WORONI 2025 no 1 - Backyard

Woroni

WORONI TEAM

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Paris Chia

Sree Vaishnavi Gangarapu

Katherine Page

Soffia Abbygale Baynosa

Faithrista Napitupulu

Kristy Sauw

Tvisha Shankar

Elisa Zeng

Communications

Henry Carls

Lekh Bhatia

Benjamin van der Niet

Radio

Grace Williams

Alex An

Jack Hodgins

Cameron Upton

Vanshika Gaba

Poorva Bhaiya

Jessica Heller

Punit Deshwal

Content

Hannah Bachelard

Caelan Doel

India Kazakoff

Em Murry

Jaden Ogwayo

Greta Clark-Walsh

Emanuel Foundas

Anuva Rai

Michael Reid

Ruken Zeyto

Art

Xiaochen (Fiona) Bao

Brandon Sung

News

Hannah Benhassine

Adriano Di Matteo

Constance Tan

Gisele Weishan

Dash Bennett

Rae Siddiqi

Kaab Qureshi

Elinor Hudson

Sarah Greaves Deputy Editor in Chief

Claudia Hunt Editor in Chief

Joseph Mann Managing Editor

Aala Cheema Content Editor

Art Editor (see woroni.com.au)

Arabella Ritchie TV Editor

Cate Armstrong Radio Editor

Zoe Vaughan Communications Editor

Sophie Hilton News Editor

Letter from the Editor

Sarah Greaves Deputy Editor in Chief

Often, the Woroni mag theme is a topic that naturally invites a holistic consideration of it. Yet, as we enter O-Week, taking the idea of the “Backyard” quite literally could not be more appropriate. The ANU campus is not only the physical backyard of the many students who live on it, but also the figurative one for those who spend a great deal of their time there.

If you are new to ANU in 2025, I would encourage you to familiarise yourself with your backyard that is the ANU Campus. Have a drink at Badger, join a random society, get lost in Coombs, or, god forbid, write for Woroni. For all its flaws, this Campus presents limitless opportunities for new experiences, new people, and reinvention of all sorts.

If you are not new to ANU in 2025, I would encourage you to familiarise yourself with your backyard that is the ANU Campus. All of the thrills of self-discovery are certainly not restricted to the first-year experience, and time at university is finite. So as cheesy as it sounds, make the most of it!

I’d like to thank the board editors for their consistent hard work in supporting the organisation. In particular, I want to congratulate Aala on her first magazine as Content Editor and Claudia for her first as Editor-In-Chief. The wonderful work that you see is not possible without their continued dedication and passion for student voices.

This year marks an astonishing 75 years of Woroni and its work in student journalism, a prolonged and continuous effort in engaging with the student experience and poking our noses into the happenings of the Uni.

Please be a part of this tradition and write to us! Woroni cannot do what it does without your involvement. If you feel at all inspired/enthusiastic/ enraged about something, we welcome submissions of any form or medium all year round.

Submissions can be emailed to write@woroni.com.au, or get in touch with one of our fantastic editors.

Sarah

Photo: Rose Dixon-Campbell

Fears Arise As ANU Medical Centre Ceases

Most Doctor Related Services

KAAB QURESHI

In a weekly On Campus email sent out on 3 December 2024, the ANU informed students that three longserving part-time doctors will be retiring from the ANU Medical Centre, significantly reducing the availability of the Medical Centre’s General Practitioner appointments. The changes will take place from 14 December 2024. Certain services such as Mental Health Care Plans and Worker’s Compensation Claims will also be “temporarily unavailable” for the foreseeable future.

The On Campus email only confirmed that three part-time doctors, Dr Mike Tedeschi, Dr Craig Corr and Dr Phillip Hope, will retire in December.

However, the Canberra Times has reported that the remaining two general practitioners will also retire before the start of Semester 1 2025, with one reportedly to “leave after resigning in December” and the fifth “likely to retire early next year.”

This will leave over 17,000 students with only one full-time and one part-time nurse practitioner, with an ANU Medical Centre receptionist telling the Canberra Times, “We have real concerns about the safety of the care that we’ll be able to provide.”

ANU has said they are actively looking for new GPs, but in the midst of a nationwide shortage, there may be a delay.

The ANU International Students Department Officer, Seungbin Kang, told Woroni that these changes would be “horrible for many international students” under their Overseas Students Health Coverage (OSHC) with this announcement happening late in the year and “impacting particularly international [students] and students with disabilities.”

Kang said: “International students coming to the ANU are recommended by the university to apply for Allianz Care OSHC in order to meet their visa health insurance requirements.” Accordingly, the ANU’s page on OSHC defaults to ‘Allianz Care Australia’.

He explained that “A majority of students are on this health coverage insurance, and the changes to the medical centre deprive students under Allianz and other OSHC coverage from any bulk billing clinics in proximity to the campus.”

Kang continued:

“This is not enough for students who require urgent medical support, with many students already previously having concerns about the wait times at the ANU Medical Centre now faced with an even more dire situation with significantly lowered availability, if any, in the medical centre. This is not enough.”

Despite increased bulk billing incentives over the past 13 months, bulk billing rates in the ACT remain the lowest of any state or territory.

Struggles are exacerbated due to the nationwide GP shortage, which is expected to worsen according to a Department of Health and Aged Care report.

In the meantime, ANU recommends that students needing a Mental Health Care Plan or Worker’s Compensation Claim “plan accordingly by seeing a local/alternative GP” and that “all staff and students with ongoing medical needs seek a GP to get a six-month supply of any regular medications, and to have any other medical needs met, including documentation or supporting letters”. W

SUPPORT RESOURCES

Students seeking support or advice can access it from the following contacts:

• ANUSA Student Assistance Team (+61 2 6125 2444 • sa.assistance@anu. edu.au)

• ANU International Students’ Department (anuisd.info@gmail.com)

• ANU Student Central (+61 2 6125 3339 student@anu.edu.au)

VC Bell in all staff email: Go on leave and forgo your pay rise

JOSEPH MANN

Photography by Benjamin van der Niet

In an all staff email sent on Tuesday October 15th, Vice Chancellor Professor Genevieve Bell pleaded with staff for their help to reduce the estimated $250 million black hole on the University’s balance sheet, which the ANU Council says must be filled by the end of 2025.

In its Renew ANU plan announced earlier this month, the University explained that $100 million of this deficit would be met by cutting the university’s salary-related expenditure.

The National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) estimated shortly after the announcement that this cut would result in the equivalent of 638 full-time staff being made redundant.

On Thursday October 18, the University announced a further cut of 108 positions from the Facilities and Services division and the Academic and Research Innovation division.

Taking leave would “save jobs”

Bell’s email urges staff to consider going on leave in the near future and to work to delay an upcoming pay rise. In it, Bell argued that the university’s leave contingencies, which currently sit at around $163 million, have become too large to effectively manage.

The university has to keep this contingency on its balance sheet, even though it is unlikely to need the entire amount all at once.

Bell stressed that taking leave would “save jobs” as it would slow down the growth of this liability. On its Renew ANU website, the university said that if every staff member took one day of leave it would immediately reduce the contingency by over $2.7 million.

If a staff member goes on leave, the university doesn’t have to pay them their salary for that period (because they would pay the leave entitlement instead) and can reduce the amount credited to its leave contingency account, thus reducing the apparent deficit.

Forgo a pay rise, just this once

Perhaps even more contentiously, Bell requested that staff vote to forgo the upcoming 2.5% automatic pay rise implemented by the recently agreed enterprise bargaining agreement.

The professor said this move would save the university up to $15 million. This includes an estimated $1.2 million that would be saved if those on performance-based contracts, mostly senior executives, also forwent the pay rise.

Bell sought to stress that the pay rise agreed earlier this year would still be high even without the December pay rise, saying that “staff would still receive a 16 per cent pay increase over the life of the current Enterprise Agreement”. The EBA nominally expires in June 2026, with in-built 2.5% increases every six months until that expiry.

The move would cancel the first of the 2.5% pay rises, but would leave the remaining pay rises intact.

An ANU spokesperson told Woroni that 16%, as opposed to the 18.5% pay increase that would occur without change, “compares favourably to the 11.2% increase for [Australian public servants] over the same period”.

The proposed variance of the pay schedule would only have gone into effect if a majority of staff vote in favour of the change. When the ballot was held in November, the vast majority of ANU staff voted against.

Before the December poll, an ANU spokesperson did not answer Woroni’s questions about whether the pay rise would be offered in a future EBA or administrative pay rise.

NTEU firmly against “staggering” cuts

The NTEU recommended that its members vote No on any ballot that would permit this pay freeze to go ahead, telling members that the university’s problems were caused by ANU executives having “mismanaged themselves into a financial crisis”.

In a press statement, NTEU ACT branch secretary Dr Lachlan Clohesy, said that the ballot shouldn’t even go ahead and that “[Professor Bell] should instead listen to ANU staff”, adding that ‘if it does go to ballot, we’ll campaign strongly for ANU staff to send a resounding message by voting no.”

The union held a protest rally on Wednesday October 16th in Kambri to protest the proposed restructure. Clohesy told Woroni at the rally that a previous pay freeze narrowly agreed to in 2020 did not save jobs.

“Last time in 2020, the then Vice Chancellor Brian Schmidt asked staff to defer pay rises to save jobs. Months later, they turned around and announced the ANU recovery plan with 465 redundancies.”

In an interview last year, Schmidt told Woroni that the 2020 deferral allowed the university to cut 90 fewer jobs than they otherwise would have.

In the earlier statement, Clohesy said that he found it “staggering that a Vice Chancellor thinks they can convince staff that giving up their pay will save jobs, while at the same time announcing further job cuts.”

Bishop criticised for “inefficiency” comments

Later, on Monday 21 October, ANU Chancellor, the Hon Julie Bishop, made comments to The Canberra Times responding to NTEU claims of financial mismanagement.

The Chancellor told Times political reporter Dana Daniels in an exclusive interview published on Tuesday that the government’s international student caps were primarily to blame for cuts.

“[We were] hoping that we would continue to draw on student fees, particularly from international students”.

Asked whether the proposed change to pay rises was fair, Bishop said “[i]t depends to whom you refer, because many members of staff have been part of the inefficiencies that the university is now seeking to address”.

The NTEU criticised the comment as “shocking” and “disgraceful”, saying that Bishop should resign. NTEU national president Alison Barnes said, “These disgraceful comments blaming staff when it’s clear there’s been managerial incompetence are simply staggering.”

Over the first three years of Bishop’s term, the University spent a touch under $800 thousand to lease and furnish an office in Perth, primarily for use by the WA-based former member of parliament and her support staff.

The university defended the spending at the time by pointing out that it also maintains an office in Melbourne, previously used by Gareth Evans AC, in a building purchased as an investment in 1999 and sold to developers in 2015.

Bell cutting own pay, though still paid more than Brian

When she took office as VC earlier this year, Professor Bell opted to take on the default salary of the office: a package estimated at over $1.15 million including superannuation.

She also urged other staff on performance-based contracts, mostly senior executives, to consider negotiating a cut to their own packages.

In Tuesday’s email, Bell announced that she would be cutting her pay by 10 per cent, effective immediately, for a total package of $1.035 million per year. Her pay is still considerably more than that of her predecessor, Brian Schmidt AC. The Saturday Paper reported in September that, upon taking office in 2016, Schmidt negotiated a pay cut of over $300,000 from his predecessor’s $1-million-plus salary to $617,500.

Over his second term as VC from 2019 to 2023, motivated by the losses caused by the pandemic, the Financial Review reported Schmidt negotiated his total package further down to a package of $484,000 in 2021. He told Woroni in a 2023 interview that he took the pay cuts “for the University” and saw his default package as a “disequilibrium” with his subordinates who are paid much less.

Chancellor Julie Bishop and Pro-Chancellor Alison Kitchen said in a joint statement that the salary Professor Bell initially accepted “is what was offered to her by the Council and reflects guidance we sought from the Remuneration Tribunal.”

“It was informed by the salaries of university vice-chancellors and leaders of government corporate entities and is appropriate for the unique requirements of ANU as the national university”, they continued.

Bell took the pay cut of her own accord, which Bishop and Kitchen described as a “personal sacrifice”.

A spokesperson told Woroni that Bell’s pay cut would make her package the lowest for any VC in the Group of Eight.

ANU not alone: 200 jobs to go at UC

Canberra’s other university – the University of Canberra – is also going through tough financial times and a harsh restructure with the UC Council setting a target to cut $50 million by the end of 2025.

On Monday, October 21st, the University’s then-interim VC Stephen Parker announced that a restructure would see “at least” 200 staff made redundant. One who has already left is Professor Parker’s deputy vice chancellor for research and enterprise, Professor Lucy Johnston, who was made redundant on Friday October 18.

In contrast with the ANU, UC has not requested that staff forgo scheduled pay rises. UC’s EBA, entered into during the same wave of bargaining as ANU’s last year, provides for a smaller 12.25% pay rise over 4 years.

Three of UC’s pay rises have already occurred, the most recent being a rise of 3.5% on January 1st 2025. The last, due shortly after the Council’s budgeting target in January 2026, will be between 1.75% and 3.5% depending on what CPI look like in December 2025.

Both ACT Labor and the ACT Greens, who make up a majority between them in the ACT Assembly elected in October’s territory election, promised to appoint reviewers to make recommendations on UC’s governance.

The review was a demand of the NTEU who are also seeking a federal parliamentary inquiry into university governance across Australia. W

NATCON 2024 Day 1: Yell At Each Other Before Voting Exactly As You Would Have Anyway

CLAUDIA HUNT AND SOPHIE HILTON

Natcon, Day 1. It’s 5PM and Woroni is reporting from a Federation University auditorium in Mount Helen named after a controversial historian. We’re here for the first day of the National Unions of Students (NUS) National Conference (Natcon). It’s filled with people in poorly designed matching T-shirts who are arguably too excited about wearing a lanyard. There’s a lot of yelling.

Someone’s playing a recording of Subway Surfers gameplay over the policy program as we enter the third hour of waiting to enter the conference floor. Dinner is supposed to be in an hour. The prospect of this happening on time is dwindling, as are any initial hopes that this group of student politicians will be able to get through the 85page policy agenda scheduled for the day.

The conference opens. Subway Surfers has been taken down. Serious business ahead.

Natcon is the annual general meeting for the student union, where their policies and elected positions for the next year are debated and decided. This means that it’s a pretty big deal for a small and specific sector of the ANU student population. Their decisions and approaches, however, can have real impacts for the rest of us.

Day 1 touched on some internal rule changes, but debate largely centred around union-related motions (student and otherwise), including

Palestinian solidarity and broader political affiliations with the Australian Labor Party. As voting started, it became apparent that the majority held by the Labor Right Student Unity faction would greatly set the tone for the rest of Natcon. Holding what seems to be more than half the vote, Unity could not be countered in their decisions, even when voting against both SAlt and NLS. The independent presence is negligible.

Labor Party affiliations

One of the most controversial topics of debate was the Australian Labor Party (ALP) — support it or condemn it, effective centrists or unionbusting warmongers?

The accusation, made by Socialist Alternative (SAlt), is that the Labor-affiliated factions (Student Unity and National Labor Students) uncritically support the Australian Labor Party and use their platform to campaign for its interests

rather than the interests of students.

Many of their speakers condemned its alleged exacerbation of the cost of living and housing crises, complicity in the genocide of Palestinians, union-busting, and more. Even when all factions agreed on the content of a motion, and the motion was not — or only tangentially related to — the ALP, the ALP was the topic of fierce debate.

Motions that criticised the ALP and asked the Union to condemn their actions either failed or were amended to remove condemnation of the ALP from their platform. This was the case with Motion 3.11, which was successfully amended to remove “NUS condemns attempts by the NSW Labor government to use Australia’s anti-strike laws to stop nurses from exercising their right to strike.”

SAlt are staunchly anti-Labor, and often only got up to call on the NLS to join them in directly condemning the Labor Party. NLS, although Labor-affiliated, have at the least voiced a willingness to critique Labor positions in some cases.

Unity, on the other hand, is proudly pro-Labor. So proudly, in fact, that one literally cardcarrying member got up to speak just to read the Pledge & Declaration of the Queensland Labor Party

It’s unclear exactly where NLS stands. Largely, they vote with SAlt, and speakers are certainly more left-wing in their opinions. But they have yet to speak out directly against the actions of the ALP.

Palestine and militarism in our universities

The union was mostly united in agreeing that “peace is union business” and opposing Israel’s war on Palestine and Lebanon. They were, however, divided on broader issues of militarism on campus and AUKUS.

Speakers from across the union spoke to their “responsibility to be united against atrocities”, with those from SAlt especially adamant in their support of student unions having mobilised against the complicity of the Albanese government in the genocide in Gaza. One Palestinian-Australian student described the “unrelenting pain” of feeling like every day at home in Sydney was a “funeral for Palestinians”.

The union also discussed concerns about student political expression being under attack, with explicit mention being made of disciplinary actions at ANU as well as the Campus Access Policy at the University of Sydney. Motion 2.1 “NUS opposes Israel’s war on Palestine and Lebanon” was carried unanimously.

Notably, however, debate in a later motion 2.17 (to put first the “material concerns of students”) saw a Unity member accuse other groups of caring about “random issues like pro-Palestine protests” and allegedly, not putting students first in doing so. An opposing SAlt speaker condemned the Unity motion as “a motion against Palestine” which was “further right than Dutton”.

Debate came to a head with the bloc of Motion 2.2 (“Fight militarism on campus”) and Motion 2.10 (“Stop AUKUS!”). Speakers moving the motion both maintained that Australian universities were being restructured into a part of the military industrial complex.

They opposed the redirection of tertiary research for military purposes, whether that be preparation for a war with China, or the development of technology to be used in atrocities overseas, including in Palestine.

Unity spoke firmly against this bloc, largely because of the proposed condemnation of AUKUS. At one point, when an opposition speaker was condemning the historical military use of nuclear technology to kill civilians, a Unity member from the back even yelled “I love AUKUS!” Unity argued for the jobs that AUKUS is said to provide and the benefits of nuclear research in other fields, accusing SAlt of being “anti-worker” for opposing the scheme.

They argued that Australia “must be ready to protect ourselves and our pacific neighbours”, and defend “threats to our democracy”. They summed it up with the rallying call “Let’s build some nuclear submarines guys!” (Followed by loud cheering).

An NLS speaker also spoke for Motion 2.10, asserting that the federal government should instead be working diplomatically to improve its relations in the Asia-Pacific, and that the money directed to AUKUS should be spent on Australians. They noted that the workingclass communities in areas like Illawarra were, contrary to what the “jobs jobs jobs” argument might assume, actually against a nuclear base at Port Kembla. Local residents did not want nuclear waste, did not want to potentially become targets in the event of war, and did not have particularly high hopes about ever actually getting the submarines.

The bloc failed.

Other unions?

In addition to intense discussion on the role of their own union, the debate included several issues related to other unions, both student and trade.

The NUS voted in support of NTEU)enterprise bargaining agreement campaigns. The largescale potential staff cuts at ANU received special mention, as the speaker for NTEU staff solidarity described mass staff cuts at campuses across the country and called on student unions to attend NTEU rallies and support their strikes.

A motion was also carried in support of the NSW nurses and midwives strike (after amending it to remove a condemnation of the NSW Labor government).

However, Unity refused to allow the passing of a motion calling for the expulsion of police unions from Trade Halls nationally, despite SAlt and the NLS agreeing “for once” that there was no place for the union’s promotion of a body that was perpetrating “racist violence” and

hypocritically suppressing protest.

Similarly, several motions related to general support of trade unions and their relevance failed. A bloc of motions to support the CFMEU (Construction, Forestry and Maritme Employees’ Union) and stand against recent anti-CFMEU legislation failed to pass the vote, despite views tabled by the left of the conference condemning the “unprecedented attacks” seen against the union. One Unity speaker, Callum, explained his opposition to the CFMEU support, “I don’t like organised crime in my union”.

Youth Wages

One thing everybody could agree on was that youth wages should be abolished. Speakers brought up their own experiences working and supporting themselves as teenagers, as many young workers do, making it unfair for them to be earning as little as 45 percent of an adult wage. Motions blocced with these include those to protect student gig workers and to celebrate the Workplace Justice Visa. After having the obligatory argument over whether to criticise the ALP, all motions ultimately passed, affirming that youth wages are an important issue for the NUS.

In general, the conference’s debate seems to be characterised by several humorous and occasionally bleak instances of raucous, bordering on violent, cross-room disagreement, followed by intense whiplash when all parties agree to unanimously pass a motion. Alternatively, intense and persuasive debate across the floor appears futile in the face of an unbreaking and dominant Unity bind, and the general agreements that had already been decided in preconventions days before. I’m sure the hacks are having lots of fun yelling at each other, but as an outside observer, it’s hard not to feel that this intense discussion is almost entirely decoupled from the voting process itself, and start wondering what the point is.

But it’s only the first day.

Roots of Oppression Unearthing Colonialism in the Garden

Sarah Greaves

As we reach the peak of Australian summer, my housemates and I continue to wage our ongoing war against our garden. Despite our best efforts at regular maintenance, enough weed killer to wipe out a large family of possums, and even the acquisition of a whipper snipper, it’s pretty safe to say our garden looks like shit.

A few months ago, one of my housemates and I lamented that our front lawn was all but completely dead before December was out. We complained about the impossibility of keeping the garden alive. Admittedly, none of us are passionate gardeners. Still, all we sought were some green grass and plants, not exactly Versailles. However, the feeling of constantly trying to suppress a malevolent force in our backyard felt inherently wrong, especially as next door’s native garden — made up of free reigning tea trees, wattles and local flowers — looked effortlessly lovely without the blood, sweat, and tears our own required.

Inevitably, the obvious arose. Could it possibly be that our goals of maintaining freshly trimmed green green grass, deciduous trees and plants growing in neat little rows were utterly incompatible with the Australian climate? I joked that our European garden was a modern form of colonialism, waiting to be picked apart by the appropriate PhD candidate.

A couple of weeks later, I googled “Should I decolonise my garden?” (mostly in jest) with little expectation of what I might find. To my surprise, I was met with a wealth of information on the subject.

The seed, if you will, that had been planted in mind — that the failures of our garden were, at least, in part because it was never meant to be there — had revealed a rich history behind the conceptual “garden”. However, the rabbit hole I went down only seemed to further affirm my complete ignorance of an area with a great deal to offer.

The very concept of the garden necessitates control of nature. A “nice”, beautiful garden is one that most effectively does this: pruning trees, cutting lawns, restricting the free reign of greenery. The seemingly benign nature of controlling something non-sentient disguises how the “garden” fits neatly into a colonial worldview.

As asserted by Ateqah Khaki, a colonial system of organising agriculture created the means through which to similarly categorise people. If plants could be placed in a hierarchy, so could humans, allowing colonists to justify slavery, genocide, and racial categorisation. Even the notion of planting itself is linked with slave labour, as recently established European colonies would use enslaved people brought in from enormous distances to prop up a globalising system of agriculture. One that took profit not only from this labour, but the degradation of land to plant crops for financial return.

Flora and fauna have been affected in the same way colonialism has displaced people while attempting to sever them from their cultures and histories. Today’s tulips originally grew in wild valleys of central Asia before being hybridised by the Dutch and sold for profit. This comparison is not to equate the plight of the tulip to victims of colonisation but to emphasise the ubiquity of a colonial mindset, the impact of which extends beyond humanity. Mistreatment of people is inextricably linked to mistreatment of the land.

As literature like Bruce Pascoe’s Dark Emu brings a rich history of Indigenous land care into the popular domain, the agricultural lessons ignored by British colonists become clear. The ANU’s very own Bill Gammage has written extensively on Indigenous burning practices that operated successfully for thousands of years, but these parts of our country’s history have not been acknowledged. They have been instead overshadowed by a violent invasion that brought with it agricultural practices that flattened forests, an endless number of harmful introduced species, and an entire economy built out of pillaging half the country’s surface for some rocks and metals.

Of course, this is only the tip of an iceberg that one certainly could explore endlessly. However, to my ignorant but curious mind, dipping my toes into this world helped to shed a new light on how I view a postcolonial Australia.

Bringing it back to the backyard, the notion of a native garden that seamlessly integrates local flora has certainly become more popularised in recent years, primarily arising from the fact that they are simply easier to care for because they are actually compatible with their environment. However, strangely enough, this makes them better homes for local wildlife, by containing plants that pollinate more easily and decreasing the proliferation of introduced flora and fauna.

While the university student share house tenant has little power to change their garden, this shift in perspective is an incredibly important one. As conversations about intersectionality increase, gardens, nature and landscape must be considered in how we tackle the problems we face. W

W Art by Claudia Hunt

scans From the WORONI photograph archIves cIrca early 2000s

First Nations Literature Recommendations

Aala Cheema

Content Warning: This article makes mention of colonisation, racism, and the Stolen Generations.

Books written by First Nations writers provide for an extremely rewarding reading experience. The authors on this list are not only incredibly talented writers, but they also have critical stories to tell. In this list, I have compiled my ten favourite books written by First Nations writers.

Is

That You, Ruthie? by Ruth Hegarty Memoir, 1999 (UQP)

In this memoir, Hegarty chronicles her experience residing in Queensland’s Cherbourg Aboriginal Mission in the 1930s. When she is four years old, Ruthie is forcibly separated from her mother under the Aboriginals Protection Act and moved into Cherbourg’s girls’ dormitory. She is sent out to work as a domestic servant as a teenager. Hegarty reveals throughout the memoir the strong lifelong bonds the dormitory girls develop with one another, forming an alternate family to compensate for the ones they had lost. Hegarty sources the title of her memoir from the all too familiar question that would ring throughout the dormitory as the matron attempted to identify the culprit of unfolding mischief. This moving story is illuminative, educative, and inspiring.

Me, Antman & Fleabag by Gayle Kennedy

Novel, 2007 (UQP)

This novel is a compilation of vignettes, following an unnamed narrator, her partner Antman, and their dog Fleabag as they travel around Australia visiting their family and friends. Kennedy uses black humour to explore Indigenous life in contemporary rural Australia. The novel’s cast of characters is exceptionally vivid and iconic — a standout was Cousin Moodle, whose love of funerals made for a ridiculously entertaining chapter. Despite its comedy, some stories have a more serious and heart-breaking tone, such as The Golden Wedding Anniversary and Grandfather’s Medals. The former examines the interrelation of racism and misogyny, while the latter dissects the treatment of Aboriginal servicemen post World War II. Me, Antman & Fleabag is a mustread novel.

Blood by Tony Birch

Novel, 2011 (UQP)

Tony Birch’s Blood is an Australian classic for a reason — it is one of those books that is impossible to put down. This novel is set in the 1960s and follows two siblings, Jesse and Rachel. The story is told from Jesse’s perspective. It chronicles his struggle to care for his younger sister as they experience neglect, poverty, family violence, and abandonment by their mother. This is a story of adversity and the strong bond between siblings. Birch’s clever pacing, engaging plot and welldeveloped characters keep you turning the page until the very end.

Finding Eliza: Power and Colonial Storytelling by Larissa Behrendt

Non-fiction, 2016 (UQP)

In Finding Eliza, Larissa Behrendt explores the true story of Eliza Fraser, who purported to be captured by the Butchulla people in 1836 after she was shipwrecked off the Queensland coast. Behrendt does not merely re-tell this story. Instead, she uses it to dissect the ways in which the First Nations people of Australia — and those of other countries — are perceived and portrayed by colonisers. Her intertextual analysis touches on Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, Katharine Susannah Prichard’s Coonardoo, and Rousseau’s “noble savage” in order to examine colonial values and their contribution to Australia’s racial divide. This is an incredibly well-researched and argued piece of non-fiction.

The Yield by Tara June Winch

Novel, 2019 (Penguin Random House)

The Yield is a beautifully written novel by Wiradjuri author Tara June Winch. The story consists of three strands. The first is the accumulation of a dictionary written by Albert ‘Poppy’ Gondiwindi in the last days of his life in the hope that he can pass on his people’s language and prevent it from dying alongside him. The second strand follows the protagonist, August Gondiwindi, as she returns to Prosperous House, located near the Murrumby River, for her grandfather’s funeral, only to discover that her family’s land is to be repossessed by a mining company. The third narrative takes the form of letters written by Reverend Ferdinand Greenleaf, a missionary amongst the people of Massacre Plains in 1915, to the British Society of Ethnography. Winch’s novel is a testament to storytelling, an evocative tale about cultural dispossession, the power of language, and personal identity.

Dropbear by Evelyn Araluen Anthology, 2021 (UQP)

Dropbear is an award-winning collection of poetry, prose, and memoir. At times satirical but always lyrical, Araluen examines settler-coloniality and personal history. She bends genres and forms to dissect Australia’s colonial fantasy and the myth-making that forms our contemporary culture. Despite her interrogation of the past and Australia’s complicated present, Araluen has hope for the future as she writes: “Look at this earth we cauterised / the healing we took with flame / I will show them a place / they will never have to leave.”

Heat and Light by Ellen van Neerven

Short stories, 2014 (UQP)

Heat and Light has been constantly at the back of my mind since I first read it two years ago. This is a powerful collection of marvellously written short stories. The first part, Heat, is set in the past, and it compiles short stories written from the perspectives of members of the Kresinger family. The second part, Water, is a novella set in a future Australia, exploring both queer identity and colonialism. The last part, Light, is a series of short stories set in the present, spanning urban and rural settings. The themes of family, belonging, and freedom are interwoven throughout the entire collection. By travelling across time and space, Van Neerven traverses the diverse experiences of Indigenous Australians.

Bila Yarrudhanggalangdhuray

by Anita Heiss

Novel, 2021 (Simon & Schuster)

Bila Yarrudhanggalangdhuray is a historical fiction novel written by Anita Heiss. Heiss takes her inspiration from the story of two Wiradyuri men, Yarri and Jacky Jacky, who saved more than sixty people from the Murrumbidgee River during the Gundagai flood of 1852. Her novel follows Yarri’s daughter, Wagadhaany, whose life undergoes upheaval when her colonial masters demand she move away with them following the devastation caused by the flood. The novel explores the protagonist’s acute grief as she is separated from her miyagan (family). Through her characters, Heiss explores the cruelty of those who claim to act with good intentions and for the betterment of First Nations people. The novel is also a celebration of the Wiradjuri language, as stated by Heiss: “Using Wiradjuri language on the cover of my novel (and throughout the text) makes a strong statement…regarding the reclamation and maintenance of the traditional language of my family.”

Tell Me Again by Amy Thunig

Memoir, 2022 (UQP)

Gomeroi academic Amy Thunig’s memoir, Tell Me Again, traces memories of a childhood defined by love and suffering. The author writes about growing up in a household troubled by incarceration and addiction, while experiences of homelessness, sexual assault and racism all accumulate to provide a sombre representation of the resounding effects of colonialism. The memoir transcends colonial tragedy by juxtaposing the moments of intense trauma with memories of happiness. Thunig’s life is a story of forgiveness, love, perseverance, and exceptionalism; their memoir is honest, insightful, and immensely moving.

She is the Earth by Ali Cobby Eckermann Poetry, 2023 (Magabala Books)

She is the Earth is a new verse novel by Yankunytjatjara poet Ali Cobby Eckermann. Unlike previous verse novels written by Eckermann, this collection is devoid of a conventional plot and characters. The poetry soars through the elements, commenting on water, air, sky, earth, and light. It is meditative — reflections on breath and breathing allow for a quiet and thoughtful exploration of grief and healing. However, the journey that Eckermann maps is nonlinear; healing is presented as an ongoing process, with trauma resurfacing throughout the story. Her imagery is beautiful and majestic, capturing the beauty of nature, fauna, and Country. W

scans From the WORONI photograph archIves cIrca early 2000s

WALKING ON A DREAM

The Disappointment of the Bunda Street Shared Zone JOSEPH MANN

Canberra’s inner north has been my home my whole life; my backyard, Bunda Street. The street has always been on the frontline of the fight between car-centric road planners, pedestrians, and resilient small businesses. Back in the 70s, Gus Petersilka, the founder of the recently closed Gus’ Cafe, fought with the federal government for the right to have outdoor dining, today a key attraction of the area.

My own memories of Bunda Street include family birthday dinners at long-gone Chinese food establishments like Sammy’s and Hidden Dragon, being stood up at what was to be my first-ever date at Kokomo’s, and many strolls up and down the street, a cup of Via Dolce coffee in hand, after a late weekend brunch.

Last year marked the tenth anniversary of the ACT government’s designation of Bunda Street as a shared zone. Pedestrians were given priority, popular crossing spots were raised to slow cars down, line markings were removed, the bitumen was painted and paved differently from other streets, and the speed limit was reduced to a much safer 20 kilometres per hour.

This comprised the last stage of the ‘City Loop’, a project to create a cycling and walking corridor through the city that avoided busy roads like London Circuit and Cooyong Street. Has this car diet been a success? To anyone who regularly uses the street today, the answer is obviously a resounding no.

Crossing the street as a pedestrian remains unpleasant (and, during peak hours, dangerous) as it was before the renovation. Drivers refuse to yield as they are required to, frequently slamming their brakes just before hitting people — a sin most commonly committed by white cars bearing NSW license plates, in my experience.

The choice to keep a large number of street parking spaces means that using the street for its intended post-renovation purpose — cycling — requires negotiation with cars that randomly stop to take a parking space or pull out without looking or indicating.

Many drivers use it as a rat run from Northbourne Avenue to avoid the stretch of traffic lights on Cooyong Street. This includes many commuters, but whenever there’s a large national event in Canberra, you can bet that an even longer line of cars will inexplicably line up Bunda as a poorly thought-out shortcut.

Bunda Street’s shared zone signage seems more directed at reminding pedestrians of their putative right to cross unimpeded rather than informing drivers of their obligation to slow down to preserve said right. At the intersection with the pedestrianised part of Ainslie Avenue that runs through the Canberra Centre, there’s an unnecessary and confusing set of traffic lights with crossing signals erected before the pedestrianisation that were never removed.

This is not to say that the renovations were entirely pointless. The street is much more pleasant than the dangerous car sewer it replaced. A video of a pro-same-sex marriage march in 2011 shows activists being wedged onto the tight footpaths on either side of the street — a stark contrast from the colourful street-wide protest march against

the “bigot bill” a decade later. The shared zone, combined with the Canberra Centre’s recent pedestrianisation of Scotts Crossing, has made Bunda Street even more vibrant and accessible. The territory government has for decades tried to encourage the take-up of active and public transit, but it has often done so with vague and unclear initiatives like “car-free days”, which scare the car-dependent Canberran public into thinking that Chairman Barr is coming for their beloved vehicles. They would do better at reducing our dependence on cars by making a real effort to make active and public transit as comfortable as driving. The tram provided a fantastic alternative for inner north and Gungahlin residents, but the sharp reduction in suburban bus frequencies that occurred at the same time as the tram has been entirely unhelpful. My dream for my backyard, at the risk of sounding like a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard), would be for Bunda Street to be closed to car traffic. Not every street needs cars running down it, much less an eat street atop a large underground car park a block away from Canberra’s largest transit interchange. There is no argument against freeing Bunda Street from the tyranny of the private motor vehicle.

For all the hassle they cause, the number of parking spaces along the street and the revenue they bring in is miniscule. FOI documents last year revealed that the territory government makes (on average) only about $80,000 a year from paid parking on the street while issuing about $250,000 in parking fines. It is the businesses along the street, not the parking spaces, that attract people to come here.

The idea that businesses need unimpeded car access to the street is also bunk. During the annual Multicultural Festival, where the whole street becomes a pleasant car-free marketplace, deliveries to businesses along the street are certainly impacted, but not meaningfully prevented. A good compromise would be closing the street between Tocumwal Lane (the laneway near Via Dolce) and Genge Street (near Wilma), which would force away the worst of the through-traffic while leaving cyclists, deliveries and other essential traffic largely unimpeded. Retractable bollards could allow vehicle access during emergencies or public events like parades. Closing Bunda Street to car traffic would be transformative. The street would join the great Australian malls like Pitt Street, Bourke Street, Queen Street, the Rundle Mall and Murray Street as vibrant, people-first spaces. It would be a much safer route for cyclists and pedestrians to roam the city and inner north — a much nicer backyard for Canberrans to gather in.

Photo: William Barreda (YouTube, CC-BY)

Photo: Robin Ng (Woroni)

A Kambri Lawns State of Mind

CHARLIE CRAWFORD

Kambri is undoubtedly the hub of campus activity, and in 2025, this will be no different. I will continue to look to Kambri lawns to preempt the fashion trends of the semester and lean on the $5 Barley Griffin from Badger when times get rough. And yet, as much as I value what Kambri means to me in the present day, it is only with a deep appreciation of the area’s history that my relationship with the precinct can really get to the next base.

University Avenue became a pedestrian plaza in 1972. Around the same time, the ANU Union building was developed, most well-known for housing the beloved ANU Bar (and the ANU Union, I guess). The bar hosted Cold Chisel in 1979. In 1990, it was Midnight Oil, and in 1992, Nirvana.

This area was more officially developed as a student space in 2001 following the redevelopment of the carpark in front of Chifley Library into a large open courtyard. Union Court was officially born.

Where the Di Riddell Building, Marie Reay, Fenner Hall and Badger currently stand, was once an expansive courtyard supervised dutifully by those watching above from Chifley Library.

If you love sitting on Kambri Lawns now, imagine how great it would have been when you didn’t have to compete for a patch of grass.

The university announced the Union Court Redevelopment project in 2016, with the aim of “putting the heart back into campus” and accommodating the growing need for updated student facilities. The redevelopment was expansive and cost the university around $263 million. It included:

• Relocating, repurposing, and rebuilding the Union Building (now the Di Riddell Building)

• Relocating Fenner Hall from Northbourne Avenue and constructing its new residence in the precinct

• Constructing a 6-storey student building with classrooms and study spaces (now, Marie Reay)

• Constructing a Health and Wellbeing Centre, including pool and gym facilities, accessible to the general public

Fret not, however, as whilst it appears that next to nothing of old Union Court remains, rest assured there are survivors of the redevelopment: the Chifley Library and Sushi Smith.

The demolition of Union Court began in 2017, with construction of the new precinct commencing in mid-2017. The Kambri Precinct officially opened for the start of Semester 1 in 2019. The name “Kambri” was gifted to the ANU by Ngambri, Ngunnawal, and Wiradyuri elder Dr Matilda House following consultation with representatives of four ACT Indigenous groups.

The Kambri Precinct as we know it today is only six years old — but with only a quick glance at its history, it is clear that this area has been the centre of student life on campus for almost as long as the university has existed. What feels like home to us now is unrecognisable to students who graduated not long ago.

Pages and pages of old editions of Woroni hold student love letters to the courtyard that was. The Union Court redevelopment worried students about the potential gentrification of campus. In Edition 2 of Woroni 2019, Vanamali Hermans writes, “As it stands, Kambri represents only the gentrified shell of…possibility, pricing too many of us out.” She expresses concern at the practicalities of Kambri honouring its name and truly serving as a meeting place, given the influx of external businesses announced to have leases in the precinct. These concerns remain all too true in the present day, however it’s hard to really compare how much of an impact this has had on campus activity.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, today’s students will know no difference. I’ll continue to buy my lunch bowls from Urban Tiger and pretend as if the price wasn’t lower last year.

Students of the time also expressed concern that the new buildings in the area would make protests and gatherings on campus far more difficult with the reduced space available. These concerns were and continue to be very real — it’s no wonder that a university campus in the heart of the nation’s capital has a rich history of activism, one which even the ANU itself cites as making our history so unique.

In February 1989, the National Union of Students organised a campaign at the ANU against the introduction of HECS. In 2014, students protested the Liberal Government’s deregulation of university fees. In both instances, students hung banners on the bridge crossing Sullivans Creek onto North Road, then marched to the Chancellery demanding the support of the Vice Chancellor. Protests at ANU continue to follow this pattern, gathering in Kambri before confronting the Chancellery Building.

In 1992, students established “Tent City” outside Chifley Library as part of a student housing protest and against university plans to sell off housing stock. In 2024, the ANU Gaza Solidarity Encampment was established on Kambri Lawn, protesting ANU’s investment in weapons companies arming the genocide in Palestine. It followed similar student movements at universities internationally and was the longest lasting encampment across Australia, lasting for over 100 days.

This is all to say that things are not as different as they may seem — student activism is alive and well in Kambri and in familiar company. Whilst I may never experience the “culture” that students of years past tell me they miss about Union Court, I don’t feel as if I’m missing out, and it has certainly stifled nothing. While Union Court and Kambri differ in almost every regard, student passion and protest have nonetheless endured.

Next time you’re sitting on Kambri Lawns, perhaps instead of merely watching the people around you, think about all that has come before you in that very same spot.

For First-Year ANU students, Kambri may seem intimidating at times. Find solace in knowing that across the last five decades, Kambri has been hundreds of thousands of students’ backyard for but a brief point in their lives. You’re in great company. W

W Art by Charlie Crawford

National Library of Australia

From the woronI archIves aug 1994 (vol 44, no 8)

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15270395

The Pacific in Our Backyard For an Internationalist Approach to Climate Change

SARAH STRANGE

Like all Australians, I have seen with my own eyes the marks that disasters have left on this country, disasters which will be — and have already become — more common and more intense as climate change continues to worsen.

I remember moving to Canberra in 2008, arriving in a city still massively scarred by the 2003 bushfires, which left houses destroyed and hillsides barren. In 2011, I remember being stranded in Brisbane as houses just down the street were destroyed in the supposedly “once-in-a-century” floods. Almost a decade later, I remember wearing a N95 mask as the 2020 bushfires made the Canberra air unbreathable.

Anyone who lives in this country will have experienced similar consequences. But does that mean that we should see climate change from a primarily self-interested, national perspective? Some commentators and politicians, though they rightly accept the reality of climate change, refuse to see it any other way. David Shor, a centre-left analyst, once infamously tweeted that he “would rather live in a world where we see a 4-degree rise in temperature than live in a world with China as a global hegemon”.

This kind of thinking is, of course, the same justification Donald Trump uses for wanting to pull the United States — again — out of all international efforts to combat climate change, as he and his administration “drill, baby, drill” to fuel economic success over China.

The spectre of China haunts Australia’s climate policy. Our government’s recently signed deal with Tuvalu, the Falepili Union, grants Tuvalu some money for climate change adaptation and grants preferential migration rights to Tuvaluans. The inevitable catch? Australia receives veto power over any security-related partnerships Tuvalu may enter into in the indefinite future.

Accelerating climate change for short-term nationalist expediency or tying climate action to diplomatic gamesmanship is against the interests of ordinary people around the world. Climate change is a global issue, but like all problems of note, it is likely to affect poorer nations far more than the richer ones, even Australia, which is particularly vulnerable to natural disasters. The more climate action and the money attached to it become dragged into petty political and diplomatic squabbles, the less effective it becomes, and the fewer lives it will save. We should not be complicit in forcing tiny Pacific nations to choose between an independent foreign policy, which aids their security and economic development, and essential climate measures that ensure their long-term survival.

The lack of seriousness with which Australia, in particular, takes measures to combat climate change from a global perspective can be seen in its financial contributions. The Green Climate Fund, established alongside the Paris Agreement, is the world’s largest multilateral fund. It distributes

billions of dollars to aid developing countries in emissions reduction and climate adaptation. Australia shamefully withdrew from the fund in 2018 under the former government, before returning in 2023 with a pitiful $50 million contribution, far less than the contributions of Italy, Switzerland, Sweden, Spain, Finland and others.

Our direct bilateral contribution to improving Tuvalu’s climate defences — in exchange for control over that nation’s security — was $38 million dollars. Our government, constantly increasing defence spending to greater heights, including finding hundreds of billions for submarines, can find nothing more than chump change for multilateral and bilateral climate funding efforts.

Much has been said about the fall of the “rules-based international order”, a collapse accelerated by Russia’s war of territorial annexation in Ukraine and the West’s complicity in the disastrous invasion of Gaza. I have little patience for liberal, moralistic, empty platitudes about international collaboration that should be left squarely in the 1990s. But the people of all nations, Chinese, Pacific or Australian, really do have a genuine and strong interest in internationalism of material commitment rather than non-binding aphorisms in the climate sphere.

Perhaps most obviously, climate change threatens the stability of developing countries that are deeply involved in global supply chains and will, therefore, drive up prices at the pump and at the grocery store. In the longer term, of course, much more fundamental global systems are at stake, particularly if a number anywhere near Shor’s 4 degrees Celsius of warming is reached. One article in the Royal Society’s journal by Philip Thornton and other scientists predicts the complete or nearcomplete collapse of farming in sub-Saharan Africa if this scenario were reached. If that were to occur, it would not be only Africans who starve.

The critic Fredric Jameson once argued in an article called The Aesthetics of Singularity that “in our time, all politics is about real estate…from the loftiest statecraft to the most petty local maneuvering around advantage”. The climate crisis is no exception. Our pathologically short-sighted rulers are interested in nationalist squabbles about exactly which real estate belongs to whom. We share the responsibility to know better, to initiate a politics that rises above questions of who owns the land to answer questions of how to defend our lands and ecosystems against the external threat of climate change, which affects us all.

This task is not an easy one. It will evolve as the situation and the science evolve — as the climate crisis continues unabated, the focus of the climate change movement may shift from emissions reduction to climate adaptation. It seems obvious that the global climate movement should demand that governments spend substantial proportions of their national budgets on both causes. But the fundamentally political task of overcoming the chronic short-sightedness of governments, warmongers, and profiteers precedes any prosaic matters of detailed policy.

Being part of local groups like the Environment Collective is, at the very least, a declaration of intent that the climate movement will not lie down and die. I encourage you to follow our Instagram page, @anuenviro, and attend our regular meetings.

Sarah Strange is the elected Environment Officer of ANUSA, the ANU student union. She is also a member of the ACT Greens and a National Conference Delegate with the Greens.

From the woronI archIves 1963 v 1991 vol 41, no 1 (Feb 1995)

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page15269822

From the woronI archIves mar 2007 (vol 57, no 2)

You Should Be Sh*T More, and 4 Other Lessons Social Soccer Taught Me

JADEN OGWAYO

Scarred for life, I thought. I hadn’t played a single game of soccer since I dislocated my left pinky in Year 6 (as a goalie) and shattered my right scaphoid in Year 8 (again, playing as a goalie). That is until the 22nd of September, when, against my best wishes, I created an account on Dribl to register for the ANU Summer 9’s social soccer competition, social soccer, for short.

I played in all but two matches, and, up until the finals, we were the only team to have not lost a game, ultimately taking third place after a devastating loss. Despite its brevity, the season changed me. As I type this across from my shoe stand, staring over my laptop screen at my $90 studded boots from Rebel Sport, I feel compelled to reflect on — and, out of writer’s benevolence, share — five lessons I’ve learnt from my experience.

Lesson #1: The scary thing gets less scary the more you do it

I hate mushrooms; my boyfriend loves them. I hate pickles; my best friend loves them. I hated sports for years and years, but everyone seemed to love them. Getting over my fussy eating? A slow but incredibly rewarding process after years of denying myself the pleasures of cherry tomatoes and balsamic vinegar and yoghurt ‘with the fruit bits’ in it.

Getting over my aversion to sport? A surprisingly scarier task.

If I pause to cross my arms and lounge in the psychoanalyst’s chair for a moment — and at this point of writing this sentence, I did, in fact, cross my arms to think before coming back to the rest of it — I might superficially connect my unsportiness to common, concomitant fears of sport: inadequacy, loss, injury, not being picked to be on a team.

(Schoolyard bullying bears psychologically deleterious effects.)

Now, if you allow me, let’s turn to Freud, who, despite the backlash he often gets, had (at least) one good idea: his theoretical distinction between fear and phobia. Fear is a conscious, immediately cognisable, rational, affective response to a reasonably threatening force or object like spiders or poison, which presents a risk of actual harm for most people.

Phobias, on the other hand, are irrational, neurotic, psychic relations to a not-really-threatening force or object that only becomes frightening once the unconscious mind has symbolically conflated said object with a different threatening situation. For instance, ablutophobia (fear of baths) might develop after real trauma from neardrowning.

The scariness of soccer came, I think, from years of being excluded at lunchtimes or in PE, where a feeling of inferiority to other more athletic students grew into a fear of how my participation would

be perceived (and, by extension, how I would be received by teammates and opponents alike).

A Freudianly one-sided relation, my selfview as non-sporty — alien to the arena — was catastrophised in high school. Despite my occasional demonstration of surprising talent in PE, in niches like high jump, badminton, or the sprint, I would fake being sick at most cross countries and sports carnivals to avoid the sweaty student crowd.

My reversion to my past here, in this essay, may sound childish and perhaps demonstrative of having never grown up 100% from that anxious, fearful, phobic viewpoint. And that characterisation of my current position — as writer and subject of said writing — would be embarrassingly accurate. Days after the final match of the Summer 9s, I swung by the fields after work to watch a friend play. As I leaned against the fence, cheering him on, the other team’s stares at me brought me back to the feelings of disbelonging I thought I had left when I graduated; my corporate uniform, although comprised of neutral shades of beige and brown, had rendered me painstakingly visible despite the chromatic intent to blend in.

That said, my anxiety about my presence on the pitch subdued the more I played, as I became acquainted not only with my fellow players (many of whom, before the season, were strangers) but also with the jargon of the sport: I learned what midfield meant, I learned how to jockey.

It’s a small thing, but learning how to communicate in the parlance of more seasoned participants can help ease those nerves around being othered in an activity you joined with opposite

intentions. I was greatly intimidated when I learned I would be playing in Division 2 with seven years of no playing experience, but I have no regrets and I’ll be signing up for the next season as soon as I can. Mixed-gender matches again, of course; boys are too…scary.

Lesson #2: Get involved, don’t just watch from the sideline (or screen)

Despite my clear disposition toward the creative, academic, and introspective crafts, my father spent years unsuccessfully shoving assorted sports down my angsty tweenaged throat — cricket, Formula One, and any sort of football he could show me: rugby, AFL, NRL (and I spent several years unable to differentiate the three). Unlike those interchangeable hard-to-kick oval footballs, soccer’s round ball was a recognisable marker of difference that, despite it all, drew me to it. Soccer was simple, simple enough.

In Year 5, I began playing soccer at lunchtimes, as my peers and I dealt with the second stage of male puberty, where the sudden surge of testosterone causes sudden, unprecedented increases in armpit odour and gives rise to this fraternal urge to be seen as ‘cool’ and ‘manly’ by your fellow males in an unwinnable battle for a limited but lucrative supply of socially conferrable machismo.

But when I stopped seeing my father the following year, I swore off televised sport — equal parts some tacit Oedipal rejection of the paternal order (hey again, Freud!) and an all-too-surprising result from the fact that I didn’t really like sport and had been feigning interest to fit in more than anything.

Even with a broader cultural hype like the recent hype around the Matildas, I could never bring myself in front of a TV. I was dared to watch a full match of State of Origin in Year 10 and did so, likely more enthralled by the players than the game (ultimately deciding to support Queensland (sorry!)). But with my thin frame and general unsportiness, I could never play rugby, and sport, as a whole, seemed inaccessible to me for years until I got sucked into the self-pacing heaven of the gymnasium and its unwinnable games of weight training.

But the chemically fueled rush of the Stair Master grows old, and gyms can be lonely or competitive without an end goal. That, and whenever I heard friends of mine describe their athletic adventures, I grew envious of the chance to simultaneously engage meaningfully, socially, competitively, and physically. I would attend friends’ games sometimes, wishing to cross the white line from offside to on-field — and so, I did.

This may sound obvious to the average Humean empiricist, but the experience of playing soccer increased my knowledge and understanding of soccer tenfold, and I felt a hit of regretful embarrassment at all the times I had shouted at a TV at players for not making a particular move that was just obvious for me, a spectator. I had never really reflected on the mental aspect of team sport, but my appreciation for players’ contemporaneous harnessing of cognitive, emotional, strategic, and physiological faculties is now ingrained.

Lesson #3: Everyone needs a place

That’s a Richard Siken quote — half of the fourth line of his poem “Details of the Woods”, specifically. But, regardless

of the source (I’ve never checked, but I strongly doubt Siken played soccer), the lesson remains.

While I cherish this poem dearly, soccer presented itself as a counterexample to the rest of that line: It shouldn’t be inside of someone else. I contend that Siken’s sage advice holds up well as a warning against love bombing; hoarding all of your identity-constituting eggs in one boyfriend basket is an unwise recipe for disaster.

However, the wisdom gained through social soccer presented me with two qualifications to Siken’s original claim: first, while the need for a place is certain, its location is often less so; and, above all, while your place is ideally not inside of someone else, it’s more likely than not to be found inside someones else; that is, in a plurality of someones, in community.

Everyone needs a place, this is true, and much to my — and my partner’s and my friends’ and my family’s — surprise, I found mine on the field. My exact location — my place, my spot — often shifted each match: “left-wing” one week, “striker” another, but usually frontish-just-makesure-to-mark-up-the-guy-in-the-redsocks.

The impermanence of my precise position functioned to expose me to an even greater variety of skills (compared to if I had been pigeonholed to one position, like, God forbid, goalie) whilst equalising the players on the team who could be interchangeable despite quite varied levels of ability.

Sometimes, not having a place but places inscribed by the social circle of a team is all we need.

Lesson #4: You’re more likely to keep a hobby if it keeps you accountable

I’m writing this the day after New Year’s Day, and I doubt that if I ask you in three weeks to recite the resolutions you wrote this week, you’d remember more than half of them. It’s much easier to set a goal than to meet it; it’s less work to plant a target in the ground than to master archery.

Last year, I resolved to be more active following my recent discovery of the gym in November 2023.

Naively, I thought the high cost of my Club Lime membership would force my brain to remember to go to the gym; each notification of withdrawals from my CommBank app was a Pavlovian trigger to exercise. However, being spoiled for choice — in options for gyms across Canberra, in days and times to go, and in the equipment to (or not) to use — left me, paradoxically, far less motivated to gym than I had expected.

Unlike the gym, one of social soccer’s benefits is the gentle but effective ‘peer pressure’, to put it crassly, of knowing that you’re part of a team and that your effort, engagement, and encouragement (to yourself and to others!) bears what economists call externalities, i.e., effects on others.

Awareness of the externality-inducing nature of your behaviour as a soccer player provided me with a reason for being active — a justification for the resolution I had set — extricated from that all-too-familiar pattern of constructing a perfect, ideal self to strive toward (that, ultimately, distracts you in moments of attempted growth because you focus on how far you are from being that idealisation).

With a team of people to support and to not let down, I grew a compulsion.

I admit that the regimented nature of our matches and our practice helped, too; I feel like a soldier for saying that or a 1984 background character that lacked Winston’s passion for dissent, but it’s true. Whether or not I gym was up to me and its presence in my Google Calendar life was up to the composite tyranny of every other task of mine, and gymming slipped in relevance in the process. But our team’s match is scheduled regardless of whether I attend, which helps to keep my resolution and me in check.

Lesson #5: You need to be sh*t more

Get comfortable with being sh*t at something. Enough said.

Gno More Nights Alone A Dark Guide Of Gnome Seduction

Daniel Minns

At this moment, you stand upon the water’s edge, presented with two options:

(A) Stop here. Go back to your normal life and try to forget that you were ever confronted with this choice.

(B) Keep reading. Dive into your new reality and unlock the dark secrets to getting any garden gnome begging to come home with you.

Great, you chose B. I knew I smelt another alpha…

I know I promise a lot, so to ease any doubt about my credentials, let me tell you a little about myself. I used to be like you, dear reader, when I was 20 and found myself totally in love with a gnome. I would spend day and night wondering how I could get him to like me back, watching as person after person took this gnome home.

I dreamt that if I were nice enough, complimentary enough, then he’d have to see that I was the one for him. Then one day, while misinterpreting a movie about masculinity, I had a realisation: I could watch this gnome be serenaded by hundreds of people, be there to comb his hair and polish his cap, and he would only ever see me as a friend. Because that’s all I ever portrayed myself as.

So, I stopped. I pulled away. I wasn’t the “nice guy” who would chase away the dog that wanted to pee on him or drive him to the dinosaur museum every weekend. Within three weeks, he was mine. Using the techniques outlined below, I have experienced tremendous success in the lawn ornament seduction game: I’ve taken over 150 gnomes to bed and many garden supply stores have asked me not to return.

So, if you want to stop being a beta virgin chasing after every gnome you meet, watching Gnomeo and Juliet under the covers at night, and start being the skinny-jean-wearing alpha who gets any garden gnome they want, keep reading.

The first and most essential point in gnome seduction is to ingrain a thought in your mind: YOU are the prize, the high-value player every gnome wants to go home with, and every backyarder wishes they were; they just haven’t realised it yet. Putting yourself in this frame of mind helps you keep perspective on this journey through the world of backyarding. If some random beard you’re chasing turns you down, it’s their loss — not yours. There’s always another curvy little gnomacita waiting for an alpha to grace their toadstool.

STAGE 1: GNEGGING

The first technique I teach my students that is essential to mastering the mind of a gnome is negging, or gnegging. See, the media portrays gnomes as the object of desire, while we hardworking women and men of the world have to bust our asses for a chance that they’ll look our way. But not you — you’ve seen through the matrix, taken the gnome-pill, and realised that gnomes need to be taken down to our level.

That’s where gnegging comes in.

Gnegging is when you give a passive-aggressive compliment that actually lowers self-esteem, thereby leaving the gnome vulnerable to further seduction as their sense of self is gradually chipped away. To assist you, I’ve listed some gnegs that I have successfully employed in the past, with some brief explanations: Wow, Rudolpho! I love your new beard look! Are you trying to look like Armando?

(Subtly hints that his friend is more attractive) Aw, that wheelbarrow is so cute!

(This challenges his gnomesculinity)

I like your cap, Raymundo! I think I saw you wear it last week.

(Makes him insecure about repeating outfits)

You want the gnome you’re chasing to feel low, beard-deep in self-doubt. In this state, they’ll grab onto anything willing to pull them out of the murky sludge of insecurity, but all their grasping hands will find is the collar of your deep v-neck.

STAGE 2: IGNORING

Once the gnegging phase is complete, your next job is to make your target gnome desire your attention. The most successful strategy to achieve this is to make them believe you aren’t interested; inattention drives attention. Look elsewhere when talking to them. Forget their name. Flirt, in their eyeshot, with those flamingo making eyes at you from across the garden. This is where you truly bore yourself into your target’s psyche and embed yourself within their hollow ceramic heads. Gnomoid brains, at their core, are childish; the moment it seems like you don’t want them, they’ll chase you.

STAGE 3: STARING

The final step in this twisted trifecta is intense, unbroken eye contact. When used in conjunction with the previous tactic, this will leave their little clay minds spinning and their little clay bodies wanting more. The name of the game here is to make sure that they are the first to look away. Stare into those painted eyes, daring them to baulk. This establishes the power dynamic that naturally occurs in human-gnome relationships, instituting the dominance that will carry on throughout your jaunt through the garden.

Now, my student, since you’ve decided to jump down this rabbit hole, there’s one truth you need to accept. Society won’t like you having these secrets: people will shun you, admonish you, you will be banned from Bunnings Warehouse. People will tell you that you’re “delusional,” that you’re “hearing things again,” that you’ve “invented a fantasy that garden gnomes have the consciousness to justify your fetish”. But I urge you to trust in yourself, know your worth, and ignore this woke propaganda.

This advice is generalisable; although I usually go for gnomes, these techniques will work on any lawn accoutrements, be it that cute potted plant or the sassy sprinkler you see on your way to work. Whichever garden decor takes your fancy, you should start seeing results immediately upon implementation. Are they waiting for you on your way home?

Do they look at you even when your back’s turned?

Are you seeing them out in the garden all the time, but never seeming to do any work?

Yeah, they know what they’re doing…

When this advice works, please, for the love of God, remember to use protection. I can’t tell you the number of dear friends I’ve lost after forgetting to apply a gnome condom before a night of backyarding.

The Battle in our Backyard Students Should Resist Renew ANU Cuts

JOSHUA KUMMEROW

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MADELEINE GRISARD

Universities are often idealised as close-knit communities of learning where scholars, students, and staff come together in a shared pursuit of knowledge. In reality, they are neoliberal institutions driven by market logic. This logic is behind the wave of cuts threatening Australian universities, including the ANU, where courses and colleges are being axed at students’ expense.

What has happened so far?

In October 2024, ANU management announced the Renew ANU plan that seeks to cut $250 million from the budget by the end of 2025. Of an $800 million budget for staff wages, the ANU wants to cut $100 million.

Chopping one-eighth of salaries will be a massive attack on workers. The union that covers university workers, the National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU), estimates a loss of 682 Full-Time Equivalent (FTE) jobs to follow from the wage cuts.

However, this will likely mean that more than 682 jobs will be cut since the ANU employs large amounts of lower-paid casual and part-time staff, and several people’s jobs can equal 1 FTE.

The current Renew ANU plan includes disestablishing the College of Health and Medicine (CHM) and merging other colleges under bizarre renamings, such as the College of Engineering, Computing and Cybernetics renamed the College of Systems and Society. Disestablishing a college entails pretty obvious job losses — getting rid of a college and its staff — but restructuring is also a mechanism for cutting jobs.

Two administrative workers currently performing the same role in different colleges would, once their colleges are merged, be doing the same role in the same (newly merged) college, a repetition of labour that would open some narrative of “overstaffing” to justify declaring redundancy. This is despite professional staff already feeling overworked and unable to provide students with the services we deserve.

While the NTEU has saved most jobs on the chopping block as part of the CHM disestablishment, rolling restructures are expected for the remaining academic colleges in 2025.

All the while, Vice Chancellor Genevieve Bell continues to take home over $1 million annually. In October, Bell graciously took a 10% pay cut from her $1.15 million salary, but this still keeps her well ahead of ex-Vice Chancellor Brian Schmidt’s salary of $850,000. It’s a salary she’s unlikely to need given that she was receiving a covert part-time salary as a Senior Fellow at Intel, an American tech company, until November last year.

Why is this happening?

This is not happening because of laziness on the part of the workers who make this university run. Who would suggest such a thing?

Our very own Chancellor, the “honourable” Julie Bishop, who, in October, told the Canberra Times that “...many members of staff have been part of the inefficiencies that the university is now seeking to address.”

Over the decades, universities have been funded less and less by the government and more and more by student fees. As a result, universities operate increasingly like profit-seeking businesses, churning through students while providing as cheap an education as possible. At the end of our degrees, we’re thrown out into the world with the university’s seal of approval and tens of thousands of dollars in debt. And that’s if we’re “lucky” enough not to have to pay upfront fees like the international students that universities continue to treat like cash cows.

But, the government should fully fund universities. This is not a radical pipe dream; in fact, universities were free to attend from 1974 to 1989, a welfare measure ended by the Hawke Labor government’s introduction of the Higher Education Contributions Scheme (HECS). Decades of cuts from both Labor and Liberal governments have caused universities to be eye-wateringly expensive to students while teaching facilities still lack enough money to provide current students with a proper education.

The entire neoliberal model of higher education needs to go.

What can be done?

Students and staff shouldn’t sit back and watch ANU management attack their quality of education and living standards.

Staff teaching conditions are student learning conditions. The cuts threaten not just the livelihoods of staff but also the quality of education at the ANU, and students must fight against them. Despite the university’s claims, it is impossible to imagine major restructures and job cuts in academic colleges that do not result in course cuts. The frustrations of overworked and underpaid tutors, course cuts and even degree cuts will continue to worsen the student experience at the ANU.

Attacks on university funding have been successfully fought against in the past. In 2014, the Abbott government’s proposed fee deregulation policy sought to increase the maximum cost of university study to up to $100,000. This proposal was defeated by a sustained national campaign of student protests. The protests against fee deregulation brought thousands of students onto the streets and also targeted prominent members of the Liberal Party who decided to visit university campuses despite their widespread lack of popularity. A notable target was Chancellor Julie Bishop, who was the foreign minister at the time.

The NTEU has held several rallies against the current cuts. When management asked staff to forgo a 2.5% pay rise in the interest of keeping jobs, the NTEU held a rally reminding staff of a similar management manoeuvre in 2021, in which staff deferred a pay rise, and jobs were still slashed. Staff rightfully rejected the deferment, with 88% voting against it.

If you’re understandably outraged by these cuts, follow the Instagram page @no.cuts.at.anu and keep an eye out for meetings convened by the ANUSA Education Officer. The media releases from the ANU about Renew ANU obviously hope to sugarcoat and understate the extent of the cuts, so students should stay up to date on new developments and be prepared to resist further cuts.

In the battle for our backyard, those who sit in the shade of trees must halt those who try to cut them down. It is we who live here, and the groundskeepers who allow it to flourish, not those who own the deed and want us to be happy with weeds and barren dirt. W

Does Canberra really have music?

EDWARD ZAHRA

“Why would you move to Canberra if you love live music so much?”

It is a question that people still ask me when they find out I moved from Sydney to Canberra. But I laugh at it; Canberra’s music scene is a unique and untapped experience, different from those in Australia’s larger cities such as Melbourne and Sydney.

Before moving, my logical thought was that if artists were making music in Canberra, there must be artists performing! It is likely there are a few artists you have heard of who are from Canberra, including the likes of Genesis Owusu, Peking Duk, and Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers. If you are looking to expand your taste and would like to see some gigs but are not sure where to start, these artists may have sounds that are familiar to your current favourite artists!

Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers I Love You Too

Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers are a punk rock band that grew from Canberra’s streets. They are known for their versatility in sound and exciting live performances. If you are a fan of other Australian rock groups such as the Buoys or Teenage Joans, you will no doubt love Teen Jesus. Their debut album has recently accrued new songs in the deluxe version I Love You Too, a compilation of songs exploring various life experiences featuring opening upbeat tracks such as I Used to Be Fun and I Love You. However, Teen Jesus also creates slower, delicate songs such as Your House My House and Toe Bone which explore the ideas of missing others and uncertain feelings. I was first captured by Teen Jesus when they worked with one of my other favourite bands, The Grogans, to release Salt, which has a catchy hook. While not all band members still live in Canberra, they do a few shows a year in this small city.

Peking Duk

While you may not know they are from Canberra, Peking Duk are definitely a big artist who have captivated Australian ears and even globally garnered attention. Peking Duk are an electronic dance band composed of DJs and producers Adam Hyde and Reuben Styles. They have produced hit tracks such as High and Fire which has allowed them to play huge shows. While Peking Duk do not frequently play shows in Canberra, they have provided a foundation for the city’s music scene and have encouraged many local artists to follow similar trajectories.

Genesis Owusu Struggler

Genesis Owusu is not your typical artist; he pushes boundaries in his music production, providing a mixture of fast-paced rap tracks as well as more mellow, accessible R&B or alternative songs, allowing him to capture such a large audience of people who enjoy a wide range of music. I initially started listening to Owusu when he released his 2021 album Smiling With No Teeth, where Gold Chains, with a mix of a smooth melodic hook and flowing rap verses, allowed me to connect with his music easily. Owusu’s newest album, Struggler, continues this versatility as he explores struggle within many different facets of our lives. Owusu’s album was so well received that his song What Comes Will Come was added to the EA Sports FC24 soundtrack. Typically, when Owusu tours Australia, he does a show in his hometown of Canberra, so look out for any upcoming shows for a truly captivating and enjoyable performance.

Moaning Lisa fainter

Moaning Lisa are hard to box into a single genre. However, their music most closely strikes an indie rock and pop sound similar to Teen Jesus. If you have already listened to Teen Jesus (and hopefully enjoyed them), give Moaning Lisa a listen. Moaning Lisa’s new album, fainter explores various emotions surrounding relationships and life experiences and has a nice mix of stronger rock and more poppy songs. My personal favourite is 4am (where have you been?).

Moaning Lisa are playing at The Basement (aka Baso) in Belconnen on the 1st of March, where they are selling student tickets for $18.40 (could be your first Canberra gig!).

Venues

Now that you are familiar with some Canberran artists, you may be wondering where you should go if you want to hear some live music. Canberra has a few really good venues for music, which you can follow to get continual updates on visiting bands.

UC Refectory and UC hub

University of Canberra, Bruce • ucx.canberra.edu.au

UC has a great music venue for artists; they host a variety of music with no real niche. UC has seen bands as big as Peking Duk and The Wombats while also putting on Australian indie bands such as The Rions, Spacey Jane, Pacific Avenue and Telenova. I recommend keeping up with UC Hub as they put on many poprock shows that anyone can have fun at!

Photo: Genesis Owusu, Bruce Baker (Flickr: theholygrail , CC-BY)

Smith’s Alternative and Smiths@Belco

Alinga Street, City • Belconnen Arts Centre • smithsalternative.com.au

Smith’s Alternative is one of my favourite places to hang out, but they also host many fun bands ranging from genres such as jazz and folk to some small rock and classical groups. Smith’s is a venue that provides a space for niche-r music with smaller crowds so that everyone can enjoy their style of music!

The Basement (or Baso)

2 Cohen Street, Belconnen • thebaso.com.au

The Baso is a fun venue located in Belconnen, which is easy to reach with a single bus from Barry Drive. The Baso hosts a wide variety of genres, from indie rock to pop and everything in between. I have seen a few prominent Australian artists here, including The Vanns, Old Mervs, and Belair Lip Bombs. If you have a look at their website and see artists you do not recognise, you can always buy a cheap ticket and have a listen with a feed and a drink to help support local artists!

Llewelyn Hall and Kambri Cultural Centre

Yes! While rare, our own campus holds live gigs with prominent artists. I have been fortunate enough to see Royel Otis in the Culture Centre and enjoy an amazing show at the same hall where I was lectured about microeconomics and statistics. These gigs are often advertised around campus, so they are easier to spot than other venues.

Llewellyn Hall is the large music hall in the music building, and it is an absolutely beautiful space to hear all types of music. The hall frequently hosts the university’s orchestra and jazz band, while also seeing the likes of Hoodoo Gurus and the Australian Chamber Orchestra perform. If this seems more your vibe, look out for the wide range of shows in these venues!

ANU Campus • llewellynhall.com.au ...

While Canberra has many shows coming up from the start of the semester, the best way for you to find a gig you will enjoy is to listen to new Canberra artists and follow social media pages and websites for the listed venues. Canberra has such a vibrant music scene, especially with regional tours becoming more and more popular for medium-sized bands, so do a little research and enjoy your Canberra music. W

Dandelions

CHRISTIAN PANETTA

The summers in suburbia were cooler then. I reflect on my deciduousness. I was a child, my steps reflecting in the sun and sky.

Each unknown, an opportunity, And each breath, a reckoning. Each colour, infused with a subtle opacity

That was marred by the dandelions. Those skins burned like sulphur, and their stems seemed to conjure. They seemed an oddity, like unmixed paint on Friedrich’s canvas.

They shone, and they scattered; they faded into the lush. They intertwined with the legs of the wheelbarrow And painted the walls of our fences.

My sister and I stretched from all corners of the yard And soothed them out of their favourite spots, In between the cracks in the concrete and at the base of our rusty swing set.

Our eagerness barraged like a morning sun, And we just had to give them to our mother. It never occurred to us

That her hayfever had manifested in the dandelions’ pistils. So she left them slain like Marat, Their zest marred again, and their subtlety rife.

Vivid spots became gentle tufts that brought joy to blow apart, But, alas, dullened the canvas of our painterly yard. In the end, I found even the dandelions to quieten.

I never tried again with my mother, And I only saw them seldom. The dandelions found refuge in my memory’s underpaintings

And the gaps in my steps. Yet, even now, I see marks of sentiment, And what I lost in finding them.

7:53 at Calwell Hill

JADEN OGWAYO

The crickets’ whispers flood these hills with sounds

Familiar to a weathered city’s ear; An orchestra of rustles that surrounds The light-poor shrubs that fix my posture here.

Late Evening Sun descends in reddish gold, Or bronze, perhaps? No metal shares her hue. She smothers empty sky with Moonlight’s cold, Retaining only yellowed tints of blue.

Behind the mountains, smoke erupts in plumes: Deep indigo that chars each stagnant cloud. In seconds soon, the shadowed sky subsumes All remnants of a daylight disallowed.

The distance dulls the stars: here, barely bright. And you remain too far from me tonight.

Pink Ribbon in the Plum Tree

CHIARA HACKNEY-BRITT

It is tied there like a flag at the peak of a game, some sort of girls versus boys nonsense. The tree is thus claimed by the girl and her friend as their base. Because, of course, a tree with rough bark that cuts into the skin and with dense burgundy leaves that obscure any good view of the enemy is an obvious and strategic choice. The ribbon is vibrant with a silky sheen, taken from her friend’s ponytail.

The war ends in a stalemate, becoming irrelevant when dessert is mentioned. When the time comes to say goodbye, the two friends bemoan the separation, hardly able to wait for the next time they can play together in the garden. They are inseparable, and their parents get along swimmingly, so they won’t have to wait long.

But because the girl always forgets to take the ribbon from the tree and return it to its owner, it stays there as they play. Fairy make-believe, which somehow spreads beyond a backyard game on a warm Sunday afternoon and becomes a gimmick of collective self-delusion all the girls in their year two class are involved in. All but one, that is. The girl feels guilty for somehow gaslighting her whole class, desperate for their one last classmate to join in and for the alternate reality of going to fairyland at night to be true.

The little ribbon stays there even after its owner moves back to the other side of the world. It fades slightly; though it is sheltered by foliage, the harsh Australian sun will always have its way, no matter how gradual. It flutters in the breeze as the girl and her sister decide to gather snails in the garden and keep them as pets. But they are neglected, and most shrivel up in a matter of days; any survivors are sometimes recognised by the blue and red text marks on their shells.

The pink ribbon observes as the girl frees a young branch growing in between two others. The part that was stuck is mesmerisingly flat and smooth, smoother than any piece of wooden furniture she’s ever touched. She feels like a plum tree doctor. Her knowledge of the tree’s anatomy means she knows exactly which branches she can sit on comfortably and read.

The pink ribbon fades some more, yet is still the brightest thing in winter when the grass is brown from drought and the plum tree is devoid of leaves. Every morning, the sisters must go to the backyard and pick grass for the guinea pigs to eat for breakfast — a dreaded job when there is little green grass to be found and when their hands go numb from frost.

The pink ribbon is there still when one guinea pig is buried beneath the tree, wrapped in an old rag as a coffin. The girl and her sister fashion a crooked cross from fallen sticks found at the base of the tree.

The pink ribbon stays tied there, watching as the sisters discover the delight of jumping from horrific heights off their swings. By some generous miracle, they never quite slam into the low stone wall and break their bones.

The pink ribbon giggles as the currawong swooping low over the swings makes the girl screech in pure fright. In desperation and despite the spiders, she rushes into the cubby house. The swing outside is still creaking as she waits out the long-gone currawong.

The pink ribbon waits to see if it will stay or leave as the second guinea pig is buried beside its sister. It is very pale after so many summers, matching the colour of the blossoms scattered over the garden every September. The tree is older now, its fewer leaves less able at protecting the ribbon from the summer sun. The girl doesn’t forget the ribbon. After seven years, she reverently unties it from its branch, careful not to damage the frail material. Bursts of its original bright colour still exist, protected by the knot. She folds it carefully and tucks it in a box with her other possessions, ready for the new house.

The new house has no plum tree — rather a backyard with a pool and a wattle, and rose bushes with flowers in every colour imaginable. But the pink ribbon will stay and be tucked into a drawer. A little memento of childhood, of happy memories in the backyard, of plums making a mess of the footpath thanks to greedy cockatoos, of crimson and eastern rosellas eating seeds beneath the tree, of making gourmet dishes out of mud and flowers, of torturing snails, of jumping on the trampoline with a white-tailed spider and having to interrupt their dad in an important online meeting so he could squish it, of backyard cricket, of sage and sorrel, of mulberries and plums from the three plum trees, of white quartz pebbles, of rushing around playing tips with the neighbours after Minecraft sessions, of the setting for a three-year-old’s sweet dreams, of eleven years, of delightful childhood friendships.

The pink ribbon holds the memory of it all.

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-page16006366

The Threads of Womanhood Woven in my Backyard

SOPHIA DIEGELMANN

I lie on my back in the yard, grass scratching my skin, anchoring me to the earth as the weight of womanhood presses down: not sharp, but steady; a quiet ache that never lifts.

The sky looms above, flat and unfeeling, its clouds shift like questions I can’t quite form. This body carries too much— a battlefield, a home, a thing to dress up and defend.

The grass whispers that it understands, but it has never needed to bleed to survive.

Womanhood is the clutter in my head: remember to pay the rent, buy the milk, reply to the text, smile — but not too much.

The politics in how I stand, how I sit, how I shrink myself to make room for the world. My phone vibrates somewhere out of reach,

humming like a magpie in the distance. Womanhood is a tally: of all I’ve given, what I owe, what I’ll never quite get back.

To the earth, to the sky, to the man who held the door open, to the friend who waits eagerly for a reply.

I shut my eyes and let tomorrow build itself— work, bills, the million small negotiations I never asked for but have to make. I think of God: what she might look like if she lived in this world. How tired must she be of watching us tread the same weary paths?

The grass keeps me still. It doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t demand apologies. It just holds me as I am: not the rent I owe, not the smile I practised,

just a woman in her backyard, feeling the sky weigh heavy and waiting for nothing at all.

The Family

SABOOR CHEEMA

Content Warning: Depictions of mental illness and alcoholism.

Anna slouched back in her seat, desperate to remain hidden from view. She didn’t know what she would do if she was caught.

Tonight was one of her sleepless nights. Yearning to feel something, she had travelled to Peter’s house. Her car was parked inconspicuously outside, under the shield of the grand elm trees; the branches swayed majestically in the night wind. She had noticed the tulips dispersed on the front lawn; they had bloomed well this year, their petals revealing soft shades of red. There was a serenity in these suburban streets that Anna craved: white picket fences, freshly mowed lawns and family dinner at six.

A singular dome light faintly illuminated the inside of the car. Empty take-out containers, bottles of wine and plastic wrappers littered the floor. Scrunched-up tissues covered every inch of the beige seats, concealing the stains of the carelessly spilt drinks. Despite her efforts, Anna could never properly clear out the mess; it persisted like a bad memory that refused to leave. Yet, when she stared into Peter’s house, none of that mattered because her heart softened, and all she felt was a sense of completion.

She lifted her head discreetly to watch Peter drag an overflowing garbage bag outside. His daughter followed him swiftly; she skipped

down the cobblestone steps and waved her drawing eagerly in his face. Peter crouched down and playfully examined the art piece. A smile tugged at Anna’s lips. She knew how much he wanted to be a father. At least he was happy, she thought to herself.

Anna’s eyes glanced at the time on the dashboard. It was already so late, but she couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t felt this alive all week. The breeze filtered through the open window, circling around the car. She shivered.

When the pair returned inside, Anna sat up properly to get a better view of the house. It was beautiful. A double-storey brick house stood proudly before her, with brightly lit glass windows offering a view into the family’s blissful life. Anna felt a pang of jealousy in her stomach and inhaled sharply; all she wanted was to be able to have this. She cradled a half-drunk bottle of wine in her arms and took a long gulp. She was sick of drinking alone. But Peter wasn’t.

Through the house window, she saw him and his wife pouring glasses of wine in the living room, basking in each other’s company in front of the homely fireplace. The carefully decorated and clean room made Anna chuckle softly as she looked down at the mess surrounding her. She watched on as they laughed together. Anna imagined being that woman — someone healthy enough to share a

mundane life with someone. Then, she saw the couple kiss. With that, she slid down her seat, her skin prickling with frustration.

In her youth, Anna had loved Peter with the ferocity of a thousand fires. Yet, she always waited for him to realise she wasn’t worth all the trouble. She had told him about her mother and how she had this disease as well.

“It’s genetic. I’m scared that if I have a child, they’ll become broken like me,” she explained. He hugged her, assuring her it would be okay.

Soon, Anna learnt that loving him was too painful, like a knife twisting deeper and deeper. She couldn’t bear his tortured expressions when he found her crying in the bathtub in the dead of night, mascara streaking her pallid face and wine spilt around her. He made excuses for her when she couldn’t leave her bed for days and remained patient when she snapped at him. She was an open wound, bleeding uncontrollably and tarnishing every moment with her mere presence. She refused to pull him deeper into her tortured existence, not wanting to see him choke on the poison that flowed through her veins.

Blood rushed through her cheeks at the memories of him. Hot tears streamed down Anna’s face, and she shut her eyes tightly. She imagined a life where she had a family…a life where her mind wasn’t her worst enemy. It didn’t matter how hard she tried because she never got better. Now, all she had was this. Her late nights with Peter’s family. The closest she ever got to the real thing. She felt herself drifting off to sleep, slumping deeper into the car seat.

Anna wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by the distant sound of sirens. Sprawled on the car seat, she rubbed her eyes to relieve her tiredness. As her vision cleared, she caught sight of Peter’s house.

Flickers of red and orange flames clung to the brick exterior. The tendrils danced in synchronicity as they surrounded the roof. Anna flung her car door open, stumbling onto the footpath. She stood frozen, basking in the embers of fire that pelted down on her like a thunderous storm. The roaring of the fire continued; it was a ravenous beast consuming the house and its inhabitants. Heavy smoke hung in the air, causing the neighbours who gathered on the sidewalks to break into fits of cough.

“NO!” Anna screamed, her throat burning from the intensity of her pain.

This couldn’t be happening. Her dreams were shattering alongside the glass windows that faltered under the heat of the blaze.

She couldn’t watch this anymore. A sudden shot of adrenaline pumped through her as she ran across the front lawn, her feet trampling the tulips. Anna stopped at the front door and drew a long breath. They were the closest thing she had to a family, a thin string of hope she held onto desperately. She knew she couldn’t lose them; this was her chance to be with them, to prove she deserved something good. Smiling, she raced inside. The flames reached for her, welcoming her to their fold.

She became ashes.

But at least they were all finally one and the same.

Photography by Henry Carls

Sandpit as State

JADEN OGWAYO

Sun-bleached children’s toys— Coral, lilac, beige— Scattered, like leaf-litter: Stonehenge for the yard.

Militant fleets of worker-ants Traverse the weathered bucket That rests and yawns, Worn by laborious years of inertia. Its broken handle, Hanging, As a limb by its tendon, Sways toward a black brigade.

A ring of flies, Perched

On the jagged, plastic rim, March single-file

Down, down the curved wall Into the lagoon of Shadows: the speckled billet For a colony of ants

Mounted upon A gumtree’s fallen raft. ‘Must be the Navy,’ He sighs.

Alisha’s Backyard

SHIVAGHA SINDHAMANI PATHAK

Alisha’s most cherished childhood memories sprouted from her backyard — a tiny, enchanting world teeming with wonders. Thinking of it now, she is nostalgic, conjuring vivid images of a place that once felt infinite. She can almost see it: the potato plants stubbornly rooted in the soil, the twisting bottle gourd vines that her mother miraculously incorporated into every dish, fiery-red and green chilli plants where she dutifully plucked a single chilli for every meal, and the slender okra stalks swaying in the breeze. However, reigning over all was the mango tree — the proud giant of the yard and a silent witness to her childhood.

What a mango tree it was. Alisha drifts for a moment, her eyes misting over with the tears of a feeling she can’t quite name — a mix of gratitude for those treasured moments and a deep ache of longing for the time that has slipped away. She remembers climbing the tree with her elder brother on blazing summer afternoons, their bare feet gripping the rough bark, sunscreen be damned. Their sole mission: the mangoes. She’d stay below, holding a makeshift quilt trap fashioned from sheer sibling ingenuity, ready to catch the golden fruit her brother plucked and tossed down. Never mind if a mango hit her square in the nose or if she stumbled — what mattered was keeping the mangoes safe from the earth’s gritty embrace.

After their triumphant mango haul, they’d sit crosslegged on the grass, greedily devouring their loot with sticky hands, ignoring their mother’s rule about having lunch first. Patience? Who’s she? The siblings’ gleeful disobedience was a summer ritual, punctuated by laughter and the occasional scolding over her brother’s scraped knees or the duo’s muddied clothes.

Her backyard wasn’t just about mangoes. It was a tapestry of moments: her mother meticulously tending to roses, sunflowers, and marigolds; the birds chirping songs of joy as they pecked at the sweet mango flesh; the serene simplicity of lying on the grass and gazing up at the sky through a canopy of green. It was a sanctuary, a place where peace wasn’t just an idea but a palpable feeling in the air.

Now, Alisha sits in her stark apartment, peering through a small window at the uninspiring side of a neighbouring building. Snapping out of her daydream, she pulls the curtains shut, suddenly self-conscious. She doesn’t want to seem like a creep staring into someone else’s life. A glance around her room only deepens the ache within her. The white walls, the narrow bed, the plain desk — it’s all so cold. Even the beloved family photo on her desk, taken in that very backyard, now feels like a cruel taunt.

Gone is the scent of roses carried by the breeze, replaced by the sterile air of the city. Gone is the boundless freedom of her backyard, traded for the constrictions of adulthood. Alisha sits at her desk, her thoughts wandering back to the swing under the mango tree and the board games she played with her father.

She’s struck by the irony of life: to nurture the home she loves so dearly, she had to leave it behind.

Is she unhappy? No. But she wishes she could turn back time, even if it is just for a moment. She wonders what has changed. Was it the weight of responsibilities? The pull of ambitions? Or was it simply the inevitable passage from childhood to adulthood? It seems a question that eludes an answer, one she doesn’t linger on for too long.

Instead, Alisha picks up her phone, engaging in the daily ritual of calling her mother. Her mother’s voice is the balm that soothes all her aches, much like the warmth of those lazy afternoons in the backyard. As they chat, her mother excitedly shares plans for the spring harvest, listing off vegetables and flowers she hopes to grow. Alisha closes her eyes, imagining the vibrant garden coming to life again.

With a bittersweet smile, she whispers, “This too, I will grow through.”

The backyard may be miles away, but its essence remains rooted in her. Its lessons of joy, resilience, and connection are woven into her being, a reminder that even in the bleakness of her current reality, the comfort of those memories will forever be her refuge.

En Plein Air

I arch my back like the Harbour. Steel-elbows locked. Palms clasping the precipice.

Face-down by the water; Simulacrum of Narcissus. I serve as medium and muse.

You crash against my hips

Yours smack as waves, Beating the battered seashore.

My knees press into the cave, Abraded by tough love. They blister and peel and bleed.

You dig your thumbs into my shoulder blades.

You balance on my heels. The easel is set in place.

You anchor me into the sludgy marl Beneath the quicksand. Do you fear I’ll flee?

Scrawl the charcoal along my shoulder. Loosen your wrist. Tighten your grip.

Scribble feathered streaks of Black and grey

From my neck down to my thigh.

Tease the canvas, pluck me raw. Don’t be shy. Rip my scalp into two.

Let your paint-stained fingers

Trace the shaky contour of my lower back. Carve out the fault lines.

Glide along the waxy waves. Spit on me for varnish. Flood me with a marine wash of mauve

To underpaint my portrait. Dab me in Renoir’s lilacs, Monet’s violets—

Envelop me in your bruises’ dyes. Your beads of sweat pierce me: A pointillist fusillade

Mottles my lavender skin

To match the blush that flushes your face. You sweat and cry

That same, familiar vermillion hue. The red of rust. A speckled complexion, Only scars of scorn can be erased.

Smudge sin into my skin.

Sanctify my flesh in a gallery of holy scripture.

Rub radial rays of sunlight

Out from my spine. A solar effigy.

Chisel away at my tender points.

Shatter me into brittle flakes— Frayed seams—

Still-life revivified through motion.

JADEN OGWAYO

Unfolding

ASHLEY DAVIES

I was surrounded by dirt and voices on the day I was born.

Into a yard with a filled-in swimming pool and a pergola built on top of that.

I have watched 24 years of iterations come and go. Of that yard, I was born into.

My grandmother planted roses along the back corner.

My grandfather built a chicken coop.

They planted dalo beneath the bathroom window and built a stove from cement bricks.

I sat in the dirt, smelling the rich earth beneath my roots.

When I was small, we’d all sit together on the porch swing. It felt like I was flying.

My grandparents put a radio under the pergola to play Boney M in the early summer evenings.

The sky dulled to night blue, and the moths flapped softly under artificial lights.

When they moved away, the garden next to the laundry grew wild.

After my grandparents left, the garden became a little smaller.

My grandpa left a small red swing hanging under the eaves of the pergola.

Every year, I would inevitably fall backwards off it and smash my head on the concrete.

I watched my sister do it too.

The concrete was unforgiving on our growing limbs.

In the summer heat, we’d turn on the sprinklers and run through them;

Play with the different settings on the hose, stretch our petals to the sun;

Dance through rainbows of water with our friends till the droughts set in.

The first time I rode my bike without training wheels, I rode across the grass while my father held me till I fell and left with grazed knees and a broken heart.

Every month, he mowed the lawn begrudgingly. And helped my mother trim back the camellias.

My mother planted a lime tree.

Then a mandarin.

Then a fig.

She planted a whole herb garden with rosemary and mint, and I tried to contribute by adding spring onion. Everything I planted died. And I never helped my mother plant again.

In my worst years, I kept digging in the back garden, where my sister’s beloved pet chicken was buried. It died on my birthday.

I was trying to plant a new garden. Something to replace the pain. I never finished it.

All through my adolescence, I avoided being really there. Feeling the wind on my leaves was painful, and I couldn’t stand it till I was older.

My sister begged my dad to put a hammock under the pergola for her before she moved away. When the weather gets warm, I lay in the sun, halfway under the peach tree, my dog on my chest. Sleeping in the dappled light of her last years.

My cat sits under the plum tree and watches the German shepherd next door, who longs to chase her through the fence.

After my dad died, my uncle cut back the camellias and piled up the cut branches in the back garden. I want to replant it, but I can’t move the weight of that garden by myself.

Now, when I sit in the yard, I feel hunched over by the weight of my years. I feel tied to the country and desperate to outgrow it.

My roots have gone too deep.

HARINI

Sky waited, with bated breath— fated, festering, forlorn in bubbling silence for Trade-Wind with clementine torrents The air remained still yet white waves got groovy at hyperspeed

Radio radio@woroni.com.au

Television television@woroni.com.au

We would like to acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land on which Woroni operates, the Ngunnawal and Ngambri peoples. We pay our respects to Elders past and present. Their land was forcibly stolen, and sovereignty was never ceded.

The name Woroni, which means “mouth”, was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission. Consultation with First Nations people recommended that Woroni continue to use the word, provided we acknowledge the theft, and continue to strive for better reconciliation in future. Woroni aims to provide a platform for First Nations students to hold the University, its community, and ourselves accountable.

It might sometimes feel as if the worst horrors of colonisation are past, as if they happened in a different, more brutal world than this one. But the same Australian government that took Indigenous children from their families in the 1900s incarcerates children as young as ten years old today, the majority of whom are Indigenous. If we separate ourselves and our times from colonisation, we cannot properly acknowledge and work to amend its long-lasting impact.

This land always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land.