvivenza). Le due donne erano allora pronte a viaggiare attraverso l’Europa, andando sempre più sud, verso l’Africa.

All’inizio, il viaggio è andato bene. Patricia e la sua amica raggiunsero il Marocco e lavorarono insieme come dattilografe in una base militare americana a Casablanca, risparmiando soldi per i loro viaggi. Partirono poi per il Senegal.

A parte un guasto sul bordo del Sahara – un camionista Tourag salvò la situazione – tutto è andato relativamente liscio.

Però dopo aver raggiunto il Senegal, l’amica di Patricia ricevette notizie di un parente malato in Australia e non aveva altra scelta che tornare a casa.

Patricia è stata lasciata completamente da sola.

Sarebbe stato comprensibile se avesse preso un paio di foto di Dakar e fosse tornata anche lei a casa; la sua famiglia aspettava che si sistemasse e mettesse su famiglia non che partisse per girare l’Africa.

Ma lei era una donna di viaggio negli anni cinquanta ed era quindi abbastanza d’avanguardia. Salutata la sua amica, si è tappata le orecchie per non sentire le idee su come dovrebbero essere le giovani donne, ed è rimontata in sella.

prendeva ampie note per i suoi libri futuri sulla fauna africana e il continente.

La gente locale che ha incontrato era quasi universalmente cordiale e ospitale.

Quando non dormiva all’addiaccio, Patricia era spesso favorevole a passare le notti in piccoli villaggi e comunità. A proposito, per quanto riguarda l’espatriato britannico, alla fine l’ha sposato. Lui l’aspettò mentre viaggiava e l’ha amata fino alla sua morte, quindi, alla fine, si era rivelata una buona decisione.

Viaggiò attraverso il Mali e il Burkina Faso, seguendo il fiume Volta giù verso Ghana. Una volta nella capitale Accra, si fermò per rifornire i suoi risparmi lavorando come insegnante nella Scuola Achimota.

Se vi sto raccontando questa storia, è perché mia nonna non era una donna famosa (a parte in alcuni gionarli dimenticati di mezzo secolo) – ma è una fonte di ispirazione continua per me. Non è nata in circostanze eccezionali con ampi orrizonti, ma ha sempre cercato delle opportunità fuori del suo piccolo mondo. Era anche abbastanza femminista per la sua epoca: quando mia mamma ha annunciato il suo desiderio di sposare mio padre nei suoi trent’anni, Patricia ha detto: “Di già?”. Inoltre, sempre cercava cose nuove da fare, come viaggiare attraverso l’Australia per fare ricerca sull’educazione nelle aree svantaggiate, anche se gli altri erano scettici. Per me farsi corraggio e vivere così non mi sembra niente male.

È stato mentre lei era lì che alcuni nuovi amici la presentarono a un espatriato britannico che lavorava in una delle banche della città. Per farla breve, si innamorò di lei nel giro di poche settimane e voleva che restasse in Accra.

Ciononostante, Patricia non aveva alcun desiderio di essere vincolata. Anche se accettò di fidanzarsi, gli disse che tuttavia aveva intenzione di portare avanti i suoi viaggi prima di sposarsi – e questo è esattamente quello che ha fatto.

Dopo aver lasciato il Ghana, Patricia viaggiò verso est attraverso il Togo, Benin e Nigeria. Numerose avventure seguirono: la più rilevante è stata quando un cane rabbioso la inseguì attraverso un terreno aspro e la tirò giu dal suo motorino. Rottosi il piede, dovette trascorrere diverse settimane ricevendo iniezioni di rabbia nello stomaco. Eppure rimase imperterrita a continuare i suoi viaggi. Una volta riprese le forze, viaggiò attraverso l’Africa centrale; in Uganda, quando l’è stata rimossa l’appendice, un terremoto ha scosso le pareti del suo reparto ospedaliero mentre si ristabiliva; poi ha attraversato il fiume Congo.

Patricia continuò a viaggiare in giro per il continente fino al 1959. Era diventata scrittrice oltre ché insegnante, e

La storia di Patricia mi fa pensare che ci sono sicuramente tante persone nel mondo che hanno delle storie interessanti e che hanno vissuto delle vite eccezionali. Forse è una sola domanda ha separarvi da una storia indimenticabile?

Non si può sapere, ma in ogni caso, vale la pena chiedere. Chi intorno a te sta vivendo – o ha veramente vissuto – una vita straordinaria?

Many thanks to Alessio Marrone for proofreading this article: the final version is infinitely better than its predecessors thanks to you! An English translation of this article can be found on woroni.com.au.

Multilingual

Issue 2, Vol. 67

22

NGOÀI KỊCH BẢN (Throwing Out The Script)

Text: Athenodora Xin lỗi mọi người trước, nếu bài viết sau đây đọc lên nghe như là Google Translate dịch. Trước, hết, phải thú thật với các bạn rằng tôi thông thạo tiếng Anh hơn tiếng mẹ đẻ của mình. Điều này lâu nay cũng không phải là vấn đề gì, vì tôi đang sống ở một quốc gia chủ yếu nói tiếng Anh. Dân Úc nhiều khi thấy tôi là người châu Á nên họ không nghĩ tôi biết cách ăn nói bằng ngôn ngữ của họ. Tôi luôn tự nhủ mình phải cố gắng luyện tập để khiến họ phải bất ngờ.

Tôi rời Việt Nam khi còn học trung học, và có rất nhiều khái niệm, ý tưởng - dù rất đơn giản - tôi chỉ biết bộc lộ bằng tiếng Anh, chứ không có đủ vốn từ vựng để diễn đạt bằng tiếng mẹ đẻ của mình.

Hồi Tết về quê mấy đứa em họ nhờ tôi giúp làm bài tập. Tôi vừa mở sách giáo khoa của tụi nó ra mà đã choáng. Trước nay tôi chỉ biết “mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” chứ có biết dịch câu này sang tiếng Việt như thế nào đâu?

Không phải tôi sợ mất mặt với tụi nó, vì dù gì tôi vẫn là [NN1] anh cả trong gia đình, được đi Tây đi Tàu du học. Người Việt Nam mình xưa nay cũng đâu có chê bai gì tính hiếu học và tinh thông ngoại ngữ. Lịch sử còn ghi lại truyện đức Chiêu Văn Vương Trần Nhật Duật (1255-1330), con trai thứ sáu của Trần Thái Tông và là một học giả, nhà ngoại giao kiêm danh tướng tài ba, nổi tiếng tinh thông nhiều ngôn ngữ.

Truyện kể rằng năm 1280, Trịnh Giác Mật, thủ lĩnh đồng bào dân tộc thiểu số của vùng Đà Giang, dấy binh chống lại nhà Trần. Đức Chiêu Văn được vua cử

đi dẹp loạn. Giác Mật lập mưu dụ ngài vào mai phục nên gửi thư giả xin hàng, mời “ân chủ” một mình một ngựa đến doanh trại để Giác Mật đón tiếp. Chiêu Văn Vương không ngần ngại nhận lời, dù các tướng lĩnh hết mực ngăn cản.

Sử sách có chép lại chi tiết lời nói, cử chỉ của ngài khi đến trại địch, nhưng tôi ít hiểu biết về ngôn ngữ, phong tục của người dân địa phương nên đọc đến đoạn này chẳng hiểu đầu cua tai nheo gì cả.

Chỉ biết rằng Trịnh Giác Mật phải ngạc nhiên mà thốt lên: “Chiêu Văn Vương là anh em với ta rồi!”

“Chúng ta xưa nay vẫn là anh em”, đức Chiêu Văn trả lời. Và thế là cuộc chiến được chấm dứt mà không một giọt máu nào đổ. Đức Trần Nhật Duật nổi tiếng biết nhiều ngôn ngữ. Tôi thì kém hơn nhiều, chỉ mỗi tiếng Anh đã hoa mắt rồi. Một trong những điều đầu tiên tôi đã được dạy về tiếng Anh là: (a) bạn sẽ thường xuyên được hỏi một câu hỏi; và (b) bạn bắt buộc phải trả lời, nhưng bạn không được phép trả lời thành thật. Câu đáp trả cho “Hi, how are you?” bắt buộc phải là: “I’m fine. Thank you.” Phải rất lâu sau, chỉ đến khi sang Úc sinh sống, tôi mới hiểu ra cái logic của hiện tượng quái lạ này. Không phải giao tiếp bằng tiếng Anh khiến người ta giả dối khi hỏi thăm người khác, mà ngược lại đây một hình thức giải phóng cho tất cả các bên tham gia đối thoại. Dù là người bắt đầu một cuộc trò chuyện hay là trả lời, bạn sẽ có một “kịch bản” để theo.

Và những “kịch bản” - những quy tắc, kỳ vọng, chuẩn mực quy định cách mọi người tương tác lẫn nhau - tồn tại cả ở Việt Nam chứ không chỉ ở Úc. Chúng tồn tại trong tất cả các ngôn ngữ, không

chỉ riêng tiếng Anh. Và nếu bạn biết hành xử như đức Trần Nhật Duật, một ứng xử dũng cảm khi “tay không tấc sắt đến doanh trại kẻ thù” lại tỏ ra dễ dàng đến khác thường. Điều đáng học ở đây là, chỉ cần thuộc kịch bản và “diễn” đúng như những gì khán giả mong đợi.

Tôi kết thúc bài viết ở đây có được không nhỉ? Đã có nguyên một “bài học” đơn giản, dễ hiểu làm kết luận rồi. Kỹ năng giao tiếp đơn giản lắm, không có gì đáng sợ cả. Chỉ là nắm bắt các “kịch bản” có sẵn ở mỗi nền văn hóa, phải không nào?

Bạn có thể lâu không dùng tiếng Việt, nhưng trong thời đại truyền thông toàn cầu này, bạn có thể kết nối với người Việt trên Facebook, chẳng hạn, rồi từ đó tái hòa nhập với văn hóa Việt Nam- đơn giản quá, phải không nào?

Tuy nhiên, ai cũng biết chuyện không hề đơn giản đến như vậy.

Cá nhân tôi là một người nữ chuyển giới (một transgender woman - trong tiếng Anh). Chất lượng cuộc sống hiện tại của tôi không đến nỗi tệ, không gì làm phiền tôi và tôi cũng chẳng hại đến ai. Tuy vậy, đối với phần lớn của xã hội Việt Nam hiện tại, tôi sẽ bị coi là một bệnh nhân có vấn đề về tâm lý, cần được thương hại và chữa trị, hoặc là một kẻ mất gốc, học đòi thói sa đọa ‘nhập khẩu’ từ phương Tây. Đây là hai “kịch bản” hiện có để tôi lựa chọn cách hành xử.

Trong từ vựng tiếng Việt, để mô tả cộng đồng LGBT+ thì từ phổ biến nhất có lẽ vẫn là “pê-đê”- một từ chung, sử dụng lẫn lộn cho các hình thức giới tính hay thiên hướng tình dục “không theo chuẩn”. Đây là một từ mượn từ tiếng Pháp “pédéraste”, có nghĩa gốc là: “bạo hành tình dục trẻ em”.

Viện dẫn ví dụ này, có lẽ tôi đang bi quan quá chăng? Trong khi đó, ở tiếng Việt còn có các từ chung chung mơ hồ khác như: “ái nam ái nữ” (Hán-Việt), “gay” (lấy từ tiếng Anh), hoặc “đồng bóng” (từ tín ngưỡng truyền thống Việt Nam) v.v... Tra cứu trên Google chúng ta đều thấy rằng các thuật ngữ chính xác hơn, ít mang nét nghĩa kỳ thị hơn đang dần trở nên phổ biến; và cộng đồng LGBT+ ở Việt Nam đã và đang cố gắng rất nhiều trong nhiệm vụ tuyên truyền làm thay đổi nhận thức của người dân.

Tôi ngưỡng mộ họ. Tôi không sống ở Việt Nam và không giỏi giang trong lời ăn tiếng nói bằng ngôn ngữ Việt nên không thể tham gia vào các hoạt động của cộng đồng này, nhưng tôi ngưỡng mộ công sức và lòng dũng cảm của họ.

Nhiều người sẽ cho rằng họ đang phí công vô ích vì tạo ra một kịch bản mới cho một xã hội là điều không tưởng.

Nhưng chẳng phải nhiều người cũng nói “tay không tấc sắt đến doanh trại kẻ thù” là điều không tưởng đó sao?

Special thanks to Dr. Bao Thai for proofreading this article. For the record, you can study Vietnamese here at the ANU – why not give it a try?

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

multilingual

Throwing Out The Script A translation

Text: Athenodora I’m more fluent in English than in my mother tongue – there’s no getting around it.

young prince into an ambush, so he issued an invitation – would His Highness come over to my camp, alone, to accept a drink and my surrender? Against the advice of his generals, Prince Nhật Duật accepted.

This has worked out well for me so far, seeing as I’m in a predominantly English-speaking country. With any luck, I can even play with people’s perceptions of me as ‘the Asian kid with the accent’ by delivering better witticisms than they’d expected to hear from my mouth.

The history books did record their full conversation, but it involved a lot of local colloquialisms and subtle cultural details. Let’s just skip to the bit where their meeting ended with an astonished Trịnh Giác Mật: ‘O Prince, surely you must be one of our own kinsmen!’

But I’ve been away from Vietnam since high school so there are now a lot of concepts and ideas – even simple ones – I’m only capable of expressing in English, things I simply lack the vocabulary for in what’s nominally my native language.

If one of my younger cousins shows me their biology homework, I wouldn’t be able to recognise the Vietnamese word for ‘mitochondria’, let alone explain how it’s the powerhouse of the cell.

‘Our people have always been kinsmen’, the Prince answered. Thus, a war was ended before the first battle even began.

I’m not scared of losing face with my cousins – ultimately, I’m still the big boy in the family who got to study abroad.

It’s not like our people look down on mastery of foreign languages either: in the annals of Vietnamese history there’s the tale of Prince Trần Nhật Duật (12551330), sixth son of the Trần Dynasty’s first emperor – and a noted scholar and polyglot – who used his skill with languages to great military and diplomatic renown.

Some of the first things I was taught about English were that you’ll regularly be asked a point-blank, non-rhetorical question and, that you must never actually answer it. The only acceptable response to ‘Hi, how are you?’ is ‘I’m fine thank you’, or some variant on this. It was only later when I came to Australia that I understood English-speaking people don’t just enjoy insincere conversations; they’re a form of freedom for all parties involved. No matter whether you’re starting a conversation or responding, you have a script you can rely on.

The story goes that in 1280 Trịnh Giác Mật, a leader among the ethnic minority people of the Đà Giang region, took up arms against the Trần government.

Prince Nhật Duật was given an army to respond. Giác Mật wanted to lure this

At this point it’d be fitting if I could say I first heard this story in English class, but unfortunately real life isn’t so serendipitous. It’s a shame, for this tale illustrates many of the key mechanics of speaking in a foreign language, or indeed, in any language.

These ‘scripts’ – little norms, expectations, and shibboleths governing how people interact – they exist in Vietnam too. They exist in all languages, not just

English. If you know how to use them, like Prince Nhật Duật, something as enormous and bewildering like riding up to the enemy camp unarmed becomes more manageable. It’s only a matter of learning the script and giving the correct response on cue.

It’d be even more thematically fitting if I could bow myself out right here. Tie everything up into a neat lesson: Oh, it’s just a matter of learning a culture’s pre-established scripts. You might have to play catch-up a bit, but in this age of global telecommunication it should be easy to connect with other Vietnamese folks on Facebook and keep in touch with the culture, right?

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.

I have social anxiety. I don’t just speak English better, but come across as ruder and more irritable when speaking Vietnamese with friends and family back home. Even with a simple question I’d struggle to answer, which is embarrassing, and my anxiety would act up so I’d get flustered, and thus defensive, and before you know it, it’s a feedback loop.

Is it really that much help to know there are tons of different scripts I could have fallen back on, when I don’t instinctively have access to any of them?

And what if there is no script for me at all?

I am a genderfluid trans woman, which simply means my gender isn’t fixed although most of the time I identify with womanhood. For the majority of contemporary Vietnamese society I must also be either a diseased victim needing to be cured or, perhaps more likely, an immoral deviant seduced by ‘imported’

Western debauchery. There’s no other option.

To wit: there are a number of words for LGBT+ people in Vietnamese, but the most popular colloquial term is perhaps ‘pê-đê’, an indiscriminate catch-all for any non-normative gender or sexuality.

It’s an adaptation of the French pédéraste.

From the Greek paîs, meaning ‘child’ and erast s, meaning ‘lover’. It’s a term with an unfortunate double meaning.

Yet maybe I am being unduly pessimistic here. Even in the realm of vague umbrella terms, there are other options. I could say ‘‘ái nam ái nữ- (Sino-Vietnamese), ‘gay’ (taken from English), or ‘đồng bóng’ (from Vietnamese autochthonous folk religion: originally a term for the spirit medium, in whom both male and female spirits can be incarnated). A quick Google search shows that more accurate vocabularies seem to be gaining traction – showing just because I haven’t been in contact with the Vietnamese LGBT+ community, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, or hasn’t been doing brilliant advocacy work.

I admire them. I cannot be as good an activist as they are – I’m no good at speaking out in public with my tied tongue – but I admire their guts and their dedication.

Some may say they’re playing a fool’s game, and that writing a new script for a whole society is impossible. But then again, so was riding up to the enemy camp unarmed.

So is everything, really, until someone has the nerve to try.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Features

For Whom the Curtain Calls Text: Anonymous Artwork: Mariam Rizvi Hundreds upon hundreds of my mildly intoxicated peers cheer as I, and the rest of my hall’s Big Night Out Band, stride on stage – ready to seize the glory of an almost-not-quite podium finish.

The mostly-anonymous crowd listen as I pluck the microphone from its stand and give the band the introduction it deserves. As far as I can tell no one can see what is bubbling just beneath the surface. I’m a musician, and I suffer from panic attacks.

My vision is blurred, and my whole body is numb as if I’m constantly hitting a rather unsavoury turn of the limbic rollercoaster. The lights are hot on my face, and the noise is disorientating. I’m on the cusp of fainting and, as the noise dies down, my heart fills with an unknown and unfettered sense of dread. My stomach flips. I want to scream. I want to run. I want to cry. I look to the crowd, each occupant wearing a judge’s wig and holding a clipboard. They’ve come to see a show and, like a lion prancing and roaring for its tamer, that is what I aim to give – one way or the other.

It’s always like this. No matter how often I perform or how well I prepare — every time I perform in any sense of the word I have a panic attack. Although some are more severe than others, they’re inevitable. To be honest, I was scared to even write all of this down and publicly come to terms with what I go through on a regular basis. But thankfully, I’ve developed a way of dealing with the urgently lachrymose anxiety that means I am able to perform. There’s a sort of cognitive dissonance I’ve trained myself to apply seconds before walking on stage.

I push all of those feelings to a corner of my mind, assuring myself they will be dealt with later, and distract myself by concentrating on a certain riff or acting like a badass Alex Turner type.

Anything to occupy the more dangerous corners and crevasses of my consciousness. When it’s all done and dusted, I can walk off stage and deal with the emotions I’ve been nursing throughout the show, when all eyes are on someone else. It’s not healthy, and that fifteen or twenty minutes after the show is hell, but I still do it. Because the worst thing is that despite these obstructions, I love to perform.

Channelling my idols and borrowing different moves or flourishes, in my mind, excuses me from embarrassment — like hey, I didn’t think of this, blame Bowie if you don’t like it. By interpreting and reconveying these little bits

and pieces of musical history, I’m doing something that is unique and that I can be proud of. But it’s still a bit like eating a Tammaco from that old episode of The Simpsons. It seems like every bite is disgusting, but I can never get enough.

The thrill of performing is more exciting than anything else I’ve ever tried, jumped off or ingested, and it makes me proud to know that I can do something like this. It can be done.

I thought that this is the kind of thing I would have wanted to read five or six years ago — a time in my life where even talking to more than three or four people at once would make me feel like my heart was slowly inflating, threatening to pop at any moment. It was also the time I realised that these episodes made it incredibly unlikely I would ever be able to fulfil my dream of performing

music in any sense. To have known that there are people like me out there, that love what they fear and do it anyway, would have made sense of so much in my life. It’s possible if you’re willing to take the plunge. I’m proud of what I can do and what the task requires of me. All it takes is the courage to accept the audience’s invitation, to have the pluck to prove that you are as exceptional as you believe you can be. Everyone has hurdles to overcome in the pursuit of their passion; it’s just a matter of building the nerve.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Features

A Slip of the Lip

The Language of Flirtation Text: Caroline Hendy Hailing from the glorious city of Queanbeyan, Caroline spent her first year of uni dabbling in Physics, Maths, English and Music. By some drastic turn of events she is now majoring in German and Linguistics. ‘A Slip of the Lip’ is a linguistics student’s attempt to provide interesting and (reasonably) well-researched language titbits.

For anyone participating in the dating world, one of the most nerve-wracking experiences is the first date. Will it be fun? Will it be awkward? Will it be flirtatious? Much depends on the quality of the conversation, and for better or for worse, our subconscious minds have a lot to do with how we talk to a potential partner.

Firstly, I should acknowledge the heteronormativity of the research on this topic. The linguistics of flirtation is not a very well-researched field, and I wasn’t able to find any studies on non-heterosexual couples or with trans-identifying participants, which makes it difficult to say whether or not the findings can be generalised to other relationships. With that in mind, let’s get into it.

It turns out there are a great many things we do linguistically when we flirt – most of which happen subconsciously. In an article called ‘Detecting friendly, flirtatious, awkward, and assertive speech in speed-dates’, Ranganath et al. examined data from more than a thousand speeddates, and they made some interesting discoveries. For instance, women are more likely to use negative sentences, with lots of ‘don’t’, ‘no’ and ‘not’. They tend to use these either as self-deprecation, or as a way to tease their conversation partner. Take this piece of expert flirtation quoted in the research paper:

Male: I have to say that that’s a great question.

Female: No, don’t say that. That’s a stalling technique in a business interview. It’s not allowed here.

[Laughter].

Flirting women also, like, use like a lot.

They tend to laugh in the middle of what they’re saying and frequently use ‘I’ in their sentences. Flirting men, on the other hand, use a lot of ‘you’, ‘you know’ and ‘um’. Everyone speaks faster, laughs more, and uses a higher pitched voice

than normal. The conclusion that the researchers drew from all of this is that in flirtatious conversations ‘women are the target or topic of the conversation.’

That’s a hot tip right there!

The way that people talk when they flirt may even come down to animalistic instincts. A study by Coyle and Kaschak found that ‘female fertility affects men’s linguistic choices.’ The researchers investigated the way 121 heterosexual males interacted with five females who were at various stages of their menstrual cycles. As a couple, a man and a woman would take turns describing the actions shown on a card, with the female taking the first turn each time.

The woman might describe the first picture as, ‘the children shows the teacher the book.’ The man would then describe the next picture, choosing subconsciously whether or not to use matching sentence structure. He may use the matching phrase, ‘the boy gave the girl an apple’, or he may choose to use a mismatched phrase such as, ‘the boy gave an apple to the girl.’

Usually the man would be expected to try to match the way the woman was talking. This is called ‘accommodation’, and is based on the assumption that people like other people who speak similarly to them. What this study found, however, was that the more fertile the woman was, the less likely the man was to use the matching sentence structure. But why?

The researchers suggest that using the mismatched form is a way for males to demonstrate their creativity. The more creative they are, the more superior they are as a potential mate. This is also seen in word choice – men who are trying to find a mate tend to use rarer words.

Considering that these cues for flirtation are so subtle and subconscious, you might not be surprised that people hardly ever pick up on them. What may

surprise you though, is that according to another article

by Ranganath et al. humans are actually ‘worse than machines at detecting flirtation.’

Yes, you read that right. A machine, with no access to facial expressions, gesture and physical touch – and unable to produce any of these subconscious cues for itself – is better at telling if someone is flirting than an actual person.

The reason behind this is that people are more likely to project ‘their own intended behaviour’ onto their conversation partner. If you’re being flirtatious, you’re going to have a tendency to think the other person is being flirtatious too, and if you’re not, then you’re going to presume they’re not either. Just imagine how much heartache could be spared if this weren’t the case!

So if you’re nervous for your next date, just remember, your subconscious will take care of you when it comes to giving off the subtle flirting cues. You’re probably going to misjudge how much the other person is flirting with you, and there’s not much you can do about that. If you really want to know how they feel, you may as well just ask!

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Features

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Photography: Marwan El Hassan

I Feel Mahalia Crawshaw Humming to myself, I brush my outstretched hand through the bushes My fingers dance through the leaves They chuckle, leaning into my touch Droplets of water spring from them and scatter upon my sandals I giggle, toes wet with dew and tingling from the cold Light-headed, fuzzy, quivering My body is a bridge, bending upwards Their fingers caress my chin, following the contours of my face ever so lightly before grazing my neck and dragging their nails down my back I shiver I sigh Heat spirals down my chest, flushes blossoming from my cheeks My back stiffens, straighter, taller Bones in my fingers crack as they roll into fists The curve of my jaw hardens I bite into my cheeks slowly, forcing the air from my nose My hands stand at attention to my sides Everything is still and quiet But ready She holds me The blanket around us is so soft My shaking slowly subsides, as my hand grips hers The vine around my throat relaxes, slightly Its spirals loosen My forearms tingle Her thumb skims them, reassuringly I inhale My breathing gallops, in time with the slapping of my hands against the waves They push against me I push back Saltiness slides down my throat I splutter I feel. I become. I am— Alive

Conflagration Kayla Purdon-Brown I. my heart blazes and snarls in the inferno of my chest, all-consuming and unstoppable II. you tell me that it is ugly and gnarled in the heat of an unnatural flame, that it should be covered, hidden from the world and locked away, lest its charred wings spread too far III. i tell you that fire kindles regardless, that in its smothering you destroy the birthplace of phoenixes, that the beauty of the sun is in its savagery and that it will rise again and again and again IV. hear my voice, enemy of prometheus, hear it howling from the ruins of my chest, smouldering with the cold defiance of the stars and the knowledge that your foundations are built on the bones of dragons V. ‘i burn. i burn. i burn.’

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Features

Content Warning: Domestic violence

What do Guts Really Look Like?

Text: Vaishnavi Rathinam I’d always thought of myself as a gutsy person. But a year or so ago I was in a relationship with domestic violence and it changed everything. What terrified me the most was how powerfully the relationship shattered my idea of who I was; the violence within it and the mental health issues I faced afterwards completely derailed what I had naively deemed my ‘life plan’. I was forced to confront just how much I was willing to lose in order to stand up for what I felt was right.

Speaking out about the abuse was ultimately necessary to begin recovery, but I was almost guaranteed to lose all of my friends and what I prized as my ‘reputation’ as a good, strong person. My abuser had threatened to slander me and isolate me from the social network that we shared through high school and at ANU. Additionally, the broader stigma and vicious dialogue surrounding domestic violence and domestic violence survivors also terrified me now that I was actually part of the demographic. The risk of facing what felt like a character assassination kept me silent for longer than I’d ever imagined I would be. I knew that lying about my experience contradicted everything I’d ever said regarding the issue of abuse.

Ultimately, I had to discern whether I was willing to maintain my integrity now that for the first time, there would be brutal personal consequences. My peers were similarly challenged, and it was a painful and uncomfortable experience to watch them also assessing the risks of acknowledging the truth about my abuser’s nature. After months of this inner turmoil, what finally swayed me was putting my faith in the unflinching support of a small circle of close friends.

They stood by me, and continually insisted that what happened to me was unconditionally wrong, even when I couldn’t seem to find the fortitude within myself to come to terms with this reality. I realised that robbing myself of a voice was only ever going to wound me further, and far more deeply than speaking up ever could.

My identity was strongly rooted in productivity, and being a very social person with constant academic or professional pursuits. Independence was significant to me, but in the aftermath of the relationship, PTSD gripped my being and wiped out most of my basic capacities, leaving me to face a full year of

unemployment and program leave from ANU. I had to move back in with my parents. I lost a lot of friends simply because I couldn’t handle being at public events. When I entered a new relationship, it was with someone who enjoyed being socially active. I was plagued with insecurity about not being able to keep up with him, or anyone at all. I lost respect for myself. If I couldn’t do what I was good at, or what made me ‘me’, then who was I? When I connected with others going through mental health issues, they often expressed the same frustration: we thought less of ourselves because we weren’t able to lead the jam-packed lives that we associated with true success. I saw how many people felt that hyper productivity was synonymous with self-worth or strength. Was this true? It was a deeply confronting but ultimately thought-provoking dilemma.

Surviving domestic abuse pushed me to realise that it is necessary for one to search within themselves if they are to find genuine self-confidence and selfworth. Personally, I felt so eviscerated by the relationship and its fallout because I had based my self-love purely upon my accomplishments and social life. When threatened with the loss of these, I was too afraid to speak up for myself. When the public aftermath and personal trauma of the relationship took external validation away from me, I lost myself completely. Being debilitated from pursuing one’s goals will always be painful, but it shouldn’t completely rob you of your sense of self. The notions of personal strength that prevail within society can be far from accurate at times. I have come to learn that simply being content with yourself and the present moment you find yourself in requires much more fortitude than juggling a superhuman load of social, academic and professional commitments. Ultimately, having my life utterly dismantled set me on the path to building a stronger foundation for it.

This time around, I’ve stopped spending so much time looking outwards.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

features

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The Phrenological Brain

Toward a More Functional Approach in Neuroscience Text: Tiahn Hannaford Illustration: Catherine Nacion Tiahn Hannaford is a brain owner and student.

As humans, we love categories. Our brains function as super processors, sorting stimuli into categories and allowing us to go about our lives without needing to pause and reanalyse every object we see. It’s a matter of efficient functioning. As we get older, our categories become more sophisticated. Consider the case of a toddler who points toward a cat and mistakenly says ‘dog’, compared to your ability to identify a swivel chair despite it lacking the characteristic four-legged feature of your traditional ‘chair’ schema. Unfortunately, sophistication in categorisation ability doesn’t necessarily translate to accuracy – we need only observe racial biases to see the fallibility here.

Studying the brain has a constant air of irony. After all, how can the brain be unbiased when it studies itself? In an organ so intensely tuned toward putting information in boxes it’s no surprise that much of neuroscience research and pop culture media coverage has attempted to label various regions of the brain as being responsible for specific, clearly defined purposes. It has me tearing my hair out when I see articles titled, ‘Scientists discover brain region responsible for enjoyment of chocolate!’ – hell,

if that exists hand me an electrode so I can stimulate that spot endlessly! (Or not; the brain is a fickle thing such that increased stimulation would likely result in tolerance and an increasing dependence on it.) The fact of the matter is that, like all things in life, it’s just not that simple.

When I began university, I came in wanting to know all about the brain and its regions. To me it seemed like the brain was a mystery, but one likely to be solved eventually. Of course, there was also the stereotypical undertone of many a psychology student in that I wanted to better understand my own mental anguish too.

In the early 1800’s phrenology was at its peak. It was widely believed that all manner of personality traits could be identified by the size and shape of lumps on the skull. Phrenologists followed the logic that brain regions which were used more frequently would cause the skull to protrude, resulting in bumps which could identify traits as specific as the – now clearly fictitious – ‘born-criminal’.

Phrenological theory is mentioned with a fairly incredulous and humoured tone at the beginning of every introductory psychology lecture as a measure of how far our understanding has come. Although phrenology should have served as an example for me to remain critical of ‘facts’ regarding the brain, I instead enthusiastically took on the belief that the brain was divvied up into regions controlling various activities: the

occipital lobe does vision, the piriform cortex does smell, etc. Lacking from this view was the answer to the crippling diseases I and so many others suffer from.

There was, disappointingly, no ‘mental illness’ brain region.

This incongruence led me into later year neuroscience subjects that began to shift my understanding from the simplistic and, dare I say, somewhat phrenological regional perspective to a more functional one. The brain operates as a whole. Its diversity in function goes far beyond the black and white lines of spatial limits and transcends into a myriad of variables – think receptors, neural networks, neurotransmitters and more – all interacting, literally modifying each other’s physiological existence in the space of milliseconds.

The brain is a fragile network. Like an ecosystem, its ongoing and successful function is dependent on so many variables, both obvious and obscure. I’m constantly learning both how little we know and how much closer we are to coming to a useful, functional view of the brain. You simply cannot be using one area of the brain independent of the rest of it – even as you read this article your whole brain is alight. An fMRI taken right now would reveal an erratic and unpredictable pattern of neural firing, dancing around both spatially and temporally across all of the squishy wrinkle blob between your ears.

Years ago, I let go of the idea that studying psychology would, in itself, heal my

brain, and that turned out to be instrumental in allowing me to accept things as they were. Now I find myself with renewed excitement at the progress we are making in brain research. Without a personal dependence on answers, and with the functional brain perspective, my mind is flooded with possibilities for understanding the normal and abnormal operations of the brain. We move ever closer to accurate answers that might satisfy the mysteries of the mind. My advice is to stay tuned on this field and its findings for new approaches to the mind, and mental illness, in the coming decades.

Special thanks to Mia Jessurun for her work as a volunteer sub-editor on this pull out.

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Most feminists wouldn’t doubt that they stand for the economic, social and political equality of all women. Yet, for the past few years I have practiced a popular brand of feminism that fails to address the intersectional oppression faced by women of colour. Like most of my friends, I espoused feminist ideology that claimed to represent all women’s experiences but viewed gender equality through the lens of a white, upper-middle class woman. Honestly, I didn’t even come across the term intersectionality until I started university. If you asked me in high school what I thought about intersectionality, I probably would have assumed you were referring to a geometric proof of a hazardous tra c condition.

I attended a predominately white private school, and I never really noticed the exclusivity of my ideology, because I wasn’t aware of it. I called myself a feminist while simultaneously attending Bollywood themed parties hosted by other white women with a bindi on my head. I talked about the gender pay gap of 17.5 percent regularly, ignoring that the statistic represented white women and that the pay gap for women in minority groups is signi cantly higher. e notion that white women were privileged compared to women of colour didn’t cross my mind. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about racism.

Rather, I saw feminism and racism as two distinct issues in society, and in my mind, racism was not an element of society that feminism need concern itself with. And I didn’t think this because women of colour weren’t voicing their opinions.

I want to practice intersectional feminism that actually stands for all women, but how?

What can I say, and more importantly, what can I do?

As of recent, I’ve become particularly disillusioned with the feminist movement and the objectives it aims to ful l. is ‘socially progressive’ movement adopts a broad blanket approach that fails to acknowledge the distinct forms of oppression, particularly those experienced by women of colour. Currently, the feminist agenda is perceived through the experiences of an upper or middle class white woman and has e ectively encouraged women of colour to abandon the label entirely.

In my experience, attempts to include women of colour into the feminist movement have, although well intentioned, been completely misguided and tokenistic. For instance, in order to tick o the cultural inclusiveness category of feminism, mainstream feminists o en immediately label the hijab as patriarchal oppression without considering that for many Muslim women, the hijab is in fact an empowering symbol. Similarly, feminists ardently criticise traditional Indian marriages, yet they falsely equate forced marriage with arranged marriage in the process. ese misconceptions of culture re ect the astounding ignorance of ‘white feminists’ who simply pretend to understand.

My response to white feminists: Remember that social progress and attaining gender equality is not necessarily achieved by ‘making noise.’ As a woman of colour, it is incredibly disempowering when others speaks on your behalf and dominate the conversation. e feminist movement should be about championing the voices of other women, rather than aggressively shouting over them. ere are times to speak out, then there are times to remain silent.

So for once, shutup and listen. Oh and don’t wear bindis.

Imogen is in her second year of studying Law/International Relations. Her interests include society, culture and politics.

Laksshini is a second year student studying Arts/Law. She is passionate about a variety of social justice issues, particularly Indigenous rights and the systemic racism they face.

2, Vol. 672, 2016 Week Issue 10, Semester

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suffering from endometriosis that have it far worse and more life-crippling than I do, and I want this article to be about them as well.

One morning in July I took a hot water bottle to my constitutional law lecture. I was early, and only a couple of other students were scattered around MCC1’s cavernous depths. But as I sat down, cradling the heat under my shirt, I heard the girls a couple of rows behind me snark to each other.

‘Everyone has period pains,’ One of them said in a stage-whisper, ‘as if it’s ever bad enough to bring a hot water bottle to class!’

This was the first day I had been out of bed that week. I’d been unable to do anything for days other than take painkillers and try not to cry. I was proud of being there, but as another wave of body rending cramps hit me despite the drugs I had taken, I nearly got up and left. In fact, by the time the break came around, I did. I was compromised and vulnerable and the girls up the back had convinced me it wasn’t worth trying today.

And what’s my problem? Can I just not cope with the normal trials of my reproductive system? Well, maybe, but

for a couple of months now I’ve been making regular trips to the Woden hospital to try and work out what is going on with my body. Sure enough, I have suspected endometriosis. I say suspected, because the only way for it to be diagnosed is to have a laparoscopy (key hole surgery). Despite the fact that one in ten Australian women have endometriosis, it is a hidden illness. It isn’t just because it is internal and literally invisible, it’s hidden because it’s connected to the uterus. It’s related to, and here my voice falls to a whisper, periods.

So what is it? Endometriosis, broadly, is when the lining of the uterus grows outside of the uterus, commonly in the pelvic region or on the surface of organs like the bladder or bowel. This can appear as lesions or scar tissue and can be so severe that it cripples the function of wherever it is stuck. I have a mild case; my symptoms are simply unusually severe period pain starting from two days before the period and lasting for longer than they should. I have heard the stories of many people

Now, many cis-women or other uterus owners are subject to this kind of ridicule, whether or not they have endo or even have periods. It is a perfect example of how women’s health is, and women themselves are, under-funded, misunderstood and side-lined. A 2015 article in The Atlantic told the chilling story of a woman who faced misdiagnosis, embarrassment and ultimately, the loss of one of her ovaries because a male doctor in the emergency room had failed to explore options outside of his original diagnosis, and saw this woman’s report of her own symptoms as ‘over dramatic.’ Now she didn’t have endo, but she had an ovarian torsion, and therefore similar in the sense that she reported experiencing extreme pain and it wasn’t taken into consideration. For people living with endometriosis, this is a daily routine.

There is no cure, and such, it’s all about pain management and preventing depression. My first consultation with a nurse was simply about whether I was eating healthily, exercising and keeping positive. Then I was tried on some different doses of the pill. It felt like a trial and error approach. I was even booked in for surgery this month to try something else, but I pulled out a week before. This was presented to me as ‘the next step’ and I wasn’t given the information I needed. I had not even met the gynaecologist set to perform the surgery before I had a date locked in and the countdown ticking.

This particular treatment – the insertion of a Mirena (a small contraceptive coil) into the opening of the uterus – is widely discussed among endometriosis suffers as totally hit and miss. I had been seeking support from a Facebook group and hearing these horror stories where the insertion of a Mirena did not in fact help at all, but simply caused a continuous painful period for up to a year after its installation. When I raised my concerns at an appointment I was simply told that it was ‘worth a try and it varies widely for each patient.’ For me, as a full-time student, having even three to six months of

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such severe side-effects would totally destroy my day to day life, and I would be forced to drop out of university for a semester. Other concerns about this treatment is the way some uteri can simply reject the device, painfully trying to push it out. An anonymous woman on the Facebook group even said she’d approached her gynaecologist to have it removed once this severe pain had begun and they told her, ‘just persevere with it for another few months, it might settle down.’ For people living in near-constant pain, it is totally unprofessional and at worst, unethical to make such comments and undergo such treatment on the basis that it’s ‘just the next available step short of laparoscopy.’

There are many kinds of invisible suffering, however, the fact that endometriosis and diseases like it are seen as ‘women’s health issues’ puts them in a dangerous and hard to access box. I am incredibly lucky to have an attentive nurse, with endometriosis herself, who advised a treatment that works, and to have a general practitioner who doesn’t trivialise my illness.

But there are many less fortunate. Especially if you’re young, outside of the recognised gender binary or financially limited, endometriosis can be a source of humiliation and stress far beyond its symptoms.

I strongly recommend everyone attends the events for endometriosis awareness this March in Canberra – details at endometriosisaustralia.org – and to just simply begin the conversation with your loved ones. Suffering extreme period pains or other secondary symptoms is not your cross to bear, it might be evidence of this illness. It is absolutely vital for us to talk about ‘women’s health’ and all who it affects, as well as other medical circumstances in which our pain or experiences have been trivialised.

I’m excited to change the culture around the perception of women’s experiences more broadly – but first, let me bring my hot water bottle to class you piece of shit.

Artwork: Emma Dowden

12, Vol. 66 WeekIssue 3, Semester 1, 2017

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Charlotte is a third year PPE/ law student with interests in human rights, journalism and photography.

For young people in Canberra, the ability to enjoy a night out is intrinsically linked to the availability of venues that provide a safe, inclusive and representative space. Sexist or homophobic behavior, a dance floor dominated by sweaty boys with wandering hands and a range of other factors lead many young people to jump into an uber and call it a night.

However, Canberra’s dance music industry has begun to challenge this dominant culture, with a female driven brand of club culture rooted in promoting women, non-binary and queer* talent, as well as fostering inclusive spaces.

To discuss this shift in the Canberra scene I sat down with three talented women who are incredibly influential in the Canberra music industry.

I was lucky enough to chat to Megan Bones, a DJ who also works as the entertaining and marketing manager of Mr. Wolf and is the founder of queer* party night Gay Cliché; Sophie McNamara, who has worked in social media, marketing and event coordinating capacities for Mr. Wolf, Spilt Milk and the upcoming Wind It Up festival; and Genie Stuart, a talented DJ who at only 18 is already a prominent face in the Canberra scene.

It’s been over 20 years since Kathleen Hanna and the Riot Grrrl movement called for girls to ‘come to the front’ and reclaim the space in music that had been dominated by men. Writer Julia Downes argues that ‘gendered

power structures are entrenched in the popular music industry, so it is much harder for women to become credible, authentic and legitimate cultural creators.’ Reflecting on this idea, I asked all three women whether they thought Canberra has in the past been a ‘boys’ club’, and whether this dynamic was changing.

Megan noted that when she started doing gigs in Canberra, she was the only female DJ that she knew of.

‘The Canberra scene has made a huge amount of progress in the past few years’ she said, noting that this shift was spearheaded by ‘a massive injection of quality female DJs into the scene.’

The music industry’s tendency to overlook quality female talent, and to give preference to male artists, is something that the women I talked to would like to see as a thing of the past. Genie noted that ‘when I did my first gig it was Too Many DJs [an event run by Art Not Apart festival], and I was one of two female DJs in a line-up of 25 DJs. That was my first introduction to the industry.’ All three agreed that they’d like to see more women, non-binary, and queer* people given space and time by the industry, and to have talent recognised for the value of the talent. Megan commented: ‘If I get asked to DJ for the sake of adding a “female DJ” to the line-up, I’ll say no straight away.’

This refusal to have female talent tokenised for the sake of filling out a ratio is one she has brought to her work at Mr. Wolf, where the priority is placed on nurturing enthusiastic female artists, as well as bringing on board talented women behind the

scenes in promotions, marketing and event managing roles. One of the main factors behind taking on her fulltime role at Wolf, Megan said, was to be in a position to help make real changes in the Canberra scene. ‘I’m so lucky’, she said, ‘to be working in a team with two supportive and forward thinking men, Richard McPherson and Jack Ryan.’

One of the most important tools women have in breaking through a boy’s culture is the support of other women. Sophie noted that two of her biggest mentors are Megan from Mr. Wolf, and Rubi Tuesday from Spilt Milk. She explained that ‘whilst numbers-wise there are many more men involved in the industry, I’ve been guided by women who have held a lot of weight in the scene.’ In nurturing and supporting other female talent, women can break through internalised misogyny and create a massive presence in the industry. Genie emphasises that being supported by strong women has been incredibly important. It was through this guidance that as a young DJ Genie was able to hone her skills.

As well as promoting and celebrating diverse talent, venues are recognising the importance of a safe and positive space for all people to be free from discrimination. Megan discussed that this shift has been incorporated by a multi-pronged approach. An important aspect of this has been encouraging clubs like Mr. Wolf to take on a program of education for staff to deal with sexual harassment, and harassment towards queer* patrons.

With this approach taken on board, Mr. Wolf has marketed itself to the community as a place that is inclusive

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– an attitude championed in the motto ‘no racism, no sexism, no homophobia, no transphobia, no violence’. This is a progressive policy for club culture that sets a precedent for venues across Australia. ‘I shared it in [the online feminist space] “It’s Not for You”’ Sophie told me, ‘and I had so many girls telling me how amazing they thought this policy was, and how they wished that other venues [in Sydney] would adopt something similar.’ Judging by this reception, there is unmistakably a demand for positive and inclusive places, and where there is a demand made by pundits, promoters will respond.

So where can we move in the future to see representative equality for women, non-binary, and queer* people partying and performing in clubs? Genie says she’d like to see promoters give talented women better time slots, not always just as the opening acts but as headliners. Megan highlights the nuance of the field – that it is essentially a business decision and promoters will source acts that are demanded by pundits, and if the talent pool is a male dominated field then this will be reflected by clubs. There is a definite appetite amongst the youth crowd for representation, Sophie tells me, as could be seen in the social media push made by many young people for artists such as queer* Icon Honey Dijon to play at Spilt Milk Festival, which shows a huge progression from the scene years ago. Young people are becoming aware, and realising that they have power as consumers to dictate what they want to see happening in the industry. Consumers are demanding a safe and tolerant space to celebrate a diverse range of talent, and the industry in Canberra is listening and responding.

Artwork: Emma Dowden

Issue12, 2, Vol. Issue Vol. 67 66

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with its curves and swirls, is not your yoga to enlightenment. a seed of creation, with the power and beauty of the universe within its loops and twirls, is not your tattoo to popularity. a respectable salaam to my Gods within its warps and lines, is not yours to claim for worldliness. meaning Sanskari love is mine to connect with Hinduism.

Kasthury is a woman of colour floating through multiple cultures as a third culture kid nomad. She is currently doing a Masters in International Affairs, trying to break through the intellectual colonialism!

I fell in love early when I was sixteen and unafraid with my best friend.

I didn’t know then why I couldn’t stop thinking about her and why I burned when she smiled at me nor did I know why I wanted to sleep next to her and watch her wake in the morning or why adrenaline was a comfortable taste and my resting heart rate was higher I thought my friends would understand I didn’t know then that they’d stop smiling when I said her name and look at me like I was lying nor did I know that they would tell their friends and that I’d be stared at and branded a freak or that on a Tuesday morning there was a dead fish in my locker and a slur written across the door I was stupid enough to think she’d love me back I didn’t know then that she’d grimace when I told her and say it wasn’t right for me to love her nor did I know that she would leave my calls unanswered and hate me for being me or that her parents would call mine and I’d have to listen to my mother’s laugh when I came out.

I fell in love when I was sixteen and unafraid I really wish I hadn’t.

Emily is the kind of girl constantly caught between an existential crisis about true love and writing a haiku on sexual innuendos. She also has trouble prioritising her time. This poem is kind of about that and also not really.

The tips of her feet, disappear into the bed, somehow folding themselves into the unknown, where touch and smell, taste and sight all converge, a single being, like the slow merging of sunset light, colours caught and held together.

I wonder if she will stay between the blankets and the sheets, a part of her forever in their dirty white hue, in six years I’ll fold them into a box for the charity shop, and give away my last relic of her.

The trees are obscenely green, flashing a coded SOS, in glimpses of fluorescent, I step outside hesitant at the world, but it holds me, somehow today is warm and reassuringly familiar, reminiscent of my mother’s old perfume, or my first boyfriend’s musk.

I think about love, and time, and remember I didn’t brush my teeth.

She left her scent on my pillow, intimate, I falter between washing it or leaving it, either option seems grotesque.

So I sleep elsewhere for a few nights, letting her trace linger and leave.

And for this reason, I don’t call her back.

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12, Vol. 66 WeekIssue 3, Semester 1, 2017

in the group as a whole. Sometimes this means that there is no room for discussion, so that anyone who strays from what’s deemed to be ‘right’ is attacked and ridiculed – this defeats the purpose of these groups. I don’t think this is a problem that solely affects the feminist or queer community either, as the rise of ‘keyboard warriors’ is an internet-wide phenomenon, but it nevertheless affects the safety of otherwise supportive groups.

One of the biggest problems for these spaces is that feminism isn’t monolithic and uniform – amongst the community you can find many different and often opposing views about what feminism is and what it stands for.

This means that in some spaces – often feminist spaces with a broader membership such as Women’s Department groups or ‘feminist 101’ groups – there are recurring arguments on issues such as sex work, transphobia, abortions, misandry and the notion of ‘feminist allies’, which can get particularly heated. Some of these spaces can also fairly be critiqued for being marginalising of the people whose lived experiences are at the center of those debates.

Content Warning: This article contains discussions of transphobia.

Blair Williams is a PhD candidate focusing on the negative media portrayals of women prime ministers whilst writing articles and feminist slam poetry in her spare time. She is an active feminist warrior who is disillusioned with the world.

The feminist movement is not only influenced by but is actively responsive to society, meaning that it is constantly changing, adapting and evolving.

From the marches and meetings of the 19th century to the rallies and liberation communities of the 1960s and 1970s, feminism has been about making change but, just as importantly, about education and community. Contemporary feminism largely thrives in online communities and groups, which in turn make it more accessible and stronger ‘offline’. Whilst online feminist communities are a fantastic resource and space for feminists of all races, genders, sexualities to vent and educate each other, these groups can still manage to exclude and alienate members despite their best intentions.

So what is an online feminist community or space? Though a lot of the groups are closed or secret, some great and more public feminist spaces include our very own ANU Women’s Department and the ANU Women of Colour Collective, as well as international groups Let Women Enjoy Things, Being Feminist and Feminist Meme Stash. These groups are basically full of like-minded feminist individuals who gather to support, encourage and generally just listen to each other.

They might talk about the problems that they experience because of their oppressions, share informative articles, or feminist events and protests. These spaces usually have a set of rules, such as a no-tolerance policy to misogyny,

racism, ableism, classism, queerphobia or tone policing, and encourage the use of trigger warnings (TW) and content warnings (CW). Generally, these rules are in place to make the spaces welcoming and safe and to protect vulnerable people and groups.

The rise of online feminist spaces has helped in making feminism more accessible to people of all ages and geographical locations. Previously, access to feminist theory was predominantly limited to those who had a certain level of privilege and education, due to the nature of how it was discussed and disseminated. Feminism of the past has been critiqued for being excessively focused on the white, middle class and educated cisgender women who largely dominated the discourse.

The introduction of these online spaces has meant that all sorts of voices and experiences can be heard through diverse forms of communication: blogs, memes, podcasts, Youtube videos and more. Many feminist groups are dedicated to specific experiences of intersection, such as queer people, women of colour and mentally ill or disabled women. Therefore, not only do people with intersecting oppressions have spaces to be affirmed, our voices and experiences also get heard when they were previously othered.

Just recently, a feminist group I follow on Facebook posted an article about how those who support the Women’s March on Washington should also support marches for trans women’s rights. Suddenly the comment section was flooded by feminists with trans-erasive radical feminist (TERF) views who believe that trans women aren’t ‘real’ women. Disputing these opinions were intersectional feminists arguing that trans women – especially trans women of colour – are one of the most vulnerable groups in our society, and we should all be fighting alongside them. This back and forth became extremely toxic and dangerous due to the real body count tied to the TERF rhetoric – 41 percent of trans people try to commit suicide compared to 4 percent in the general population. The efforts of admin moderation fell short, which

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only contributed to the unwelcoming nature of the space.

Situations like this just illustrate how people with a certain level of privilege within these spaces can continue to affirm structural oppressions, when instead we should all be supporting and listening to those who are less privileged.

Though the positives do outweigh the negatives, some of these spaces do need to improve on being a better and safer place for all. It’s not for me to say how these groups can do this as I hold my own biases and each unique space focuses on different issues. I think that something that would help, however, would be to give power and a platform to those who experience multiple oppressions and are largely ignored by our society. We, especially my fellow white cis women, need to remember that general sexism is just the tip of the feminist iceberg and it is important to continue our education on issues about which we know very little, whilst listening to those with less power and privilege than ourselves.

Whilst the way of the feminist future is online – as much as I now sound like a cheesy 90s AOL ad – this brings with it an array of advantages and disadvantages. These groups may sound insular, yet they are growing in popularity and in number as the feminist movement continues to expand. This is how we will teach a large number of the next generation an inclusive and diverse feminism which will empower them out in the real world. Being in communities like these, in solidarity with people from all different walks of life, all over the world, you are can’t help feeling like you are part of something that is ultimately bigger than yourself.

However, whilst there are many fantastic benefits to these online feminist spaces, troubles and negativity will always arise when opinionated, passionate and articulate people come together. These spaces, like a lot of groups on the internet, are usually made up of clusters of people who know each other or who are at least friends of friends of friends. This can lead to factions with similar beliefs who sometimes intimidate those not in the ‘in group’ and can make them feel less welcome

Artwork: Lily Shen

2, Vol. 672, 2016 Week Issue 10, Semester

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Holly is a 3rd year student at ANU majoring in Anthropology, she is passionate about cultural diversity and inclusion and raising awareness about mental health and well-being. In the future she hopes to research Australian attitudes towards minority groups and promote a greater Muhammad peace be upon him – by made you peoples and understanding and tolerance for Abu Huraira: A man came to Allah’s Apostle and ethnic or religious minorities. said, ‘O Allah’s Apostle! Who is more tribes that you may know As a white Australian convert to Islam, I have been told many times by other women that they are sad or heartbroken for me, and that by becoming Muslim, I have given up my rights as a woman and my belief in feminism.

Unfortunately, a strong misconception about Muslim women exists in the mind of many, causing millions of Muslim women all over the world to be perceived as oppressed, lacking autonomy, or forced into dressing or acting a certain way.

Many people who subscribe to Western feminism assume that women who practice womanhood in a different way to them are oppressed or need liberating. Although in theory ‘liberating’ ‘others’ can seem like a positive, uplifting or empowering project, we may not realise that in doing so we are actually upholding an ethno-centric and racist ideology – where the acceptable expression of womanhood is exclusive to one cultural understanding of what it means to be woman.

We need to realise that there is no one correct or acceptable way of existing as a woman, and that there is no superior cultural understanding of what a woman is.

Contrary to what is often perceived or conveyed through the media, in Islam, women are highly respected and valued, and maintain a respected and important status within society. In fact, Islamic feminism actually began over a thousand years before Western feminism was even conceptualised. Islamic feminism is a very large and complex topic but InshaAllah (God willing) I will be able to present some basic aspects of women’s rights in Islam.

It was narrated in a Sahih Hadith – an Authentic Saying of the Prophet

entitled to be treated with the best companionship by me?’ The Prophet said, ‘Your mother.’ The man said.

‘Who is next?’ The Prophet said, ‘Your mother.’ The man further said, ‘Who is next?’ The Prophet said, ‘Your mother.’ The man asked for the fourth time, ‘Who is next?’ The Prophet said, ‘Your father.’

Before the time of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, in the society in which he lived, women were looked down upon as secondary to men, and female babies were often buried alive in the desert because the families were shamed that they had not produced a son. On the contrary, daughters are looked upon as a blessing in Islam and there are many Hadith which describe daughters as parents’ pathways to Heaven and shields from the Hellfire.

In the Holy Quran in Surah An-Nahl (Chapter of The Bees), verses 58 and 59 deal directly with and forbid the sexism and infanticide which was occurring in pre-Islamic society.

Furthermore, there are many places in the Holy Quran where men and women are decreed equals in the sight of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala (God who is the most glorified the most high). Although in Islam, men and women are conceived as essentially or biologically different and as having different needs and responsibilities, everyone – no matter their sex, gender, race or ethnicity – is regarded as an equal in the sight of God, and the only thing that differentiates people in status, is their righteousness or deeds.

O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and

one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah (God) is the most righteous of you.

Indeed, Allah (God) is Knowing and Acquainted.

The Holy Quran [49:13] Whoever does righteousness, whether male or female, while he is a believer - We will surely cause him to live a good life, and We will surely give them their reward [in the Hereafter] according to the best of what they used to do. The Holy Quran [16:97] Within Islamic feminism there are very clear rules and restrictions set out to ensure women’s rights and safety in all aspects of life. Islam was one of the first movements to give women inheritance rights and legal rights within marriage. It is not permitted for women to change their names after marriage, in order to symbolise that they are not commodities that can be sold or traded in transactions from father

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to husband. A marriage cannot take place unless both individuals consent to it – in Islam no person, whether male or female, is allowed to be forced into marriage. Divorce is also permissible, to ensure that if either partner is unhappy or being mistreated that they have the freedom to leave and be protected from any abusive behaviour or relationships.

The use of the hijab and other body-covering remains a controversial point for many in the West, however, for Muslim women it is actually a form of empowerment and protection of their rights as women. The hijab sends a very clear message that a woman’s worth is not defined by her body and that a woman should not feel pressured to look attractive, beautiful or pretty, or require a certain type of body.

In Islam, a woman’s worth is based upon her morality, her good deeds, her behaviour, her speech and her intellect.

The hijab privatises a woman’s sexuality and sends a clear message that a woman has complete control and ownership over her own body. It indicates that she is not an object which others can criticise or comment on. In other words, it is the beauty on the inside and not the outside, that defines a person. This standard also applies equally to men.

The hijab, therefore, is not an oppression forced upon women, but rather a tool of empowerment which gives women back the ownership over their bodies. For me, as a Muslim woman, wearing the hijab or covering my body is actually a very powerful form of feminism.

As a convert to Islam myself I empathise with how it can be hard to understand a way of life which can seem so different to ours. The most important point for me, however, is that feminism does not have one exclusive form and that there are many ways in which women can feel empowered.

The more we can challenge and break down the misconceptions which can be perpetuated by Western feminism, the more we can acknowledge, respect and empower all women regardless of their race, colour, ethnicity or cultural background.

Week Semester 1, 2,2017 2016 Week10, 3, Semester

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Originally from Sydney, Rebecca is currently in the second year of an Arts/Policy Studies double degree. She is passionate about equality and reading as much as she possibly can.

In a society that is aggressively hypersexualised, being asexual can feel a lot like being invisible. Our societal norms have been built on a series of double standards, and the feminist movement has long been pushing to eliminate these discrepancies – particularly around gender and sexuality. Sexual freedom for people of all genders, but especially for women, has become a major focus of contemporary feminism.

Feminism is all about equality and liberation – but, as an asexual person, it’s sometimes difficult to feel included in a movement that is so inherently linked to sex and sexuality. In both sex-positive feminism and mainstream society, asexuality is barely addressed. This oversight can make asexual people feel disengaged and as though their sexuality is being dismissed as irrelevant or not ‘real’, or being conflated with sex-shaming ideals and perceived as an obstacle to the sex-positive agenda. The asexual community lacks the support from the feminist movement required for the two communities to interact to their full potential, and for asexual women to feel safe within the movement.

For me, accepting the fact that I am asexual was thankfully relatively easy, but it has been far harder to reconcile my asexuality with my engagement in a feminist discourse that often overlooks my sexual identity. Not being involved with a part of feminism because it does not feel personally relevant obstructs me from fully participating in feminist activism, and prevents me from feeling totally accepted by the movement. This lack of acknowledgement of asexual individuals leaves me, and many others, unsure of where we stand in both the feminist movement and the society it operates within.

Trying to find a balance between asexual identity and feminist activism is difficult. The limitations of the feminist movement’s acknowledgement and acceptance of the asexual community highlight the movement’s replication of societal inequalities. We need to expand the scope and intersectionality of feminism to avoid isolating the asexual community and to more fully support and legitimise asexual individuals.

Lenna is a local, long-term ANU student who likes borrowing too many library books.

In a world where sex is everywhere, it’s easy to feel like an outsider. Whether it’s images in advertising, hook up culture or just the assumption that everyone who isn’t getting any secretly wants to be, not being interested in sex makes me feel like I don’t belong. It doesn’t matter whether people are having as much sex as they say they are – or the media agonizes about – what matters is its assumed importance. Society posits that everyone should be having, or want to be having sex on a regular basis, and any other option requires justification.

For me that justification is hard to find. It’s not that I have anything against sex – I’m just not really interested. Or rather, I’m very interested – it fascinates me why this part of life is considered so important and special to so many people, because to me it’s just like any other activity.

I know I’m not the only one. Plenty of people choose not to have sex for a variety of reasons, all of which are valid. But my experience is more about not having a reason to want sex, rather than finding any reasons not to have it.

Since this violates the default assumption about sexuality, it can feel like something’s wrong with me or like I don’t fit in.

Finding the term asexual helped a lot with this. Having a way to describe my experiences and meeting others who felt the same created a sense of belonging. Joining the asexual community gave me an anchor to stand outside society’s norms and declare my truth without needing to justify myself. It hasn’t come without its challenges – plenty of people still view asexuality as non-existent or worse, class it as a psychological disorder – but knowing I belong makes it easier.

Some argue that the label isn’t important. That if you don’t want to have sex, just don’t. Which is fine, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to tell anyone they need a label to explain their own choices. But if finding and using a label like asexuality helps someone feel less alone, I think that’s something worthwhile.

I was an avid reader as a child so it was through books that I discovered the concept of ‘romance’ and the initial scripts of how to develop a relationship. If you are a young, fair maiden, then a prince will sweep you off your feet. A romantic relationship was built on the experience of some shared adventure. If there was sexual subtext, I missed it.

Entering high school, I realised that my perceptions of relationships were wrong. My peers either began relationships or talked about sex – two things I wasn’t interested in. At the same time, the entertainment I was being exposed to increasingly mentioned sex as an important component of a relationship. The mark of a successful romantic endeavour wasn’t the confirmation of a deep emotional bond, but achieving ‘hot’ sex.

A few years ago I discovered I was asexual – someone who doesn’t experience sexual attraction or doesn’t desire sex. While this confirmation that I wasn’t alone was liberating, it was also terrifying. The childhood fantasy of princesses and knights had long been shattered and it was impossible to conceive a relationship without sex. Sex is the highest level of intimacy and if you don’t participate, you don’t love your partner, and your relationship is false.

I also identify as heteroromantic, or romantically attracted to the opposite gender. Like many asexuals with a romantic orientation, I believed that my asexuality would preclude me from a ‘normal’, mutually fulfilling relationship. In my attempts at dating I was always open about my asexuality and though these stories all unfolded differently – I was called a nun at one point – they had the same conclusion: ‘Goodbye.’

That is, until last year, when I fell into a relationship for the first time. My partner is open-minded and accepts me for who I am, but neither romanticised storybooks or hypersexualised mainstream culture prepared me for being in a relationship as an asexual. Together we had to write a new script on boundaries and courtship in a process that resulted in a lot of anxiety for both of us. Maybe if the media showed alternate expressions of love, sexual and nonsexual, and didn’t confine society to an outdated dichotomy, then we could start off a little easier.

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intense struggles of three black women, depicted in the 2016 film Hidden Figures. These latter worked as literal ‘computers’ at NASA in the early 1960’s – where laboratories and bathrooms were segregated, and their colleagues were incredibly racist and demeaning. Despite their legitimate struggles to find respect and encouragement in STEM, the three Canberran white women will never understand the depth of hardship that Katherine Goble, Mary Jackson and Dorothy Vaughan endured, not just because they were women, but because they had to deal with the additional dimension of racism. It is entirely insensitive of the author to make such a comparison.

Jasmine is in her first year at ANU studying double Laws (Honours) and International Relations. Her favorite things include dumplings, binge-watching House of Cards, and of course, smashing the patriarchy.

One crisp January morning, following the inauguration of one of the most socially divisive and outwardly sexist presidential candidates in American history, upwards of five million women gathered around the globe to demand justice and equality. The scenes that emanated from Washington’s streets that day were, to put it briefly, empowering. A feeling of feminine power and resistance arose in despite of the crushing disappointment that Hillary Clinton – a woman – had been inches away from breaking the glass ceiling of the presidency, and instead, had fallen short. In that moment, we were collectively strong and we were ready to fight for our sisters.

Following the Executive Order banning Muslims from certain Muslim majority countries, women again protested. Interestingly, protest numbers significantly decreased, from millions to thousands. White women had failed to maintain their enthusiasm for women’s rights as an intersectional whole,

Artwork: Kanika Kirpalani

and instead, turned their backs on Muslim girls and women. This is a prime example of white feminism. I am, of course, not arguing that not a single white woman was present at nationwide airport protests advocating #NoBanNoWall. Nor do I argue that white women do not experience any form of oppression – because in a patriarchal sense, we do. It is important to recognise, however, that many women who did participate in the Women’s March on Washington protested against issues that do not affect them as profoundly as they affect women of colour, sex workers, Jews, Muslims, the disabled, Latinx individuals or members of the LGBTQ+ community.

But subsequently, when the women of these minorities were later targeted by Donald Trump’s Executive Orders, the razor-sharp anger displayed by white women on 21 January was not duly redirected.

An Australian example of white feminism recently appeared in a The Canberra Times titled ‘Canberra’s Hidden Figures: the three women inspiring females into ICT roles’. The article is particularly problematic as it quite ignorantly compares the – still very real – trials of three white women attempting to find recognition within Canberra’s STEM industry, to the profoundly

These examples reveal how it is extremely important that, as white women, we come to collectively understand that our lightness is a privilege. Time warp from the 60s to 2017 and we are still subjected to sexism and misogyny due to our gender. However, as white women, we will never have to experience being a female member of a racial minority. Consider the fact that Indigenous Australian women are 34 times more likely than non-Indigenous women to end up in hospital because of family violence. As a result of this, it is important that we use our privilege positively to elevate the voices of female minorities to front of the stage, passing them the microphone and allowing them to speak about their own unique experiences – while also publicly denouncing their oppression.

In this way, we can collectively expose discrimination for the malignant force that it is, and gradually improve the lives of all people in an intersectional fashion. Any threat to the human rights of others is a direct threat to our own human rights.

This is why we must abide by our duty to protect and love other women even, and especially if, they are different to us.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Arts

Art For Thought

Cultural Identity and Authenticity: Am I a Fraud?

Text: Janice Peh ‘Art For Thought’ is a fortnightly column by Janice Peh – she encourages readers to discuss what is happening in the world today, by meditating on a different artwork every fortnight.

Images: 1. Image from mgnsw.org.au 2. Floor-to-ceiling installation of miniature cardboard houses, supported by steel scaffolding, displayed at Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation (SCAF), Sydney. Image from SCAF. 3 and 4. Images from Bathurst Regional Art Gallery.

Partners in work and life, artists Alfredo and Isabel Aquilizan investigate issues of displacement, identity and home through their artworks.

Their work In Habit: Project Another Country (2012) highlights the displacement of the Badjao people, a nomadic seafaring community in Philippines.

The resilience of the Badjao people is called to the audience’s attention, as we learn of this marginalised community’s habitat – comprising of improvised houseboats and houses built precariously on water.

In this mixed media installation, the artists have crafted the piles of cardboard boxes in a unrefined manner, imitating the makeshift shacks that the Badjao people have built for themselves along rivers and beaches. The artwork remains durable, despite being crafted entirely

with seemingly flimsy cardboard boxes, defying gravity and expectations as it is hangs upside down in the gallery. The artists also provide extra cardboard boxes and drawing materials near the artwork, inviting audience to create their own ‘cardboard house’ and contribute to the artwork; by pasting and overlapping their cardboard houses on top of what the artists have already built, participants continue to exacerbate the haphazard and spontaneous quality of this artwork. This work represents the resilient, adaptive spirit of the Badjao people in the face of poverty and globalisation, as the effects of modernisation gradually erode and eliminate unique cultures all over the world.

Kami Navarro is from the Philippines and is currently studying a Master of Science Communication at ANU. She says, ‘I have seen some of the makeshift houses that the Badjaos have built along the beaches in the Philippines and this artwork by the Aquilizans captures the spirit of their houses. Basically, their houses look very haphazardly built and stacked up, which the artists have demonstrated in this artwork. The artists could also have used cardboard boxes as their main medium in this work because the Badjaos are also known to be scavengers of many kinds of materials.’

This work also underlines the artist’s very own personal encounter with displacement when they migrated from Philippines to Australia in 2006, in search of a better life for their children.

Consistent with their previous works, such as Vessel 1 (2016), Dwellings 1 (2014) and Last Flight (2009), this particular piece demonstrates the duo’s on-going reflection on their identity and sense of belonging.

Kevin Alyono grew up in New York City after his parents immigrated to the US from Indonesia. He is currently studying a Master of Environmental Management and Development at ANU. He says, ‘Growing up as an immigrant in NYC, I can relate to this artwork a lot. There is a sense of struggle between resolving internal conflicts of displacement, and adaptation. In NYC, many immigrant communities carve their own cultural spaces in the “Big Apple”: holding on to familiar life habits while still trying to adapt to the dominant culture. Yet in all this juggling, instead of fully belonging to both cultures, they become hybrid “outsiders” who are constantly and

precariously navigating a sea of changing expectations and norms.’

To further complicate the conflicting sense of identity and belonging that Filipino artists face, the Philippines is one of the most culturally fragmented nations in Asia, due to centuries of foreign rule. Elements of traditional Asian influences are minimal in the Filipino culture explaining the tremendous interest that contemporary Filipino artists have in using locally sourced indigenous and organic materials – such as cardboard boxes – to redefine Filipino culture. There is an increasing inclination amongst Filipino artists to focus on local interpretations and resist references to Western themes and approaches in their artistic practice. This inclination is further fuelled by contemporary scholars and critics questioning the lack of traditional Asian elements in Asian artists’ works.

That said, debates continue over whether colonial legacy should be separated from the contemporary Filipino identity. One cannot help but wonder if their indigenous culture is necessarily more authentic than their Hispanic influences, especially when the former only has vague traces left while the latter is widespread in everyday life.

As I see it, notions of cultural identity and sense of belonging are not static and unchanging, but are reinterpreted with each generation, according to changing circumstances. I agree that understanding one’s cultural heritage, history and elusive ‘traditional values’ is infinitely valuable in helping Filipino artists to interpret contemporary issues pertaining to society, economy and politics. Yet, from an anthropological and evolutionary perspective, communities are constantly evolving and therefore it is only natural that the Philippines’ cultural identity continually evolves too. Rather than seeking cultural authenticity by returning to a mythic past, an authentic cultural identity can be discovered by reflecting on artistic approaches which are relevant to contemporary issues.

Contemporary art that reflects contemporary culture, shaped by history, immigration and shared identities is already culturally authentic.

Arts

Issue 2, Vol. 67

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A Sea of White: A Glimpse into Canberra’s Classical Music Scene Text: Liam Brewin Higgins Photography: Liam Brewin Higgins

A simple survey of the white-capped heads of the murmuring crowd, atop the plush red seats of Llewellyn Hall, indicates the age of the majority of Canberra music goers. Scattered amongst these greying domes are only a few younger couples and individuals. Attendance at classical musical events is dominated by those who have seen many more bitterly cold Canberra winters than most of us who wander between the odd collection of buildings at ANU. Iconic events such as the Canberra Symphony Orchestra’s (CSO) picnic concert at Government House and the four-part ActewAGL Llewellyn Concert Series are permanent features of the classical music calendars of Canberra’s elderly musical audience. In general, Canberra’s cultural (and in particular musical) scene is very well attended by Territorians. Free concerts at the High Court are often at full capacity, and regular concerts at the ANU School of Music’s Llewellyn Hall contribute to this scene significantly.

However, classical music concerts in Canberra often lack younger audiences despite the diverse repertoire, targeted student ticketing campaigns and the convenience of many of these concerts.

Llewellyn Hall really is an extraordinary cultural and educational asset for Canberra and ANU, attracting some very high profile musicians and groups right on the doorstep of a large student population. The Hall has recently seen the vibrant and highly professional Australian Youth Orchestra (AYO) playing an eclectic and energised program, which included the work of notable

contemporary Australian composer Peter Sculthorpe and world-renowned Proms soloist cellist Li-Wei Qin. With facial expressions of deepest concentration, bows swiftly striking down in the string section, the musicians were ably led by renowned British conductor Andrew Gourlay, who conducted the orchestra in a sublime and refreshing interpretation of Rachmaninov’s second symphony. The 2nd movement, in particular, demonstrated the tremendous skills of some of Australia’s finest young

musicians through its buoyant rhythmic passages and intense moments of Romantic climax. The AYO produced a truly enthralling performance within minutes of the ANU campus and all for the cost of lunch and a coffee at God’s Café.

Local musical talent at all levels can be seen in the incredibly diverse upcoming programs of the CSO and the Canberra Youth Orchestra, taking place both within the traditional concert hall setting and beyond. March will see Jessica Cottis, one of the leading young conductors of the classical world, taking up the baton in the CSO’s first subscription concert with a pastoral-inspired program. Also during this year, the diverse and internationally recognisable artist James Morrison working with the CYO on a Jazz and Big Band inspired program on the 11 November. The awe-inspiring, virtuosic trumpeting of Morrison is something not to be missed! In the upcoming programs of both orchestras, there is considerable diversity in repertoires. From contemporary Australian music to the classic compositions of Beethoven and Mahler, there is certainly something to cater to everyone’s tastes.

Yet the question remains, how do we get uni students into the concert hall?

I could go on at length – I really could!

– discussing arguments around the

so-called ‘Mozart effect’ and connections between intelligence and listening to classical music, or exploring the emotional and academic benefits of engaging with music. I will settle, for now, with a little more pragmatism – namely location, affordability and diversity. Many of Canberra’s classical and orchestral concerts, including those with international artists, are within walking distance of ANU or even on campus itself. Tickets are invariably under $30 for students, with many concerts often offering ‘student rush prices’. Finally, there are so many groups, artists and repertoires to choose from, you will definitely find an event that inspires you.

Let a bit of curiosity take you down the road to Llewellyn Hall or on a bike ride across the lake to the High Court. There is certainly no guarantee that you will like everything you hear but there is truly something special about live music in a concert hall that neither YouTube nor the best noise cancelling headphones can possibly capture or convey. There is no feeling of nervous anticipation or excitement like the second when the conductor raises the baton for the first time. Every eye glued to the stage, every ear tuned to the downward flash of the baton and the room’s collective intake of breath. So take the plunge. Dive into the intellectual unknown, brave the sea of white and go to a classical concert.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Arts

The Fascinating Life of the Rich and Famous Rowan Everard interviews Robert Wellington RE: First things first, what is your position at the ANU? RW: I’m a lecturer in Art history in the Centre for Art History and Art Theory in the School of Art, so I teach students from all manner of practise disciplines within the School of Art but also teach Bachelor of Arts and Masters of Arts students.

RE: What does academia entail for you and how does it tie in with the Versailles exhibition?

RW: That’s a good question. At ANU the standard contract we have is that half our time is devoted to teaching, and half to our research. In fact, ANU is considered one of the top research universities, so they employ people not only on the strength of their teaching but the strength of their research. This ties into the Versailles conference in that my primary research area is the court of Louis XIV, with it being the topic for my PhD and my book.

RE: Why do you think an exhibition like the Versailles exhibition is important not only for blossoming arts students but for the wider Canberran public?

RW: Arts are the purest expression of what it is to be human, so we can learn

so much not only about the past and its people, but we can also have revelations about our own experiences as people and what it is to be people. Even if that’s just interacting with an object because it’s beautiful, that’s something that is essential to what it is to be human. To understand how someone has made something that’s not just completely utilitarian, but how there is this kind of exquisite extra thing that’s supposed to engage us aesthetically, that’s a positive thing and a plus to be underlined. On another level, I think we shouldn’t underestimate the public, they are really fascinated with the past and they love the idea of court culture because it seems so excessive, the fashion is outrageous, the characters and stories are extraordinary, and I think there is a slightly tabloid side to it – ‘the fascinating life of the rich and famous’ – which comes through with the stories of Versailles.

RE: You talked about the ‘wow’ factor of the exhibition, but what new and different areas explored in this, do you think, are of particular interest compared to other more permanent collections?

RW: For one thing, these are objects that are drawn from the museum of the chateau of Versailles. So these are objects of royal patronage, of which I think there are very few in Australia, and they represent the best of this kind of work of that period. It’s a rare opportunity to have that encounter here in Australia.

What’s different about a contemporary

exhibition like this one is that it allows the curators to tell a story, in this case that story is about life and art in the palace. What I really like about it is that they haven’t taken the easy route of working with painting and sculpture, they’ve also been aware of furniture, textiles, tapestries, outdoor furniture, and broad material culture. Court culture can’t be summarised into a single object, it was greater than the sum of its parts. When one went into the court, it wasn’t just the building itself, it was rooms hung with tapestries, filled with people in exquisite fashions, it was an overwhelming experience, so creating a texture of that past can’t just happen through one medium.

That’s the success of this show, it brought over a range of objects to help us understand what Versailles was.

RE: What do you think is the importance of this type of exhibition in a broader, global context?

RW: What I will say is that it represents a significant investment from the NGA, significant collaboration with the museum in Versailles, diplomatic negotiations, and a positive governmental and political relationship between Australia and France. Shipping these objects all the way across the world, it costs a lot of money. It’s a big investment and there’s a purpose to this. The gallery wants to attract people to Canberra and wants to present a significant show of objects people can’t see elsewhere aside from travelling internationally, so it’s part of a

strategy of bringing people into the gallery for sure.

RE: What other opportunities are present for ANU students to get more involved and learn more about Versailles?

RW: One of the main ways is that we’ve organised a wonderful conference where the top specialists from all over the world: the Met museum, the Getty research institute, the Victoria and Albert museum in London, and many other places besides are going to be coming here for this exhibition. Obviously, there are costs associated with this kind of conference, but as part of my fundraising and negotiating I’ve managed to offer reduced, subsidised registration for students. Full registration is normally $180 for the two-day conference, but the student registration is $50. This includes entry into the exhibition twice – for which the concession fee is usually $25 – and comes with afternoon tea and lunch included, as well as a once in a lifetime opportunity to see some of these scholars in Australia.

The conferrence Enchanted Isles, Fatal Shores: Living Versailles will be at the National Gallery of Australia from 17–18 March.

See the painting above at Versailles: Treasures from the Palace, at the National Gallery of Australia until the 17th of April. Student tickets are $25.

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Issue 2, Vol. 67

41

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Reviews

Process by Sampha – Young Turks Records, 2017 winding through Sampha’s mournful vocals.

His lamentations are well founded; the album’s themes revolve mainly around his late mother’s battle with cancer.

‘Timmy’s Prayer’, an optimistic instrumental base, is undermined by pained lyrics. In the last verse, it comes to a head: ‘I’m waiting cause I’m fucked up,’ he wails.

Text: Ruben Seaton

The rising tide of alternative R&B has brought up with it many boats. Recent years have seen the likes of the Weeknd and Frank Ocean ride the wave of this moody subgenre, but 2017 seems to be the year that London’s Sampha floats highest.

Process adds to the bountiful supply of down-tempo jewels on the UK’s Young Turks label – also home to the likes of The xx and FKA twigs. The album, his debut full-length, was written and recorded in Norway, and you can almost hear the cold Scandinavian breeze

Instrumentally, Process rarely falters. At its most delicate, such as the ballad ‘(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano’, each soft chord beautifully complements the layered vocals. When the intensity steps up a notch, as it does on ‘Under’, samples are chopped and skewed over patchy drum patterns. When Sampha ominously sings ‘I smashed this window in my heart,’ on ‘Reverse Faults’, the stuttering synths make it all the more unsettling.

anxiety, which, when questioned in an interview, he equates to a type of sleep paralysis. ‘It’s me, running away from fears I hide deep in my self-psyche,’ he elaborates to Genius. Far from an emotional catharsis, this moment in Process is a show-stopping fever dream.

Despite this, if you have heard Sampha as a featured artist on a large-billing pop track and not thought much of him, you’re probably not alone. Stacked up against Kanye West’s ‘Saint Pablo’ and Solange’s ‘Don’t Touch My Hair’, he seems to occupy an almost anonymous space – an ethereal chorus vocal that plays second fiddle to the star. His debut LP, however, tells the story of a very different and very unique artist. Process is the sound of an artist who has found their true identity.

‘Blood on Me’ may become Sampha’s defining song, and for good reason. Seldom will you hear this level of breathless passion delivered outside of a heavy metal concert. The lyrics tell of a hounding, harrowing nightmare: a tyrannical

The Morrisons at Smiths Alternative Text: Alexander Unikowski In light of their performance at The Smiths Alternative, The Morrisons should no longer be defined as simply a band, but rather some sort of hurricane-like natural phenomenon. As they re-grouped mid-set for another number, guitarist, vocalist and co-frontman James Morrison spoke of the band’s early days when, crammed on tiny stages, they’d ‘play too fast, sing too loud [and] drink too much.’ It may be the case that Smith’s Alternative provided a roomier setting and the band were perhaps soberer than their origin days. Nevertheless, it’s hard to imagine more energy than was presented that night as the Sydney-based bluegrass/folk outfit took the stage to promote their debut self-titled album.

Influenced by the decades-old bluegrass tradition, The Morrisons would not sound amiss drifting through the doors of a bar in Tennessee or Alabama. Heavy guitar strumming, accompanied by the familiar twang of the banjo and mandolin, support

close-knit four-part harmonies and interjections from the fiddle or harmonica.

The ensemble is rounded out by a steady rhythmic bass line and snare drum.

This is as authentic as country music gets, and The Morrisons offer a performance that is both informed and genuine.

It would, however, be unfair to suggest that this is simply ‘Australians playing American music’. The Morrisons have struck that delicate balance between creating music that is authentic and respectful of its roots whie bringing something fresh and different to the genre. Subtle changes to traditional instrumentation and tonality bring a unique voice to the country canon. This is compounded by their distinctly Australian song themes, musing on the North Queensland sugar cane industry or housing prices in Sydney’s suburbs.

As is expected in the bluegrass tradition, so many songs seemed to descend into a collective jam – and yet, there was no uncertainty or mindless noodling. Every member knew their part and executed it with pitch-perfect precision. This band

cannot be faulted on their technical prowess on their respective instruments.

The most surprising element of the evening, however, was the way The Morrisons peppered their animated and vibrant set with moments of real tenderness and emotion. ‘Route March’, an homage to Henry Lawson’s mournful war poem by the same name, offered the band an opportunity to deliver a performance that was far more heartfelt and intimate. The raw delivery of this devastating lament managed to silence the previously boisterous crowd that had built up energy throughout the night.

A similar silence fell over the audience when all but frontman James Morrison and his guitar left the stage for ‘Turn the Light On’. These moments helped demonstrate The Morrisons’ ability to deliver not just clever toe-tapping compositions, but also passionate and engaging moments of sincerity that kept the Smith’s crowd hooked from start to finish.

In the end, greatest credit should really go to the production team of The Morrisons’ debut album. The album is a

worthy listen, and you don’t have to be a country fan to find something to love. I can only imagine how hard it must have been to bottle that incredible energy up into one recording because what was presented at Smiths was immense, and there really isn’t much else like it.

The Morrisons’ music is available for purchase on iTunes, at themorrisonsband.com, or can be streamed on Spotify.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Reviews

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20for20

PARLOUR Text and Photography: Hannah Wolfhagen Woroni continues the everlasting search for affordable lunch options off campus. For each edition, two reviewers will visit a new restaurant that is a 20-minute or less of a walk from uni, to review a meal for under $20.

In the ongoing search for student appropriate lunch options, last week, a friend and I ventured to Parlour to see if they could deliver on the essentials – relative inexpensiveness and walking distance from campus.

With the entire lunch menu offering an array of salads, pasta and burgers for under $20, the lunch menu at Parlour Wine Room delivers on all these essentials and more. To top it off, each option provides a corresponding alcoholic beverage for only a few dollars extra. Located in New Acton, Parlour feels like a special place to eat, with gorgeous ambience and design.

The outdoor seating, located among the gardens near the Nishi building, has been outfitted with thoughtful but not heavy-handed decorations. Wire chairs and bench seats adorned with carefully coordinated cushions created a relaxed outdoor setting. Inside is a little dark, but has a lovely feel with leather chairs and intimate settings as well as sofas for more informal seating.

I ordered a classic beef burger – named the ‘Pamplona Burger’ – which was described on the menu as simply ‘a beef patty with lettuce, tomato and cheese’.

The quality of the burger on offer is often an excellent way to gauge the quality of the overall menu. Although there are few flavours to juggle in the classic pub favourite, it’s a meal that can often be

My friend ordered the Santiago Salad for $16, but for a total of $18, it was paired with the house white. The salad consisted of prosciutto, blue cheese and tomato with salty flatbreads and a sprinkling of aromatic basil leaves. The classic combination of flavours in such salads often includes fruit, commonly melon or pear, alongside the salty prosciutto and cheese. Parlour chose not to do so, instead including tomato as their fresh and palate-grounding ingredient, which worked equally well. The wine was also excellent and paired well with the salad.

very right or very wrong. Parlour’s burger served with any tap beer or cider for a total of $20 was a perfect example of how easy it is to get a great burger when you’re using quality, fresh ingredients.

The beef patty was well-cooked without being dry. The sauce had tiny pieces of gherkin in it which lent a zingy break to each mouthful. Finally, the cheese was of such good quality that it successfully accompanied and lifted the other flavours without overpowering them. It was a truly excellent burger. The only fault to be found with the meal was the fries – though advertised as shoe-string these were in fact thick cut, and the serving was perhaps too small. Other than that, the meal was faultless.

Imagine, high-end restaurant quality food with a drink for 20 bucks! Mythical.

Our visit to Parlour Wine Bar was a lovely dining experience, our service was excellent and timely, and the food was overwhelmingly well presented and put-together. Some of the best lunch food I’ve ever had in Canberra, especially at that price. Give it a try the next time you’ve invited the cute person from your tutorial to lunch, or just to treat yourself and your friends during your mid-week blues!

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

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Life & STYle

style on campus Each week Woroni goes out to scout and bring you the latest and hottest trends in campus fashion! Be on the look out for our fashion photographers in their exclusive Woroni campus style tees to get your photo taken!

I think that fashion can express how you are feeling

Paige (22) PhD Clinical Psychology Top - Showpo Bottom - French Boutique Shoes - Op Shop

My go to formula is: funky necklace + pop of colour + print

Ruohan (23) BA (Hons) / LLB (Hons) Top - Op Shop from Surry Hills Vinnies Pants - Zara Shoes - Birkenstocks Necklace - Flea market in Germany Headphones - Audiotechnica Watch - DKNY

-

Elson (27) Master of Commerce Jacket - Uniqlo Bottom - Zara Shoes - Oxford

[describes her fashion as] Korean style Kreenie (19) Top - Pull Bear Bag - hilpe Shoes - Nike

[describes her fashion as] young professional wannabe

Isabella (21) Commerce Arts Top - Forever new Bottom - Uniqlo Shoes - Jellybeans Glasses - Bailey Nelson Watch - Obaku

This is my swimming outfit

Oliver (21) PhB (Asia and Pacific) Top - Bennet surfboards Bottom - Nike Shoes - Adidas Bag - Patagonia

Life & Style

Issue 2, Vol. 67

44

Trove: One of Canberra’s Best-Kept Secrets Text: Alexandra Green A trove is defined as a ‘store of valuable or delightful things’. Showcasing 19 handcraft designers from around the ACT region, Canberra’s very own Trove certainly lives up to this definition.

Trove has always been a local shopping hotspot for me. On the second floor of Garema place, it is in my mind, one of Canberra’s best-kept secrets. The products on display range from jewellery, to calendars, to retro-themed cooking attire. In early December of last year, I had the pleasure of attending one of Trove’s regular after-hours events where I was able to browse their treasures with the added sustenance of cheese and crackers. What makes these events particularly special, however, is not the added allure of nibbles, but the presence of so many of the makers. The value of handmade goods lies in the personality, quality and thought that goes into their production – and this was reverently on display on this December night.

When you buy local goods you are not just buying a product; you are engaging with the story that lives behind it.

More often than not the journey of the maker is one from sideline hobby to fully-fledged business, and each story brings an extra level of personality and heart to your shopping experience.

Take, for example, Sharon Grant: the founder of ATP Creative Designs – a company that produces a variety of reusable lifestyle products. As I spoke Grant about her business, I discovered that

the idea started when she found herself hand-making a reusable calendar out of paint-chips as a creative outlet when a family member fell ill. Fast-forward three years and Sharon has undertaken a diploma in graphic design and expanded her range of organisational tools to include calendars, message boards, and study and semester planners. All of the products are designed by Sharon and feature a whiteboard finish, plus a high-quality liquid-chalk pen. I would highly recommend the message board for any share house as a perfect fit for dividing up household chores.

One of my favourite brands is Mischief Monday – a local business started by a mother-daughter duo which sells retro styled cooking and baking apparel.

The idea for the business was born from daughter Vanessa’s love for baking and desire to learn her mother’s seamstress abilities. Now, despite Vanessa’s interstate move to Canberra, their love for quirky new experiments in cooking attire has lead to their success at Trove.

The thing that I love about handmade products is the way in which their makers are not only concerned with the quality of their product, but also with how it affects and reflects the community they are part of. This aspect was apparent in every conversation I had on that December night.

I found particularly that this is reflected in the designs and manufacture of Sovata Millinery Designs. Owner Jade, who studied millinery and fashion design in Canberra, started from the principle that designers have a responsibility to minimise their waste production.

Minimising her impact has led Jade to think outside of the box in how she uses material, which is evident in how she has manipulated and artfully curved the leather in her flower headpieces and headbands.

Listening and talking to everyone at this event further instilled my appreciation for local hotspots such as Trove, as they give me the opportunity to really value what I buy. This appreciation is by no means lost on the makers whose products are displayed there. For many who work other jobs either part or full-time, Trove means they are able to showcase their creative outlets without the stress of going at it alone. Most

of all, every designer I spoke to stressed that the artistic support provided by the Trove community was irreplaceable. By the end of the night, I was not only overjoyed in stories I’d heard and the quality I’d seen but extremely proud of this city I have come to call home, for supporting local products and handmade goods, and allowing stores like Trove to flourish.

If you haven’t popped into Trove to browse the shelves, I urge you to do so.

They are at Shop 13, Level 1 Garema Centre, 70 Bunda Street, Canberra City.

45

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Life & Style

Regular Column

DEAR WORONI Text: Mary-Anne Nolan

Dear Woroni: Living in your body, do you feel liberated, restricted, or both?

As a kid, I used to run around nude, without a care in the world. When I was about 10, however, that all changed. I can almost pinpoint the moment when my body became something to be ashamed of – something to hide away.

I was at the creek near my family’s farmhouse with my mum and three younger siblings. They all waded into the water with nothing on, urging me to join them. All of a sudden I was embarrassed to take my clothes off, and I retreated to the car.

At the time, I wasn’t sure why I felt different. In retrospect, I realise that my emerging adolescent female body had become something to look at – something to be assessed. At school a week before, I overheard classmates teasing another girl behind her back for having large breasts and wearing a ‘crop top’. Three years later, that same girl who teased her was subject to comments about her lack of breast size.

From the moment I was 10, my body, and the bodies of my friends have been criticised, analysed and judged, by both men and women. From my personal experience, however, the harshest criticism I hear about women’s bodies, come from other women.

We call each other sluts, hoes and worse.

Aren’t we all supposed to be on each other’s side, helping each other liberate our bodies?

In a world where the odds are against us already, why are we not uniting forces and liberating each other? To answer the question, my body feels liberated when the women around me ensure that it does.

For Harriet Ling, however, her body is characterised by so much more than this.

Dear Harriet: Living in your body, do you feel liberated, restricted, or both?

It would be fair to say that I have, fundamentally, been restricted by my body. I have body issues – but not the type you might expect from a woman of my age. I am happy with my body shape and size; it wobbles in both the right and wrong places and it generally responds well to vegetables and fruit, and badly to chocolate and pasta. When summer comes around, however, it doesn’t really matter if I have been eating carbs or carrots for the last three months – I still face ever-averted gazes. At first glimpse, my body looks like it has been attacked by a small knifewielding maniac with a penchant for disfigurement. Big, bad and bold bikini scars stand raised to attention against my skin.

These knife-wielding maniacs in my life are all incredibly dear to me – despite their worrying God complexes – as each surgeon and doctor has played a pivotal role in curing the aggressive bone cancer I have had since adolescence. I am in remission now and am generally incredibly happy, but certain recent events have changed how I have felt living in my body.

2016 was the year I discovered that I cannot have children. Despite the fact that I really should have seen it coming, it sent me into crisis. Ifosfamide, etopiside, doxyrubicin, cyclophosphamide and other poisonous concoctions have been my toxic vices for years. Not only did they make my hair desert me, but they also pushed my womb and ovaries past the point of no return.

Logically speaking, I don’t think this is altogether a bad thing. Clearly my genetic make-up has not enjoyed much success, and perhaps this is exactly what Darwin had in mind with his theory of natural selection. Emotionally, however,

there is a whole womanly mountain of feelings to deal with when you are a 22-year-old who has gone through menopause before her own mother.

Whilst I love to joke that I am not suitable for motherhood – I barely remember to clothe and feed myself at the right times – I am in love with the idea of having my own children. As part of treatment I even tried IVF, but somehow during the process I was turned into a low-key psychopath who habitually cried into her mashed potato over dinner. While many dread wedding season, I dread the days of baby fever. While I am certain any child I adopt will generate the same feelings of love, it is the physical and emotional experience of pregnancy I crave. Of birthing life from my loins.

I will never see my mother’s face or grandfather’s nose in that child, and neither will my hypothetical future partner. I dread the moment I will have to tell this misguided boyfriend that should he stay with me, he will never bear his own natural children. I am the oldest child and view the likelihood of the pregnancy of my sisters with both elation and desperate envy. Being able to give birth is not how I defined my womanhood, but it is how I defined my future.

I must sound supremely ungrateful. I am alive. I am surrounded by beautiful friends and family, and I have had constant validation of love. But the same agents that have saved me, have also deprived me.

In answer to this question, yes – in many ways 2016 has left me feeling restricted by my body. We are in a day and age where we are for the most part free to make our own choices regarding children and birth, and yet I am not allowed this option. I am not less of a person for this, but I’m still figuring out what kind of a woman it makes me.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Life & STYle

46

Don’t Call Me Honey Text: Bec Kriesler

While being served by waiters at restaurants, or simply buying my groceries, I have been called darling, sweetie, sugar, love, dear, honey, pumpkin and once, even ‘possum’. Contrast that to the average pet names a man gets called, and I fall short. Tales of men being referred to by the local barrister as ‘sugar plum’, or a waiter placing a hand on the small of their back as they walk past are, to my knowledge at least, non-existent. I get ‘honey’ while John gets John – no assumed familiarity, no flashback to 1900s vocabulary, no pretence of this as anything more than a commercial exchange of goods. To me, the simple acknowledgement of a name seems to denote more respect, as if he was an equal, not a sweetie to be patronised.

I once brought this up in a casual conversation among friends and the response I got was, ‘You get used to it.’ But why should I?

It took me a long time to discern exactly why I felt so uncomfortable about being likened to edible treats and small bushy animals – it was the fact that men felt entitled to refer to me however they pleased even if it was demeaning and reductive.

Not a person, not a name, I was whatever object that took their fancy; all women were one featureless, interchangeable mass existing for the pleasure of men.

Equivalent to sugar.

The longer these names are passively accepted the more ingrained they become in our society. Today, if a woman dares to fight back and call someone out for this, they are labelled unreasonable because most other women are supposedly ‘fine with it’. But maybe these women are not fine with the status quo either; maybe they simply have no choice but to reconcile themselves with it. Maybe the previous 100 women couldn’t speak up because the man who demeaned them was in a position of power. Maybe they didn’t feel comfortable creating conflict when they were stuck in a locked uber. Or maybe they thought it simply wasn’t worth the effort and potential of

backlash since all they wanted was to take their groceries and leave the store.

Whatever the reason may be, most women will not call out the reductive terms that are thrust upon them, but that does not in any way mean they consent to be called whatever flirtatious pet name you think up.

My rule of thumb is simple: when in doubt, if the name you are calling someone is due to their gender, it’s probably best not to say it. It is these casual occasions of sexism that normalise demeaning language. Before some man interrupts me to tell me it’s harmless, I want to explain how far the ripples spread from a simple choice of words. Words do not exist in a vacuum – they are the first step in cementing behavioural patterns. These pet names are foundational to the language of domination. They reduce people to objects instead of respecting them as equals. When the language you use divides, and places women on a lower platform, actions that reflect this are the natural consequence. It is rare that calling a woman ‘babe’ is the only sexist behaviour a man will engage in.

Once you view yourself as superior or you manufacture this supposed intimacy in your mind, it influences the way you interact and treat women in daily life, from the use of sexist gestures to the performance of sexist actions. It is a power play even if it is unintentional.

So this is me calling it out. Maybe before now you could hide behind ignorance or good intentions, but no longer is it implicit – every pet name is sexist. When you peel back the layers you realise that every ‘sweetheart’ is a form of misogyny.

Watch your language: I am a human. I am not your pet. Do not refer to me as such.

47

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Life & STYle

Yashi Compares

A Pen Worth Writing For Text: Yashi Kotnala Yashi is undertaking a double degree in International Relations/ Environmental Studies and hails from Western Sydney.

Her column is like a Yelp review for things that aren’t restaurants and instead of useful information, it’s incoherent rambling for 800 words and she doesn’t even get promoted to ‘Top Contributor’ status.

I started this week’s review thinking I wouldn’t be able to write enough on how I feel about pens. Turns out, I have many opinions on our beloved sticks of ink. Also, for full disclosure, I really hate ballpoint pens and since I have to use the pens I bought for this review for the rest of the year I bought only gel, bar one.

Monday 20 February

Uni-ball Eye Rollerball Gel Pen UB-157 0.7mm

10am – Japan, your stationary is just as well-made as your cars. This pen is so smooth I think I’m almost going to enjoy this lecture.

10.08am – Say more things, Jeff. I’m ready to write the shit out of the ‘Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility’.

notes like some kind of Millennial scum.

Like Sisyphus, I am bound to hell.

6pm – More time was spent formatting my Word document than actually listening to the lecturer. I may only have 200 words to show for a threehour seminar but at least four important words have been italicised and, after careful deliberation, I’ve chosen to underline the title of this week’s lecture over making it bold. All things considered, I’m pretty chuffed with the aesthetic of my document. Next week, I aim to produce something of substance.

Thursday 23 February

Pilot G-2 Fine Retractable Gel Pen 0.7mm

10:15am – I’ve just spotted a smudge.

How wrong I was to think I had found perfection. We are all slaves to the neverending entropy of the Universe.

11.15am – Props for being a clicky pen.

Very pigmented, very smooth. Pen is flowing so well it’s a little annoying. My words keep joining up because I don’t lift my hand far enough off the page so now it just looks like I’ve written one word per line. Can a pen be so good at what it does that it’s just bad?

10.20am – I’ve been asked to copy down a graph that includes both letters and numbers. I take some comfort in knowing this ink is waterproof so at least in a few months’ time, when I look back at this page in the hope it will hold the key to passing my exam, I won’t be reminded of just how many tears were shed trying to replicate a simple graph in week one.

12.05pm – Am on the ninth page of a twenty-one-page reading. By now my middle finger should be just about ready to sever itself from the rest of my body. Thinking about how oddly fine my fingers feel, I look down and notice that this pen has a rubber grip. How thoughtful of you, Pilot. Still doesn’t justify charging me $4.48 per pen, but it’s a nice touch.

10.58am – I can’t find the lid.

1.13pm – After taking a well-deserved hour-long break to scroll through Instagram, I think I’m on track to finish this reading in anywhere between two and five hours.

10.59am – R.I.P. Uni-ball Eye Rollerball Pen UB-157.

11.02am – Walking to my next lecture I reflect on the pretty major design flaw that I, as the sole purchaser of this pen, have uncovered. Uni-ball, I will be contacting your head office with suggestions of improvement: i.e. please make your pens the clicky kind and more suitable for left handed writers.

Tuesday 21 February

A pen-less day.

5.33pm – I’ve forgotten my notebook for this lecture so I can’t review any pens. I’m forced to use my laptop to take

2pm - Much like the consistency of this article, this pen is quite blotchy. It’s also so fluid that it’s made my already horrific writing completely indecipherable.

Every letter involuntarily joins up to the next, so if you somehow conned your way into getting a pen license without being able to write in cursive then this may be the pen for you.

Saturday 25 February

BIC 4 Colours Fashion Retractable Ballpoint Pen

3.10pm – Five minutes into my lecture and this pen has almost induced an aneurism. After the age of 15 no one should be buying a pen that has to use the word ‘fashion’ to describe itself.

3.15pm – Who walks into Officeworks, looks at their plethora of pens on display and reaches for this actual stick of shit? If I was a lecturer and I saw my student writing with this pen, I would honestly consider it the highest form of disrespect. I’m sharing with you my knowledge of the world and you want to sit there and write it down in Powder Pink? Get it together.

Sunday 26 February

Pilot Frixion Ball Erasable Pen Fine 0.7mm 11.14am – Why does this exist? Be a pencil or be nothing.

Verdict: Even though it smudged a couple of times and I ended up losing the lid, the Uni-ball Eye was a stand out. It’s vibrant and doesn’t blotch, it’s smooth but controllable, and it feels very comfortable in my hand despite not having a rubber grip.

If you’re left handed though, don’t bother even buying pen or paper. Your note taking will always be restricted to the electronic realm.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Life & Style

48

Split Perspectives: Sobriety at College Do you find you are treated differently because of your personal Why is it that you choose not stance on to consume drinking? alcohol?

Woroni interviews Campbell Clapp and Rebecca Schneider

RS: I was first asked to drink beer when I was seven years old by an extended family member who thought I was too much of a stickler for rules. I didn’t have any desire whatsoever to accept the offer, so I didn’t, and I’ve found this has continued to be my experience with alcohol since. I’ve been offered drinks and pressured to change my stance on drinking by family, friends and peers consistently since I was about 15, but I’ve always resisted that pressure. My main reason for not drinking has always been that I’ve never actually wanted to drink, I’ve just been told I should want to.

CC: I never wanted to be the person who got drunk and acted like an idiot in front of my friends. I wanted to be a good drinker. I don’t mean that I wanted to be able to drink a lot – I mean that I wanted to have a good relationship with alcohol.

But for my first three years of ‘drinking’, I was definitely not that person. I felt dependent on alcohol, and I felt as though I needed alcohol to have fun. I did and said things that were not how I truly felt and, at times, I felt my drunk actions taking their toll on my relationships with people I loved and respected, as well as on me. So, in December of my first year at university, I decided to try 12 months without drinking.

RS: Surprisingly, my parents have been the people most disappointed by and opposed to my decision to stay sober, because they believe that doing so will be socially isolating. In high school, this was probably true.

In university, however, I’ve found being a non-drinker far from as isolating as it was in high school. Initially, it was a little awkward attending residential college social nights where the majority of other attendees were drinking, but I’ve found that the more I attend, the more I get used to it.

CC: For me, the strangest thing about not drinking has been telling people and listening to their responses. They vary from ‘Wow! That’s awesome’, basking in the martyrdom of my sobriety, to a very circular conversation in which the phrase ‘But, why?’ is repeated at least three times. There’s also the classic assumption, ‘So you don’t go out now?’ Essentially, I think each of these epitomises why I felt the need to stop drinking in the first place. While there was a specific event that caused me to start my year of sobriety two weeks earlier than planned, it was the fact that I found myself espousing the idea that a sober night is a responsible night, or

a sober night is a night in, that made me really think about my relationship with alcohol.

Do you find yourself able to still have fun on a night out?

RS: There comes the point where you realise that most people either don’t care or don’t notice that you aren’t drinking. For those that really do believe I don’t know how to have fun because I choose to stay sober – well, let’s just accept that we have a different idea of what fun is!

CC: Still early in my year, I’ve found that going out without drinking is at times not as fun. But the fact that I still think this is why I haven’t given up on my year of sobriety yet. But being a self-conscious person I still notice the weird stares I get because I look like an idiot when I dance, I don’t attempt cartwheels as often, and I don’t come up with conversation starters as well people who’ve already had a few. I guess I’m just working towards being at a point where I don’t consider the amount of fun I have had as reflective of whether or not I am drinking. At a college where lots of the events are structured around drinking, it is an interesting experience being sober. I drink a lot more water because I feel like I should be drinking something. I also don’t spend as much money because I don’t buy drinks or drunk Maccas at the end of a night, and, best of all, I don’t wake up the next morning with any regrets.

What’s one thing you would like people to understand about sobriety?

RS: One thing I do still find, even with people that accept that I don’t drink, is that people want me to have an interesting reason. Often, I give the reason that I don’t think alcohol would interact well with my long-term mental illness which, although true, has never actually been a consideration as to why I don’t drink. To me, that justification has always seemed to imply that I have wanted to drink, but have chosen not to anyway to keep my mental health under control. That’s not the case. Drinking is so central to Australian culture – especially in the rural area I grew up in – that a lot of people I meet can’t understand the concept of not wanting to drink. But for me, it’s always been just that: I don’t want to drink alcohol, so I don’t.

CC: I think it’s important to note that my answers here are all based around the idea that drinking is always negative. It’s definitely not, and I have countless role models around college of people who have healthy relationships with alcohol. But I also see numerous examples of the people who feel like they have to drink to fit in, like they have to be drunk to be honest with people, and have to be passed out or vomiting in a gutter before admitting they don’t have a healthy relationship with alcohol.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

49

Life & Style

Doing You

The Universality of Butt Sex Text: Phoebe Hamra

The great thing about butts, and specifically buttholes, is that everybody has one – making anal sex a rather universal concept.

Like all sex, there are many ways to experience and play around with anal sex.

There are varying degrees of intensity, intimacy, pain and pleasure to be selected and experimented with. Scientifically speaking, anal sex can definitely be pleasurable. There are a bunch of nerve endings in and around the anus that really like to be stimulated, plus with penetrative anal sex, there’s indirect stimulation of the prostate, or the clitoris. However, with so many sensitive nerve endings and a sphincter that tends to tighten as a reflex, anal sex can of course be painful, and that is often – but not always – a turn-off.

If experiencing pain or discomfort during sex makes your skin crawl, then penetrative anal sex might not be for you. If you do want to try some ass play with your partner, then anilingus – oral sex focused around stimulating the anus – is not at all painful or invasive, but still very intimate. Communicating pleasure in this situation is especially important for less experienced couples, especially as it can be hard at first to know if you’re doing the right thing down there.

If that’s a little too intimate for you and your partner, another less intimidating way to get into ass play is to use sex toys. Vibrators are especially great for relaxing the butt and stimulating nerve endings. Sex toys take the pressure off both the giver and receiver, leading the way to further relaxation and pleasure.

Plus, if you’re partnerless or your partner doesn’t want to play with your butt, you can just use them on yourself!

Penetrative anal sex – whether it’s via penis, dildo, fingers, or whatever your creative mind comes up with – requires patience, lube and condoms (or latex gloves). Start slow – like real slow – and make sure the receiver is thoroughly

aroused and relaxed as you begin. Use an appropriate amount of your lubricant of choice – water based lubes work well with condoms but is easily absorbed by the body so will need reapplication. But remember, this isn’t a slip ’n’ slide. Remember that, like a vagina, a butthole is a delicate balance of bacteria that does not need or want any sort of outside infection – so start clean and wear a goddamn condom (or latex gloves)! And for vagina owners, unless you want to be drinking gallons of cranberry juice and crying while peeing – never go from ass to pussy without changing your form of protection or washing up first.

Anal sex is a contradiction of extremes. It can be extremely pleasurable but also extremely painful. It can be extremely intimate or extremely distancing when one person is not enjoying it or when used as a device in role-playing sex.

This means that communication is especially important because it is so easy to tip to from one extreme to another.

Aside from being something exciting to play with in sex, anal sex is an important social leveller. Anyone can be fucked up the ass.

All butthole possessing humans be they queer, straight, male, female, intersex or any variation of the sort can experience the beauty and wonder of anal sex.

Seriously, if the thought of a magnificent global anal orgy doesn’t warm your heart and get your juices flowing, I don’t know what will.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Environment

50

menstrual cups will they be your cup of tea?

Text: Amelia Barclay Illustration: Chloe Tredea By now I’m sure most reading this have heard of the ubiquitous menstrual cup: the bell-shaped period-catching device taking the menstrual world by storm.

Extolled in articles across the internet as an environmentally-friendly alternative to pads and tampons, the product is now offered by numerous brands – JuJu, Moon and Diva to name but a few.

One. Save the planet, one period at a time On average, one person will use 11,000 tampons in their lifetime, contributing 125kg of waste to landfill that takes centuries to break down. That doesn’t even include the environmental impact of the manufacturing process, which includes packaging, transportation, and the pesticides used to grow cotton that can pollute water and harm aquatic wildlife. As if women need another reason to feel ashamed of their periods.

Reluctantly, I decided to give it a try, shelling out $55 for a Juju I didn’t expect to like or even use. It arrived in a floral box and vibrant purple drawstring bag: even cups aren’t immune from the ultra-feminine advertising favoured by the feminine hygiene industry.

Without wanting to sound overly dramatic or Dr Phil-esque: it was a changing day in my life, and I haven’t so much as looked at a tampon since.

When I first heard about them from my environmentally savvy housemate, truthfully – I baulked. It sounded like yet another environmentally-friendly product that I would feel obligated to use, like spiralizers, shower-timers or kale: virtuous but unrealistic products for a type-lazy personality like myself.

Sure there were some (hic)cups: the tail was too long, as were my fingernails - please don’t repeat my mistakes - but before long I was a menstrual-cup pro. In true Buzzfeed-style, here are my top four reasons for joining the menstrual cup movement:

Two. $$$

Three.

Health Benefits

Four.

Sheer convenience

Assuming that one month of sanitary products costs you around $10, a menstrual cup pays for itself after six months and apparently lasts up to 10 years. Even if you choose to replace it annually, that’s still a 50 percent saving. Not to mention the GST on sanitary products adding an extra $1000 to the cost of menstruation over the course of your lifetime. But hey, it’s a ‘luxury’ product – unlike condoms of course.

Tampons are effective, but indiscriminate: they’ll absorb anything and everything to try to keep you free from leakage. Because menstrual cups are designed to catch rather than absorb, you only get rid of the stuff that actually needs to go, leaving you with a happier and healthier vagina. Sweetening the deal is the fact that you can finally rid yourself of TSS associated guilt and anxiety for leaving tampons in all night (don’t judge me, we’ve all done it). TSS isn’t impossible, but is extremely rare with a menstrual cup.

It turns out menstrual cups are a lazy person’s dream. You only have to change it two to three times a day, and for most, they are leak-proof all night.

With a morning and evening twice-aday routine, it also rarely means I have to change them in a public bathroom, thereby avoiding the ever-overstuffed sanitary bin nightmare. Even if you replace it once a year, you save yourself 11 trips to the supermarket (or 12 if you order online) and innumerable panicked ‘omg where the f*ck did I put my spare tampon’ moments.

So what are you waiting for? Join the menstrual cup movement and start reaping the environmental (and personal) rewards.

51

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Environment

start with your plate Text: Ruby Smyth Illustration: Katie Ward

There is a single industry that is responsible for 51 percent of worldwide carbon dioxide emissions, totalling more than every transport system in the world combined. According to the Food Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations, this industry is also responsible for 65 percent of nitrous oxide emissions, a greenhouse gas with 296 times the global warming potential of carbon dioxide.

In the US, this industry uses 55 percent of total water consumed. Further, the documentary Cowspiracy revealed that this industry is the ‘leading cause of species extinction, ocean dead zones, water pollution and habitat destruction.’

This industry is animal agriculture.

It’s funny, isn’t it? Eating is such a personal thing.

You associate spaghetti bolognese with your childhood, not with rainforest destruction and greenhouse gas emissions. Ice cream is a necessity for week 13 of every semester, not a water polluter and top methane gas producer. Fish and chips are the quintessential Aussie summertime dinner, not a contributor to the projected fishless oceans we could see by 2048.

I think most of us are averse to the idea that what we eat is intrinsically ethical – eating has been a sacred, joyful and bonding experience that humans have shared for millennia. Around the world, cultures are tied together by food. When backpacking in Malaysia over the summer, I was told that I would never taste a true laksa without shrimp paste and fish sauce, and would thus, never fully appreciate the Malaysian experience of food.

I’m now living and working in Germany, and I have to accept that while I can eat all the pretzels and potatoes my carb-obsessed heart could wish for, I must pass on the wiener schnitzels, white sausages, and coffee cakes that Germans are proud to call their specialities.

Food is integral to culture, family and history – it’s been this way for a very, very long time.

Perhaps this is why, in the discussion about climate change and global warming, one of the biggest contributors is

often left out of the conversation. Acknowledging that eating fewer animal products – or cutting them out completely – is essential to saving our planet is not only scary to admit, but is often met with fierce resistance. You can ask someone to spend $20,000 on solar panels, sell their car, and take pitifully short lukewarm showers, but don’t ask them to buy lentils instead of steak. That is not just offensive, it’s threatening.

As a six-year-long vegan, I am by no means judging this reaction. I understand the vegan stereotypes – crazy, judgmental, annoying, pushy and ultimately ‘missing out’ – because I understand how much food means to people.

But I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to start a conversation that reframes how we should think about food. Take for example, the fact that it takes 2400 gallons of water to produce a pound of meat, compared to the 25 gallons it takes to produce a pound of wheat. By swapping out meat for seitan (a very high protein meat substitute made from wheat), tofu or beans, you could save more water than you would by not showering for six months.

If you choose to eat animal products, you have to accept that your choices may not be ethical. They are understandable choices because of the society we live in and culture we are surrounded by, but they are not the most ethical.

The question of privilege also ties into the conversation about veganism – wealth, whiteness and other various forms of privilege offer greater accessibility to the fresh food and information that makes veganism a possibility. I would argue, however, that it is meat-eating that is the greatest privilege of all.

Rising water levels caused by carbon emissions will see poor island nations disappear first. The fact that animal agriculture uses up to 33 percent of the world’s fresh water may not impact us in Australia, but it does affect poverty-stricken developing countries who don’t have easy access to clean drinking water. The 91 percent of Amazon destruction that animal agriculture is responsible for has not hit us yet in our air-conditioned flats, located ten minutes walk from Woolies, but the Maccas burger you eat at 3am after a night out does contain flesh that likely comes from there. It’s a different story for the

impoverished and neglected communities that built their livelihood and culture around the forest, hundreds of years before it was ever touched by European hands.

Most of us are in privileged enough positions to be able to find good quality fruits and vegetables for low prices and buy bags of lentils, rice and tofu instead of chicken breasts and lamb chops.

Doesn’t sound appealing? That’s okay.

The Cruelty Free Shop now open on Mort Street in Braddon has got you covered, with everything from Ben & Jerry’s vegan ice cream (salted caramel fudge is my personal favourite), to vegan fish fillets and dairy-free cheeses that taste so good they fooled my omnivorous 17year old brother. Choosing an ethical diet and eating your favourite things has never been easier.

I’m not asking you to give up your culture, or your favourite foods, or your money. I’m not even asking you to go fully vegan (although, if you did want to, that would be awesome). I’m just asking that you think about the consequences your seemingly personal actions have on a planet that we all share. Some easy swaps – putting lentils in your bolognese instead of beef, or getting your morning latte with soy or almond milk instead – will go a long way towards helping preserve our precious environment.

Environment

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Greener Economy

sparking change

Text: Lydia J Kim Lydia is just a city gal hoping to make the world a greener and fairer place! Her column ‘Greener Economy’ will talk about some of the economic and political solutions that will help create a more equitable society as well as more livable conditions for current and future generations.

At the 2012 World Future Energy Summit, former UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon described energy as ‘the golden thread that connects economic growth, social equity, and environmental sustainability.’

The unfortunate truth is that energy poverty exists. Consequently, many still struggle to meet basic living standards.

Though two billion people have gained access to electricity in the last three decades, in certain countries there are many issues still to be addressed. Death by intoxication from firewood, biofuel and charcoal during cooking is still common, refrigerators needed to preserve vital vaccines are inaccessible, and light that enables students to study and ensures the safety of civilians in the dark is almost non-existent.

There is clearly a correlation between general poverty and energy poverty.

Those living on less than two dollars daily have low electrification rates and a corresponding low access to health services, public safety and education.

Approximately 1.1 billion have limited access to electricity, while two in five worldwide lack access to clean cooking and heating, causing more than 4.3 million deaths each year – more than double what is caused by malaria and HIV/ AIDS combined.

These humanitarian concerns are coupled with a reliance on non-renewable energy sources that will be unable to address future energy needs. Today, we have four leading sources of electricity: coal, natural gas, nuclear energy and hydroelectricity. As the World Bank’s latest data suggests, a dominant 81 percent of the world’s energy is produced from fossil fuels – a figure that has remained unchanged during the last thirty years. Supplying nations with fossil fuel-sourced energy as opposed to clean energy creates many problems: externalised health and environmental costs, expensive long-term power purchase agreements and higher transmission-distribution costs in rural areas are only a few.

What energy-poor countries need is not more dirty energy, but a greater investment in clean energy. While fossil-fuel sources can be readily implemented, renewables have practical benefits over non-renewables in the context of developing nations, as they can be installed quickly and cheaply. The environmental benefits of hydro, wind and solar are also an obvious plus.

Unfortunately, however, green changes do not appeal to those who crave the easy wealth coal and oil offer. Having to restructure an entire company demands time and money. When government pressure or incentives are absent, environmental concerns are regarded as just another obstacle to maximising profit.

This is exemplified by the Carmichael mine project proposed by India’s Adani Group. Situated in Central Queensland, it would be the world’s largest coal reserve, generating 4.7 tonnes of greenhouse gas emissions annually – nine times Australia’s total emission in 2014.

The Federal Government partly justifies the mine based on the fact that it supports global development goals. However, the choice to go with short-term, environmentally damaging investments jeopardises the health of populations in India and their ability to benefit from cleaner energy options.

Though funding towards renewable energy production methods may require more time, strong energy foundations will ensure stable future economic growth and better public health outcomes. For example, a drastic drop in the number of respiratory disease and cancer patients from the availability of clean energy will allow governments to reallocate public health resources to areas such as infrastructure and education.

Most importantly, countries with clean energy foundations attract extensive foreign investment and give small business owners a chance to thrive without having to pay eco-tax.

The economic benefits of installing renewable energy production plants are immeasurable, especially when the costs of renewable energy technologies are falling in many energy-poor nations.

Global investment amounted to a whole $285.9 billion in 2015, despite a competitive drop in fossil fuel prices and a decline in USD. With the knowledge that renewable energy is the smarter option, nations have begun taking the renewables route. China contributed to 61 percent of global investment ($56.3 billion) with growing public demand for clean energy and a better quality of life. Meanwhile, India recently opened the world’s largest solar

power plant and by 2030, the government aims to produce 40 percent of its power from non-fossil fuel sources.

On a smaller scale, rural villages in sub-Saharan Africa are benefitting from localised mini-grids - powered by renewable sources - that have become the cheapest provider of electricity. Recently, the International Renewable Energy Agency has even granted Mauritania a five-million-dollar loan to help fund installation.

On a practical level, energy conservation strategies like retrofitting buildings through the use of efficient technologies (especially high-insulation materials) not only reduce energy costs but also create new jobs across multiple industries worldwide.

There is hope that recent global trends will continue. Governments of developing nations can no longer fall victim to realpolitik and allow tax breaks and payouts to fossil-fuel industries. Nigeria, Africa’s largest oil-producing country, is simultaneously the second poorest in energy. Even if international funding is required, it is more crucial than ever that renewable energy production and distribution replace old technologies. Poverty alleviation goes hand in hand with clean energy distribution and benefits us all.

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Environment

KEEP CALM AND (DON’T) CARRY ON UNDERSTANDING CLIMATE EXTREMES WITH DR SOPHIE LEWIS Text: Matthew Teh and Grace Dudley

It’s a familiar story. We just had a heatwave in Canberra, and it’s almost as though we’ve already forgotten the link it has to the changing climate.

The catastrophe of the 2009 Black Saturday Bushfires is forever branded into the memory of Australians. News reports were emblazoned by a hellish red and Parliament fuelled by the political firestorm of bushfire policy. Something that was lost amidst the flames, however, was the fact that the number of deaths associated with the heatwave that came in the week before actually resulted in twice as many deaths as caused by the Black Saturday bushfires.

The forgotten heatwave is indicative of a need to change the public’s understanding of extreme heat events.

Dr Sophie Lewis, a climate scientist and Research Fellow at the ANU Fenner School, examines heatwaves and other extreme patterns of weather in Australia, and assesses whether these events are influenced by human-induced global warming – which is increasingly the case. Dr Lewis recently published a research paper which found that by 2025, the heatwaves we are currently experiencing will be the ‘new normal’.

It is fair to say that Australians are slightly obsessed with the weather – but they are also rather forgetful of it. The heat is something we are accustomed to, and our resilience to it almost forms a part of our national identity. The challenge, says Dr Lewis, is that ‘Australia’s objectively variable weather’ means heat extremes are less likely to be perceived by the public as being associated with long-term, human-induced climate change.

So how do we connect human-induced heat extremes to the large-scale public consciousness on climate change when Australians are already so used to heat waves?

Throughout our discussion, Dr Lewis highlighted preparedness as crucial to developing a public consciousness of acceptance towards the need to adapt to heat extremes. The correlation between public health and heatwaves needs to be made apparent, such that a heatwave becomes ‘treated on the scale as a snow storm in the Northern Hemisphere’.

Australia remains behind the rest of the world – where, in countries like France, intense campaigns have been held in response to a catastrophic loss of life due to excess heat.

This is also pertinent in an ANU context. Many of you will recall the flurry of emails disseminated by the ANU about emergency health during the heatwave on the 11 February weekend. Dr Lewis believes that ‘if we find that the type of heatwave we had a couple of weeks ago is influenced by climate change, then we know that they will happen more frequently and more intensely in the future.’ So, if this degree of heat will likely become a reality for undergraduates throughout their working lives, the dialogue has to revolve around what extremes we should be preparing for, and how.

Though preparedness and public awareness is arguably getting better, Dr Lewis suggests that Tasmania and New Zealand’s South Island are the best places to move to in order to remain in optimal climate conditions (much to the chagrin, one can imagine, of the high-flying mainland folk).

Our conversation inevitably touched on the political landscape of Australia, and Dr Lewis acknowledged dealing with heatwaves to be a ‘politically contentious issue’. The politics of Australia’s economic growth – mining and carbon emissions – becomes messily tied up with the essential issue of saving lives and preventing deaths. In analogous circumstances, intense government-led campaigns against smoking were won

through the canvassing of public health effects. This is where large scale responses to climate change lie. To address scary and complicated climate extremes amidst political moratoria the meaningful fight, Dr Lewis says, rests with changing policy, however difficult it may be.

We wonder what drives climate scientists amidst these political challenges.

For Dr Lewis – aside from an utmost passion for her work – it is ‘motivation by necessity.’ It is the real life applicability of climate science to the everyday lives of every single person on the planet that fuels her passion. To her, climate change feels like the most important problem – particularly when poverty and inequity are further exacerbated by it.

What also drives Dr Lewis’s passion for climate science is the infectious enthusiasm garnered from members of the community, and not just from within the university environment. As part of her science community engagement work, Dr Lewis fondly recounts her work with kindergarten students, who are infinitely curious and eager to learn more about science.

It is also this younger generation, Dr Lewis says, that will push for and see gender equality in STEM disciplines.

Yes, women climate scientists are faced with the same tough choices as women in other professions: the crossroads of securing more grants and short-term contracts, or giving up careers to raise a family. Dr Lewis, however, refers to the climate science community as especially supportive. She recalled a recent climate conference that explicitly addressed gender equity through policies related to appropriate conference behaviour and childcare considerations – a signal that positive change is on its way.

So where to from here for Dr Lewis?

The path for the future is determining just how bad these climate events will get so that preparation can occur before

the extreme weather hits. Us non-climate scientists easily lose track of the big-picture trajectory of the climate. It falls to people like Dr Lewis to aid policy, determine the scale of events, and facilitate the thinking that leads to effective preparation.

How does one remain so level-headed and optimistic when unpacking the wicked problem of anthropogenic climate change? Dr Lewis refers to a bottom-up approach that fosters excitement and an opportunity to build the ‘future we want, instead of generating fear by framing the risks of the future’. She refreshingly suggests that ‘it’s not about what we have to give up,’ but rather, about building a better-connected society that more equally benefits us all.

Student movements, and local and state scale responses to climate issues have been most effective in doing this, says Dr Lewis.

After abundant thanks, we left the interview feeling surprisingly optimistic. The tangibility of what the future holds, all thanks to Dr Lewis’s research and the corresponding solutions through policy and preparation, are at odds with the feeling of apocalyptic foreboding (and contra to the quasi-clickbait ‘Hell on Earth’ articles propagated during the 11 February weekend heatwave). The way forward is lucid when unobscured by sensationalist reports. All that remains is the search for small-scale solutions in the absence of political action, and a long-term engagement with the reality of our future.

Science

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A Call for Science in Post-Truth Politics Text: Aqeel Akber Illustration: Julia Hammer

Given a problem, you can only solve it with the information available to you.

The solution is then added to your bank of information. If you dedicate enough time and people to solving a complex problem, however, contradictory ideas will emerge.

What follows when someone is confronted with an idea that contradicts their own is ultimately up to that individual as a person. Nonetheless, one of the first decisions is universal: you can either hold your solution as inviolable, or not.

A conflicting solution is new information. To dismiss new information without evaluation, and to hold your solution inviolable is a non-constructive position. It is equivalent to saying, ‘I will reject new information provided to me, my solution is the best.’

An alternative position is not to give up on your solution, but instead attempt to find the most widely accepted of all solutions. You acknowledge a solution is a point of view and not reality, and you might say that it attempts to model it. You can test any new information against your model and adjust it so that it can encompass anything that contradicts it. Doing so creates a new model that is self-consistent. The more information your model is consistent with, the more confident you can be that it matches reality. This is the scientific method.

The scientific method is our most powerful tool in the pursuit of knowledge. It provides objective, verifiable and quantifiable solutions. With this in mind, go back to that introduction and replace ’solution’ with ‘policy’. You will find that applying the scientific method generates robust policy that is supported by evidence.

By its very nature, science is non-partisan. For this reason, ethical scientists – those who follow the scientific method – are quite possibly the least partisan group of individuals on the planet. This, however, does not mean apolitical.

Most scientists are publically funded.

Unfortunately for these non-partisan, publically funded individuals, the nature of Australian politics is trending toward hyper-partisanism. It’s near impossible to make a public political statement without being flagged as partisan, especially while being supported by public funding. The most concerning part of this is that to be flagged as partisan is to say you’re going against the scientific method, an idea which is offensive for an ethical scientist.

It’s no wonder why so few scientists are politically active.

This is a problem because scientists have always contributed to politics, albeit behind the guise of research institutes and professional societies. The results – solutions – are presented directly to politicians. Yet, when results contradict the inviolable party line, they’re mostly dismissed.

As a voting Australian, this troubles me. Who are our elected representatives working for if their party line means dismissing the most robust solution to a problem?

As a scientist, herein lies a frustration with public policy: we are faced with a catch-22 where we can try to present findings for policy makers and see nothing happen, or try to wield power with my vote and similarly watch it be consumed by partisan politics. All because being scientifically minded is not what we demand our elected representatives

to be. And why not? The scientific method is simple and it gets the best results for the most people.

On 22 April I will be marching in Reconciliation Place as part of the Science March in Canberra. The Science March initiative is not about any particular issue; it’s about how we approach all issues. The march will demand a fundamental shift in our approach to public policy, and an increased focus on scientific literacy.

Don’t be fooled, this is not your ordinary overly negative or partisan political march. Science doesn’t care for that.

We believe that scientific knowledge is crucial for the future of our society and we’re going to celebrate it. In front of Questacon there will be science demonstrations for everyone: ranging from optical illusions to scientific debates, talks, and ask-me-anything sessions. The

Science March in Canberra is a family friendly event.

In addition, the march will also provide the opportunity to not only talk to, but stand with hundreds of actual living scientists from Canberra. Thousands will stand across Australia in the eight Science Marches occurring in other major cities on the same day. It will add up to hundreds of thousands by the time you include all 326 Science Marches happening globally.

We all share one thing: a passion and belief in the scientific method. We want to see more of it in our future, and more of it used to better society.

For more info, follow @ScienceMarchCBR on Twitter or visit marchforsciencecanberra.org.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Science

Science Life

The Cinematic Scientist Text: Imogen Brown Welcome to Science Life: A discussion of the weird and wonderful intersection between science and our day-to-day lives.

To kick off this week’s column I’m going to ask you, my readers, to think of a movie or TV show with a scientist in it.

Now, let me ask you a few questions. Is the scientist Caucasian? Are they male?

Are they middle aged? Chances are that your scientist ticked at least two of these three boxes.

It’s not just me making up these criteria.

An analysis of 222 movies in the journal Public Understanding of Science showed that 96 percent of scientists were Caucasian, 82 percent were male, and 40 percent were aged between 35 and 49.

These statistics might have been accurate in the 70s, but here in 2017 they’re out of touch with reality. Follow #actuallivingscientist and you’ll see that researchers come in a range of genders, ethnicities and ages. Some wield test tubes, or petri dishes or cheetah poo. Some have families, others are single and many – like the rest of us – just wish they could marry Benedict Cumberbatch.

I’m not sure why modern film writers resort to these outdated demographics.

I don’t know why scientists featured in

film are either socially inept dorks, or power hungry maniacs that go by the name Dr McFrankenDoom. It would be easy to say that the writers are subconsciously enacting petty revenge against their high school chemistry teachers for forcing them to tie their emo fringes back – but I suspect it goes deeper than that.

If you work your way back, you’ll see that the antisocial and power-hungry scientist character pre-dates movies. Before Frankenstein cried ‘It’s alive!’ in the eponymous 1931 movie, Mary Shelley’s original 1818 novel – subtitled ‘A Modern Prometheus – was published. Prometheus himself was a Greek mythology figure who meddled with the creation of life and was severely punished for it.

And guess what? Both Victor and Prometheus are traditionally depicted as white and male. Our modern day writers are following a tradition based in longstanding cultural norms.

future sport stars and lawyers. Whilst the latter have Cathy Freeman and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, we have to be content with white men who want to destroy the world with death rays.

This is why films like 2016’s acclaimed Hidden Figures are so very important.

By breaking the cycle and showing scientists who are women of colour – and amazing mathematicians – the audience is being told that brilliance is not a trait exclusive to any ethnicity, gender or sexuality. We are shown that there are scientists from minority groups out there who are rightly appreciated for the talents that they bring and the hard work that they do. When future scientists can see a relatable role model who has made that same step, they will be more likely to do the same. I am not saying that this will break down research barriers overnight – it is just a step, but it is a crucial step.

I encourage you to break this cycle. It’s not only unrealistic, but it’s also harmful. Role models are just as important for the would-be-scientists as they are for

Art: Yvonne Yong

Business & economics

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Exchange Rate 2: Electric Boogaloo dollars or any other currency. International students who are currently studying in Australia may leave to go to other countries for their higher education, and those who plan are intending to study overseas may choose other countries when the time comes to make a choice.

You might have to say goodbye to some of your closest international friends.

How will ANU source all those fun pictures of ‘multicultural friends’ sitting smiling on the lawn smiling then?

Text: Wayne Wang Illustration: Caitlin Setnicar

Have you ever cared about exchange rates or the value of Australian dollar?

For many, that answer will be no – but you should, the impacts it has on your daily life are too significant to ignore.

Admittedly, many of us only physically deal with the exchange rate when we are travelling overseas and exchanging our dollars into some foreign currency.

For anywhere between a day and a few months we are forced to think about the exchange rate every time money is spent.

We are also forced to consider the real cost of goods when we are internet shopping and, to our dismay, realise that the prices are all listed in USD.

Domestic students would also be affected, of course. In contrast to international students, however, domestic students would often pay lower prices for goods. The most noticeable change in price would be from imports. When the Australian dollar appreciates, more internationally imported products can be bought with the same amount of Australian dollar. The funny thing is, that imported goods aren’t that exciting or rare – you run into these goods more often than you’d think. A study conducted in 2015 found that only 41 percent of Coles, 39 percent of Woolworths and 13 percent of Aldi products were sourced from local suppliers. So after Malcolm interfered you would see price cuts all over the place – local supermarkets would be bursting with the fluro glow of ‘reduced price’ labels.

But the value of Australian dollar affects us in many ways, and offers countless opportunities in its fluctuations.

Consider, for example, this hypothetical scenario: Malcolm Turnbull has been conspiring with the Reserve Bank of Australia (RBA) to do some funny business with the economy, and overnight, the value of the Australian Dollar suddenly becomes equal to the American Dollar. A massive 30 percent increase.

Just imagine!

Travelling overseas would also become cheaper for domestic students. This would be the time to travel if you wanted to maximise on the things you could do and get with your savings. That luxurious hotel might no longer be out of reach, and you would be able to purchase significantly more goods and souvenirs, and afford the extra luggage allowance on the way home. In the future remember to time your travels remember to choose a time when Australian dollar appreciates to go on a trip. If you time it well, you can save so much more money.

From a dull economist’s point of view, this is really not a favourable situation for the Australian economy. Australia already had an awful trade deficit of $36.8 billion in the financial year of 2015-16, and the appreciation of Australian dollar would simply worsen this. If the value of the Australian dollar increases, imports become relatively cheaper because Australian dollar can be exchanged for more foreign currency. So, while we can buy more of those terrible American beers – I’m looking at your Bud Light, Australian exports, like that delicious Aussie beef, would become more expensive for foreigners.

As a result, imports would increase and exports would fall, worsening the trade deficit. This could, at some point, also lead to an increase in unemployment and a decrease economic growth – both of which are unfavourable outcomes for the economy and the country as whole.

Now, with all that economic mumbo-jumbo out of the way, how would Malcolm’s meddling affect us innocent, kind, loving students?

Let’s begin with international students, as they are most at risk of adverse effects. Parity with the US dollar could be disastrous for anyone studying abroad in Australia, as all the expenses they

Now that you know that you’re inevitably going to be affected by the value of the Australian Dollar, and how you can use it to your advantage, I hope you pay more attention to the newspaper when it comes to exchange rates.

The exchange rate – without Malcolm’s meddling – will always affect you, me and most definitely the cost of coffee at Coffee Grounds. So next time you meet someone from the RBA, tell them that you never want to see a Bud Light hit the supermarkets and that you want to go to Vietnam for the summer. face domestically would be increased by 30 percent. For example, prior to the shift in the exchange rate, a textbook that is AU$100 would be US$77. After appreciation, however, while still costing AU$100, the textbook would cost US$100, which is a 30 percent increase from US$77.

Research from HSBC in 2014 showed that Australia had the highest annual fee for international students, reaching US$42,093 a year. This was followed by the United States at US$36,564 per year and the United Kingdom at US$35,045.

If the Australian dollar appreciates, university fees would be even higher in US

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Business & economics

Islands of Tolerance Text: Sara Gillespie

New immigration policies introduced in the past eight months have inspired nothing but shame for nations across the globe. The bomb that was Brexit dropped on an unsuspecting population during late-June 2016, and just as the aftermath was dissipating, a cataclysmic event ensued with the US election of Donald John Trump as the United States of America’s 45th president. Trump sprang into action the moment he was sworn into the presidency with a staggering number of executive orders and presidential memoranda. Among the newly signed orders was a 90-day ban on immigration to the US from seven Muslim-majority countries, a terrifying indefinite ban on Syrians entering the US and a Border Security Enforcement order detailing the construction of a wall on the southern border of the US. Though many of Trump’s actions exhibit concerning levels of nationalism, these examples are particularly heinous for human migration and inter-country relations.

Trump’s dominion has not been greeted with open arms, so much as with millions of arms interlocked in protest.

Facebook Vice President Regina Dugan swiftly joined the fight, encouraging a 90-day flying boycott through the website nofly90.com; CEO Mark Zuckerburg belittled the order in a Facebook post, commenting that Trump should keep the nation safe from ‘people who actually pose a threat’. Other big brands have since spoken out to denounce the memorandum: Nike CEO Mark Parker

and Ford CEO Mark Field have insisted the order threatens company values.

Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz sent a letter to employees just nine days after the inauguration, detailing plans to hire 10,000 refugees over a 5-year period and vowing to support Mexican partner Alsea throughout Trump’s reign. A uninformed onlooker might see these proclamations as appalled companies doing everything they can to help innocent political victims, but anyone with business insight knows no action by a company has pure motives.

The face behind the company may truly feel remorse, but the corporate entity will see only opportunity.

Steve Jobs’ father was a Syrian immigrant to America in the 1950s. Tim Cook, Apple’s CEO, was quick to capitalise on this fact, making a brilliantly strategic statement that condemned the immigration ban. In support of Apple’s figurehead he asserted, all in just 15 words: ‘Apple would not exist without immigration, let alone thrive and innovate the way we do.’ Apple has always been a fan of minimal advertising, with

short, powerful slogans, and after recent scrutiny over their tin supplier’s sweatshop involvement, bigger statements needed to be made with even more positive publicity in reception.

Corporate social responsibility is an important part of business in today’s society of informed consumers. Businesses are forced to take an active role in public issues if they intend to retain market share – but it’s also a good source of publicity.

It’s too early to tell what effect company statements regarding the immigration ban will have on profit margins, with the first quarter of the fiscal year ending on 31 December 2016. One could venture a guess, however, that they’ll reflect the public’s judgement on the way each has engaged with the executive orders and other political events. Companies that have taken a pro-diversity stance, like those listed above, remain more likely to have a positive image because despite Trump winning the election, he did not win the people’s vote. It’s in a company’s best interest to – at least superficially – agree with public opinion, chiefly due to our current obsession with boycotts.

Friedman’s famous remark that ‘The business of business is business’ is quite applicable in this instance. It is a company’s duty to know when and why to be public advocates if they want to be successful in the business world. Customer advocacy is becoming increasingly prevalent, with many businesses like the Salvation Army focusing on customer retention over budget, simply because of the long-term sustainability benefits stemming from that loyalty.

Customer advocacy is mutually beneficial within businesses too: Employees

have an opportunity to express their opinions, while the business projects a positive public image. In light of recent immigration issues, the motives behind corporations pursuing the role of customer advocates may very well be because of their opinions on the matter, but the reason it was passed by the board of businessmen and women is that there are financial rewards to reap. No matter how ‘good’ the actions of firms seem to be, there’s always financial motivation lurking in the corner.

None of this is new, as companies have long been a hugely influential force in society. Big name brands like Google and Apple are advocating for renewable energy like never before, and the world is waking up to the realisation things need to change. The racial discrimination of apartheid in South Africa was abolished with the aid of business advocates in 1991, and more recently, the LGBTIQ+ community have been joined by many large corporations speaking out against discrimination they face.

Even now, amidst oceans of hatred these companies are islands: tirelessly battling to subdue waves of bigotry.

Business & economics

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‘Excessive CEO Salaries’: Unravelling the complexity of executive compensation and regulatory reform Text: Nick Blood

By many measures, we live in a world plagued by heightened economic inequality that is accelerating to unsustainable levels. The share of wealth between the world’s richest and the world’s poorest continues to grow, to the point now, that just eight men have the same wealth as the world’s poorest 50 percent.

All eight share common bonds too, as CEOs of the companies that made them so profoundly rich.

The Oxfam report highlighting this ‘eight men’ statistic shared similar stories of astounding CEO wealth. It described how CEOs of FTSE-100 companies earn as much annually as 10,000 garment factory workers in Bangladesh, and how the CEO of India’s top information technology services firm makes 416 times the median salary of his employees. Due in part, to such headline-grabbing statistics, the world’s richest are finding themselves under increased scrutiny, and executive compensation is a prime target in this regard. One result is mounting public pressure for policy changes to address this ‘excess’.

Do such statistics actually help us?

Dr Alex Edmans, a Professor of Finance at the London Business School, has pushed back against ratio-based arguments. He claims they are misrepresentative and can lead us astray, undermining the good intentions promoting their use. In a recent article for the Harvard Business Review, Edmans mounted a convincing argument against salary comparisons, or ratios, like those seen in Oxfam’s report.

For one, a CEO and a janitor operate in different markets, so linking their pay is questionable; like comparing a solo singer to a bassist when the two are importantly different. Similarly, the scale of markets has grown – undoubtedly helped by globalisation – dramatically increasing the scale of influence a CEO wields. A CEO today can create more value than one could a decade ago, while a janitor’s influence remained roughly similar. This is reflected proportionally in today’s salaries, and the widened gap between them. The same is true, for example, of modern superstar athletes who benefit from significant increases in the sports entertainment market and enjoy corresponding salary increases.

Another issue is that of unintended consequences. By focusing on ratios, we incorporate assumptions that certain numbers would be acceptable or even desirable. This is dangerous because it encourages manipulation of the statistics more than it does actual change – the former usually being much easier than the latter. We have seen this story before in many contexts: A focus on short-term earnings targets or stock price gains incentivises ‘quarterly capitalism’. This typically worsens the lives of average workers while richly rewarding CEOs, a situation where ‘excess’ is a thoroughly deserved descriptor of their compensation. The phenomenon shouldn’t be unfamiliar: In education, a focus on student test scores incentivises teachers to cheat or ‘teach the test’. In law enforcement, arrest rate quotas produced terrible outcomes (does anyone remember HBO’s The Wire?).

In this same way, a focus on pay ratios alone could result in the outsourcing of low-paid jobs, a shift toward part-time over full-time employment, accelerated investment in automation rather than labour, and a slashing of benefits to increase base salaries. These are all poor outcomes for workers, yet ones which would achieve some hypothetical target ratio. Edman et al’s past work showcases 80 years of such backfires in regulatory approaches to executive compensation, proving the necessity of holistic solutions and highlighting the danger in facile scapegoating and silver-bullet fixes; precisely the sort of thing abundant in Facebook memes and the like. Edman suggests we focus on raising everyone else’s pay, and not reducing that of executives – on growing the pie instead of obsessing over how much we all get. Oxfam appears to share this argument, in a way, by choosing to move well beyond any singular focus or method of combating poverty and inequality.

I would argue, however, that this same ‘growing the pie’ mentality, with its focus on value creation, could equally lead us astray. Overall economic growth in America, the world’s largest economy, has not been shared equally for some time. In an alarming graph, American economist Pavlina Tcherneva shows just how poorly the bottom 90 percent of Americans have fared, despite immense value-creation occurring since the 1980s. This is the same type of value creation Edmans speaks so highly of and holds aloft as an aspirational mindset.

If value-creation has occurred, then why have the bottom 90 percent of Americans not only seen their share of that pie shrink but also turn negative, all while the top 10 percent laps up those ever-increasing gains?

Explaining why and how this occurred is a complex issue well beyond my abilities. I don’t study economics, so I’ll spare you the second-rate analysis, but some driving forces are relatively easily understood. As Oxfam points out, wealth begets further wealth. The rich are freer to invest, whereas the poor spend all or the majority of their wealth on daily living expenses. The rich can afford better investment advice, and better tax advice too, and on it goes. Equally, that money can influence the policy-making process, creating environments that favour further wealth accumulation.

With these things in mind, it’s clear that there is more for CEOs to do in tackling economic inequality than just growing the pie. Equally, it is evident there is more to do in addressing economic inequality than targeting CEOs. They are a deserved point of concern, since wealth accumulation is self-perpetuating, and significantly accelerating, but there are more wealthy people than just high-profile CEOs. We must realise that the picture is complicated and that singular focal points for legislation and reform can backfire, as they have in the past.

Ultimately, there is more common ground between Edman and Oxfam

than this article might suggest. They both believe in addressing economic inequality, and both advocate for evidence-based approaches. Both sides, for example, agree that a return of progressive taxation targeting all wealthy people – and not just high-profile CEOs – would be a good start.

So perhaps the issue isn’t one of ‘excessive CEO salaries’, after all, but of excessive salaries in general? A conversation for another article, and hopefully with brighter economic minds leading it than mine!

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Business & economics

To Kill a Technocrat Text: Samuel Duncan Samuel Duncan is a second year Economics and International Security Studies Student.

He is also a member of the Australian Labor Party.

As the populists rise out of the ashes to come for the perceived failures of globalism, moderates must form an effective strategy to counter the anti-technocratic strain of thought that has weaved its way into everyday political discourse. A large part of this counter-strategy, however, must begin with self-reflection: asking why economic experts have been unable to communicate their successes to the wider populace. How can they better respond directly to the problems – perceived or otherwise – of the ‘ordinary people’?

One of the main issues that technocrats – experts within a scientific or technological elite – face in communicating their message is structural. Economic experts are almost entirely made up of career academics whom when confronted with an administrative hearing, don’t have the charisma to compete with populists on the left and the right, such as Alan Grayson and Nigel Farage respectively. When faced with questions at Senate enquiries that often require complex answers, technocrats will respond in nuanced ways that are often difficult to understand for regular people. This allows populists to further their narrative despite it being counterfactual to what experts say.

Take Ben Bernanke, former chairman of the US Federal Reserve, having to

explain to Democratic Party populist Alan Grayson how central bank liquidity swaps – essentially providing liquidity in U.S. Dollars to overseas markets – strengthened the global financial sector during the Global Financial Crisis.

Despite Grayson being unable to engage with what Bernanke was saying, he came away from the interaction having gained public support through his charisma and anti-elitist sentiment.

Another structural issue with policy wonks gaining political influence is that it leads to a centralising of power and a move, albeit slight, towards authoritarianism. This raises the question as to how this increase in expert influence can be reconciled with the democratic process. Part of this reconciliation must come from those who have been branded establishment politicians, making the case to the public as to why the decisions that their experts make are provide a net benefit to society.

A large issue with conveying nuanced economic information is that in the public eye, the representatives of technocrats are often politicians, who have a tendency towards simplifying complex issues to the point of sounding condescending or elitist. Given a choice between supporting free trade or protectionism, for example, many establishment politicians will choose to support free trade with flimsy rhetoric, saying it ‘strengthens ties’ and ‘provides opportunities’.

The reason they do this is because in most cases they don’t fully know all the intricate details of individual free trade agreements – they have merely surrendered themselves to the advice of experts around them. Another issue with politicians not knowing exactly what the benefits of a strategy of free trade will be is

that they can often be subject to political lobbying. They can easily be convinced that adding a particular provision into a free trade deal is a good idea, even if that provision is just beneficial to corporate lobbiers, rather than the majority of their constituents.

Populists have pounced on the flimsy slogans that politicians give in place of economic communication, displaying it as proof that the elites aren’t on the side of ordinary people and have grown out of touch. But, because technocrats and establishment politicians lack the charisma of populist leaders such as Marine Le Pen and Nigel Farage, they have been unable to form an effective counter-strategy, leading to a continued rise in populism.

There is, of course, another aspect to countering the rise of populism and it starts with the public gaining humility and admitting that, in most cases, they don’t know the slightest thing about the financial sector or the intricacies of macroeconomic policy. This anti-expert attitude only seems to transpire in certain areas of policy making and often looks ridiculous when applied to another. Take climate change policy: you wouldn’t find someone who is broadly left on the political spectrum that doesn’t justify their belief in climate change with reference to the overwhelming evidence that has been gathered through the modelling of climate scientists. So why is it that so many more people take positions outside the realm of what economists deem to be reasonable when it comes to macroeconomic policy?

Some would say that the reason for this is that economics, broadly speaking, isn’t an exact science – however,

modelling-wise, climate science isn’t exact either. Climate scientists can’t predict with 100 percent accuracy what the weather will be two days from now, yet their modelling is good enough to form a consensus for the overall existence of climate change. Similarly, economists can’t predict certain financial shocks, but the modelling is still precise enough to create consensus on what the impacts will be of policy decisions.

It’s difficult to say with any certainty how far the populist resurgence will go, and what impacts it will have on the world economy, however, the continued acceptance of the idea that experts don’t know what they’re talking about is a dangerous political force. There is some truth to the idea that political elites have grown out of touch with people’s dayto-day lives and that they need to begin listening to the people again. Equally, however, there needs to be a change in mindset for those in the public who think that they know better than those who have devoted their lives to understanding very complex topics. This attitude only results in experts being disillusioned with their involvement with the public sector, leading them to move into private financial institutions and corporate lobbying bodies, which seek to open loopholes, rather than close them. This chain reaction creates a vicious cycle that perpetuates bad policy results, and a more divided, politically polarised society.

Sport

Issue 2, Vol. 67

60

Not just fun and games: why I actually love sport Text: Ollie Brown

It’s a huff of breath, a grunt of pain, a burn of muscle, a pull of joint. It’s the repeating of a mantra, the image of a podium, the sight of an opening, the call for an option. It’s the visual of an empty field, grass dewy; or a hardwood floor, boards waxed. It’s the countless halftime oranges, the many hours spent passionately shouted at, the innumerable sweaty huddles and those anthem verses that are veritably etched into the back of your brain. It’s the culmination of a thousand one-percenters, too many old pairs of runners to count, team jerseys literally falling apart at the seams, and a team effort so monumental that victory is merely a bonus.

I had an old waterpolo coach once tell me, as a twelve-yearold, that ability was the least important of her ‘Three A Attributes’ – ‘Ability, Aptitude, Application’, that she used to bark at us from the side of the pool. The most important comes last.

For us, this normally came at the three-minute mark of our gruelling strength tests, where even the most competent of swimmers were considering ‘drowning’ just to get out of the exercises. Muscles floppy, heads bobbing under the choppy water, she would rant about how even one training missed constituted failure. Striding up and down the poolside, she waxed lyrical about the travesty that was ever sleeping through

a 6am start. She impelled us to train as hard as she used to train; my coach was an ex-Olympian, so this was greeted with death stares and some plaintive groans.

But you know what? While my eardrums may never have fully recovered, nor my shin muscles, nor, actually, my dignity (someone snapped a candid of me in my hideous chequered cap), we won the interschool competition that year.

There were three state swimmers on the opposition side, but in extra time, those hours of dunking and getting dunked finally paid off. We had been united by the offensiveness of being asked to wear our school bathers without bikini bottoms underneath, and the camaraderie that came from all agreeing to pretend we had to leave class earlier than we really did (rebellious, we were). I’d never played waterpolo before that season, and it’s been years now since I quit. But that particular premiership remains one of my most treasured from any season of school sport.

In terms of being inspired by sport, you don’t have to look far to find athletes of an almost hero-worshipped status to admire. We’ve all heard of Mohammed Ali, Cathy Freeman, Lionel Messi et al. – they’re amazing, brilliant, fantastic. We are defined to an extraordinary degree by those we choose as our idols and our role models. Seriously, the official Olympic Facebook account publishes regular videos so inspiring that I periodically consider abandoning everything to become a rhythmic gymnast… before suddenly remembering that I am neither Russian nor prepubescent (the apparent criteria for any sort of gymnastic success).

The moments that inspire me the most, however, are those that I see regularly.

Noticing little extra efforts on the sporting field or seeing others achieving their own personal

triumphs is heartening, and speaks at a more fundamental level than professional greatness.

Sure, Olympic and world-class sportspeople are (literally) in a league of their own, and their athleticism and sheer achievement is incredibly to watch.

But it’s the have-to-be-there-moments that you are there for that really define sport at a personal level. It’s all very well and good to see the veteran reach a milestone in their hundredth national cap, but having a newcomer get down to the first training and be an integral part of the team by the last match of the season is what it’s all about. It’s that individual manifestation of what we see in our sporting heroes that unites people through their own sporting endeavours.

It’s the sense of camaraderie, of unity and of common purpose that we derive from setting a team goal and seeing each other achieve their steps towards the overall journey.

I’ve seen friends walk over 80km on torn ligaments and broken bones just to avoid the disappointment of missing the finish. Nobody would blame them for pulling out, but it’s the determination and pride, the tenacity and the nerve that keeps them putting one foot in front of the other. I’ve seen friends running beach sprints on holidays so that they don’t fall behind in their cross country training. Would anyone have noticed one missed session? Surely not.

I’ve seen others brave the risk of reinjuring themselves when they’ve come back too early, the pain of missing a game far outweighing anything that they might physically feel.

I’ve played into a football team where an expected second-last placing transformed into a grand final appearance.

We exceeded even our own self-belief and, trust me, we had a fairly healthy dose of self-appreciation. I’ve also seen people act like bloody idiots by trying to keep playing with concussions or similarly dangerous afflictions, but that’s so not the point. It’s the self-imposed standards, the competing against yourself and the strength of character required to put yourself through respiratory hell

time and time again, that makes sport so special.

Now, I am quite evidently a sport fanatic. I love the roar of the crowd and the squeak of shoes on an indoor court, the weight of tackling someone to the ground or the breathless relief when you stop running at the final siren. I live for that adrenaline rush, that almost palpable energy that courses through an entire team when the clock is draining and one last push is required. But I think anyone who has ever played sport can, to some extent, appreciate the rawness and the vitality that any sportsperson draws on, craves, and is, in all likelihood, utterly addicted to. It’s what keeps us waking up at ungodly hours to get to yet another waterpolo training, or putting in that extra mile in a finals game when you’re so close to achieving what you’ve worked so hard for.

What makes sport so significant to me is watching those efforts, feeling the passion for myself and experiencing the elation that comes when your hard work yields results. There’s something really fundamental about sport that unites those who play it together, or watch it, or talk about it. It’s reaching the point where there’s nothing left to give but everything that you see really special displays. It is the displays of courage, of tenaciousness, of commitment and of nerve that make sport something more than just running around on a field like a headless chook. It makes it something meaningful – I just can’t get enough.

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Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

Sport

Touching a Nerve: A look at the road to Recovery from Sporting Injury Olivia Ireland interviews Luca Sdraulig Photography: Dillon Vibes

It’ll come as no surprise to any reader that overcoming injury can be a protracted and often painful process. Investigating the sort of mental fortitude and sheer nerve required to return from significant injury is Olivia Ireland, interviewing the keen AFL player and nearly rehabilitated Luca Sdraulig.

Olivia Ireland: Describe the moment you injured yourself. Did you know straight away?

Luca Sdraulig: When I injured myself, I’d started running a lot; I wanted to regain some fitness after a brief hiatus in high school. Initially, I just pulled up really sore in my left hip, but I didn’t think anything of it. Soon I started getting tightness in the joint on every run, and was limping just minutes into a footy game. It got to the point where any time I did intense exercise, I could barely walk the next day. It wasn’t so much a ‘snap’ moment as a two-week kind of thing.

OI: How physically and mentally challenging has the recovery period been?

LS: I first injured my hip when I was 16. I’m almost 20 now, so it’s been four years and I’m still only just getting back into running. In terms of the physical side of things, it’s pretty straightforward. For me the focus is on stability in my core, getting certain muscles to fire, rebalancing, that sort of thing. It can at times be a bit mundane, because it’s just really boring, slow exercises. The mental side of things is much worse. I mean, I’m pretty young and fit and all the rest, but to go down from playing sport nonstop to not being able to run for four years … it’s just disappointing, a lot of the time.

For instance, I wanted to join the army after school, but my injury prevented that. It’s still a goal for me, but mentally it’s harder, because after four years, you’ve lost so much confidence in your own body.

OI: The theme of this issue of Woroni is ‘Nerve’. Do you think the idea of nerve is relevant to you when returning to proper physical exercise?

LS: It’s definitely relevant. Losing that trust in your own body is really scary.

It’s not something that should be happening to any teenager. In terms of your nerve, every time you go to do exercise in any capacity – whether it’s going for a run, which is directly going to affect your injury, or even just doing a push-up

– you’re always worrying that you might be hurting yourself. You’re thinking, ‘Am I doing damage?’ I was actually misdiagnosed multiple times before I got a proper diagnosis, so I’ve had surgeries, I’ve had physiotherapy, I’ve had endless this-that-and-the-other. It’s only now starting to be the case where they actually know what’s going on. In terms of nerve, it’s all about fighting to regain the confidence to be able to tell yourself, ‘I can do this, I’m not going to get hurt.’

It’s scary stuff!

OI: What advice would you give to others in either avoiding or actually dealing with injury?

OI: What have you learned most about yourself during this period of recovery?

As for managing injury, it can be anything from a hamstring strain, which you can overcome relatively quickly, to things that end up having lifelong effects.

At any rate, I think that it’s important to know that you’re not going through it alone. There’s honestly so many people with so many kinds of hidden injuries – physical, mental, whatever – that they carry with them. It’s a matter of not expecting things to get better overnight – it can take years. I thought my hip would be fixed quickly … I thought it was all going to be within a month … and here I am four years later, and I’m still going.

But I’m getting there. You’ve just got to believe in yourself, and have confidence that you can get better, and not stop until you do.

LS: As clichéd as it is, I’ve learned that as bad and things might get physically, there’s always a way out. One door might be closing – I can’t play sport for a bit – but that might allow me to do other things. Certainly a lot of the things that I’ve chosen to do now with my life are those that I likely wouldn’t have c ome across otherwise. I probably wouldn’t be at ANU or doing some of the activities that I now enjoy if I was physically able to play the sports that I focused on in the past. Injury teaches you that disappointment might be hard, but there are ways to recover from it.

Good things can come out of bad situations.

LS: With avoiding injury, I definitely pushed myself too hard too quickly, and that exposed the weakness inherent in the way my muscles had developed.

In terms of getting into fitness and exercise, it’s very much a case of going at your own pace – don’t think that you have to be a hero. You’re never going to be Superman.

Satire

Issue 2, Vol. 67

62

Dank Memes for Chifley Screens

Feeling Salty: 95 Theses, Scores of Executive Orders Text: Elizabeth Harris

When Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the doors of the All Saints Church in Wittenberg in 1517, he became the herald of the Protestant Reformation, sparking a mass exodus from the decadent Catholic faith across Europe. You could say that Martin was a bit salty about the whole indulgence debacle.

Five hundred years later, lefties with bleeding hearts are feeling just as salty, and posting their theses to Facebook walls 24/7. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. This time, it is not Luther, but Salt Bae, sprinkling thousands of grains of salty memery, that is disseminated.

It is no coincidence that Salt Bae came to the forefront mere days before the inauguration of Donald Trump, or that he continues to soar in popularity as Trump’s ‘America First’ soars over the US-Mexico border, to confront the international community. Indeed, it is easy to see the rise of Salt Bae as part of the left’s attempt to undermine the glorious Trump empire. It is no coincidence that Leonardo Di Caprio, a celebrated greenie in cahoots with former President Obama, visited Salt Bae at his eatery.

Salt Bae’s name is eponymous with an essential ingredient for life – itself a

derivative of the Latin salarium – the money paid to Roman soldiers in order to purchase salt. Salt Bae makes his tireless attempts to strip back the varnish we polish our lives with – writing ‘thus’ in an essay, or sprinkling wrong answers in a test so the marker doesn’t suspect cheating. This prompts us to ask, ‘where in this world can we find a man who is really worth his salt?’ It is clear that Bae does not think Trump is such a man.

Continuing the Roman theme, this meme yet again harks back to classical art. Salt Bae stands in a contrapposto pose – where the human figure is posed asymmetrically, so that the position of the shoulder and arm contrasts with that of the hips and legs – reaching up with his salt-clad fingers like Apollo reborn. His white t-shirt is reminiscent of the purity of Michelangelo’s David. This blend of the classical ideal and morality is an obvious effort by the left to imply that saltiness is morally good, and that Trump’s actions run directly against our modern ideals.

But where there is a Reformation, there is always a Counter-Reformation. The Catholic Counter-Reformation was marked by a strict, doctrinal style, emphasising the mysteries of the faith and

seeking to encourage public re-engagement in the face of Protestantism’s recent spread. It is thus, in the aftermath of eight long years in an Obama-ridden leftbook, that Trump’s executive order memes lead us to a new golden age of US exceptionalism and commitment to traditional American values.

Trump’s memes can only be taken as a sign of the golden age that has now begun. When he shows off his Pokemon collection, he appeals to the everyman.

Displaying his drawing skills, he makes a clever comment on ‘art for all’ – see the iconic twitter account @TrumpDraws for more – reminding us that no matter how unqualified, we can all be a Picasso or a President. Most optimistically, when he flaunts sweet shots of his summer vacay with Vlad he signals a time of prosperity and peace, perhaps recalling the end of the Cold War. We should take the core message of Trump executive order memes to heart: American exceptionalism is alive and well, and it is more true now than ever that anything can happen. And the left?

Well, it is no coincidence that the Socialist Alternative is better known as SAlt.

Week 3, Semester 1, 2017

63

Satire

The Fate of Fresher Flu Text: James Atkinson Illustration: Julia Hammer

week twelve and you realise you’re thirty hours behind in lectures.

Fresher flu.

‘The fluff is falling!’

Many students will be familiar with the feeling of stomach-churning horror associated with this phrase – signalling the realisation of one’s impending doom when it comes to exam preparation. The same sentiments can be applied to the start of semester one. Here, while we are busily stocking up on free market day pens and scouring the crowds for potential networking opportunities – or what most would call ‘friends’ – the campus environment bookends the university calendar with another bizarre, yet equally frightening horror.

You see, at the start of every year, thousands of little germs descend upon the ANU. They cling to you like leeches and then, when you least expect it, they strike – sucking every last ounce of post-OWeek energy from your cold, hungover body. No, I’m not talking about the newest batch of wide-eyed first years – though you could be forgiven for such a thought, given their vampiric enthusiasm.

What I am talking about, rather, are two words which strike fear into the hearts of any student. Two words that ignite the same kind of fear brought about when you’re asked to introduce yourself in week one tutes, or when it gets to

I wish I could tell you that there was a way to avoid it, but I’m afraid that there isn’t.

This fourth year is very salty. You see, after three years on campus, I’ve finally moved into a share house. Here, in my beautiful tree-lined suburb replete with neighbourhood cats and retired public servants, I thought I would be immune.

At least that I would be safer than when only feeble asbestos-filled walls would separate me from my sickly neighbours.

I was wrong.

I thought that by limiting the events I attended, and the people I saw, then I would be safe. I even thought that if I were to sing to Ball Park Music’s ‘It’s Nice to Be Alive’ as loud as I could, then maybe, just maybe, the lyrics would transcend into reality. But, no, I was wrong again. Instead, I was devastated to find out my O-Week weekend headache was not actually a hangover but something far more sinister.

So rather than preparing for our impending classes my housemates and I wasted our days wrapped in blankets, delirious on Codral, drowning our sorrows in BuzzFeed quizzes. I suppose that while I may not be proud that we nearly went through two tissue boxes, I am proud to announce that the ‘Disney Prince I’m

Most Likely to Marry’ is, in fact, Aladdin. If only he could have swept me away on our tissue-littered carpet and taken me to a whole new world, rather than leave me to suffer.

But, alas, after trying so hard to avoid it, the fresher flu finally got me. Maybe I’m

mad that even though I no longer live at college it still got me, or that I didn’t even get to hook up with any first years to at least make it worth it.

Although, admittedly, I did spend four of seven nights at Moosies, so maybe it is my fault after all.

Not Quite North Shore Text: Eleanor Armstrong

As one of the many ANU students hailing from the sunny suburbs of Sydney, I came to university with the pathological need to stand out from the crowd, to avoid being categorised as a common – and so unfairly maligned – type. Sure, my parents were office-working professionals, my home had doubled in value over my lifetime and not too infrequently conversations about the deplorable state of the city’s public transport system could be heard within my 206-something postcode. But I made it my mission to differentiate myself, and it was in the form of a mere reformulation of my answer to the question ‘but whereabouts in Sydney?’ that I found my salvation.

I am aware North Shore residents are regularly lambasted for their snobbery,

privileged norms and conservative ideals. It, therefore, quickly became a matter of necessity that I distance myself from those associations. I started explaining, upon introducing myself to new acquaintances, that I was from the ‘inner North’ or ‘10 or so kilometres north of the CBD’, lest such unfortunate associations be made. Besides, I absolutely had the data to support my assumption of uniqueness! In my leafy locale, we didn’t have silver Range Rovers; rather, white golfs lined the shaded streets. It wasn’t all free-standing Federation-era brick abodes either, we had apartment blocks! And better yet, we had proof of commerce beyond overpriced boutique businesses in the form of – gasp – factory outlets. The cherryon-top of my proof pudding was that no one in the immediate surrounding area could possibly have water views, due to the tragically disadvantageous lay of the land.

This normally would be enough information to satisfy the average disinterested inquisition, but for those more adamantly non-gentrified Inner-West cynics, I had to bring out the big guns.

I made it clear that I was closer to the Pacific Highway than I was to Military Road – ‘God forbid I enter that never-ending traffic jam’. I wasn’t talking about that stretch just past all the private schools either, I meant the part of the road that wound its way through the industrial centres and even some actual real-life second hand car dealerships!

No self-respecting North Shore citizen would allow such unsightly clutter to disturb the neighbourhood ambiance but I, being more down to earth, was not so averse to these things.

The determined desire to move away from a typecast background may seem excessive, but I can assure you I was this close to being lumped together with those whose first UAC preference

was Arts/Law at Sydney University. For context, it was only my second. But, you may wonder, does the elusive North Shore even exist? Is there really such a place where all of the above takes place outside of Malcolm Turnbull’s electorate? For evidence, I suggest taking the 144 bus route, and let Mosman be your barometer. There will be no denying that you in fact are in the North Shore.

Issue 2, Vol. 67

Satire

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Sudoku: Sebastian Rossi Comic: Caitlin Setnicar Crossword: NWJ Woroni Cryptic 1 Woroni Cryptic 1

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1 Ex-PM speaks like Santa in a hospital room (6) 2 NSW country town has zero distance (6) 1 Ex-PM speaks like Santa in a hospital room (6) 2 NSW country town has zero distance (6) 3 Situation gone bad, a loaf of bread they say! (4) 4 Disintegrate or decay, the world cup perhaps?

3 Situation gone bad, a loaf of bread they say! (4) 4 Disintegrate or decay, the world cup perhaps?

(7) 5 51 inside a beer house and a large town - it (7) 51 inside a beer(9) house and a large town - it helps you 5 become popular!

8 Chocolate bar has a price on its head (6) helps you become popular! (9) 8 Chocolate bar has a price on its head (6) 6 Perform around the Canberra region (3) 10 Second-in-charge has moral shortcoming (4) 6 Perform around the Canberra region (3) 10 Second-in-charge has moral shortcoming (4) 7 Doctor, pen liquid, a beer (5) 11 Greeting and a tale but its all in the past (7) 7 Doctor, pen liquid, a beer (5) 11 Greeting and a tale but its all in the past (7) 9 Examination hall in Gibson town! (8) 13 Greed stare upsets common university class 9 Examination hall in Gibson town! (8) 13 Greed stare upsets common university class (4,6) 12 Oral clench altered Gareth’s job! (10) (4,6) 12 Oral clench altered Gareth’s job! (10) 15 College of Law expresses hesitation, then 14 Quits the job by writing her name again (6) of Law heads to15 theCollege north pole (6) expresses hesitation, then 14 Quits the job by writing her name again (6) heads to the north pole (6) 16 Strong desire to throw charged atom (7) 18 Drunken Easter tale - You'll need an agent for 16 Strong desire to throw charged atom (7) 18 Drunken this business (4,6) Easter tale - You'll need an agent17forToppled over with cries of pain on university 17 Toppled over with cries of pain on university this business (4,6) sports field!

(7) 20 Heavy monarchs return to Canberra suburb (8) sports field! (7) 20 Heavy monarchs return to Canberra suburb 10a and 12d, he's the boss! (5) 19 (8) 19 10a and 12d, he's the boss! (5)

pdfcrowd.com

pdfcrowd.com

‘The Wheel of (Mis)fortune – the only show about contraception – even though you’re getting lucky, you’re still losing.’

The ANU Women’s Revue is an inaugural production showcasing the experiences and talents of women and non-binary students. The show hits the stage between the 9th - 12th of August.