i
1 e u ss
Art Vera Tan Sanle Yan Jocelyn Wong Oliver Stephens Brandon Sung Cynthia Weng Amanda Lim
Radio Cate Armstrong Alexander An Caoimhe Grant Natasha Kie Punit Deshwal Aiysah Teguh Management Brianna Collett Hannah Seo Benjamin van der Niet Madeleine Grisard
TV Sarah Patience Kerry Jiang Bohong Sun Paris Chia News Ruby Saulwick Joseph Mann Constance Tan Gisele Weishan Hannah Benhassine Content
Aala Cheema Holly McDonell Sarah Greaves Ally Pitt Anuva Rai Caelan Doel
Chi Chi Zhao Cleo Robins Lara Connolly Patrick Fullilove Remi Lynch Rosie Bendo
Contents
News Saving Art and Music at the ANU Students and Staff Call on the ANU to Support Palestinians
5 9
Primary PrEP: A Hard Pill to Swallow On Ordinary Memories The Red Lagoon The Art of Writing an Obituary Violetta Lion Taming No Freedom Without Truth
15 18 20 21 24 29 33
Secondary A Reflection on Before the Coffee Gets Cold Historical Fiction Across Time and Space Screeching Halt
37 40 44
Tertiary The Roman Republic of 1849 Bubbles of History: How Sydney’s Saunas Shaped Queer Community The ‘Ascent’ of Man Time and Time Again, We Get it Wrong With TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year
49 53 60 62
4.
Letter From the Editor To my Dearest Woroni readers, Welcome to 2024 at ANU, for those returning, congratulations for making it back and for those joining us on University Avenue and getting lost in Coombs for the first time, it’s a pleasure to have you. While it is a new year, we are bound to see the same things happen again, both at our University and in the wider world. Halls will vie for the ISO and IAC shields, one of your vague acquaintances from a tutorial will ask for your vote in the ANUSA elections and more poor first years will surely be tricked into a conversation with SAlt on Uni Ave. But keep an eye out for the rest of the world, we’ll probably see two octogenarians face off against each other to be the leader of the free world again; in the year with the most elections in history faux democracies will likely continue to have illegitimate elections; and innocent people will suffer from the decisions of their leaders across the globe as has happened continuously since time immemorial. With that said this year can be different, you’re probably reading this in O-Week in which case you’re not behind on your readings yet (so get started). This could be the year you finally join that club, or sport, or super cool multimedia student organisation (sorry how do you pronounce it again?) that you’ve been looking at since Market Day of first year. Dive into Time and Time Again and explore history, mistakes and memories as written by our wonderful contributors and edited by our Sub-Editor team under the direction of our new Content Editor Claudia Hunt. Immerse yourself in the artwork throughout the edition produced by our Artists, led by our returning Art Editor Jasmin Small. Thank you to everyone whose work made this edition possible including our News Reporters and Board of Editors. Have a fantastic semester and a memorable year.
Your obedient servant, M. Box Editor-in-Chief
5.
Managing Editor Sharlotte Thou (she/her)
Editor-in-Chief Matthew Box (he/him)
Head of Radio George Hogg (any pronouns)
News Editor Raida Chowdhury (she/her)
Art Editor Jasmin Small (she/her)
Content Editor Claudia Hunt (she/her)
Deputy Editor-in-Chief Charlie Crawford (he/him)
Head of TV Arabella Ritchie (she/her)
6.
Art by Jasmin Small
7.
Raida Chowdhury Following the University’s announcement late last year to restructure the Art and Music Library, students from the School of Art and Design (SoAD) and the School of Music (SoM) voiced concerns that the move may place an existential threat to the Art and Music faculties at the ANU. An ANU spokesperson told Woroni, the current Art and Music Library, which is currently closed for remediation work, will be repurposed “into a creative study space for students and academics”. In response, students, staff and alumni have written and signed an open letter calling the University to reverse its decision, arguing that, “convert(ing the Library) into a generic study space, is an insult to the generations of students who have used and loved this library”. The number of signatures on the letter has reached over one thousand. While the University is adamant that the flexible study space reflects the “preference” of students and academics, students like Anna Rapp believe the relocation of the Library, “is another method for the University to undermine the SoAD”. Rapp, who is completing a Bachelor of Visual Arts, explains the restructuring of the Library comes under the context of “disestablishment of majors and the restructuring of (SOMAD) degrees (in recent years)”. In 2020, the ANU proposed changes to several courses offered by the SOAD. Furniture, Jewellery and Object majors were removed, in addition to courses on textiles, ceramics, glass blowing, print media and drawing. In the same year, the School of Art and Design was also merged with the administration of the School of Music. The University attributed the cuts to ensuring “financial stability” for the School, which was recording an annual $2 million deficit. However, the decision was met with widespread criticism and protest from ANU staff and students. The National Association for the Visual Arts additionally said the cuts and the amalgamation of the two Schools into more generalised faculties would diminish the distinctness of the arts scene. Relocating the collection: While the ANU spokesperson told Woroni that the relocation of the Library’s collection will be “carefully coordinated”, students have been particularly disappointed by the relocation, pointing out both academic and accessibility concerns. Following the closure, the Art and Music Library collection has been moved to Chifley Library which holds a humanities and social science collection, alongside some business and economics materials. Chifley library is located in Kambri, 500 metres away from the ANU School of Art and Design Library building, Llewellyn Hall and the nearby Ellery Crescent parking space; facilities which are designated for SoAD and SoM students. The remaining portions of the collection will be shifted to the ANU print repository. Located 13 kilometres away from the Acton campus, the repository is designated for “journals, records and lesser-known items”, and will store the “lesser used” items of the collection.
Art by Jasmin Small
Saving Art and Music at the ANU
8. Art by Sanle Yan However, as Sian Hardy explains, items deemed lowuse, may not be low-used in reality. “Students use books at the library, and return them before leaving--usage is often judged by borrowing rate not actually if (students) are using them”. Hardy, another Bachelor of Visual Arts student, says relocating to the repository will place a “further burden on students with disabilities” due to additional administrative and travelling requirements. To access material from the repository, students must first locate the requested material on the online database, fill out a form and then subsequently pick up the material from one of the on-campus libraries. Hardy additionally explains, SoAD and SoM students have a strong tendency to browse the library’s physical collection, “because a lot of the art and music information used in academia is only in classical texts”, much of which exists in physical form. “Students pick up books as they go”, she says, “and the inherent search limitation of an online collection will render much of the collection unused”. Students also raised concerns that amalgamating the collection into Chifley Library will homogenise the art and music collection with the social sciences and subsequently diminish the former’s individuality. Consulting with students: Students and staff claim there was no consultation before the University decided to restructure the Library, however the ANU spokesperson told Woroni, students and academics “have been consulted about what they need the most”, stating,“They have made it clear that their preference is a flexible study space”. While SoAD and SoM students who signed the open letter cannot confirm any such consultation, a likely consultation did occur with stakeholders, including the Library Advisory Committee. The Library Advisory Committee meets twice a year and its members include representatives from the seven academic colleges, ex-officio University Librarian Roxanne Missingham and the ANUSA president and post-grad representative.
9.
In May of 2023, the Committee determined that there was no recorded attendance after 8 PM on weekdays, while weekend use was “reasonable” on Saturdays and “negligible” on Sundays. In September, the Committee found that the 24/7 access of the Art and Music Library had “mixed success”, while the Chifley and Menzies Library has relatively more success. Whether the lower after-hours usage rate is the reason for restructuring the Library is unclear. However, the University has clarified, “no staff will be made redundant” during the restructuring, signalling that the decision may not be motivated by cost pressures. The usage levels at Chifley and Menzies libraries are higher likely because Chifley is located in Kambri and is used by students from most colleges, and Menzies is primarily dedicated to postgraduates and is conveniently located near post-grad residential accommodations. The minutes, additionally, do not make it clear when the attendance rates were taken, since library usage is likely to be higher closer to and during exam periods. Can students save art and music at the ANU? The repurposing of the Art and Music Library parallels the redevelopment of Union Court into Kambri, which materialised despite protests. Kambri at present, while a popular campus location, is highly commercialised and inaccessible. The University’s announcement of the closure came after the end of the second academic semester, which some students have interpreted as the University’s “attempt to be cryptic” and “avoid criticism”. In protest of the restructuring, SoAD students and staff borrowed over 3000 books from the Library. “All these books had to be individually physically scanned”, Hardy says, “it demonstrates how much students and staff care about the current Library and their willingness to use the current collection”. Students and staff additionally attended the SoAD Graduation Exhibition, Grad Show, wearing badges and putting up signs in support of the Library. The Art and Music Library is dedicated specifically to SoAD and SoM students, and its disestablishment may see a major reduction in the Art and Music scene at ANU. Borrowing to capacity and public displays of opposition has evidently placed pressure on the University, which in recent correspondence with staff, acknowledged “some members of our community are concerned about the impact of the closure”. The University subsequently provided a staff feedback page. While the University is yet to ask for student feedback, it may open up a consultation window to discuss possible options for the flexible study space, where students and staff will have an opportunity to amplify their opposition. However, as it is with much of the University’s consultation, it remains to be seen how extensive the consultation will be, who will be consulted with, whether the University will take heed of student feedback and if ultimately the Art and Music Library can be saved.
Art by Sanle Yan
While the recent minutes released by the Committee do not explicitly mention any possible planned closure or restructuring, the Committee discussed the lack of after-hours attendance after the Art and Music Library was made available 24/7. The cost for 24/7 access amounted to $15k, majority of which was security staffing.
10.
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11.
Raida Chowdhury
Content Warning: Mentions of War, Genocide, Institutional Betrayal, anti-Semitism and Islamophobia Almost three months into Israel’s siege of the Gaza Strip, students and staff are calling on the University to take a stand supporting Palestinians, among other actions. Students at the University have formed the Students for Palestine Canberra collective which organises petitions, boycotts and rallies in support of Palestinians. The collective is set to rally in Kambri on the 29th of February, in the second week of the first semester. On campus, ANUSA President Phi O’Neil (they/them) told Woroni the Union “stands with Palestine”, noting, “The Student Representative Council has passed several motions with the purpose of affirming the importance of international solidarity with Palestinians and their continued resistance to violence, repression and apartheid.” Similarly, the ANUSA officer for the Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPOC) Department, Selena Wania (she/her) says the “department will continue to stand in solidarity and advocate for Palestinian freedom and liberation”, after the Department was one of the first collectives on campus to publicly stand in solidarity with Palestinians late last year. In addition, ANU creatives, academics and historians have signed open letters in support of Palestine. Among many demands, these open letters call for universities to “uphold the core principle of academic freedom of speech to protect the right of staff and students to speak, research and engage in activism on Palestine”and “disinvest in Israeli companies and arms manufacturers”. Within the context of the ANU, for the latter demand, the University provides the Northrop Grumman Scholarship and is exchange partners with the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Northrop is reported to develop manned missile systems used by the Israel Air Force in its airstrikes in Palestine. This demand coincides with ANUSA’s demands to the University. While acting Vice-Chancellor Professor Grady Venville wrote to students last October, in the University’s On Campus student letter, acknowledging that “the escalating conflict in the Middle East is deeply concerning”, the University is yet to issue any other statements. An ANU spokesperson told Woroni, “ANU is a place of respectful debate. All students and staff at ANU are covered by the University’s policies of academic freedom and free speech, and are free to express themselves on any issue in line with Australian law”.
Art by Jasmin Small
Students and Staff Call on the ANU to Support Palestinians
12. Art by Jasmin Small
The University’s policies on academic freedom and freedom of speech allow students and staff to engage in “all forms of lawful expressive conduct”. This entails a “duty to foster well being of staff and students”, which includes the duty to ensure that no staff or student “sufferers an unfair disadvantage” , “is subject to threatening or intimidating behavior” and “support proportionate measures to prevent to prevent any person from lawful speech… (which is likely to) humiliate or intimidate any other person or persons”. The duty to foster well being however, “does not extend to a duty to protect any person from feeling offended, shocked or insulted by the lawful speech of another”. The ANU spokesperson continued, “The University has a wide range of support available for any member of the ANU community affected by the ongoing conflict in Gaza, (in addition) to actively encouraging all members…to be respectful when expressing views on the current conflict”. The support mainly encompasses ANU Counselling Services which is a non-diagnostic mental health service, and the ANU Student Safety and Wellbeing services, which is a longer-term case management service. However, for many students, the University’s statement and the current resources are perfunctory and inadequate. As one postgraduate student explains,“On an institutional level, it is good that the University has issued statements against Islamophobia and anti-Semitism. But (this risks) constructing this crisis as an age-old ‘religious conflict’ between historically warring communities, which is far from true”. Students like Madhumitha Mallichetty (she/her) believe, “The ANU has a responsibility to demonstrate to it’s students it is against genocide and inhumane atrocities”, she continues, “The University cannot teach and condemn past genocides whilst enabling a current one”. Mallichetty, who organised a petition calling the University to stand in solidarity and take actions for Palestinians, tells Woroni she felt, “uncomfortable and betrayed by the University’s silence on the issue, (when in comparison) students have been relentlessly organising protests and mobilising the community for months”. The petition, which currently has over 500 signatures, demands three actions from the University: 1. The ANU must condemn the Palestinian genocide. 2. The ANU takes direct action to ensure student safety on campus, acknowledging Islamophobia, anti-Semitism and racism. 3. The ANU must cut ties with the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. The Hebrew University is an Israeli University, and has been targeted by multiple Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movements across Australian Universities in an effort to show solidarity with Palestinians.
13.
In response to this, Mallichetty says, ”The petition has student safety at its core. Last year, students were subjected to various kinds of attacks and felt unsupported and unsafe on campus. This must change. “ “Students are inevitably affected by the genocide in Palestine, either personally or vicariously…The University’s silence only leaves students unsupported in their suffering” she continues, “By acknowledging the genocide, ANU can work towards a safe campus for students, (providing) appropriate services and (by) thoroughly educating and empowering students on the issue”. For academics and postgraduates, the University’s silence on the matter poses risks to academic inquiry and academic freedom. As one post-graduate expressed, “Far from the university taking an ethical position to support a ceasefire, there has been a near complete absence of substantive discussion or public seminars on the crisis in Gaza-which gives the impression that there is little departure between academic positions in the University and Australian government’s position on the crisis”. They continue, “At the very least, the University can facilitate substantive discussions on the crisis”. For many such academics, standing in solidarity with Palestinians is integral to ANU’s responsibilities as a higher education institution. As one member from the teaching staff told Woroni, “As an institution that speaks of commitment to peace and freedom as the basis of academic inquiry, I think it is important that the University publicly expresses its solidarity with Palestinian people in their struggle for sovereignty and freedom, and offer support for universities and academics in Palestine”. Moving into the first semester of the year, the Students for Palestine Canberra contingent promise to place greater pressure on the University to support Palestinians. It is yet to be seen whether there will be stronger calls of action from staff, and ultimately if either cohort can motivate the University to take a stance.
If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below: ANU BIPOC Department sa.bipoc@anu.edu.au
ANU Women’s Department sa.womens@anu.edu.au
ANU Indigenous Department sa.indigenous@anu.edu.au
ANU Queer* Department sa.queer@anu.edu.au
ANU Counselling (02) 6125 2442
ANU Respectful Relationships Unit respect@anu.edu.au
1800 RESPECT 1800 737 732
Art by Jasmin Small
Activism and similar calls for action have stirred community tensions within ANU, creating further fear, insecurity and division among Jewish, Israeli, Palestinian, Muslim, Arab and other students.
14.
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National Library of Australia
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15270374
Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 1st August, 1994
15.
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National Library of Australia
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15270375
16.
Art by Jasmin Small
17.
PrEP: A Bittersweet Pill to Swallow Jaden Ogwayo-Davey After my cleanser, cologne, and a hasty rummage through my wardrobe to assemble an outfit, my daily morning routine concludes with a cerulean pill. At 7:20 AM, an appointment time fixed by an unsnoozable alarm, I swallow a combination of emtricitabine and tenofovir disoproxil fumarate — a mouthful of a name belonging to a single, light-blue tablet. This daily regimen constitutes a form of preventive therapy called Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis, or ‘PrEP’ for short; I take medication that protects my cells from the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), lowering the risk of me, an HIV-negative individual, contracting the virus from a potentially HIV-positive partner by upwards of 99%. If someone not taking PrEP gets exposed to HIV for up to 72 hours after the suspected exposure, the same medication can be taken as post-exposure prophylaxis (‘PEP’) and similarly obviate infection (analogous, in a way, to emergency contraception). Since April 2018, the Australian government has subsidised PrEP via the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme, a monthly dosage costing $30 for thirty pills. At first, I complained about the cost of taking PrEP daily. In my foggy bathroom mirror, I saw myself as some profligate piggy bank who swallows a dollar each morning with a swig of tepid tap water. One evening, after begrudgingly picking up a month’s worth of PrEP from the pharmacy, I passed a man wearing a Keith Haring sweatshirt. I vaguely knew of Haring, his art, and his story; he was one of many gay artists whose work I admire and aspire to one day honour, along with the likes of Oscar Wilde, Félix González-Torres, and James Baldwin. That glimpse at Haring’s venerated stick-figure iconography woven into the stranger’s likely sweatshop-produced top piqued an incessant bout of bus-ride research that supplanted the ennui of commute with a vibrant flush of information: the history of community health; the eclipsed world of low-brow queer art; the contrasting responses to the HIV/ AIDS epidemic, a crisis that decimated a generation of ancestors whose short lives I can know only in retrospect through compendia of archival – and often posthumous – accounts. The virus, which was initially dubbed ‘Gay-Related Immune-Deficiency’ or ‘GRID’, razed gay communities across America. In The AIDS epidemic’s lasting impact on gay men, Dr Dana Rosenfield wrote that by 1995, “one gay man in nine had been diagnosed with AIDS, one in fifteen had died, and 10% of the 1,600,000 men aged 25–44 who identified as gay had died”. As a homophobic Reagan-led government refused to fund the pharmaceutical research and development necessary for identifying the aetiology of these peoples’ illness, a paramilitary force of lesbians and bereaved mothers flocked to gay mens’ need, providing medical treatment for doctorless patients. All of this treatment was palliative, of course. There remains no cure for AIDS, and during the ‘GRID’ crisis, some medical practitioners mocked, neglected, or outright refused to provide care for the emaciated gay people withering away as breathing corpses in visitorless wards. The four letters of ‘GRID’ could just as easily be swapped out, like Scrabble tiles, for ‘G-O-N-E’, ‘D-E-A-D’, or ‘L-O-S-T’.
18. Art by Jocelyn Wong
After befriending a young gay man during a period of immense grief and loneliness, an older straight mother named Mary Jane Rathburn began volunteering at San Francisco General Hospital. Brownie Mary, as she came to be known, illegally baked cannabislaced brownies for AIDS patients whom she referred to as ‘her kids’. Mary’s unlawful culinary habits led to three arrests, resulting in stints of community service, which she chose to serve by further tending to her infirm children. Mary campaigned for legalising cannabis for medical use, and her activism culminated in two legislative tools, Francisco Proposition P and California Proposition 215, as well as America’s first medical cannabis dispensary. Mary’s nostrum proved to be a much-needed relief for those with little else to remedy their final days on Earth. How many stories, tales, names — how much history and knowledge — have we collectively lost, buried into obscurity with skeletons in graves left unattended by homophobic families? For every pill I shake out of that bottle, 1.3 million individuals have lost their battles with HIV, often dying young within years or even months of contracting the fatal virus. That said, I am lucky to inaugurate my queer, embodied adulthood here in contemporary Australia, a nation boasting remarkable reductions in HIV diagnoses — some predict a near-total elimination of HIV transmission by 2030! However, regardless of the progress, as grateful as I am, I cannot help but metonymically see my pill bottle as a coffin laden with millions of individuals who lacked access to such a medicinal marvel. Individuals for whom I can not ration my tablets to resurrect their bodies from their graves. I wish I could sprint to my nearest printer and scan thousands and thousands of copies of my prescription to distribute to vulnerable communities with the same communal care as Brownie Mary. I wish I could confer my access to the life-saving medication that, at one point, I had resented for its price. But I can’t. The tiny blue pills mean much more to me now than I had initially realised. The antiviral compound is squeezed from a mythos of narrative, tragedy, and would-be cultural ancestry belonging to a myriad of half-lived lives. In the face of remiss governments, social stigma, and medical negligence, a fierce brigade of allies and loved ones supplied people living with HIV with makeshift medicine borne from a labour force of love and rogue alchemy. Reflecting upon my daily pharmaceutical consumption and researching PrEP’s predecessors revealed the real pathogen lurking beneath the surface: bigotry. It is a ‘plague-spot’, in Sophocles’ words, that accelerates the progression of public health crises time and time again — be it the sinophobia behind COVID-19 or the anti-Africa racism that followed the Ebola outbreak. Atavistically, I propose a measure for health crises that ravage a specific demographic or community: rather than ostracising those who are the most susceptible to illness and the epistemic plagues of misinformation, dismissal, and ignorance, we ought to return to the grassroots healthcare of Mary Rathburn and follow her recipe of care. Laced brownies optional.
19.
Art by Jocelyn Wong
20.
On Ordinary Memories Maya Weiss I always expect ordinary moments to simply escape me, becoming traces of feelings that ebb and flow away into distant memories. But as I found out not too far into young adulthood, I cannot help but recall places where I had spent only a matter of days, weeks, hours — minutes, even. A dingy rest stop in Pheasant’s Nest with hot pies and hot chocolate; a rattling tram in Wrocław taking us past concrete milk bars and bright teal murals. Each place carries with it experiences of another self, one that was unaware of alternate meanings behind the apparently meaningless action it was undertaking. That other self carries on, its footprints stomping beyond a wire fence of memory and into the distance before becoming imperceptible, leaving behind merely the tracks of a specific feeling — one that curls the toes of my current self with waves of nostalgic recollection. Such is the self and its sense of place. In Imaginary Homelands, Salman Rushdie posits that the place at which you once were but no longer are — a homeland — is viewed in memory through a “broken mirror”. A mirror is only valuable for its intended function — to provide you with an accurate reflection — as long as it is not warped or mutated in any way. Yet the mind is arbitrary. Its notions of significance and accuracy are themselves mutated. Forget the insignificant memories of Polish public transportation and petrol stations in the early morning — I am even more endlessly attached to anything that symbolises something significant in my life; that broken memory mirror will warp the most mundane reminders into pangs in the chest and numbness in the legs. For instance, the Sydney metro is tarnished for me. I cannot travel to Western Sydney without at least noting silently to myself the many journeys I took because of my attachment to people I have not spoken to in years, yet who formed not-insignificant portions of my adolescence. The metro now twists and turns and wrings out memories like an old rag: memories of futile journeys in pursuit of the idiotic, getting up at stupid hours of the morning only to be forced out by midday. It harbours fears of accidentally stumbling into people from childhood, and the throbbing, constant memories of what is now rusted and lost crumbled beneath the trajectories of our existences. Is there a way to be freed from this? This torturous forced remembrance, this separation of the truthful past and the liminal, intense present (or, of course, the perfidious past and the pure present)?
21.
Rushdie refuses to free us. Separation and warped memory, while profound and occasionally violent, constitute a form of personal fulfilment. As he perfectly encapsulates, such “trivial things seem like symbols,” and “the mundane acquire[s] numinous qualities” — just as Kellyville metro station is now no longer just a metro station but a metamorphosed moment in time inside my head that is longing and unfulfillment and imagination all at once. I wish I could remove the barrier of imagination from these moments and allow myself to experience undiscovered mundanity — not need to reach a pencil into the barrier and draw out the past self that is escaping me at a greater distance with each new train stop and life chapter. Perhaps an amnesiac could relay such a feat to us. Allow a rest stop to be a rest stop and a metro ride to be a metro ride. But we call it a loss of memory for a reason. Really, we are nothing without the triviality that becomes significance, our everyday barrier to the uncharted, unknown of times past, and times yet to be witnessed. The broken mirror is irreparable. They are us now; all these places, times and moments are us, and there’s not much in the way of fixing that.
22.
The Red Lagoon
Art by Brandon Sung
Aala Cheema Síthmaith stood on the edge of the chalk-white cliffs and stared out into the blue-green lagoon. The waves lurched towards the seashore. As they retreated back to sea, lifeless armour-clad bodies bobbed in the water, staining the crystal azure with red. The fine, fragile sand of the beach was drenched in blood while discarded spears lay haphazardly across the ground, glinting brightly in the blinding sunlight. Silent tears streamed down Síthmaith’s cheeks as she looked at the massacre before her. The bodies of fallen Celtic soldiers festooned the red battlefield where Caesar had left her people for dead. Behind her, amongst the smouldering remains of her village, lay an open grave of butchered limbs. Síthmaith and her husband had awoken in the night to shouting. She had looked into Cianán’s panicked eyes and intertwined her hands with his. They had shared a last kiss and the promise of return before he bound towards the beaches while frantically adjusting his chest plate. She had winced at the sight of the stiffened cloth, imagining the ease at which a spear could pierce through the fabric. Alongside some other women and children who had managed to slip away amongst the chaos, Síthmaith had hurried towards a nearby secluded cave. Through the night, the wind murmured tales of death and desolation, carrying with it the eerie screams of the battlefield. When the sun had hovered over the horizon, and the cries had ceased, Síthmaith and the others had ventured out of the cave. The Roman legionaries had disappeared, but in their wake, they had left the everlasting stain of death. Now, the wind whistled soberly, singing a dirge for all who had died in senseless tragedy. And Síthmaith wept. She cried tears of sorrow for all who had been slain. For the lover who would never return. For the grief that would never subside. And for the Celts, who would never survive the murderous rage of Julius Caesar.
23.
Myles Raftesath
Usually, Ann can choose the subject she writes about, but with such a high-profile death the choice is made for her. The Economist’s readers will expect his name to feature in the obituary column. As is her way, she walks under the shrouded sun to the London Library and takes out a book on her subject, which will be supplemented by journalists’ writings from the internet. She has one thousand words to condense the life that transformed the world. And she has a deadline of forty-eight hours. *** He had been taking his afternoon stroll around the perimeter of his garden, past the shade cast by the branches of the old lemon tree. As he neared the chicken coop, the sun outlined his shadow. He absentmindedly munched through a handful of pistachios plucked from a tree; its leaves were silhouetted in midday silver. No one was around, as this was his time of contemplation before midday prayers. However, his granddaughter, Latifa, broke the prohibition, ran out into the light, and reached for his hand. She was full of chatter and was excited about the goat that had just given birth the day before. He redirected her back to the house. “You know you’re not supposed to be outside without your mother, Latifa! Someone could be watching!” he said, picking up his pace as he made his way to the safety of the darkness. The sun had started to move past the compound wall as he shut the door behind him, but not before a silent, almost invisible object hovering above had captured his image. By the time he had seated himself to eat his dates and honey, the grainy detail of his shadow was being poured over and analysed in minute detail under a moonless sky some 12,300 kilometres away. “Is it enough to verify identity, sir?” asked the senior strategist. “It will have to be,” came the terse reply.
Art by Sanle Yan
The Art of Writing an Obituary
24. Ann murmurs to herself as she writes. The late spring sunshine slants across her desk in defiance of the clouds that seek to blanket the sky. Her approach has always been to give a rounded picture of any person. Even as she types, she can anticipate the outrage of American readers.
Art by Sanle Yan
Long after the sun had set, the quiet hum of the Blackhawks grew louder as they landed in front of the chicken coop. Moving silently, like the scurrying lizards they had disturbed, the men approached the white stone building in single file. Bright torches lit up the dark room as the door swung open softly. Children’s toys were scattered across the kitchen floor, and prayer mats were stacked neatly beside the small television. Three agents separated from the group and placed explosives on a wall to break into the main house. As the remnants of the bricks fell to the ground, a second group of men stormed the first floor of the main building. Only one figure was visible. But within seconds, he was lying motionless on the freshly broken bricks. The faint screaming grew louder as the men approached the second floor. *** Ann pauses in her writing. As a mother, she can feel the terror of the huddled women, experience their shock at the sight of blood and feel sympathy for their loyalty to the man who was the father of their children. Ann hesitates. How human should she make him? Should she write of the pain and sorrow of his widows? Of his children, weeping and huddled at the mosque in the noonday glare where prayers are recited in his memory? Ann finishes writing the obituary just half an hour before the deadline. It is always like this, down to the wire, and she feels the usual exhilaration as she presses the submit button. The sun shines brightly on the geranium window box, and the light catches the nodding heads of the vase of daffodils on her desk. “What on earth possessed you to describe him in this way?” asks her editor, his usual unflappable demeanour replaced by barely controlled anger. “I’ve had New York on the phone to me all afternoon!” He pauses as he reads out the opening paragraph of the obituary of Osama Bin Laden:
“Somewhere, according to one of his five wives, was a man who loved sunflowers and eating yoghurt with honey; who took his children to the park and let them sleep under the stars; who would go hunting with friends each Friday, sometimes mounted like the Prophet, on a white horse.”
25.
Art by Vera Tan
26.
Violetta Clara Frances A train rumbled above the footpath of Bülowstraße as Agnes followed Susie, panicked. Since that afternoon conversation in the library, when Agnes had practically confessed that secret she could never, ever, share, the talkative Susie had barely said a word to her. Susie probably thought her an abomination now. Agnes could have cried and felt very close to doing so indeed. Only nerves held the tears back. Why was Susie bothering with her? Where were they going? “We’re here,” Susie said eventually, pushing open the door to a bar.“This is the ‘Dorian Gray’. They have a dance and performance night every Friday, and…well. I thought you might enjoy it.” Agnes surveyed the space around her, her heart still beating hard. A happy babble arose from groups seated around a small stage and dance area. A medley of people in colourful dresses and elegant tuxedos milled around the bar, collecting drinks and delivering them to friends at tables topped with little vases of violet and lavender. The two women dancing together in the middle of the room made Agnes realise that this was no ordinary club. She had heard about these places, and seen advertisements in the copy of Die Freundin she had quietly flipped through while choosing a magazine from a street vendor. She had merely brushed the pages with her eyes before someone could notice what she was holding, replacing it afterwards and taking home a different magazine. Sleepless nights plagued by remorse for looking at such a thing and entertaining the villain of her being, yet wondering how it could be so wrong. Years and years of confusion, of self-reprimands locked in a war with comforting justifications, of searching desperately in photos of famously handsome men for pretty hair or nice eyes, anything that she could force into some sort of attraction. And giving up because it just didn’t work. Tears as she prayed by the window, extraordinary delusions that society would shift and in a few years, what she was could be considered fairly unremarkable. Knowing, eventually, that there wasn’t a mistake in her making, yet the unceasing frustration that no one else could see that. Yet here she was, in a room crowded with people who had also fought against themselves. To see with her own two eyes that she was undeniably not alone felt ethereal. “Earlier, when you said you had never liked a man and had never seen the appeal, and how you knew that was abnormal… it’s not,” Susie blurted out. “There’s so many of us and there always have been so many of us, and, well, here we are. I’m sorry if I got it wrong. We can leave if you like. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” “Are you a lesbian too?” Agnes ventured. And she realised a second afterwards: that was the first time she had said that word confidently, without thinking, without grimacing as she had when she whispered it to herself in the mirror one night.
27.
“Not exactly… I could love a man. But it doesn’t diminish the fact that I could also love a woman.” Susie chuckled. “I’m still, as some of us call ourselves, a ‘Priestess of Sappho’.” And Agnes could see that so clearly. Susie, draped in creamy fabric like a Greek goddess, head adorned with wreaths of violets and roses. Violets, the inconspicuous little flower that, through word of mouth, ill-intentioned gossip, and a volume of Sappho’s works in her uncle’s library, she had some time ago figured out translated to lesbisch, Lesbe, lesbian. That hard-to-say word. That word she had just said! Suddenly, Susie began waving madly in the direction of a table. “Fritzie! Melanie!” she shouted, striding over with Agnes. “This is Agnes! I’ve brought her along tonight.” Susie indicated a girl with short red hair and an emerald dress. “This is Melanie,” she said, and Agnes shook hands. Susie then turned to the person in the neat three-piece, a top hat perched upon impeccable waves. “And this is her partner, Fritzie.” Agnes shook Fritzie’s hand. “If you don’t mind me asking, how should I address you? As he, or she, or…?” “Both will do just fine,” Fritzie smiled, reseating himself. “And you’re Susie’s partner?” “We’re friends,” Susie replied, blushing. “Friends indeed,” Fritzie repeated, raising her eyebrows. He pulled over another chair to make four at the table, and they all sat down. “Anyway, do you know what happened in the Violetta last week? Oh, I must tell you…” And Agnes listened, enraptured, as Fritzie narrated the story of her rather remarkable week and laughed as Melanie told them about her argument with a ‘pedantic’ officer in Neukölln the day before, insisting she had parked entirely straight and there was no obstruction to the road. Later, conversation ebbed, and Agnes watched in wonder as a woman in trousers and a necktie took to the stage and sang a song cursing the men in the Reichstag. She clapped hard as the singer took a bow and departed. “Well then, Agnes,” said Fritzie, after they had all finished discussing how wonderful Claire Waldoff’s Raus mit den Männern aus dem Reichstag was. “How do you like it here?” “In this place…I don’t feel like an anomaly,” Agnes replied. “It’s a nice feeling. I must return someday. But I’m also terrified someone will recognise me.” “It’s a risk,” Melanie sighed. “But we look out for each other.”
28. “We’ll be discreet,” Susie said.“Which is unpleasant, but such is life. But while you’re here… you can just live.” “Just live,” Agnes repeated, and smiled. Finally, finally, there was somewhere she could just live. “Oh Susie, how could I ever repay you for bringing me here?” “Dance with me?” So Agnes took Susie’s hand, they took to the dance floor, and all worries ceased. Agnes blocked out her family and friends, the whole of Berlin, the whole of Germany, the whole world. Blocked out everything except for this little place where she could just live.
29.
Most
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contact
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Canberra
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all
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Dr
Barnardo's
children.
referred of
shortage
Lea
at
more
Howard Office,
are
suitable
informat Bath on 175 City
daily.
STUDY
like as
The
gays
loud
For
degrees
A JUNIOR
plus
All
by guys 11.30am
ANDERSON
the
to:
of B.A.,
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working
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the
try
know
years other
operates Fri., from 6.30pm to
friendly
for men, women groups and gay commercial discoes,
ideas
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people in T.V., newspapers, Or even there at all? ALL. Homosexuality is
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Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 1st February, 1982
to be Gay ?
Glad
is
1 1 ,500
Secretary
English
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National Library of Australia
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15276686
30.
Art by Amanda Lim
31.
Lion Taming Hannah Bachelard 1794, France My breath comes out in puffs of frozen mist, dispersing through my squashed snout in an undignified rasp as my paws clatter across the snow-blanketed ground. Lilou giggles. Bursts of joy crackle in my chest like sherbet lemons eaten in early spring. As we wind through side alleys and muddy streets, I can taste the crispness of the winter wind on my tongue. As we enter the bustling market the snow turns to sludge beneath my feet and the flakes on my nose turn to nothing. I am hit with a wall of smell, my nose twitching, readjusting after the cool whiteness of the park. My nose catches red fires burning, steam as pink flesh heats, the rank mossy smell of wet wool drying. I try not to catch the sticky plum scent of blood splashed across the cobbles in the square after the guillotine has done its violent work. Paris. When we make it home, Lilou’s mother offers her a bowl of soup and a hunk of stale bread softened in the broth. It barely tastes like meat for all the times those old mutton bones have been boiled. After swallowing my own morsel in one bite, I lie with my empty belly against the stone ground, the warmth from the fire bleeding through my fur. I watch Lilou’s father knead loaf after load of bread, and I allow myself to think, just briefly, of my Mary. Of how she used to work, with the same single-minded concentration pinching her brow, but instead of a rolling pin and dough as her tools, a quill and ink. Her publisher gave me to her in 1787, just after she had written her first book. To such a practical woman, I must have seemed utterly ridiculous with my wrinkled face and curled tail. Dogs were meant to be useful, and I certainly was not. Mary was a writer. I used to be able to see the thoughts clattering around her head as she paced around our small room, stepping over my stout body when I got in the way. She would write for hours, and I would feel the hunger settle into the pit of my stomach like a stone. I used to wind my body around her feet like a cat and yap at her heels until she stopped and breathed. She would blink, looking around the room to reacquaint herself with her surroundings before finally looking down at me. She would scratch behind my ears and walk to the kitchen to prepare our dinner. Every night, I sat under the table as she fed me off her plate, curled around her feet, keeping them warm in the winter and turning them sticky with sweat in the summer. When Mary’s fellow revolutionaries dined with us, they would talk for hours with frenzied excitement; honey-scented wine poured endlessly into glasses while honey-scented words flowed endlessly from their mouths. Now, I long for the taste of candied figs, buttery and crunchy, eaten from ink-stained hands. Although there are different, simpler pleasures now. When Lilou’s family piles into one bed, flesh on fur, sharing heat, everyone’s scent intermingles. Those large hearts beating. I always used to sleep on the floor when I was with Mary.
32. Art by Jasmin Small
As soon as Vindication was published, Mary was racked with a need to experience the world and an absolute hunger for the tumultuous politics of revolution. She was a hyena in petticoats snapping at the heels of change. Endless talk with her friends turned into plans to travel to Paris. The day of the journey was the worst of my life. As we crossed the Channel, the rolling of the waves made my stomach revolt. My only reprieve was that Mary sat with me, stroking my head as time crept by in a haze, perforated only by the sharp, acrid smell of vomit and sea air. Mary and I stayed with her friend from the French National Convention for a few months. They talked, plotted and planned, spoke with excitement and rage, ate, drank, and wrote. But soon, the great change they loved so much turned against them; they were no longer radical enough to keep up with a revolution that demanded the blood of her own children. And so Mary fled in the middle of the night, leaving me behind as she went. Late at night, when everyone is asleep, I like to think she was sad about leaving me, that she might regret it dearly, and that she truly believed that one day she would come back for me. Sometimes, I catch tension in the air, the brief moment where everything seems to stop, just like it did before Mary left. The air shakes with it, the molecules stilling as sideways looks are exchanged, eyes are narrowed, and words are whispered. I catch it sometimes when Lilou’s mother and father stay up late more and more frequently, a single candle illuminating the worry etched on their faces. I know Lilou’s father has been hoarding grain and keeping bread for the family. I know that one day the tension will spill over and people will know. When they turn their revolutionary ire on this family we will all be swallowed up. I think about leaving in the night and finding a new home. Then I feel Lilou’s chest rise and fall next to me. I smell her warm breath, and I know I won’t flee, not like Mary. I will stay here with my Lilou. Just maybe I will show the courage of my lion-hunting ancestors, and I will keep her safe. But for now, I lower my head onto the bed, close my eyes, and sleep another night.
Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 22nd July, 1981 33.
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34. Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 1st February, 1991
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INTERHALL
RHODES
SCULLERS
/
SOCIETY
National Library of Australia
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15269810
35.
Austine Chen Henry Liu threw open the roller doors of his garage, absentmindedly going over his to-do list for the day. He was itching to sit down and continue his newest biography, but he had to first deliver the new stock of Halloween decorations to his two stores. Beams of sunlight cut through the morning fog to provide some warmth against the October autumn chill and Henry closed his eyes to take a moment, basking in the sun. A gleam of black feathers caught his eye as he turned to locate the boxes of stock. A crow was perched on his driveway, unmoving. Watching. Henry furrowed his brow and looked away, eager to get on with his day. Henry’s mind was engrossed, planning a rough outline for his book as he heaved the last box into the boot of his car. Suddenly, a series of almost angry caws sang from the crow and broke his trance. Henry spun around to face two Asian men dressed in identical uniforms of a black t-shirt, baseball hat and dark sunglasses. The men had hardened faces, and each clutched a dusty gun. “Excuse me?” Henry glowered at them. “What are you doing? Who are you?” An uneasy feeling told him he knew what they were here for. He could not be scared — he would not be scared. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He had chosen his battles, and this was his fate. Henry thanked the heavens that his wife had slept in this morning and said a silent prayer. “You communist!” The taller man spat, in Mandarin. His accent brought Henry back to Taiwan. “This is for our country!” His hand was steady. “I’m not a communist,” Henry scowled, “I’m a journalist! I’m—” Bang.
I’m trying to save your country. Bang. The world was spinning. The world was spinning before Henry’s eyes as he jerkily collapsed to the ground. His body was on fire, excruciating pain radiating from nowhere and everywhere, all at once. There he laid, haphazardly sprawled on the floor of his own garage, like a doll that a child had gotten bored of. The squeak of bicycle tyres as his assassins sped away seemed deafening and pierced his eardrums. The crow cocked its head, watching them get away.
Art by Vera Tan
No Freedom Without Truth
36. Art by Vera Tan
Most of all he thought of his wife. Henry prayed she would be spared, that she could continue the life that they built here. He hoped she knew how much he loved her. He had no doubts that she would continue his fight for truth. She would seek justice. In the distance, he heard her voice call out. His eyes fell shut. Henry thought of his father, who used to lift him effortlessly onto his shoulders as a boy, before he was killed by the communists. He recalled the glee and the weightlessness he once felt, so high up yet so safe, held — protected by his father. He thought of his mother. Her gentle, weathered hands that clung to him and cradled his head as she sobbed when he was sent to Taiwan, after being drafted into the Nationalist Revolutionary Army. He thought of Hsia Hsiao-hua, his long-time mentor, who had urged and warned him against publishing the biography. His thoughts were getting foggy now, like steam dissipating as it rises. “Henry? Henry!” Helen yelled, almost tripping in her haste to reach the garage. Rivers of deep crimson blood spurted from each of the gunshots. Helen collapsed to her knees next to the corpse and held him to her, the flood of tears blurring her vision. The crow cawed once more before taking off into the vast expanse of the blue autumn sky. My husband, she wept. My husband. On 7 February 1985, Helen Liu stood before the United States Congress to testify in her husband’s case. Gazing out at the sea of faces, she recalled the oath she made that tragic morning: I will fight for the truth of my husband’s murder. His justice is justice for all Taiwanese citizens. Helen squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I believe that my husband was murdered on the orders of high government officials of the Republic of China (Taiwan), and that he was killed by them for a threefold purpose: 1) To punish him for writing about the ruling Chiang family; 2) To prevent him from writing books and articles in the future about the Chiang family, and their political and family history; and 3) To scare other journalists and writers who might also be interested as Henry was in writing about this family and its history.”
37.
Art by Sanle Yan
38.
Art by Jasmin Small
39.
A Reflection on Before the Coffee Gets Cold Remi Lynch Recently, I read the book Before the Coffee Gets Cold, the first in a four-book series. Before the Coffee Gets Cold was written by Toshikazu Kawaguchi in 2015. The latest instalment, Before We Say Goodbye, was published in 2021. I can’t shed any light on the last three books (I am a slow reader, after all), but I will share my thoughts on the first book.
Before The Coffee Gets Cold, in brief, explores the lives of four different people and their reasons for wanting to temporarily travel back in time, whether to amend a wrong, find closure or address a regret. They believe that doing so will have no impact on the present time. To travel back in time, one must visit a particular cafe and abide by a set of rules that make it seemingly pointless to travel back in time, turning many away. For example, one’s actions in the past won’t be able to change the future — this turns away many prospective time travellers. What is the point of travelling back in time if not to change the present time? However, as the book explores, the purpose of time travel in these cases is to become more at peace with one’s actions. Perhaps to gain some clarity on a situation they handled poorly in the first instance. For example, an older sister (Hirai) makes amends with her late younger sister (Kumi), guiding Hirai down a path to be part of her previously estranged parents’ lives. A woman (Fumiko) gains clarity on her boyfriend’s (Goro’s) hurried exit from her life, providing her with hope that they will reconcile in the future.
Art by Amanda Lim
Maybe the present time isn’t directly changed (say by Kumi’s life being saved) but indirectly, through one’s new choices and actions shaped by their experiences in the past (i.e. Hirai choosing to make amends with her parents, which she likely would not have done without travelling back to speak to Kumi one last time). In the heat of the moment, we tend to lose sight of what’s important, of what’s actually going on. Our judgement is so easily clouded. As a consequence, we can often walk away from interactions, situations and relationships without closure. We walk away without understanding what might have been, closing off future possibilities. Such as in the case of Fumiko and Goro. Had Fumiko not travelled back in time, she would have been unaware that Goro planned to come back in three years, that there’s hope for the two of them. The opportunity to go back in time to gain clarity, change one’s actions, and see what could’ve been appears to be life-changing in the case of these four characters in Before the Coffee Gets Cold.
40. Art by Amanda Lim
The cafe also dictates that an individual who wishes to travel back in time must sit in one particular seat and, when they have travelled back in time, cannot leave that seat. As such, the person you wish to meet with in the past must also know of and have attended the cafe when you travel back in time. This rule has allowed the author to truly focus on the human relationships within the story, the conversations within the cafe’s context, and how the cafe’s staff care for each character. In this way, it almost feels like these characters are linked across time, making the novel particularly unique in its use of time travel. How time travel is explored in this book suggests that perhaps one cannot rewrite their entire history, but perhaps their history with one particular person… or at least understand it more than they did previously. Like… putting on a different pair of sunglasses and seeing the world in a slightly different tint. A new perspective. Sitting in the same seat (or similar) as the first time one experienced the conversation allows them to have that new perspective. As opposed to time travelling to a time or place that they’ve never been to. All in all, Before the Coffee Gets Cold is a short and introspective novel that explores the depth of human relationships and raises questions of regret, closure and missed opportunity. I look forward to reading the rest of this series by Toshikazu Kawaguchi.
41.
Art by George Hogg
42.
Historical Fiction Across Time and Space Aala Cheema Daughters of Sparta by Claire Heywood Set in Ancient Greece, Daughters of Sparta follows sisters Helen and Klytemnestra of Sparta. Separated through their political marriages to brothers Menelaos and Agamemnon, the novel chronicles a tragedy imbued with equal parts love and violence. After Helen is whisked away to Troy with its prince Paris, a thousand ships set sail to steal her back at significant personal cost to Klytemnestra. For fans of Greek mythology and Homer’s Iliad, Daughters of Sparta gives voice to the two women central to the tale and what it means to be caught in the crossfires of the cruel ambition of men.
Art by Sanle Yan
Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi The novel follows the descendants of two half-sisters, Effia and Esi, born in different villages in Ghana during the 1700s. Effia is married to an Englishman and lives in the Cape Coast Castle. Her sister, Esi, is imprisoned in the castle’s dungeons to be sold into the slave trade. One family line lives in freedom yet is haunted by the guilt of its role in enslaving its own people. The other is forsaken to a life in shackles for generations. Each chapter of the novel follows a different descendant from both family lines, positioned against the backdrop of historical movements and events. Despite the changing perspectives, characterisation is the novel’s greatest strength. From the conflict between the Fante and Asante nations in Ghana to plantations of the American South, the book traverses Ghanaian and American history. This is an incredibly emotional story that effortlessly explores the generational impact of colonisation and slavery on family, bloodline, and nation. Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia Beginning in 1866, Maria is a cigar-roller in a factory living through political unrest and the threat of revolution in Cuba. In 2014, Jeanette, the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, struggles with substance abuse. After ICE detains her neighbour, she takes in her young daughter. Carmen, Jeanette’s mother, has a complicated relationship with her own mother stemming from a traumatic event she witnessed as a child. Following the women of one family through several generations, from 1866 to 2019, this novel explores the complexity of mother-daughter relationships and how they intersect with colonialism, patriarchy, race, and immigration. The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams The Dictionary of Lost Words is written by Australian author Pip Williams and is set in England from the 1880s to the Great War. Following the protagonist, Esme, from childhood to adulthood, the novel centres around the compilation of the Oxford English Dictionary. Esme spends most of her childhood under a table in the Scriptorium, where James Murray and his lexicographers work. She begins collecting words used by and about women that the lexicographers have discarded. These words form the creation of her own dictionary: The Dictionary of Lost Words. This novel illuminates the erasure of women and their experiences in lexicography. It is an incredibly unique and gripping read incorporating historical events like the women’s suffrage movement.
43.
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee Pachinko is an epic historical fiction novel that spans generations and decades. It begins in the early 1900s during the Japanese occupation of Korea, following Sunja, a teenage girl who falls pregnant after being seduced by a wealthy older married man. She accepts an offer of marriage from a sickly minister, Isak, who takes pity on her. Together, they travel to Japan. The novel follows the trials faced by the family as they experience poverty, discrimination, and the Second World War. The pachinko parlours serve as a powerful metaphor throughout the novel, depicting the unpredictability of life. This is a story of love and sacrifice in the face of struggle and hardship. The House of Doors by Tan Twan Eng Longlisted for the 2023 Man Booker Prize, The House of Doors is set on the Straits Settlement of Penang in 1921. It is based on W. Somerset Maugham and reimagines the inspiration behind his 1926 short story “The Letter”. Maugham, with his secretary and lover Gerald, visits his old friend Robert Hamlyn and his wife Lesley in Penang. The story consists of two strands that Lesley gradually recounts to Maugham: her connection to Chinese revolutionary Dr Sun Yat Set and the 1911 murder trial of Ethel Proudlock. As Maugham contemplates writing on what Lesley has told him, the novel reckons with a question that all writers must face: who has the right to tell a story. The book is a masterful exploration of British colonialism, queer and feminine identity, and the power of storytelling. Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan This 120-page novella is small but mighty. Short-listed for the 2022 Man Booker Prize, the story is set in a small Irish town in 1985. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Bill, a coal merchant, makes a horrific and shocking discovery. Throughout her novella, Keegan explores the mistreatment of women in the Magdalene Laundries, the church’s role in this systemic abuse of power and the silent complicitness of all those who knew the truth. I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys Ruta Sepetys’ I Must Betray You is a historical fiction young adult novel set in 1989 communist Romania in the last few months of the reign of dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu. The protagonist, Cristian Florescu, is compelled to become an informant for the government and obtain information on a family of American diplomats in exchange for treatment for his grandfather, who is ill with leukaemia. Given the code name ‘Oscar’, Cristian struggles with feelings of loyalty and duty as he attempts to survive under an oppressive regime. The novel paints a stark picture of 1980s Romania and its climate of government surveillance.
Art by Sanle Yan
The Color Purple by Alice Walker Walker’s epistolary novel is split between rural Georgia in the early 1900s and an unnamed African nation. When Celie is forced to marry “Mr.” and care for his children, her younger sister Nettie travels to Africa as a missionary for the Olinka tribe. The two sisters write to each other, hoping they may be reunited one day. The Pulitzer Prize for Fiction winner, the novel is a shocking and emotional examination of race, class, gender, sexuality, and religion. It refuses to shy away from the domestic violence and sexual abuse experienced by black women and gives voice to their pain, resilience and courage.
44. Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 1st August, 1975
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46.
Art by Jasmin Small
Screeching Halt Annie Little
Have you ever been listening to a song and are so taken aback by an unhinged lyric that you have to go back and check that it’s exactly as insane as you thought it was? Yeah, me too. Typically I don’t listen very closely to the lyrics of songs. However, every so often, there’s one so special it requires recognition. Here is a collection of a few of my favourite lyrics that have stopped me in my tracks (pun intended). If you, like me, have a middle-aged white Australian father, you’ve probably been forced to listen to a lot of Triple J over the years. When I was fifteen, Pond came out with their album The Weather and to say my dad was obsessed is an understatement. This meant anytime one of their songs was played on Triple J, my dad would turn it up and sing along — horribly off-key, mind you. Truly nothing is more horrifying as a teenager than hearing your dad fucking belting the line, ‘in between my penis and chin/is camembert and shame’ (Pond, Sweep Me Off My Feet). The moment has never left my brain since and probably never will. Being on Youtube in the mid to late 2010s, you may have come across the animation community and its even smaller subset, the animated meme community. Me and my brother fucking loved to show each other the most stupid videos from there, like Momotaro by Ap Selene and Vivziepop’s Timber. I still maintain that some of those songs were good. One of our absolute favourites was the reanimation of Pokemon Sun and Moon characters to You Reposted in the Wrong Neighbourhood by Shokk. The image of Professor Kukui dancing hard to ‘I’m a menace, a dentist, an oral hygienist’ is timeless. The original may have been deleted, but I still go back to reuploads every now and again.
47.
For one of my introductory courses in first year, the professor would play the music video for a song at the beginning of each module (so usually one or two a class) that was in some way related to the content we would be learning. We were forced to listen to all manner of wild songs at 8am on a Tuesday morning, but I can’t deny that they were part of the reason I loved that class and went to every lecture, even with that brutal start time. One of the most memorable was the 17th song in which the line, ‘I’m learning to hate all the things that used to be great when I used to be bent!’ was uttered. Honestly, the entire song, I Want to Be Straight by Ian Dury (ft. The Blockheads) is mad, so I would encourage watching the music video or even just listening if you feel so inclined. In the past couple of months, a lot of my friends have moved houses and as the fantastic friend that I am, I helped. On one of these expeditions, after we had moved most of the boxes into the new place, we were taking a break and listening to the radio (which station I couldn’t tell you for the life of me). We were sweaty, exhausted and overheated. Basically we were delirious, which means that only something truly out of pocket would’ve shaken us out of our stupor. It was actually an earlier lyric from the song that caught our attention (breathing out a hole in my lung) but the later lyric is one that stuck with us so bad we immediately had to look it up to make sure we didn’t hallucinate what we had heard. We hadn’t, and that lyric was; ‘I’m a sex change and a damsel with no heroine’, from Silverchair’s Straight Lines. When I told my dad about this collection of silly song lyrics that he had originally prompted, he was at first amused but then said he had the perfect song to add to it. He was right. The entire song is a collection of lyrics that I’m frankly astounded made it past a producer but the one I’ve chosen is tame enough that it’s entertaining but not batshit enough to be concerning - like some of the rest of the song is. That lyric is ‘I like football and porno and books about war/ I got an average house, with a nice hardwood floor’ from Dennis Leary’s song Asshole. Those are all lyrics that have really stuck with me, but there are others that I believe deserve an honourable mention: ‘May God rest that twink, he is no more’ - Lynks, USE IT OR LOSE IT ‘Jerry Lee Lewis was the devil’ - Ministry, Jesus Built My Hotrod ‘Sipping tea by the fire is swell/ pushing people in is fun as well!’ - Starkid, Different as can Be
48. Art by Jasmin Small
‘I get eaten by the worms/ and weird fishes’ - Radiohead, Weird Fishes ‘I have a big gun/ took it from my Lord’ - MELL, Red fraction ‘Doctor holding a big bottle of tonic but the bottle’s full of rings and the doctor is Sonic’ - Tom Cardy (ft bdg), Beautiful Mind ‘And I’ll blend up that rainbow above you/ and shoot it through your veins’ - Owl City, Rainbow Veins ‘I got money and fame and fancy clothes/ I got a cat food sponsor deal’ - 2winz², Just One Day ‘Your waitress was miserable and so was your food’ - Alex Turner, Piledriver Waltz ‘He keeps begging me to eat me out, I said, / “You gotta take my tampon out with your mouth”’ - Ayesha Erotica, S&M remix ‘Sixty-nine is the only dinner for two’ - Childish Gambino, Heartbeat ‘Bish I’m a star but not Patrick’ - Lisa (BLACKPINK), DDU-DU DDU-DU (JP. Ver) ‘The whole world is my daddy / wabi sabi papi’ - Okay Kaya, Mother Nature’s Bitch ‘Pick my shorts out my ass with my blood-stained hands’ - Ashnikko, Cheerleader ‘You won’t doo-doo me, I smell TNT’ - Kendrick Lemar, United In Grief
49.
Art by Vera Tan
50.
Art by Jasmin Small
51.
Liam Maldoni The word ‘revolution’ inevitably conjures up images of sharpened guillotines looming over the necks of French aristocrats or Bolshevik bayonets levelled against capitalists. Yet Italy, better known for its vibrant food and criminal gangs, offers its own history of revolutionary upheaval. Of all Italy’s insurrections, the Roman Republic of 1849 easily stands as the most extraordinary — the day that Rome threw off the Papal monarchy and, in an era of conservative autocracy, briefly glimpsed Europe’s progressive future. Besides providing a gripping story which prefigures the rise of modern progressivism, the Republic also deserves to be known for the political lessons it offers on today’s challenges. In 1848, fiery revolution was raging across Europe, thunderous upheaval piercing the ears and throats of European despots. Rebellion gripped the Italian peninsula, as nationalists resisted the absolute monarchies that kept what is now Italy (referred to as ‘Italy’ from now on) divided and repressed. In Rome, the Pope had long ruled absolutely, restrained only by his handpicked Cardinals, inflicting heavy surveillance and a fearsome Papal guillotine on his subjects. The new Pope of 1846, Pius IX, had initially brought relief through liberal reforms, loosening restrictions on the press and political association. However, in 1848, Pius abruptly halted his reforms, withdrawing support for the nationalist war against Austria and appointing a conservative prime minister. Pius’ change-of-heart had come too late. Thanks to his reformist policies, Rome was by now teeming with former political prisoners and exiles, propagating revolutionary ideals through a semi-free press. Unwittingly, Pius had birthed a radical political culture, which would never tolerate a return to conservative Papal dictatorship. In mid-November, a day after assassinating the prime minister, the Civic Guard unleashed cannon-fire on the Pope’s residence, aided by their fellow left-wing nationalists. Expelling the Pope, they organised the election of a constituent assembly via full male suffrage, Italy’s first ever mass election. In February 1849, the assembly declared Papal authority void and proclaimed the Roman Republic.
Art by Amanda Lim
The Roman Republic of 1849
52. Art by Amanda Lim
The first month of Republican government witnessed far-reaching societal transformation, as the Republic swiftly unshackled the masses from coercive priestly rule. Prisoners of the infamous Inquisition were liberated, censorship was ended and Church control over schools and universities abolished. The laity were also shielded from the ecclesiastical courts, whose jurisdiction now solely targeted the clergy. This anticlerical assault on religious domination went hand-in-hand with social revolution, for the revolutionary state eliminated clerical privileges, transformed Vatican palaces into public property and seized the Church’s vast landholdings.
Fears of an Austrian invasion quickly forced the Republic to declare a state of emergency, electing a powerful triumvirate led by Giuseppe Mazzini, a leading Italian nationalist. However, invasion came not from Austria, but France, which, fearing Austrian territorial ambitions, resolved to seize Rome first. In April 1849, the French Republic defied its own constitution that forbade aggression against sister republics and landed an invasion force of 11,000 men near Rome. Despite anticipating minimal resistance, the French were firmly routed by Rome’s soldiers; both men and women, including Roman Jews who dreaded a return to Papal antisemitism. Embarrassed by defeat, the French summoned reinforcements, buying time through negotiations that lasted throughout May. Meanwhile, though plagued by high inflation, Mazzini’s progressive spirit pervaded Rome. He leased Church land to peasants at low cost, housed the poor in the Inquisition’s former offices, and gave hospital work to formerly imprisoned sex-workers. With mixed success, Mazzini also sought to restrain the violent and sometimes murderous anticlericalism which France’s invasion had inflamed. The progressive movement, however, was not to last. By early June, 30,000 French soldiers, including many seasoned veterans from Algeria, had amassed outside Rome’s walls. A gruelling eighteen-hour battle ensued, with the Italians suffering heavy losses despite repelling the French. Turning to siege bombardment, France rained incendiary bombs on the Eternal City, hitting houses and incinerating children while blackened, decayed corpses from earlier battles lay strewn underneath the summer sun. Appalled by this onslaught, the French Left led a futile protest in the National Assembly and later in the streets of Paris, where French cavalry trampled them. Although Rome’s walls had resisted the French bombardment for longer than expected, Rome’s Assembly determined that further resistance was impossible and would halt its defence, albeit without formally capitulating. One final act of defiance remained, however. On July 3, right as the French entered the city, Rome’s Assembly announced to the world the Republic’s now finalised constitution. This declaration of radical Italian aspirations stipulated a democratic regime with an Italian identity, with capital punishment abolished (the first polity to do so constitutionally) and all aristocratic privileges outlawed. Similarly, civil rights would no longer depend on one’s religion, with freedom of worship enshrined alongside freedom of expression and assembly.
53.
Moreover, Rome’s revolutionaries remind us of the radical origins of Italian identity, for it was these left-leaning radicals who birthed the concept of an Italian national consciousness. This is vital for Australians to understand, since today we see an Italian government that clings to a vastly different, fascistic conception of Italian identity. But the Roman Republic reminds us that their conception is in fact a revision, indeed a perversion, of an earlier, progressive Italianness. Lastly, although the revolutionaries failed, their courage in the face of overwhelming odds remains inspirational and instructive. At a time when theocratic mentalities are resurgent worldwide, from America to Russia to Iran, the example set by Rome’s daring rejection of Papal tyranny is a precious gift. Their initial success in toppling a monarchy as formidable as the Papacy reminds us that no theocratic obstacle is insurmountable. Furthermore, the Republic’s vulnerability due to insufficient foreign support urges us to forge strong international connections that safeguard societal progress against conservative backlash.
Art by Amanda Lim
And with that, only five months after its establishment, the Republic collapsed and Papal rule was restored. Pius IX’s earlier reformism now yielded to a vengeful conservatism, reinstating capital punishment and forcing Rome’s Jews back into the Ghetto. Short-lived and an apparent failure, the Republic might easily seem insignificant. Yet, viewed teleologically, this forward-thinking Republic seems to anticipate the more progressive, democratic Europe that has emerged since World War Two. Indeed, within the Republic’s radical constitution, one can almost glimpse today’s Europe, where the ballot-box has replaced the sceptre of kings and where religious supremacy has begun to yield to popular sovereignty.
54. Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 23rd July, 1975
RIFT
National Library of Australia
CHRP GOWIXDEPT
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15270971
55.
Hamish McPherson and Claudia Hunt One of my favourite movies ever is Muriel’s Wedding. Following the socially awkward Muriel as she leaves her hometown Porpoise Spit on a quest for her ideal groom and perfect wedding in sunny Sydney, what makes PJ Hogan’s 1995 comedy-drama so memorable to me is how specific it is to Australia. Beyond Toni Collette’s award-sweeping performance as Muriel or even Hogan’s genius crafting of the perfect anti-romcom, Muriel’s Wedding has always stuck out due to its uniquely Australian sensibilities: from its opening vignettes of Australiana to its lurid representation of Williams and Oxford Street in the mid 90s. So when I was asked to send something in for Woroni’s historical edition I decided to send in a cut-down version of my paper for a modern Australian history class that focused on the significance of gay saunas to the cultural development of Sydney for the same reasons I liked Muriel’s Wedding. I started writing the paper because it was the question my lecturer was clearly most interested in, but what I think I ultimately got from it was how beneficial it was to actually hear from people who lived in the same city as me, alive in the 1970s-90s, discussing their own experiences on streets and in buildings I’ve grown up around. Anyway, here’s an edited version of that paper: *** Prior to the advent of gay bathhouse culture in Sydney, there were two general ways through which gay men would meet each other socially: secret networks or “beats”. These private networks were sustained by large groups of closeted gay men hosting events at inconspicuous locations like hotel bars and churches. “Beats” were any public space with confidentiality, ranging from public toilets to nature walks to Turkish baths. Also known as cruising spots, beats worked to some extent as the sauna before the sauna. The more cunning and connected beat patrons often employed “cockatoos”: men they’d previously hooked up with that were down to keep a look-out in case an unsympathetic passerby were to catch wind of what was going on in the “beat”. Bathhouse culture in Sydney was born in 1967 with the opening of the Bondi Junction Steam Baths. Opened with the explicit purpose of facilitating discrete encounters, some sources go as far as to report that the Bondi Junction Steam Baths alone had 120 guests at any one time and lines of prospective patrons going around the block. From 1971 to 1977, another six bathhouses were opened to capitalise on the growing demand for more saunas. Furthermore, whilst the Bondi Junction Steam Baths were open from twelve to twelve, six days a week, by the late 1970s many of these baths had 24/7 access to meet the massive demand within Sydney’s gay community and a growing consumer base of men who would stay over the weekends.
Art by Jasmin Small
Bubbles of History: How Sydney’s Saunas Shaped Queer Community
56. The socio-sexual significance of bathhouse culture was ensured by the provision of a variety of creative security devices. The gym equipment at many of these bathhouses provided a cover in times of police incursion (rife especially in the 1960s). The excuse of believing that the bathhouse was just a gym rendered buggery offences near impossible to charge. The bathhouse attendant would work as a professional cockatoo, raising the alarm either verbally or by pressing an actual alarm button which would send off an alert to the bathhouse attendees to stop what they were doing and start lifting those weights. Visitors of the baths had to have a connection to a prior patron to be let in. If that wasn’t enough, the attendant would also add another level of security by interrogating the patron at the door about who had referred them, whether they knew what type of gym this was and whether they’d been here before (and so on and so forth). In addition, visitors also had the opportunity to sign in with a pseudonym or in illegible scrawl so as to ensure anonymity if the sign in sheets fell into the wrong hands. Beyond the sexual, bathhouse culture was also critical to facilitating romantic and platonic connections within Sydney’s gay and greater queer community. It was not uncommon for many men to meet through the saunas, no different to a gay bar or club. For many, the baths were a vital part of the nightlife, a ritual lynchpin for the Sydney gay community. They would start their Friday night at a gay bar like Chez Ivy or the Purple Onion before ending up at either the Bondi Junction Steam Baths or Ken’s. During the 1970s, as more and more bathhouses opened up, proprietors began to employ interconnected floor plans that provided for far greater availability of non-sexual social interaction. Sauna life was key to influencing the ways gay men understood their own sexuality and others, providing activities to a marginalised community which ultimately resulted in improved political awareness and solidarity. Before discussing the direct political impact of gay bathhouses in greater detail, it’s important to recognise how apolitical gay Sydney life was prior to 1967. In the 1950s and 60s, Australia saw a considerable rise in homophobic legislation and general negative sentiment towards Sydney’s queer subculture, reflected in the dramatic rise in SMH/Star articles publicising police stings in drag shows and brothels that employed trans women. It should be noted that during this period Australia had no substantial gay political activism until 1971. Going back to the direct political impact of gay bathhouses, it the new gay identity that emerged in the 1960s and 1970s must also be noted, culminating in the formation of CAMP Ink, the vanguard of Sydney’s gay scene through the 70s led by Germaine Greer and Dennis Altman (best known for its 1971 Christmas campaign, refer left). This identity was one defined by pride and openness about one’s own sexuality, and invested in collective direct action towards sexual equality. By providing an unprecedentedly private and safe arena for gay men to meet each other and oftentimes have anonymous, kinky sex, bathhouses meaningfully shaped a different way for these men to understand themselves and others in this burgeoning community.
57. Bathhouse culture was deeply connected to the rise in gay men “coming out” and being openly gay in the 1970s. Beyond the confines of the home, places like the Kens and King Steam were unique in allowing for gay men to simply be themselves and witness that they were still accepted (and in fact adored by others) when openly queer. Many of the patrons interviewed (mainly for Jason Prior’s dissertation on gay saunas in 1900s Sydney) discuss how these places allowed for this early form of gay pride. Far from the crude environment of the bygone “beat” or even the more brutalist, minimal designs of the Bondi Junction Steam Baths, the plush and ornate venues (refer right or below) both internationally (the Continental Baths and Club Baths in NYC) and in Sydney (the Roman Baths, No. 253 and King Steam) had fresco and felt fitted features which allowed gay men to feel respectable when frequenting these venues. These radical spaces for erotic encounters allowed for many of its patrons to not only have private pride in their sexuality by also start to consider whether mainstream society was right about sexual relations at all. A growing opposition to monogamy and other traditional understandings of sex started to take hold in the sauna scene. John Steel recalls, “There was an understanding that one should not hold one’s body back from another, that one should give one’s body freely to others”. Beyond the implicit impacts of saunas on the formation of the political character of Sydney’s gay community, gay saunas also had a crucial role in providing actual explicit opportunities for organising. Bathhouses, especially Kens’ and the Roman, became sites for regular political meetings and fundraisers, book launches for activist academics like Dennis Altman and subversive cultural events like drag shows and Mr Leather — deeply political given the impact such subcultures had on understandings of gender.
58.
Apart from the social and political, gay saunas had a huge role in direct public health-related action. After the first diagnosis of HIV in an Australian man in 1982, Sydney’s gay community was wracked by paranoia and misinformation about the disease. This paranoia was promptly met by the deliberate escalation of homophobic attitudes in mainstream society by conservative groups and Christian fundamentalists. This homophobia went as far as MP Fred Nile demanding the quarantining of all Australian homosexuals and the Medical Journal of Australia’s June 1983 edition boasting a cover with bold white text screaming: “Depravity kills!”(refer left). In the midst of this chaos, bathhouses like Kens and King Steam provided resources on AIDS awareness, new medical information on the disease and encouraged safe sex through the provision of condoms. Pamphlets were installed and stocked by the Aids Council of NSW (ACON) to correct common misconceptions like amyl nitrate being the source of HIV/AIDS, and video screens showed continuous-reel safe sex videos in social rooms. In addition, many bathhouses brightened their lights and closed bathhouse darkrooms to improve contract tracing if necessary. Bodyline, in conjunction with an initiative launched by Sydney Sexual Health Centre, provided a room in the sauna that ran a clinic providing patrons with HIV testing, counselling and general medical advice. In ACON’s 1995 Code of Conduct, bathhouses were recognised for their role in public health, providing education, supplies and modifications to prevent the rapid spread of HIV seen in cities like San Francisco and New York. Following the turn of the millennia and the rise of the internet, bathhouses have certainly become less popular. Research suggests that this is due to the impact of online dating apps such as Grindr/Scruff, growing gay acceptance both legally and socially allowing for gay men to easily meet each other without needing to consult their local Sydney Sauna and the gentrification of the Eastern Suburbs meaning that many of gay bathhouse’s historic working class clients now no longer live nearby.
59.
Nevertheless, bathhouse culture was undoubtedly integral to fostering gay community in Sydney on a variety of levels, from the medicinal to the political to the sociosexual. Against Sydney’s backdrop of the limited social avenues available for gay men to meet each other in the early to mid-20th century, gay bathhouses provided safe spaces for gay men to connect with each other. They pushed for gay men to become more politically conscious and to advocate for themselves on a collective level and provided a variety of medical services during the AIDS epidemic, which contributed to the community’s survival in such trying times. *** So yeah, that’s my paper. Overall, I do believe that exploring the world of Sydney saunas unveils something more than just that: namely how history is shaped by not just major events and significant figures but also the everyday experiences of ordinary people. These bathhouses were spaces where individuals sought connection and companionship, where friendships were forged, and where personal journeys of self-discovery unfolded against the backdrop of a rapidly changing society. Thus, by delving into these local histories, we’re provided with a deeper connection to the rich complexities that make up queer history, Australian history and all of its messy overlaps.
60.
Art by Brandon Sung
61. Art by Brandon Sung
62. Art by Jasmin Small
The ‘Ascent’ of Man Rohan Reynolds ‘It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.’ - Aristotle This quote, from the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, notes that the power of human genius is in discovering and experimenting with thoughts without allowing ourselves to conform to a set way of thinking. If we look at today’s society, advancements in robotics and ‘artificial intelligence’ (AI) are looming on the horizon and are described by the media as ‘progressive’. And yet, what people often fail to consider is that the most progressive leaps of mankind were made by our ancestors thousands of years ago. Time and time again, we make incrementally more minor improvements regarding innovation and creativity. As a result, mankind is limiting itself to a narrow mindset governed by automation and groupthink. The very core of what makes us individuals and humans is under siege by the subversion of truth and reality, the corruption of the definition of labour and service, and the degeneration of individual thought. The censorship of thought and expression is, and has been, a powerful tool in limiting mankind’s potential. This has particularly been the case in the past century, with news outlets controlling what information is released to the public at specific times. If this continues, our world will be much like Oceania in George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, where the greater powers of governments and bureaucracies shape individual thought and endeavour. To quote O’Brien, an influential party member in the novel, “Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past” (Orwell, 1949). Just as easily as history can be written, it can also be taken away and manipulated to prevent others from correcting the wrongs of higher authorities. Some media outlets throughout history outline one side of a story and force people to view the world from that perspective, as exemplified by the Alien and Sedition Acts limiting Americans’ views on the government in 1798. Misinformation, fear campaigns, and propaganda are contemporary tools that some media and the government use to limit people’s thoughts on pressing issues. A comparison can be drawn to the 1997 film Wag The Dog, where deception is used to push narratives and political agendas. Those who seek control will force their perspectives on us to strip our individuality in an attempt to create a collective hive mind and prevent progress for the good of mankind. When considering our world today, higher authorities have subverted values of creative pursuit and endeavour and replaced them with monotonous work for monetary goals and the pursuit of pleasure. Ultimately, this leaves people unsatisfied. For most people across the globe, the pressures of the modern world condition us to focus on the troubles of money and push the stories of our ancestors to the side. They fail to see that money does not make us happy; instead, it disconnects us from the joys and pride of labour and service as demonstrated by our forebears. In recent history, we have lost the ability to connect with a sense of being to serve others selflessly. The primary reason for our inability to serve others is the monopolisation of labour and effort, as has been the case for centuries. Those who seek power over the masses control our societies with money and industry when our true place is fulfilling our purpose of service and love of work to aid each other.
63.
Consider the possibility that the obsession with automation and AI will not increase happiness but will likely result in the opposite. How we live is threatened by ‘advancements’ in technology, the manipulation of media on the masses, and the loss of knowledge throughout the ages. Time and time again, we have collectively neglected the wonders of the natural world and the experiences of our ancestors, and have fallen into a darkened age of groupthink, monetary corruption and indolence. We have allowed ourselves to neglect the beauty of nature and the knowledge we can gain from it. However, as elaborated by Plato, “We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light” (Plato, 375 BC). To have a brighter future, we must aspire to learn the knowledge of our ancestors and broaden our horizons to a simpler way of life governed by curiosity, innovation, and creativity.
Art by Jasmin Small
Furthermore, the development of robotics and computer technologies has undermined our physical and mental state of being. With the incorporation of AI and digitisation in society, it has become easier for mankind to grow lazy and docile, much like the crew of the Axiom from the 2008 Pixar film WALL-E. Compared to today, we see the rise of AIs such as ChatGPT completing tasks that humans would have completed millennia ago. The paradox is that if we fail to use our minds and bodies for everyday activities and problem-solving, machines will supersede us while only growing smarter in a relative sense. Automation may appear to some as the way forward, although it is inevitably a downward spiral to a formdestroying process of entropy. How we complete tasks is unique and has character, whereas machines are soulless, giving optimal solutions and disregarding human ingenuity and creativity. This was depicted by Sully Sullenberg, who saved the passengers aboard Flight 1594 on January 15, 2009, by ditching his aircraft in the Hudson River. No machine could compute a solution to this scenario without causing death or property damage. The prior sentiment was also conveyed by musician Nick Cave, noting that the originality and soul in human endeavour is absent in machines, as read by Steven Fry last year. Human creativity and willpower are infinitely superior to the ‘power’ of automation and must not be allowed to degenerate.
64.
Time and Time Again, We Get it Wrong With TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year Hunter Trumble In today’s world we are surrounded by news, as reported by the media. When one looks deeper into what we consume, we can see how the media dictates our knowledge and beliefs of the events and individuals they report. Thus, the media shapes the society we live in. One media outlet I often question is TIME Magazine, which is known for its annual TIME Magazine’s ‘Person of the Year’ (formerly ‘Man of the Year’). This is awarded to the person who has the biggest involvement, influence, or impact in world affairs for that year, for “good or ill.” Of course, this sounds very ambitious, and could sometimes be deserving of condemnation by its global audience. However, TIME clarifies that it is not supposed to be an award or honour, nor a reflection of what TIME is promoting. It simply enables its audience to understand the story of the individual or group with the biggest impact on the year. As someone who engages with TIME Magazine, I find this approach to ‘Person of the Year’ an unusual way of addressing their audience. Traditionally, TIME has been proclaimed as a “left-leaning” or “centre” media outlet that provides progressive and liberal content. It is one of the few outlets not part of NewsCorp (the company owned by the Murdochs, the largest media family in the world). In reading the articles that detail why each person was deemed worthy, my analysis led me to believe that the majority of the article is a basic narrative that provides an insight into the winner’s world. The article also offers the winner’s perspective, allowing the reader to understand their decision making processes and life choices. Therefore, TIME is relatively impartial as they provide a detailed account of what the winner has done. They do not provide their input, emotions, or feelings, leaving that to their person of the year. Ingenious if you ask me. Despite this, it constantly seems to miss the attention of the greater audience, who need to recognize its purpose. In 2021, Elon Musk was named TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year. The world expressed its anger and frustration, primarily because of Musk’s opposition to unions, avoidance of paying taxes, and attempts to mitigate the threats of COVID-19. Many felt that honouring someone of this calibre was an insulting and poor reflection of TIME Magazine. This has reoccurred, with Hitler in 1938, Stalin in 1939 and 1942, Nixon and Kissinger in 1972, Putin in 2007, and Trump in 2016. Sure, you can say that history repeats itself, and perhaps in those years, TIME could have chosen someone who was more worthy and possessed more goodwill. However, in TIME’s and the winner’s defence, I honestly believe the world needs to allow them an opportunity to be heard. It is rather unprincipled to deny the right to be heard, and when we listen, we learn more. Once you have finished listening, you are free to re-evaluate your beliefs and knowledge surrounding the individual. The media has been and will continue to be a part of our world and daily lives, and TIME Magazine’s ‘Person of the Year’ reflects how the most influential individuals and groups intend to impact our world, for the better or for the worse, and allows for us to make our own decisions based on this. While I cannot fully defend TIME Magazine, an understanding of the purpose behind TIME’s ‘Person of the Year’ needs to be more well-known to counter misinformation and defamatory claims. More broadly, we need to maintain our understanding of what we believe to be true or false, by being more discerning of current affairs, and by feeling confident to analyse or assess the effects of media framing.
65. Art by Jocelyn Wong
It is up to us to develop, distinguish, and decide what we believe based on what we see and hear. History is our greatest teacher, and by analysing the history and historical media of today, yesterday, and earlier, we can shape the future of tomorrow.
64. Sourced from the Woroni Archive - 1st April, 1984
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National Library of Australia
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15277285
fully funded by
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TELEVISION
RADIO
radio@wor o
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ART CONTE NT
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W We would like to acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land on which Woroni operates, the like Ngunnawal and Ngambri peoples. We pay our respects Elders past We would to acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land ontowhich Woroni operates, Ngunnawal and Ngambri peoples. We pay was our respects and present. Theirthe land was forcibly stolen, and sovereignty never ceded. to Elders past and present. Their land was forcibly stolen, and sovereignty was never ceded., was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation The name Woroni, which means “mouthpiece”
without permission. Consultation with First Nations people recommended that The name Woroni, which means “mouthpiece”, was taken from the Wadi Wadi Woroni continue to use the word, provided we acknowledge the theft, and continue Nation without permission. Consultation with First Nations people decided that to strive for better reconciliation in future. Woroni to provide platform Woroni continue to use the word, provided we aims acknowledge theatheft, and for First Nations students to for hold the University, its community, and ourselves accountable. continue to strive better reconciliation in future. Woroni aims to provide a platform for First Nations students to hold the University, its community, and ourselves accountable. This magazine’s theme is Time and Time Again, with pieces exploring personal and
shared history. History is powerful, and the experiences included and excluded shape This magazine’s Backdiscussion to Tomorrow and many pieces this magazine the world we live intheme today.isAny of Australian historyinwould be incomplete embrace a retrofuturist aesthetic. Collective nostalgia is an important without acknowledging that our country is built on the subjugation of Indigenous cultural phenomena, but it is also one that tends to exclude the experiences Australians, most of which was never recorded or reckoned with. of oppressed peoples, especially Indigenous Australians. When we look to, or glorify the past, we must be sure to understand that so much of the past of This landupon always always willand be,racial Aboriginal land. Australia is built thewas, backand of exploitation discrimination. This land always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land.