Woroni Edition 2 2022 by Woroni

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Thomas Burnett Rose Dixon-Campbell Ashley Davies Chetha Nawana Sisana Lazarus Sai Campbell Elizabeth Walker Daniel Ray Indi Shead Sabrina Tse Angus Padley William Vuckovic Sarah Greaves Maddy Wang

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Navita Wijeratne Yige Xu Eric Rattray Natasha Tareen Fergus Sherwood Maddy Brown William (Gabrielle) Meiklejohn Xuming Du Alexandra Ingram Beth O’Sullivan Hannah Head Jessica Mcleod-Yu Alexander An Nathalie Ann Collins Johnstone Jasmine Small George Hogg Maya Johnson Elektra Dizz Kristine Li Giam Tom Ryan Alexander Lane Jeffrey Bowen Liang Roxana Sadeghpour Arabella Richie Dan Crane Bec Donald Wilson Fiona Ballentine Sasha Personeni Giselle Laszok Sam O’Connor George Keleher Shannon Napier Robin Ng Rosie Welsh

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CONTENTS NEWS

The Trouble with Choosing

ANU Report Reveals Increasing Reporting and

Male Gaze as Panopticon

Disclosures of Sexual Misconduct

Could Stop it All

First SRC Maps Out Plans for an Activist Yet Service - Providing ANUSA in 2022

ANU Residential Halls Respond to Evolving COVID-19 Situation on Campus

CREATIVE The Jacaranda and The Jar Unabridged

To Love a Green Haired Girl

Survivor COMMENT 12

Red Lines

The Institutions that Don’t Care

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Progressing Progressives: A Response

17 DISCOVERY

Growing Our Economy Won’t 19

A Road to Nowhere - Part II

The Sins of My Children

Ask Woroni: Ghosting

A Weaving Mind

Make Us Happier

If You Called Your Dad, He

ANU Students March in Invasion Day Protests

A Spotify Playlist 22

A Definitive Ranking of Canberra’s Asian Supermarkets

Uncertainties: A Collection THE SELF

Renaturalising Sullivan’s Creek

Fuelling Capitalism’s Authority One Question

“To Be Chosen”

and One Child at a Time Blind Pimple

I’ve Got Nothing to Wear- Yet

Plasma Donation for the

A Letter to My Younger Self

High Maintenance 29 31

Follow the (Fellows) Brick Road

NOTE FROM

THE EDITOR We are inundated with predictions. A simple read of any newspaper, or group chat, reveals debates about how society, and life, will develop. Will Liverpool beat Tottenham? Will our economy grow? Will housing prices rise? Will wages increase? These are often debated topics throughout society. Often a consensus is reached Liverpool will beat Tottenham, the economy will grow, wages will be slow, and housing prices will rise. We all have expectations about our future and our lives. Parents develop them about kids, friends about other friends, we all do it, even if unknowingly. Nowhere are these expectations more evident than in sport. Who the favourite for a particular race or match is debated at length. Expectations are directly reflected in betting odds or the number of supporters. They help inform commentators who need to build a narrative. Sometimes we forget that these expectations aren’t a given. Sport is full of great comebacks. To name a few, Greg Lemond’s winning ride on stage 21 of the 1989 Tour de France, upsetting Fignon to win by eight seconds, Newcastle vs Arsenal in 2011 defying the odds to end in a draw, Super Bowl LI with the Patriots stealing the win in overtime after a comeback from 8-28. Often these comebacks are why we come back and watch time and time again. Sport is full of times we are reminded that no matter what we may believe or expect to happen, life can always turn out differently, be it for better or worse. Life, no matter how much we may want or try, continues. History is written, we create memories, the universe doesn’t care about our expectations. The following collections of stories, opinions and commentary you hold in your hand here endeavour to showcase this. From letters addressed to one’s younger self to musings about the nature of axioms and more, this conflict between our exceptions and reality will continue to surprise us. The future is not a foregone conclusion, and all we can do is try and develop the best plan for this uncertainty. Ben Rowley Managing Editor

EDITORS

ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

NEWS

anu report reveals increasing reporting and disclosures of sexual misconduct JULIETTE BAXTER CW: Discussion of sexual assault, sexual harassment, and domestic violence At the ANU, reports of sexual misconduct in 2021 more than tripled compared to the year prior. This news comes to light as the University has released a Sexual Misconduct Reports and Disclosures Report for the first time, drawing from reports made to its Registrar Office and an online disclosures form. Students have increasingly made formal reports to the University Registrar’s Office, from four in 2019, to nine in 2020, up to 31 in 2021. On average, these reports were finalised within 27 working days. In cases where misconduct was found to occur, ten percent of offenders received conditions on their enrolment, thirty-eight percent were suspended or denied access to the University for a specified period of time, and fifty-two percent were excluded entirely, meaning that they ceased to be a student. In addition to increases in official reports of sexual misconduct, there has been an uptick in informal disclosures over time, from survivors, supporters of survivors, witnesses and staff. Between October 2019 to September 2020, 250 disclosures were made, which jumped to 366 disclosures in the period October 2020 to September 2021. A majority of the incidents disclosed impacted undergraduate students, which in October 2020 to September 2021 made up 81.1 percent of total disclosures. Furthermore, the majority of people impacted by incidents of sexual assualt or sexual harassment were living on campus, at 70.3 percent in October 2020 to September 2021.

The report also found that the majority of survivors were female and the majority of perpetrators were male undergraduate students. In 2020-2021, 76.2 percent of people impacted by incidents were female, 16.2 percent male, 3.2 percent non-binary, 0.5 percent gender non-conforming and 3.8 percent preferred not to disclose. The data shows that while many incidents, around one-third of the total, were disclosed within 24 hours to one week after occurring, another third were within one to three months, and a final third between one to three years afterwards. A range of behaviours were disclosed in the report, which, in 2020-2021, included sexual harassment (55.3 percent), sexual assault (43.5 percent), domestic and family violence (1.2 percent), and bullying and harassment (0 percent). The University “would like to thank survivors for coming forward” and aims for the report to be survivor-centric and suggests the report “shows more and more people are feeling comfortable about coming forward.” An ANU spokesperson clarified that the report “is not about prevalence” but rather is “support information that shows our commitment to transparency and accountability” which they hope to continue with annual reports in the future. Likewise, the University spokesperson highlighted the ANU’s ongoing commitment to prevention and support of students in relation to incidents of sexual assault and harassment.

6. Both the ANUSA Women’s Officer, Avan Daruwalla, and ANUSA President, Christian Flynn, who were consulted in the making of the report, welcomed it as a step in the direction “toward increased institutional accountability and transparency.” However, Daruwalla noted that the report was “a promised commitment in 2018 following the Nous Review’s recommendation(s)” and that “we did not see this in 2018, 2019, 2020 or 2021… the university is four years behind on not only this promise but numerous other commitments to survivors,” which Flynn concurred. While the President praised the report’s breadth and depth, both he and the Women’s Officer urged for the next annual report to clarify data on punitive action, such as exactly how many students have been excluded from the University. Additionally, Daruwalla remarked that ANU’s attempts to centre survivors is undermined by highlighting their successes in pursuing improved campus safety. Flynn added that there was little acknowledgement of the work of survivors and the Women’s Department in the report, either. Flynn pointed out that “disclosure processes at the ANU are still in need of improvement and further work” particularly as they so often involve students being continually referred on to different staff, creating “unnecessary re-traumatising.” Instead, Flynn suggests the University needs to create “clear, highly-publicised pathways of disclosure and reporting” and “regularly publish what potential outcomes can result from a process of a disclosure and a report.” The Women’s Officer hopes the online disclosure form will be updated to be more “trauma-informed.” Further data on incidents of sexual assault and harassment in universities will be released in the upcoming National Student Safety Survey, with more of a focus on prevalence. If this content has triggered any concern, distress or impacted on your wellbeing, ANU

provides a number of services to support student health and wellbeing including: Student Safety and Wellbeing email: student.wellbeing@anu.edu.au website: Health, safety & wellbeing – ANU ANU Counselling email: counselling.centre@anu.edu.au website: ANU Counselling – ANU The ANU Wellbeing and Support Line available 24/7 phone: 1300 05 0327 SMS: 0488 884 17 There are also a number of services in community that can be accessed after hours including: ACT Access Mental Health is a 24-hour mental health emergency access and support service. Phone: 1800 629 354 or 6205 1065 1800 RESPECT is the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service. 1800 RESPECT provides phone or online support for people experiencing, or at risk of experiencing, sexual assault, domestic or family violence. 1800 RESPECT is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week Phone: 1800 737 732 Lifeline: 13 11 14 Canberra Rape Crisis Centre, Crisis Line (02) 6247 2525 ANU Women’s Department sa.womens@anu.edu.au ANU Queer* Department sa.queer@anu.edu.au

anu students march in invasion day protests ALEXANDER LANE CW: The following article contains mentions of genocide, colonisation, deaths in custody and racism “Invasion Day is a day of mourning for me.” – Katchmirr Russell, ANU’s Indigenous Officer. The 26th of January marks the beginning of Australia’s colonisation and the atrocities committed by white colonists towards First Nations people for the past 250 years. Yesterday saw thousands protest across the country, from in-person marches and memorial services in Canberra and Sydney, to online events in Brisbane and Darwin. As Russell puts it, in a Seed Mob Instagram post, they protest nationwide celebrations of the 26th of January because “… the abolishment of ‘Australia Day’ [is] key to moving forward to First Nations justice and respecting the deeply traumatic and devastating history that the Britain Invasion imposed on our peoples…” In Canberra, the protests highlighted the 50th anniversary of the Aboriginal Tent Embassy. Founded in 1972 by Billy Cragie, Michael Anderson, Tony Coorey and Bertie Williams, the Tent Embassy is the longest-standing protest site in the world. Its purpose was, and still is, to protest the injustice First Nations people face, from 500 deaths in custody since 1990, to two centuries of massacres across the country. Canberra’s march began in Garema Place with speeches from elders, before marching across Commonwealth Bridge to the Tent Embassy outside Old Parliament House. There, workshops and concerts were held until evening. The Tent Embassy ran a three-day event, concluding on the 27th. According to Russell, who was a marshall for the Canberra protest, there was a turnout of around a couple of thousand, which they described as “…especially successful considering the delayed advertising of the event and the unfortunate context of COVID-19.” They went on to say that the biggest concern was COVID-19, not just in preventing

participation, but also in “not wanting to put the safety of mob at risk.” First Nations people are at an additional risk from COVID-19, which has been compounded by a slow vaccination roll-out in rural and Indigenous communities. Members of ANUSA helped marshall the event and provided first aid, legal observers and police liaisons, led by the Indigenous Department. ANUSA’s bus was used to transport elders from Garema Place to the Tent Embassy. Furthermore, one of the Indigenous Department’s posts on events happening around Australia went viral on Instagram. The post has reached 15,100 people and was shared by 3,700 other accounts, including notable activists and authors such as Anita Heiss. The Department’s post Stop Celebrating Genocide about why Australia Day shouldn’t be a celebration reached over 6,000 people. “Thank you to all who attended, or engaged online, and please make sure that your ‘activism’ doesn’t just exist on the one day.” – Russell The Indigenous Department’s Instagram page has several helpful infographics on events, charities, and ways to help decolonise your media. PathToEquality also has a comprehensive list of charities to donate to. A common practice is to donate the public holiday loading you receive, or the full paycheck, if you worked on Australia Day. If you or someone you know has been affected by this, please contact one of the support services below: ANU Counselling (02) 6125 2442 ANU Indigenous Department sa.indigenous@anu.edu.au

ARTWORK: Winnie Wei

first src maps out plans for an activist yet serviceproviding anusa in 2022 ALEXANDER LANE

The newly elected ANUSA executive held its first meeting of the Students Representative Council (SRC) in Week One of the Semester. The meeting was dominated by the Executive’s progress reporting, signs of a possible rift between ANUSA and the NUS, and a belligerent Socialist Alternative insisting that ANUSA should be more activist. Officer Reports Each ANUSA Officer gives regular reports at the SRC on their work since the last meeting, or in this case, what they have been doing over summer. The President, Christian Flynn, celebrated the successes of O-Week and in negotiating with the ANU on the safety of immunocompromised students attending in-person or accessible online classes. Flynn also stated ANUSA was close to securing a competitive rent agreement for the Night Cafe in Kambri.

9. Additionally, Flynn voiced concern about Residential Halls’ compliance with COVID-19 safety measures and urged all students with concerns to reach out to him. Vice-President Chido Nyakuengama focused largely on the renovation of the Brian Kenyon Student Space (BKSS) and on the popularity of its free breakfasts, drawing roughly a hundred students by the end of O-Week, and its lunches. Chido plans to launch the space as a venue for clubs by the second semester. The Treasurer, Jaya Ryan, announced that, due to private sponsorship, ANUSA was actually underbudget for O-Week, but could not specify by how much. Ryan also divulged that ANUSA had secured 35 percent of the Students Services and Amenities Fee (SSAF) as funding, but that he was negotiating for more. Additionally, the treasurer is organising a survey on wage theft on campus. Prompted by a student’s question, Ryan said that he supported the National Union of Students’ campaign to give 100 percent of SSAF to student unions. Finally, Women’s Officer Avan Daruwalla announced that the Women’s Department would begin a 50 percent subsidy for all birth control sold at the pharmacy on campus. The three NUS Delegates’ reports centred around whether ANUSA should continue paying its accreditation to the national union. The NUS is known for being incredibly factionalised and some question its usefulness and efficacy. Sinead Winn argued in her report that the factionalism of the NUS can be helpful at times, and that ANUSA should continue its accreditation. However, both Flynn and General Secretary, Ben Yates, questioned ANUSA’s membership in the NUS, arguing that it was hamstrung by its factionalism, with too much focus on targeting politicians, but proposed further discussion on the subject. Several representatives were formally approved at the meeting. This included autonomous Department Officers elected last year, General Representative

Dorcas Bugeme as a General Representative replacing Samantha Shaw following their resignation, and four new Deputy Education Officers: Luke Harrison, Jasmine Delaney, Perpetual Nkatiaa Boadu, and Gabriel LucaMorison. Motions After the formalities of the SRC were dealt with, the meeting moved onto debating motions, which centre around policy proposals and stances. Two motions proposed by the Socialist Alternative (SAlt) were passed. The first condemned the “…right-wing, antidemocratic attacks on the Adelaide Uni SRC,” following a funding standoff there. The second motion rejected the Department of Defence’s nuclear technician scholarship to support the new AUKUS deal and called on the ANU to reject any future work with the Department. The SRC also passed Education Officer Beatrice Tucker’s motion to launch a ‘No Cuts at ANU’ campaign against further course cuts and to maintain “…a high-quality education.” Throughout the meeting, SAlt belligerently argued that ANUSA’s provision of food services and support kits contradicts its claims to being an activist union with the aims of improving the treatment and education of students. In response, the Vice-President argued that providing material goods creates a base for activism, by providing a better standard of living, bringing concerned yet non-activist students to ANUSA where they can engage in activism, and allowing ANUSA representatives to hear student concerns. Indigenous Officer Katchmirr Russell pointed out that, as someone whose identity is heavily politicised, sometimes ANUSA events offer safe spaces. ANUSA has hit the ground running this year, both with O-Week and its election promises; we will have to see if this momentum holds as the semester develops.

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ARTWORK: Natasha Tareen

anu residential halls respond to evolving covid-19 situation on campus SASHA PERSONENI

An outbreak of COVID-19 at on-campus residential halls bookended ANU’s first “fully open” O-week in two years. By 5pm Sunday 20 February, over 200 positive cases of COVID-19 were detected across 12 residential halls, which resulted in a large number of RATs sent to colleges in a mass testing drive. Burton and Garran Hall (B&G) sent an email on the afternoon of Saturday 19 February instructing all residents to complete a Rapid Antigen Test (RAT) provided to each floor from 7.30 - 9.00 pm. Negative results required no further action, but positive cases were advised to self-report via a web form or directly to the Head of Hall and await further instructions. Students were asked to remain in their floor groups for the evening and all indoor and outdoor activities have been temporarily paused while the situation unfolds. A University spokesperson confirmed that all residents at several other halls were required to undertake RAT on the night of Saturday 19 February. All residents across all residential halls were instructed to complete a RAT this morning. Additionally, all residents were tested every 48 hours for the rest of the week. Students who test positive to COVID-19 must self-report their result to the University and also to ACT Health. COVID-19 positive students were moved to appropriate facilities across campus where they could

safely self-isolate for eight days. ANU staff supported these students by providing meals and ongoing medical and well-being support. An ANU spokesperson confirmed that the University was in “daily contact” with ACT Health who “are assisting the University where necessary.” For those students who are not in isolation, in-person learning continued as planned. Meanwhile, students who test positive to COVID-19 were required to access remote study options for their courses. Social events in all halls were paused until Sunday 27th February. Other ANU campus events went ahead in line with ACT Health directions. A spokesperson for the ANU stated, “As expected, we are seeing a number of COVID-19 cases in our student residences. This is unsurprising given restrictions are lifting in the ACT and we have had a full calendar of campus and social activities for O-Week.” Despite this uptick in cases, the spokesperson for the University reassured that “We are prepared for these cases and have processes and protocols in place to support any resident who is COVID-19 positive. We are also well placed and prepared to help prevent potential further transmission in our residences as well as the wider community.” They underscored that “the safety and wellbeing of our staff and students is always our highest priority.”

COMMENT

ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

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ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

ask woroni for

ELIZABETH WALKER I can’t pretend there is an ethical reason for ghosting. How do you explain yourself to the lame animal you are about to put out of its misery? While ghosting probably shouldn’t be a default response, there is no denying its utility. There’s euphoria in waking up from a Facebook marketplace trance and realising that some mouldy grey couch isn’t worth anywhere near $300. Or ignoring the email requesting your presence at an extremely sketchy job interview. Message deleted. Moving on. Aside from trivial matters, there is the more traditional ghosting. In the termination of a relationship, an honest debrief and emotional transparency is the right thing to do. But surely, in certain situations, mercy killing is better than flogging a dead horse. Maybe the interaction has been mutilated beyond repair. If it is flatlining, why not just let it pass on? Is it not better to hang up the portrait of a person in their prime, than to have the corpse of a failed conversation rotting away, in the back corner of your messenger app? Maybe we met once, in a club. Or maybe we ended up going on a few dates, and it just wasn’t clicking. And so I told you that it wasn’t for me.

Explained in writing, in voice, and in person, and still it seems like I haven’t been clear enough. I know one way to send a pretty clear message. Become completely transparent, as it were. The hyper-connectivity of social media makes us feel like we are entitled to an explanation. To be held accountable for every action, or the lack thereof. A screenshot of a final message sent, left on read, is a powerful piece of propaganda. But it doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There is the question of culpability, of accessory to a crime. There are two sides to every (ghost) story. In all honesty, I prefer being left alone, rather than exchanging 16 paragraphs of quasi-psychological Instagram-slideshow relationship counselling jargon to “soften the blow.” It’s me, or it’s you, it’s the obvious rift between us, it’s the shamanic cult I decided to join, it’s the lycanthropic curse afflicting second-born daughters in my familial line. There’s nothing I can say that will make anyone feel any better. As that great philosopher, my mum, used to say: “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

i: ghosting against ROSE DIXON-CAMPBELL “Hey, it’s been great spending time with you, but I don’t see a romantic future between us. You deserve honesty from me because you’re a great person so I wanted to let you know sooner rather than later instead of ghosting.” Sent. Delivered. Read. This small mercy of open communication has saved us both from the slow death of our pointless relationship. No more delayed replies to texts or cancelled dates, a simple and straightforward text allows closure and a clearly defined licence for us both to move forward. And what trouble did I put myself through for this act of emotional transparency? Nil. Nada. Zilch. The inconvenience of critically considering your feelings and intentions is not so great as to preclude you too from such courageous and courteous communication. Admittedly not everyone deserves this little kindness and in those cases I urge you to act according to your intuition: tell them they are an arsehole and a prick or block them and never think about them again. Generally, in these cases the cause for the termination of the relationship will likely be mutually understood. It’s when one party is in the dark and unaware of the other’s unhappiness that ghosting is particularly uncouth.

As an exercise in empathy, I want you to imagine that individual you intend to ghost now. They’re smiling down at their phone as they scroll through your catalogue of messages, excited about your relationship and hopeful for the future in which they continue to have the privilege of spending time with you. And then without warning or explanation you ignore their texts and stop answering calls, forcing an end upon them without any notification. If you have any respect at all for the person on the other side of the phone, then the tiny task of sending a text is a decency you ought to feel you owe. It is not an acutely tiresome undertaking nor some mammoth task – it’s just a text. Please know that in this impassioned condemnation of ghosting I mean not to be preachy or patronising. Everyone has different communication styles and different levels of confidence in speaking about their feelings. However, I am struck that modern dating seems to be experiencing an empathy drought of which ghosting is symptomatic. I have personally never been ghosted however I have sent texts similar to the one above and the recipients were universally grateful for my openness and relieved to have closure. It’s easy to be cold and selfish but fortunately it is just as easy to be decent and kind.

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ARTWORK: Karolina Kocimska

the institutions that don’t care DANIEL RAY CW: institutional betrayal; gender identity discrimination; sexual assault & harassment. In 2021 there were a slew of ANU student research surveys I encountered that essentialised the gender binary. Tt was after the fifth or sixth psychology student shared such a research survey to ANU Schmidtposting that I began to question the Research School of Psychology’s teaching. One survey collected “gendered” data with the options: “Are you male; Are you female; Are you intersex/indeterminate/unspecified?” These questions were so prejudiced and bizarre I had to re-read them multiple times before its underlying rhetoric of discrimination – equating anatomical sex to gender, disallowing intersex individuals to be male or female, and lumping together every so-called “non-normative” identity together – became clear to me. When answering another survey’s first question (“Are you a female?”) the alternate options to “Yes” – “No” and “Prefer not to say” – immediately kicked participants from the survey. We’re only looking for “females,” the survey was saying, a particular “type” of woman whose anatomy corresponds 1:1 with her gender. Not only were undergraduate students posting these surveys, but so were honours and higher degree research students. These surveys had been signed off by a plethora of supervisors and received the shiny tick of approval from the ANU Human Research Ethics Committee (HREC). Apparently nothing in the Psychology School’s whole undergraduate degree plan had taught its students about gender – which was nevertheless, supposedly, a completely necessary data point. Each time these surveys were shared, I wondered how a supposedly first-class institution could allow inarguably discriminatory and transphobic research. Not only is this research damaging in that it upholds the (violent) gender binary, it’s also

ARTWORK: Beth O’Sullivan

unscientific for the same reasons. Not to mention archaic in its methodology: the American Psychological Association (APA) 2015 style guidelines state gender binary measurements should be abandoned due to its exclusionary (and thus inaccurate) and discriminatory nature. I contacted the researchers responsible for both aforementioned surveys, beginning both emails with various versions of “I am a Gender Studies student at ANU” as if I needed a specific academic reasoning and background to be allowed to be critical and dismayed. The responses were near-immediate. The surveys were taken offline then changed. Thank you for raising this, we are very sorry if this caused any distress, everyone seemed to say to me; this is very important, they all agreed. Then how, I wondered, had nobody ascertained this before? The more I thought about it, the more I realised this was an institutional failure. Entangled with this ‘superficial’ failure of research and research approval, there exists ANU’s and academia’s broad institutional limitations (an overload of administrative work pushed onto academics limits their ability to be involved in – especially student – research projects, for one). I slowly recognised my surprise at this ‘new’ failure of ANU to be a form of my (cisgendered) privilege and naivety. One of the research supervisors in early 2021 promised me they were “committed to continually improving their understanding of gender and [how it is measured].” Reviewing this in late 2021 with another Psychology School academic, I was told my feedback had been raised in a variety of channels. This included the Psychology School’s Executive Meeting, and that a change in the way gendered research is undertaken, especially survey wording, should slowly begin to see a shift.

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16. I was also informed that a new undergraduate course, Culture and Psychology (PSYC2012), was to be launched in 2022, becoming a core Psychology course from 2023, which would cover, in part, the “issues’’ I had raised. Per PSCY2012’s Programs and Courses page, there is no specific reference to gender. Instead, the course seems to focus on the Eurocentric origins of psychological science with “particular emphasis” placed on “Indigenous issues in psychology.” Based on its description, it is an inarguably important course, but one which seems to occlude gender, gender identity and how to collect gendered data accurately and empathetically. I had also contacted the HREC, attempting to change the scope of ethical approval for gendered language and data collection. In my email, I included a 2019 article by Cameron and Stinson outlining guidelines for collecting gendered data in psychological research. When HREC replied, they noted they had updated the Gender and sexuality in research page to include the 2019 Cameron and Stinson article I had supplied, along with a new section about gendered data and sex and gender within language. This was an article, I emphasise, which I had hastily skimmed before sending it off on its surprising journey to an official research Ethics & integrity webpage – perhaps proving precisely what little these measures are worth. Sara Ahmed is a cultural theorist who quit their position at a university due to the way it handled complaints of sexual assault and harassment. Ahmed writes about the institutional obsession for “damage limitation” in complaints processes, and further notes how “an email … led to [their] name being put forward … to [help] write a new race equality policy,” showing how “a complaint, whether made formally or not, can lead you to become a diversity worker.” My experience is not equivalent to Ahmed’s, but it is perhaps parallel. It remains integral to question on whom the onus is placed to improve institutional systems. And while I didn’t experience the same amount of pushback which occurs from other forms of complaints which Ahmed chronicles – especially sexual assault and harassment, racism and bullying – I am still left with a feeling of uneasiness. An uneasiness which compounds when I realise that this was a largely successful complaint process, with

numerous responses from individuals who seemed genuine in their caring. But it remains to be seen the efficacy and actionable changes my complaints will have on the Psychology School and HREC. Is there a genuine drive and, indeed, ability to meaningfully shift the way research is conducted and approved? Or were the responses I received false promises from an obdurate institution bent on rigidity, prioritising “damage limitation” over the wellbeing of community and people? Only time will tell. If you or someone you know has been affected by sexual assault, harassment, or discrimination in any way, you can reach out to the support services listed below. Lifeline (13 11 14) A national charity providing all Australians experiencing a personal crisis with access to 24-hour crisis support and suicide prevention services. Call 13 11 13. www.lifeline.org.au/ Genderqueer Australia Specialises in the support of gender questioning and genderqueer people, their family, friends and professionals who they go to for help. www.genderqueer.org.au/ Intersex Human Rights Australia Intersex human rights, information, education and peer and family support. www.ihra.org.au/ Intersex Peer Support Australia An intersex peer support, information and advocacy group for people born with variations in sex characteristics and their families. www.isupport.org.au/ Canberra Rape Crisis Centre (6247 2525) CRCC are on campus and available to support you if you have experienced sexual violence, harassment, or anything that has made you feel uncomfortable. You don’t need a Medicare card to see them, all appointments are free, and nobody will be told you have spoken to them. You can call CRCC on 6247 2525 between 7am and 11pm. 1800RESPECT Provides support for people experiencing, or at risk of experiencing, sexual assault, domestic or family violence, their friends and family, and workers and professionals supporting someone experiencing, or at risk of experiencing sexual assault, domestic or family violence. Call 1800 737 732. www.1800respect.org.au/about-1800respect/

In reading the latest edition of Woroni, Evolution, we were particularly interested in one article: “Why we need fewer progressive ACT Senate candidates” by Norm D Plum. The article argued that the existence of progressive independent candidates hijacked primary votes from Labor and Greens Senate candidates and claimed that such independents should instead run for positions in the House where they would have a greater chance of being elected. We believe that there is no issue with more progressive senate candidates in the ACT, and that it may even be preferable for prospective independent candidates to run for the upper house. As is typical in the discussion of politics, one can agree upon the ends but be conflicted on the means; though we ostensibly share a desire to oust Zed, we have some qualms with the arguments Plum presents.

WILL HALDANE & KAEDEN KABO EDITED BY DANIEL RAY

progressing progressives: a response

ARTWORK: Natasha Tareen

We summarise Plum as having two main arguments. The first is the notion that independents adversely affect primary votes to major parties leading to an overall reduced chance of a progressive senator being elected. The second is that independents are unlikely to win in the Senate and thus should focus on the House. To respond to the first, let us explain how the electoral system works for the Senate. In the proportional voting system, the state or territory votes as a whole, and candidates must secure a percentage of the votes, a third plus one in the ACT, to gain office.

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18. Voters get to rank their choices of candidates either ‘above the line’ or ‘below the line,’ and the candidate with the least votes gets eliminated and their votes redistributed. If a candidate secures more than the quota with first preference votes, the surplus is redistributed proportionately. This process repeats until all seats are secured. For the prospective independent, this means it’s impossible that voting for an independent to harm the chances of major party candidates being elected. If the independent candidate is eliminated, their votes will flow on to other candidates. If a Liberal candidate was preferenced after said independent, then Labor would not have been that voter’s first preference anyway. Thus, there is no reason for any voter to avoid independents that they resonate with, in order to elect a major party candidate who is more likely to succeed. On the second argument, the idea that running in the lower house is ‘a comparatively easier pathway into Parliament’ is incorrect. In the Senate, there are 14 bonafide independents (people who are elected on their own or with a minor party, not including major party defectors). As there are 76 Senators in total; independents make up close to 20 percent of the chamber. In the House, however, there are only five bona fide independents out of 151 total MPs; the percentage is significantly lower at about four percent. An immediate takeaway from this examination should be that it is easier for an independent to be elected to the Senate. This analysis can be taken deeper. Take the political melting pot of Queensland – the kingmaker state in elections. In the 2019 election, one third of Senators elected were independent, compared to one thirtieth in the House of Representatives – ostensibly 10 times more difficult to be elected. This should immediately cast doubt on the claim that getting elected to the House as an independent is easier than getting elected to the Senate. One should also analyse the viability of running as an independent in lower house elections for the ACT. The Division of Bean, Fenner and Canberra are the ACT’scurrent federal divisions. In each of them, Labor has a two-party preferred vote of 57.5 percent, 60.6 percent and 67.1 percent – a strong

lead considered not marginal. For the scheming independent wishing to throw their hat into the ring, the odds of success do not look particularly high when faced with this statistic. The second issue with the argument that independents should try their luck in the House rather than the Senate is that it does not recognise the huge loss of bargaining power associated with being an independent in the House. The only times when an independent member of the House is effective at advancing their own policy is during times of minority government. For example, during the 2010 Gillard minority government, the Greens were able to negotiate the creation of a carbon tax. Similarly, during the 2019 Morrison minority government, independent members of Parliament were even able to pass the MedeVac bill, contrary to official LNP government policy. Whilst in these situations an independent has monumental bargaining power, minority governments are atypical. Instead, an independent has much more bargaining power in the Senate, where the governing party hasn’t had a majority since the 2000s and times of Howard. In this capacity, an independent Senator typically has much more control over all facets of policy due to how essential their vote is. To demonstrate the amount of power an independent senator has, one only has to look at Jacqui Lambie. In 2019, in exchange for voting for the government’s $158 billion dollar election flagship tax cut, she negotiated for the government to scrap all of Tasmania’s – her home state – public housing debt. This couldn’t be done by an independent in the House where the government almost always has a majority. All in all, whilst Plum’s and our objectives overlap, we disagree on a number of points. We hope this article has convinced them and the readership of two things. One, that a preponderance of independents running for the Senate is not at all an electoral negative. And secondly, independents – especially in the ACT – should attempt to win the Senate ballot rather than the House. Why we need fewer progressive ACT Senate candidates by Norm D Plum can be found on page 55 of Woroni Vol. 72 issue 1”

ARTWORK: Beth O’Sullivan

growing our economy won’t make us happier ANGUS PADLEY EDITED BY ROSE DIXON-CAMPBELL

Email is arguably one of the most influential technologies of the 21st century. It has become the communication cornerstone of almost all modern institutions; from governments to universities, schools, businesses, and NGOs. And it is easy to see why. Previously, sending and receiving mail required a lot of time and labour. It had to be handwritten, addressed, stamped, and taken to some kind of postal service. Depending on the era you lived in, the delivery of a letter may have taken weeks or months. To put it into perspective, according to research at Stanford, a letter sent by a Roman Soldier from his fort in Northern Britain back home to Alexandria in Egypt would have taken fifty to onehundred days under ideal conditions. Even then, the sender often had to chance upon a merchant heading in the desired direction, pay an expensive fee, and then pray it ended up in the right hands. In comparison, an email from London to Cairo can be written in five minutes and take milliseconds to be received at virtually no cost.

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20. The email was designed to create a more relaxed, labour free and time-rich life. Ironically, however, as Yuval Noah Harari notes in his bestselling book, Sapiens, for most people it has had the opposite effect. Instead of receiving a handful of correspondence a month, we send and receive dozens of emails a day. Instead of thoughtfully crafting an important message, we quickly type up an email to send to a colleague sitting just down the hall. With portable computers such as mobile phones and laptops, we are expected to always be connected to our buzzing and beeping inboxes. Instead of saving time, we have simply sped up life, creating a more agitating and anxious experience. Harari refers to this phenomenon—when brilliant luxuries turn into burdensome necessities—as the luxury trap. There is a kind of luxury trap occurring on a massive scale around how we work. The renowned economist John Maynard Keynes predicted that by the early twentieth-century labour productivity would have increased so much that we would only need to work fifteen hours a week to sustain a comfortable standard of living. We passed the productivity threshold predicted by Keynes some decades ago. The result? We work as many, if not more, hours per week than our grandparents and retire on average a decade later. Instead of freeing up time for more meaningful pursuits, we have simply raised the level of the number of material possessions we think we need to be happy. Although we may try and trick ourselves otherwise, deep down we know it will never be enough. Michael Nortan, a psychology professor, conducted a study wherein he contacted over two thousand individuals with a net worth of over one million dollars. He asked them how much more money they would need to be perfectly happy. “All the way up the income spectrum,” Norton discovered, “basically everyone says two or three times as much.” In 1974, economist Richard Easterlin found a similar trend occurring at a nationwide level. He

found that life satisfaction had stagnated in America between 1946 and 1970, despite GDP per capita having grown by 65 percent over this period. These findings were replicated in other developed nations. By taking these growth-versus-happiness findings to the extreme we can consider how unfathomably wealthier we are compared to our hunter-gatherer ancestors. However, anthropologist James Suzman wouldn’t argue that we are much happier. Living with Kalahari Bushmen in Southern Africa, Suzman found that these tribes already lived as Keynes had dreamed, spending only 15 hours a week acquiring food and another 15-20 hours on domestic chores. With very little wants, a strong sense of connection with the natural world and to their community, and hours of leisure time each day, these tribes displayed a very high level of mental wellbeing. Of course, if you do not have enough money to feed yourself, additional income is likely to increase your mental wellbeing (starving is stressful). However, beyond a relatively comfortable lifestyle with all our basic needs met—and as the Kalahari Bushmen have shown us, this is a lot less income than we might think—additional wealth will not necessarily make us happier. Thus, it is bizarre that in a time and place of unprecedented abundance, our governments are just as obsessed as ever before with economic growth. So, if there is no absolute level of wealth that can bring us happiness, why are we so obsessed with economic growth? What is it exactly we are growing towards? Studies into the psychology of money suggest that we are not growing towards any particular goal, rather, we are trying to outgrow each other. Status is incredibly important to humans, as Will Storr outlines in his book The Status Game. Storr writes that one study of more than 123 countries found that “people’s wellbeing was consistently dependent on the degree they felt respected by others.” Especially in Western nations, a person’s income is often used as a source of dignity. It says to our peers that “what I contribute to society is worth X dollars” and provides us with a directly comparable measure to say “and that’s X times more dollars than you.”

21. The fact this comparison is entirely relative and does not rely on any level of absolute wealth is demonstrated in economist Robert Frank’s findings on income and happiness. He found that upper-income Nigerians report similar happiness levels to upper-income Germans, despite the large wealth gap between them. It appears that you can derive substantially more or less happiness from your income depending on how much money everyone else around you is making. Like points on a scoreboard, it is not the absolute level of income that we derive status from, but the relative level. This means that 2, 20, 200 or even 2000 percent annual GDP growth would not make a difference to our own wellbeing, as long as we maintained the same rank on the wealth ladder. In this sense, we are propelling ourselves forward into higher and higher levels of output as we seek to get ahead of one another, creating a vicious cycle of growth. What’s worse is that this obsession with growth might be directly harming our well-being. Evidence is building to suggest that materialistic values and depression are closely correlated. American psychologist Tim Kasser has conducted extensive studies into people who are more likely to agree that happiness comes from the accumulation of stuff and status. He found these individuals to be more depressed and anxious than those who disagree. These findings held true across diverse cultural and socioeconomic contexts. Kasser also studied extrinsic versus intrinsic motivation; where extrinsic motivation is motivation to receive an external reward (money, status, sex etc) and intrinsic motivation is motivation to perform an activity because the activity is intrinsically satisfying. He found that individuals who achieved goals based on intrinsic motivations became significantly happier, whereas individuals who received their extrinsic rewards after achieving a goal showed no signs of increased wellbeing. Our current economic growth is heavily dependent on materialistic values and extrinsic rewards. Without hoards of consumers demanding more and more goods and services, there would be nowhere for all our output to go. It appears

materialistic values are on the rise. Storr, in The Status Game, found that high-school students in the 1990s were twice as likely to agree than high-school students in the 1970s that “having lots of money” was “very important.” We are bombarded daily by thousands of advertisements telling us we aren’t enough so that we feel unsatisfied with what we currently have. And if we can’t afford more, then we make it a goal to one day be able to. Secondly, an obsession with economic growth produces a number of secondary effects that are greatly impacting our mental health. Johan Hari explores many of these effects in his book, Lost Connections. He found that increased worker specialisation, increased inequality (both in status and wealth), increased exposure to advertisement and increased disconnection from nature all greatly increase your chance of becoming depressed. All these trends are associated with economic growth; specialised workers are generally more productive, inflated markets generally increase inequality, advertisements help increase demand, and growing city populations that spend more time indoors find it harder to access nature. Hari argues that we must seriously reconsider how we are living and what we value if we truly want to flourish rather than flounder. The impact of economic growth on our wellbeing is not necessarily direct. It is not as though, if we were to suddenly wake up with a Lamborghini and unfettered by materialistic values, soul-crushing work, inequality with our peers, and disconnect from nature, we would be instantaneously sadder. However, economic growth that comes at the cost of all these things should be reconsidered. Economic growth can and has been a force for good; it has lifted billions out of poverty, saved countless lives and provided education to masses. However, once we reach a comfortable standard of living, increasing absolute wealth becomes increasingly more futile. After all, growth at the expense of our own wellbeing is—in economic terms—irrational.

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ARTWORK: Xuming Du

a road to nowhere part ii ANOTHER DISILLUSIONED MILLENNIAL EDITED BY DANIEL RAY

What is it about the current tertiary education system that makes it so unfit for purpose? Maybe I just picked the wrong degree, but if what I’ve described is the recipe for success, our definition of success is surely very, very wrong. The Australian writer Judith Brett considers this very question in her book Doing Politics: Writing in Public Life. She writes that over the past few decades, during her time as both a student and a professor, she has watched the tertiary education system change for the worse. She writes that what was once a temple of imagination, creativity and ideas has become nothing more than a hollowed-out shopping mall, littered with bad cafés, flashy signs and price-gouging bookshops. Reflecting on her own time as an undergraduate, she writes that today, “students are offered far less than we were, and they have to pay much more for it.” She laments a system which used to encourage the creation of ideas, rather than their codification into checklists and commercialisation into products. She summarises that today’s universities reward work that is “cautious and uninteresting, producing no new ideas.” She writes that students and academics alike are made to focus on what their superiors want and will be likely to reward rather than what is actually valuable. The regrettable truth of tertiary education in Australia is that it is just another public good that has been corporatised by neoliberalism, an ideology that measures success according to concepts that have no meaning in a university setting. Words like ‘productivity’ and ‘efficiency’ and that old dreadful poisonous phrase ‘economic rationalism’ have corrupted how

we value thought and have reduced our universities to nothing more than another JB HiFi, Target or Big W. The success and standing of a university are no longer measured by the value of the education it provides or the ideas it creates but by the money it makes, the useless theories it sells and how many students trade their souls for clerkships in a race to the bottom. No matter how useless the course, how great the disillusionment or how hopeless the search for employment becomes, the university will get its due. The debt many of us carry around our necks for decades will see to that. It is our souvenir of a road to nowhere. So the question has to be asked, how do we change this? The answer must be to remove money from the question of tertiary education in its entirety. Only the creation of a universal and costless tertiary education system where money is not the primary motivator can foster the imaginative, creative and original thinking which the world requires. One of the many mistakes of neoliberalism is its defining assumption that everything can be monetised. By its very nature, thought is incapable of being accorded a monetary value. How can you measure essays in dollars? How can you rank ideas according to their financial value? It is simply ridiculous. Yet this is exactly what modern tertiary education does. The fees you pay represent your financial value to the university. Not the value of your ideas, your imagination or your intelligence, but the value of your simple attendance. There is no longer any incentive to engage or even to educate students, just a base motivation to attract them with flashy marketing and then keep them in the store for as long as possible as the fees roll on and on and on.

23. If cost-cutting, profit-making and corporatisation were no longer the foundations of tertiary education, checklists would be abandoned and soulless courses would be dropped. Universities would be free to reward careful, considerate and quality research which actually added something to the public debate. This would not only enrich the quality of tertiary education but also broaden its base, reducing the gap between rich and poor, young and old by offering students a more equal access to quality education. When universities become something more than callous superstores, they will no longer sell a simple product, but will be free to engage, to inspire and to truly educate. Surely I can’t be the only one who feels like this. I can’t be the only one who has found tertiary education nothing more than the brutal education of an idealist. I can’t be the only one who feels like it’s all one giant waste of time and money. I know a return to free tertiary education is ambitious. I know it sounds impossible. I know that creative solutions are not easy. But we live in times that demand creativity. The day will come when our generation is called alone to solve the seemingly unsolvable problems of our time, passed down by mediocre and gutless politicians for decades. We will overcome the climate crisis. We will create a society

free of crippling socio-economic inequality. We will arrest the slide into populism, oligarchy and autocracy. When that time comes, the world will need imagination more than ever. It will need leaders who are unafraid of the bold, the original and the unthinkable. It will be us who turn the impossible into the possible and broaden the horizons of humanity once more. But we will not get there with a tertiary education system which rewards unearned characteristics, punishes creativity and turns the possible into the impossible. We will not one day be fit to lead if we allow our imaginations to be limited by a grading system which resembles nothing more than a glorified checklist. The only way to prepare our generation and future generations for the world to come is to create a system which inspires, which fosters imagination and most importantly, looks like the world which we want to build. With Disraeli’s quote in mind I ask you all, students of ANU, do you feel full of light? Do you feel free? Are you really learning? Does your university look like the world you want to build? A Road to Nowhere - Part I can be found on page 6 of Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 1

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ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

THE SELF

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fuelling capitalism’s authority one question and one child at a time CHRIS YOUNG EDITED BY DANIEL RAY You breathe a sigh of silent relief. The dinner party your parents are hosting seems to be going well. The relatives haven’t descended into a shouting match over their questionable political views or whether the chicken is edible. You take another sip of water before their attention turns on you when they suddenly need a topic of conversation that’s not your uncle justifying his refusal for the vaccine. They ask the question you’ve been expecting and dreading the whole night: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Every year, those ten syllables are most likely posed to thousands of Australian children. It seems relatively innocent and even polite to ask young people their future aspirations, except those ten words aren’t asking for their dream. Instead, it’s an intrusive probe which degrades their value and potential. Asking young people those ten words during a period in their life where they are struggling to forge an individual identity disregards their unique potential in favour of their promised labour. It’s easy to understand the damage when considering whether it would be socially acceptable to answer that question without listing a formal occupation. If people were to ask a teenager, they wouldn’t answer with, “a caring person” or, “someone who does the right thing no matter what.” Instead, the answer which is expected is a profession that suits their skills developed during school which they go off to either study or work straight after school. It’s concerning to notice that this is the default answer, especially when this education

to employment pipeline doesn’t cater to anyone’s wellbeing or happiness, but rather to late-stage capitalism which demands labour to foremostly turn a profit for others. Instilling a work-centric attitude upon people is a vicious byproduct of capitalism. Labour empowers modern capitalism at the expense of people – especially young people and people of colour. This notion of the world sustains an ideology that actively harms us and our planet while we perpetuate its success by equating our own selfworth with its survival by constantly demanding and emphasising employment as social status. The “What do you want to be?” question also frames adolescence as an inferior state: something which exists only to be surpassed by adulthood, where adulthood equals a full-time and productive job. Why are we treating the lives of children and teenagers as nothing but the preparation stages for employment? If we’re doing that, we might as well teach kids how to drive a forklift or a truck instead of celebrating their youth. In today’s hyper-competitive world, all we’ve ever known is that your job is how others see you and evaluate your self-worth. All of this starts and continues with a ten-word question that fuels capitalism’s authority over us. We should aim to ask young people a different question, one that doesn’t demand nine-to-five employment or their labour, but instead asks them, “What kind of person do you want to be?” After all, it’s still ten syllables, and instead of valuing careers for the future, it values people who care and love for each other and the world we share.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

It’s not uncommon to be told “don’t pop your pimples” or “don’t touch your face, it will only make it worse.” However, when the urge is uncontrollable, and the anxiety burns too hot; a small spot can become your worst nightmare. To me, my acne felt like a mask. When I had this mask on, I wouldn’t recognise myself in the mirror. I was disgusted and horrified with what I was seeing. I couldn’t remove the mask – it was welded on with lumps, bumps and cysts rooted deep into my skin. Like a blind pimple, not everyone could see it, but I could feel it.

LOUISA RITCHENS EDITED BY ELIZABETH WALKER

In 2019, I asked a doctor based in Canberra if there was anything they could do for my skin. I was prescribed a doxycycline-based pill, and instructed to take one a day – and after six months I saw no results. Frustrated, I went to my family doctor in Sydney, who promptly informed me I had been given the wrong dose.

blind pimple

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Turns out, I should have been taking two a day. What a waste of time! My first year at college had been crippled; and thanks to the misguided dosage of doxycycline, my acne got worse. I was starting to see swelling and scarring. I didn’t trust GPs to decide what was best for my skin. After a referral and another two months of waiting, I finally got to see a dermatologist. It’s important to note that I had heard of Accutane before I got prescribed it. I had also heard just about every other so-called “miracle cure” for acne. Toothpaste, tea tree oil, hot towels, witch-hazel, castoroil, moisturisers that dry you out, moisturisers that make you oily, micro-beads, harsh exfoliants, gentle scrubs - I tried it all. I knew everything about the latest trends in skincare, toner, hydration, oils and serum. Nothing worked. No matter what I did, the mask had a mind of its own.

27. When I saw the dermatologist, he took my weight, examined my skin and asked me if I was pregnant. I was prescribed 40mg of Accutane for 6 months. I was told the consequences of taking the drug, the success rate, and the importance of proper contraception while under the course of the medication. Until I left the pharmacy, and opened my first round of Accutane, I hadn’t properly considered what these drugs could do to a human being. The warnings again urged me, DO NOT GET PREGNANT. I was hit by the idea that chemicals in this small silver sleeve really could harm a developing body. More than harm, in fact. But I didn’t care. At this point, I was ready to pick up a knife and slice every single pimple off myself. I slipped the pills, and all their side effects, back into the box and didn’t give them a second thought. I was ready to wake up from this nightmare. Accutane works by stopping the production of oil in your skin. It’s not uncommon to hear that “it gets worse, before it gets better.” In the first month of the drug – oh boy – did I believe them. The following months I developed severe dry eyes so bad that I ended up needing glasses and twice-daily eye drops just to help me see. My lips chapped and peeled. I would do anything to hide my skin. I would refuse to leave my room at college, and started avoiding any chance of people seeing me or more importantly, seeing my skin. Anxiety around my skin began to control me. After six long months I returned to the dermatologist. I had a recurring welt on my chin and a few constellations of little pimple bumps. Both the dermatologist and I were happy with the improvement. However, it was agreed that I would have to continue the course for another six months. After a year, I could come back and talk about scarring. Besides my eyes drying out, cracking skin, peeling lips and my hair never getting oily – the final six months didn’t cause too much trouble. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. I continued my skin routine and saw improvements. Except for the two weeks around my period, when the welt on my chin

would flare up with a vengeance. On a 28-day cycle, it was 14 days of freedom and 14 days of hell. Strangely, once my course of Accutane had finished, and my skin was ‘better,’ I still had this inflammation on my chin… which I would obsessively scratch and pick at. It hurt! After not leaving my room for another 24 hours, I woke up one morning and looked at it. Was that acne? Surely not. I went to a walk-in clinic and they diagnosed me with impetigo, a bacterial infection. I cried on the spot. The antibiotics they gave me made it better but didn’t mentally prepare me for the keloid scar I would eventually develop. Two months later I was back to the GP’s office, asking for help with the (now incredibly itchy) scar on my chin. I swear, if my skin had a personality, over the course of its life it had some major character development. This time, I was given steroid cream to stop it from growing. After a whole year I made a final trip to the dermatologist. He told me there’s nothing he can do about the mark on my chin or the mess that my acne left on my face. Apparently, I was “healed,” my skin was “better”, and whatever money I choose to spend now will make a “marginal difference.” I couldn’t tell you where I am now, even though the mask of acne has come off. I am still confused and disorientated, in a cold sweat after waking from this nightmare. It’s hard deciphering what was my skin, from what is now my face. To help make sense of everything I remind myself; that the mask was just a prop in my life, and I am the main character. It’s my turn to take centre stage.

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ARTWORK: Jasmine Small

ARTWORK: Xuming Du

a letter to my younger self CHETHA NAWANA Dear Little Chetha, It’s you from the future. I just wanted to let you know that life is good. It’s not always rainbows and sparkles, but it’s good. I’m happy - even though the thought of university makes me stressed, and it always feels like I’m running out of time - I’m happy despite it all. Nowadays I say yes to spontaneous activities because I know life will never feel as free and liberating as it does right now. I make mistakes but it’s okay, because I try to grow from them - it’s not always easy, but it’s been working so far. I still hold onto our friendships from home but I now understand that sometimes people grow up and apart. I love every new person I meet here, which isn’t surprising because you and I always fell in love with strangers. Every day I wake up and learn something new. I am learning how to be an adult and how to be a better person. I make an effort to be good and kind. I’m discovering my true self and it’s really fun. You would love to see it.

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30. I try not to worry about the little things, remembering that embarrassment is merely a social construct. Still, sometimes those self-critical voices in my head get a little too loud and it gets hard to ignore them. I’m still anxious about the future, even though our Buddhist background taught us to be present; I’m always trying to plan ahead. That used to be the only way you knew how to get work done, to complete all of it a few days early. Do not procrastinate. Reward yourself only after all the hard work is done. Now I’m realising that maybe that only worked when I had the safety and stability of being at home with that clean and strict routine of being at school for six and a half hours and coming home just to be taken care of. I take care of myself now, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

me still wants those things, I’m worried that if I fail I will be disappointing all the people counting on me. That seems unfair, right? To have the burden of the expectations of everyone I care about and love. You still have lots of dreams, but the pathway just seems a bit unclear. I think that’s what scares me: the unknown and the lack of clarity. To dream as big as I have is a scary thing. That irresistible drive to achieve every dream you ever dared to have is what’s driving me to keep going now. I wish you had learnt not to compare yourself to others at a younger age. I would tell you, “you don’t have to be doing the most all the time and that you’re allowed to take things slow and go at your own pace”. I know it’s easier said than done, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

I just wish you, my younger self, knew that you didn’t always have to know the right answers. Remember what Mum always says, “you never know what will happen tomorrow”. Why do you still feel uneasy about your career? If you believed that, why did you always feel uneasy about the future?

The thing is, I keep comparing myself to you too. I keep thinking about how productive you are compared to me now. I’m fearful of losing motivation and of giving up. I don’t want to disappoint you, little Chetha, but I don’t want to be exhausted either. I am trying to maintain that balance but it feels like walking on a tightrope. If I concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other, I know I’ll be okay.

Maybe it’s because no one ever told you that growing up is tough, or maybe they did and you didn’t believe them. You didn’t know if there would be a safety net waiting for you when you fell down the rabbit hole. You could never think past getting into university, and now that you’re here you still don’t know what’ll happen once you get your degree. But now I know it is okay not to know. You don’t know that life is a cycle of trial and error, but I do.

Life is uncertain and dreams are expensive. But I wanted to tell you that I now know it’s okay to change plans. I know that I’m worth more than the grade I get on an assignment. I know that I can make decisions and pursue my dreams at my own pace. I don’t want you to be worried about me, I promise I’ll be someone you’re proud of.

I love you, my younger self, but sometimes I think you may have conditioned me to be an overambitious perfectionist. You made me dream big and want to change the world and, while a part of

Lots of love, always and forever, Chetha (from today) xx PS. When overwhelmed, listen to the lyrics of this song. I think you’d appreciate it.

ARTWORK: Yige Xu

i’ve got nothing to wear - yet. CRISTINA MUNOZ EDITED BY ELIZABETH WALKER If I had a dollar for every time I completely changed my mind about an item of clothing – And I mean going from thinking I have to get rid of this thing I’d never be caught dead in it, to I absolutely love this thing – I’d have about $20. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s more than you’d expect, and enough money to thrift something magical. The thing is, I’m terrible at getting rid of clothes. When I manage to get over my attachment to them,

there’s the issue of physically disposing them. I can’t just bin them, knowing they’ll be rotting in landfills longer than my entire lifespan (and any legacy I happen to leave behind). Especially when they’re in good condition and could be loved and worn by someone new. Selling clothes online never works out – not many people see the ads I post because I don’t pay to promote them. Being a student, why on earth would I spend money on that? Anyone who does view my ads ignores them or reaches out only to ghost me afterwards.

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32. I could donate my clothes to thrift stores. But after learning that most donations end up in landfills (usually in developing countries on the opposite side of the world), that lost its appeal. Plus, then I’d have to find the time and effort to drop the clothing off, which for me is a whole problem of its own. I wouldn’t dare ask any of my friends or family if they wanted these clothes – how could I reveal the fact that I own such strange pieces? The only other option is to mail the clothes to a textile recycling facility. But being more expensive than promoting listings online, and more complicated than dropping off clothing at thrift stores, it’s just not my cup of tea. The point is, even when I really don’t like a piece of clothing, I don’t get rid of it. Instead, it ends up forgotten and buried in the back of my wardrobe. For years. Until I happen to be cleaning, and rediscover

Not long after this, I experienced another dramatic change of heart. This time with a colourful commemorative t-shirt my Grandma gave me after an overseas trip. I appreciated the thought. But the minute I laid eyes on it, I knew I wouldn’t be walking around in a top that loudly declared ‘I Boracay Islands Philippines.’ Just not my style. While that hasn’t changed, when I rediscovered this shirt I realised it would be super comfy to sleep in. And honestly, I just like wearing it around the house because my Grandma gave it to me. These turnarounds aren’t rare for me. They’ve also happened with belts, dresses, pants, shoes and jackets. My wardrobe would definitely lack variety and interesting pieces if I only kept what I liked at that particular moment. And I would have lost irreplaceable vintage pieces, some that are also irreplaceable in their meaning to me.

it. And fall in love. Like good wine, my stashed away clothes get better with time. Take my ‘Octopus Army’ t-shirt for example. When I inherited it from my Mum I thought it was hideous. Huge, and brown, with ‘octopus’ written offcentre across the chest, printed like an anonymous threat letter from a movie, letters cut from mismatched newspaper clippings. On the right sleeve ‘army’ was written in a different font, and in a colour that practically blended in with the fabric. As a basic teenager at the time, of course it didn’t suit my taste.

I think that stashing and rediscovering clothes adds to their story, and the joy they bring. Being the sentimental person I am, I like that because it makes me feel more connected to my clothes, which makes wearing them even better. So I will keep on holding onto my clothes, even if I don’t particularly like them. And I recommend you give it a go and do the same. Maybe you’ll find yourself a new wardrobe staple. Maybe 80’s activewear will come back in style.

But when I saw it for the second time, years later, I took it in with shining eyes. I had discovered the perfect oversized t-shirt. Made of thick cotton, the colour of brown sugar. The fitted crew neck embodied a distinct 90’s vibe. It was the perfect length for tucking into a pair of jeans. And it was completely free – because I already owned it. I realised that the way ‘octopus’ was written is actually pretty cool. And the positioning of ‘army’ on one of the sleeves is a nice touch. An instant new favourite.

Who knows? We’ll just have to wait and see…

ARTWORK: Sian Williams

the trouble with choosing KIRA ATKINS EDITED BY ELIZABETH WALKER I think that I might be a bit vague sometimes. Perhaps my ambivalence is a defence mechanism. If I am not certain of anything that I do or say, then I do not have to take responsibility for anything. I wish. Oscar Wilde, in one of my favourite books, wrote, “to define is to limit.” This line was said by Lord Henry Wotton in The Picture of Dorian Gray, whom I would not recommend viewing as any sort of role model. Dorian Gray does and it corrupts him. Unfortunately, I too seem to carry this philosophy to a fault. I like to keep my options open. Instead of committing myself to one thing, I allow room for variation and unforeseeable changes or for another opportunity that I had predicted, and may have wanted to keep as a plan B. My ambiguity certainly has its drawbacks. Indeed, it has gotten me into a number of very uncomfortable predicaments. By not definitely saying “no,” I am not saying “yes” - but people have either misunderstood, or taken advantage of this propensity for ambiguity. Without trying to, my fluctuating decisions frustrated family and friends. It’s difficult to make plans by replying with “maybe,” instead of “yes,” or “I’ll try to get there in the evening,” instead of “I’ll be there at 6.” Although I try to be punctual to appointments that I commit myself to, it is difficult for me to first commit myself to said appointments. On more than one occasion, I have shown up late to an event, not out of choice or fashion. Rather, until the

very last minute before I had to leave, I was still flipflopping over whether or not I should attend at all. This uncertainty does not bring me pleasure. Quite the opposite. Never being able to make a decision for fear of making the wrong decision, in fact, can heighten my anxieties about almost anything. Going outside or meeting new people or eating a certain food or submitting an assignment or something else entirely. These worries make me more uncertain, which makes me worry even more. It’s a positive feedback loop, which is not as nice as it sounds. I usually do not even realise that I am being indeterminate until someone points it to me or parodies my way of speaking. Once, I was making plans with a friend, deciding where to go and what to do. I cannot remember at all what I had said, but his response has reverberated around in my head ever since; “Oh my god, so vague.” He did not mean to be mean, at least that was not the impression I got. He was merely voicing his reasonable frustration about me not being able to stick to any sort of decision. I do want to improve, though. If I don’t make my own decisions, I fear that I will end up merely drifting along, with no clear purpose or reason. Or worse, someone else may try to make these decisions for me. While that would take away a degree of the responsibility that I so fervently try to avoid, I do want to live my own life. This year, I will try to be more certain. No, I will be more certain. Maybe.

33.

34.

ARTWORK: Navita Wijerante

male gaze as panopticon ROSE DIXON-CAMPBELL

I’ve long considered the phenomenon of the male gaze to occupy a uniquely regulatory role, internalised within women’s lives. This self-regulated social control operates much in the same way that Jeremy Bentham’s panopticon does, to the effect that women become acutely aware of their subjectivity and come to pursue their own objectification. Before we interrogate this panoptic effect of the male gaze, let’s lay down the epistemic foundation together. Panopticon The panopticon is a design for prisons, originating in the 18th century. A panoptic prison comprises a central guard tower surrounded by a circular perimeter of prison cells. A guard in the tower is able to look into any cell within the complex, while the prisoners’ view is obscured such that they can never themselves look into the tower to determine whether they are being watched. The prisoners are thus conscious of the fact that they may be being watched at any given time and their fear that someone might discipline them translates to a tendency to regulate their own behaviour to avoid such disciplining. The theory was adapted and expanded by French historian of ideas, Michel Foucault, who utilised it to describe broader relationships of power. He observed that a panoptic prison and like structures elicit “a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power.” In other words, the panopticon is a regime of fear in which one’s own visibility and subjectivity is used against them to enforce a defined social order.

Male gaze The male gaze concept was first a piece of feminist film theory conceived by Laura Mulvey in her 1975 essay Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. As Mulvey put it: “In a world ordered by sexual imbalance, pleasure in looking has been split between active/ male and passive/female. The determining male gaze projects its phantasy onto the female figure which is styled accordingly. In their traditional exhibitionist role women are simultaneously looked at and displayed, with their appearance coded for strong visual and erotic impact so that they can be said to connote to-be-looked-at-ness. Women displayed as sexual object is the leit-motif of erotic spectacle.” Mulvey’s original construction was underpinned by Freud’s theory of psychoanalysis and in this tradition was planted in the realm of the unconscious. Having transcended film theory, the male gaze is now construed more broadly as a theoretical tool to discuss the objectification of women in culture and public life. Though the term ‘male gaze’ implies that the dehumanisation of women is perpetrated by the act of men looking at women, as with many other facets of misogyny it is more accurate to point the finger at societal structures which promote the sexualisation and objectification of women for heterosexual male enjoyment. These institutions indulge the fantasies of heterosexual males as they are the dominant group within society and often occupy privileged positions within social hierarchies and the institutions which enforce them.

35. A panoptic male gaze The legacy of the male gaze phenomenon is that society broadly defines women’s bodies and sexuality as consumable goods. As women move within spaces where they are treated as public property, they become hyper-aware of their own subjectivity in this context.

Would a stranger consider me attractive? How would this inform their evaluation of my identity? How would this inform their evaluation of my worth?

Have you ever been completely alone passing by some reflective surface and found yourself powerless to avoid your own reflection? You’re walking by a shop front window and, as if it’s an unconscious reflex, your gaze is immediately delivered to your reflected image. Looking at our reflection is how we as humans come to have a more complete sense of ourselves, as the ‘I’ becomes acquainted with the ‘self’. In other words, it’s when you recognise yourself as a subject in the world. However, do you ever get the sense that when you look at your reflection in these moments it’s not the ‘I’, but rather an ‘other’ who is viewing the ‘self’? In your quick stolen glances at your posture, or your flesh rippling with your steps, or your clothes hanging from or gripping to your body, are you looking in order to better know yourself, or alternatively, are you looking in order to better know what other people see? When you consider your subjectivity in light of the perceptions strangers may have of you, perhaps you ask yourself questions such as: Based on my appearance, what assumptions would a stranger make about my identity? As culture continues to shamelessly indulge the male gaze, women continue to be objectified at a systemic level. As sexual objects, women are evaluated in terms of the appeal they offer to the male gaze and heterosexual male fantasies . Though young, attractive women will likely fulfil the broadest sect of fantasies in our society which prioritises youth and beauty; the unfortunate truth is that the heterosexual male fantasies which inform the male gaze are so broad as to capture all women to varying degrees. Therefore, no woman is exempt from internalising objectification and as she consciously or unconsciously considers herself through the lens of a subject of the male gaze, she may follow the above question with ones such as:

Margaret Atwood suggests a panoptic nature to the internalised male gaze in her 1993 novel The Robber Bride “Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy… Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own … unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” Unlike Bentham’s prisoners who are unsure of when they are and are not being watched, women who have internalised the male gaze understand that they are always being observed. Through the internalisation of the cultural phenomena which sexualises them, they enforce their own objectification. This can happen in shallow and sometimes benign ways – maybe you adjusted your posture so that your stomach looked slimmer even though you were all alone, or maybe you wore the thong instead of the granny panty to bed, despite no one but yourself being witness to the increase in your sexiness at the expense of your comfort. In other instances, indulging an internalised male gaze can lead to a sense of alienation from yourself as anything beyond a sexual object for male pleasure. No matter the manifestation, the effect is always at least that women become both the dutiful guard and the obedient prisoner, both working to uphold the social structures which suit the dominant class.

36.

ARTWORK: Yige Xu

If you called your dad, he could stop it all SARAH GREAVES EDITED BY KAROLINA KOCIMSKA “I wanna live like common people” is the ongoing refrain of Pulp’s 1995 aptly titled tune Common People. The song details Pulp’s lead singer, the one and only Jarvis Cocker meeting the antagonist of our song and her repeated desire to “do whatever common people do”. Not only is Common People an absolute banger, it highlights oddities of economic tourism and a ‘poor is cool’ mindset. Our antagonist, despite taking Cocker’s advice to “Rent a flat above a shop, cut your hair and get a job, smoke some fags and play some pool, pretend you never went to school” is still confronted with inevitability of her privilege when Cocker quips that “if you called your dad, he could stop it all.” The sentiment of this song was something I felt repeatedly when arriving at ANU. I was acutely aware of my own privilege as a Melbourne private-school attendee. However, I found myself uncomfortable around people’s constant attempts to ‘live like common people’ with repeated lamentations of financial woes, discussions of work, the buying of second-hand clothes, and the odd sprinkling of ‘Oppression Olympics.’ Nevertheless, it gradually

emerged over the course of the year, that a large proportion of students, whilst diverse in their backgrounds, were still overwhelmingly privileged. Just like the “chips stains and grease” referred to in Common People most of these woes could “come out in the bath.” I was certainly not alone in attending a private school and far from the only student receiving financial support from my family. Yet a continual desire to come across as struggling or in some way wronged by society persisted. It is evident that social mobility in modern Australia is no simple feat. The funding allocations of our education system combined with other factors ranging from tax law to negative-gearing have stratified society unjustly. This has created a growing awareness amongst progressive youth that just maybe, we may have encountered our fortune at least in some part due to luck, making it quite difficult to justify that anyone truly ‘deserves’ or works for the riches they have. This gaping hole in Australia’s obsession with meritocracy is a confronting idea for many.

37. As such, there is an understandable desire to dissociate from being the douchey, out of touch beneficiary of a rigged economic system. However, whether it’s the accidental mentioning of the holiday house or sudden disdain for a progressive taxation system, the ugly face of ignorant wealth will inevitably rear its head. In our desperate attempts to avoid looking like rich arseholes, we tend to avoid focussing on not being one. The murky nature of privilege makes it a comparatively simple aspect of our identity to hide from others, allowing some people the opportunity to remove any sense of responsibility from being a potential oppressor. Whilst privilege remains so narrowly constructed, we can continue almost mythologising the working class, appropriating the more appealing parts of working class fashion, slang, attitudes etc without considering the circumstances this culture is attached to. If we spend our time attending expensive vintage markets so we can look like we buy our clothes from op shops and keep protesting the cruelty of the 1 percent, we do not have to unpack our own identities and acknowledge our position in the top 10, 20 or 30 percent. Less obvious forms of privilege also emerge in having parents who drove you to numerous sporting activities or a teacher who took the time to give you extra feedback or put your name forward for new opportunities. We have forgotten that privilege

extends beyond money and into the cultural capital we are exposed to, the connections we gain, the support our parents give, the places we live and a great deal of chance. These things may be connected to money but they highlight that money alone is a narrow construction of privilege that fails to consider the myriad of factors that determine socio-economic standing. Accepting that identity is not completely encompassed by monetary class will allow student culture to move outside of elitism and view others in a more nuanced light beyond ‘oppressor’ and ‘oppressed’ or ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots.’ There is nothing to be gained from denying one’s own identity. Not only is it a fruitless act of self-deception, but it is ungrateful to those who support you or the dumb luck that placed you at the apex of society’s grossly unfair structure. If we seek greater diversity and self-acceptance on campus, we must accept that some of us benefit from the current system and are inadvertently ‘part of the problem.’ Despite my love of Common People, it too is guilty of perpetuating class structure. We must stop romanticising whatever we deem in our heads to be ‘common people’ and accept privilege as the complex, multi-faceted concept that it is in modern Australia. No one is at fault for their abundance or lack of privilege but denying it abdicates any responsibility in building a more just futue.

38.

ARTWORK: Navita Wijerante

CREATIVE

ARTWORK: Alicia Sun

the jacaranda and the jar WILLIAM SALKELD EDITED BY SISANA LAZARUS All that was left was me and the jar of biccies. In the space of silence, there is so much that a foodstained late primary-schooler could hear. After Dad’s assistant, who had entertained me by asking about the square roots and divisions that I had recently discovered, left to do some copying, all sense of movement drifted out the room with her. The ticktock of the clock bearing from the wall rang through my chest like a dry church bell; always reaching the next tock a moment after I had expected it, yet always jolting. This was the year before I got my first phone. There was no easy distraction. I had already scoured Dad’s bookshelf of faceless leather-bound books so I decided to rest my head in my chubby hands and look out towards the blooming jacaranda tree. Years later, my incoming high-school principal would tell me that the jacaranda represents the time in the Sydney University semester when it is too late to start studying and still expect to pass final exams. I am grateful those trees didn’t follow me to Canberra.

39.

40. Dad’s assistant had told me earlier that I could have as many biccies from the jar as I very well pleased. I don’t want to romanticise these biccies. It was a jar of ANZACs and shortbreads - a far cry from the velvety chocolate of Tim Tams and Mint Slices that my tweenage heart desired. I thanked her enthusiastically regardless, and ate my first ANZAC with the gusto of a drunken midnight kebab. Satisfied after my first biccie, I looked further into the room for any chance of entertainment. The computer on the mahogany desk was not to be touched. My primary school didn’t give out homework, so there was no work to be done. I didn’t know how long Dad would be in his meeting – any given meeting could be either a 15 minute coffee catch up with a thesis student or a great diplomacy match with an egotistical, selfinterested, stubborn academic over a fruitless matter. Every boom from the clock was a reminder that I did not know which one it would be, and patience is not a virtue learned by many eleven-year-olds. Patience is a skill like meditation; our digital attention spans are a barrier in our minds to accepting the exercise. Yet, with diligent practice, you begin to enjoy its splendours. At this stage my patience was as unpractised as the clarinet of a child forced into their school band. It didn’t take long at all for that second biccie to fall. It felt very mechanical: I saw the jar, I felt the desire to devour its contents, I tussled in my head for a respectable amount of time, and I ate my next biccie. Anyone who’s ever thought about not scratching an insatiable itch or ruminating on the difficulty of a workout will know that given any negative or positive attention, the itch will be scratched and the workout will end. And, I ate the biccie. Now I was faced with a choice. Indulge in the pretence of patience displayed in my effort, or take

this game of temptation seriously. I watched the long flat arm orbit around the centre of the clock through the slowest minute I had ever bothered counting. Neither the laughs and chatter of the Uni students on the tennis courts outside the window nor the typical buzz and business of the office machinery impeached on the tick-tock of that clock during the minute. Neither shadow, shade or hue sparkled or danced across the bookshelf on this gloomy afternoon. I chose to stare at the jar. That glass jar stood on the coffee table like a piece of iconography on an altar. The fatigue (temptation) would slowly build before collapsing into a state of alertness – a state of normal mind. Yet you know the damage is done. Those waves of temptation rolled over me as the office began to form its own physics of inertia. When I did finally eat my third biccie it was not out of involuntary compulsions like the previous ones, but rather out of a curiosity to see if I was able to resist a second time. The big hand made a few orbits and just when I had forgotten the original reason for my being in the office, my Dad gushed into the room with the vivaciousness of someone whose life was a windmill of moving parts. I bounced like I had been caught stealing from his wallet. Dad apologised for how long he had taken, popped on his jacket and gathered his belongings into an adult leather bag. He asked me what I had been up to considering his assistant was gone and the evident lack of any stimulation for a child’s mind in the room of a Professor’s office. I shrugged and mentioned something about the biccies. No, I wasn’t bored, I insisted, I lied. Would you like a biccie for the trip home, he asked me. I’m okay, I replied. We had Tim Tams at home anyway.

ARTWORK: Jasmine Small

Let yourself be whole now With your hands in the Earth Your feet in the crystal shallows Your core grounded and unshakeable Let yourself be swallowed Taken entirely By the evanescent tide of you as complete With no gleam or hesitation Saunter on To the greatest motion with no name Where you do not have the answers Only the tools To carve and make space For your wholeness

SISANA LAZARUS

unabridged

To breathe

41.

ARTWORK: Jessica McLeod-Yu

NATALIE SANDIN EDITED BY SISANA LAZARUS

to love a green haired girl

42.

I never saw your face. Only your hair, green like the ferns in a fog-filled forest. Such a bright and vibrant colour, so out of place in the utilitarian station platform in this strange city. A city where everything was larger than life, a thousand conflicting needs and wants rolling over one another and crushing themselves with their own crippling weight. This world left no room for empathy for those that were trampled in its desperate stampede. I could see this subtle cruelty in the spiked surface of the bench, comfortable enough to wait fifteen minutes for a train, yet too painful for one to sleep on. Perhaps I empathised with your hair. I too was out of place. Out of place in the power and tumult of this city. Out of place in my family, who had grown accustomed to this life while I fell behind. The looming scale of this new world emphasised how little I knew and how uncertain I was of my own purpose. Yet I was not like your hair, which dared to do battle with the expectations and judgements of this world, proudly declaring its own identity and existence in a world which had no place for it. No, I was not brave. I let my role in the world be decided by the conflicting wishes of those around me, too scared to make my own decisions. I was scared I would be left alone. Left behind.

In that moment, I fell in love with you. I loved the way in which you leaned into what you were reading. I loved the way you let yourself sink into that world, oblivious to the judging eyes of those around you. I loved the quiet power of your presence. I loved your green hair. Yet, I lied when I said I loved you. I did not know you. I did not know what you were reading. I did not know where you were going. I did not even know the story behind your beautiful green hair. So, I could not have loved you. Rather, I loved the idea of you. The elaborate persona I had created to fill in the empty shell created by what little I had seen. I loved your green hair and all that it represented. But I did not love you. Perhaps if I were a little braver, half as bold as your hair, I might have tried to talk to you. Perhaps, you would have looked up at me and smiled. Maybe your face would have been coated in tears, black mascara forming stalactites upon your cheeks. Most likely, your expression would have been one of confusion and annoyance, perhaps tinged with apathy. It would not have mattered. I would have seen your face. In that moment I could have begun to know you. Instead, I walked away. I let the train sweep you up and let it carry you away into the bowels of this strange and terrible city. If only I were a little braver. I would have seen your face. Perhaps I would have even loved you.

ARTWORK: Jasmine Small

43.

ARTWORK: Beth O’Sullivan

It’s a bright day, warm and lazy. The kind where you might describe a nectar-gorged bee zig-zagging towards the hive in the park, though there aren’t many this year. Grandmother always kept a beautiful garden, and it’s taking full advantage of the sun this year. Brilliant colours line the flower beds. Lavender, rose, orchid, chrysanthemum, daffodil, and more sprout and bloom. Boy walks along the path up to the house. It’s distinctive, awash with colour in an insipid street, in a neighbourhood full of yuppies and middle-aged couples one bad day away from a mid-life crisis, the threads of their lives unravelling before them. The path up to Grandmother’s house is red brick and curls up the lawn to the porch. The door is black and an old brass knocker in the shape of a fish is set into it. The curtains are open, in the room to the left of the door. Boy knocks on the door, and presently a pottering along the hallway on the other side is audible.

RIDLEY SMITH EDITED BY SISANA LAZARUS

a weaving mind

44.

“Who is it?” “It’s ______!” “Oh! Your mother said you were coming!” The door swings open, and Grandmother wears a light shirt and some simple trousers, looking as if ready to go to the garden. “Come in, come in! I’ll put some tea on!” Grandmother’s voice is already trailing away as Boy enters the house and moves to the lounge room, sitting on a floral-patterned chair, with a small cushion.

45. “It’s so good to see you again! It’s been such a while! Most of the time it’s just me running myself around here.” Grandmother places down a small china tea set, and a plate with biscuits. “Yeah … Sorry I haven’t come out to see you more often. Did Mother tell you why I came to see you?” “When ______ called me? She said something about some sort of school project.” Clearly in Grandmother’s eyes could be seen the glint of curiosity. “Well, we have to interview our grandparents about something. Kinda like chronicling the past, or what life used to be.” Boy paused. “And I think it would be good to do it now, before …” trailing off. Grandmother makes no indication of having heard this comment. “Well then. Did you have any questions in mind? Or were you just planning to ask this on the fly?” Grandmother chuckled. “I’ve got a lot I can tell you.” “Pick a favourite for me. An all-timer.” Boy set down a small tape recorder. It was the middle of winter, before ______ met me, before I moved here. In that time, if you were lucky, it would snow, but more often we got these bitingly cold winds, sleet and hail and rain. You’d slide across the road in the car and fall flat on your a-, A pause. -butt, walking back from the shops. I remember one time I’d been sent by my own mother to get lard and soap, and I came home soaking wet after tripping and falling straight into a puddle on the way back. Anyway, that’s how it was then – I could give you a million more examples. On one of these days, some friends of mine from back then, friends from high school, though of course then it was the done thing to leave high school early, so we couldn’t have been older than ______ is now. They’d wanted to see something new at the pictures … I can’t for the life of me remember what exactly it was called now, something scary, though. So, we’d gone in, me and a few girlfriends and maybe a boy or two … my memory is lacking there. A laugh. Anyway, the movie, it started off in this old house, derelict, you get the picture. These teenagers had broken in there, heard it was the local haunt of a ghost, and at first they hadn’t heard anything. There were a few fake scares – like the teens scaring each other or playing around with

something in the séance. But, later on, things started to happen that they couldn’t shrug off anymore – it started with things seeming to move, or scraping noises from below … Hm? Oh, don’t worry, I’m going somewhere. I’m just trying to set a- a mood. Another laugh. Anyway, this wasn’t a big budget movie, so it looked corny sometimes. It was still creepy, definitely, but it- it was pretty funny in some parts, to be honest. At this point, too, we’d still not seen … whatever it was, that was terrorising these kids. It was just noises and shadows and flashes. So, about halfway through, we were following one of the kids, they’d been separated from the group, and the house seemed to twist and turn and morph around them while they tried to navigate … And then sitting in the cinema, we just heard this … low, rolling boooooooom. It’s so hard to describe the sound. It went through your body and out the other side and kept going. The building shook where it stood. At this point … we’d all forgotten about the movie in an instant. The theatre was … was nearly full, and there was a mad dash to get out the door, get outside, see what happened. And outside, there was a billowing pillar of smoke rising into the sky, and a lurid orange and red glow, mixing with the sunset sky. Grey smoke was twisting up and mixing with the white clouds. You could start to hear sirens now, and some of my friends had already hopped in their car, to get a better look and … I had stood outside the cinema, fixated on the smoke and fire, and some of my friends had also stayed … And then after a while, I don’t know how long we heard – didn’t see – Grandmother stopped here. “Are you okay?” “Yes … yes, but, I think I will have to finish this one another time.” The tape recorder clicks off.

46.

PHOTOGRAPHY: Indi Shead

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

survivor INDI SHEAD

CW: sexual assault and harassment, body image Photography has been a means of reclaiming the female body. Through producing, creating, modelling and photographing, the female presenting body - a political site of sexualisation and contention -is regained back into the personal sphere. My body has been taken from me, sexualised, abused, and stripped of autonomy. I created this piece to gain ownership over my body and over what I share, and to reclaim the insults and harassment I have endured. The presence of natural body hair and skin is labelled as ‘gross’ and ‘dirty,’ where men have sexualised flawless hairless skin (that akin to childhood). Women and genderqueer people are called a ‘bitch,’ a ‘liar,’ ‘ugly’ or ‘fake’ if they reject men’s advances, where

‘no’ is not considered a valid answer. This project allowed me to become more comfortable in my body and showcase the harm that harassment and assault has on survivors. To anyone who has survived harassment or assault, you are never alone, you are believed, and it will get better. If you or someone you know has been affected by sexual assault, harassment, or finds this content triggering or causing distress in any way, you can reach out to the support services listed below: ANU Counselling email: counselling.centre@anu.edu.au website: ANU Counselling – ANU The ANU Wellbeing and Support Line available 24/7 phone: 1300 05 0327 SMS: 0488 884 17 ACT Access Mental Health is a 24-hour mental health emergency access and support service. Phone: 1800 629 354 or 6205 1065 1800 RESPECT is the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service. 1800 RESPECT provides phone or online support for people experiencing, or at risk of experiencing, sexual assault, domestic or family violence. 1800 RESPECT is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week Phone: 1800 737 732 Lifeline: 13 11 14 Canberra Rape Crisis Centre, Crisis Line (02) 6247 2525

47.

48.

ARTWORK: Yige Xu

the sins of my children KIERAN KNOX EDITED BY SISANA LAZARUS I have been speaking to my son. He is everything I would want in my child. Compassion rules his mind. His anger, so very masculine, he takes apart with clinical precision. No embers left to hatch new fires another day. He tells me of the world he lives in. A place drier than any desert I have seen. He tells me that his constant companion is the sound of sand, gently sliding against boots and hooves. I am only 23. My son speaks to me, a man of 56. I glean insight into who I will be, as a father. He tells me of my open nature, my love of stories, and those words of mine. “Do not despair, there is still tomorrow.” I do not share this man’s, my, sentiment at this age. My son tells me I have fought dogs, lean and rabid creatures which pounce behind the cover of

sandy winds. He tells me of the only time he saw my face twisted into something ugly. I caved their heads in, skulls reduced to pulp beneath my bloody fists. He tells me of how I cried that night, head pointed to a black, and smoky sky. He tells me I howled out in pain, for I had never killed until that moment. I cannot imagine such a thing. Here, in this moment, my heart pounds. I see myself, a warrior, a soldier, a fighter. Yet, I know that this is not the truth. I am scared. How desperate is my future, that I will bludgeon another living thing to crimson paste? My son tells me I lose my arm. Fangs, and canines drenched in stagnant shit and water, poison my flesh. Within weeks, it turns shades of green, and purple. My wife, a woman I have not met yet, grinds my limb free with the blunt edge of a car’s metal rim.

49. I die. Not in battle, or of old age. I die running from something, and my body fails. My son tells me he could only hear my cough, as every vessel in my body bursts. I bleed to death on a dune behind our home. My son runs into the desert with his mother, our house alight and the shadow of bandits playing on the sands. Then I am awake. I lie in a soft bed, and listen to the sound of my home in the night. When next I fall asleep, I do not meet my son. It is a woman. She is haggard and vicious. She moves in the way I imagine the dogs which will take my arm move. Her shoulders hunch forward and swing low. Her arms are so long, and they seem to drift along the ground. Her legs twist in awkward angles, and her chest presses low to the ground as her neck clicks, and shifts to look at me. She smiles. There are too many teeth in that smile. I ask her what I asked my son, but she only chuckles. “I hate you,” she says before she leaps and catches my neck in her maw. I die in my dream, my granddaughter howling in glee as she eats me, a mouthful at a time. The next I dream, it is my greatgranddaughter who I meet. Her eyes are haunted, but she does not blame me for her misfortune. We speak of her mother, and we commiserate the pain she caused us. Before she leaves, my greatgranddaughter tells me: “I do not know where you are going, but there is a dark cloud ahead of me. I do not how far, but it smells of smoke.” For every following night, my descendants tell me the same thing. For every night I fall into sleep, I awake with the smell of a great fire in my nose. Every morning, I hear someone whisper in a language so utterly changed from what I speak, and yet instantly recognizable. The dreams blur, and so too do the

descendants. Some have great grievances with me, others weep upon seeing my face, still others do not recognize me and we sit there in blank silence. I do not understand why it is I who must endure this gauntlet of heredity. I am not the first of my line. Does my father experience this? My mother? My sister? Do my children, strung out across centuries, sleep with the knowledge of their own children’s atrocities? Do they also dream of their children’s miracles? I dream. I hear His name, chanted on a foul wind. When I open my eyes, I am moved to weep. He is so perfect. From the curve of his brow, to the lilting line of his hands, I cannot find a flaw in him. When he speaks, it is the clearest sound I have ever heard. He says: “Come, Great Father. Listen to my achievements.” They are horrible. As he speaks, I see the people who follow him under the banner of a bloody palm. There is death, there is suffering, there is pain, there is destruction. Yet, what horrifies me so deeply are his eyes. As he recounts the worlds he has razed, the tortures and cruelties committed, I see nothing in his eyes. There is no bloodlust, no ache for conquest, no sick joy in pain. Nor is there a lie. He does not believe this is for the best, that he builds a better place. He is bored, and I tell him as much. “Yes,” he says. “There is nothing to elate in anymore. What is left but the excess, when all of memory is mine.” “What do you mean?” He laughs. “You gaze into the future through me, but I have lived your life, and every life of every ancestor. There is nothing new. I am a cup overfull, and now I shall never know what it was like to sip.” He cries there, this monster of my flesh. I awake, and wonder. Will this come to pass?

50.

Red lines under skin that never seem to

fade

I just celebrated 100 days I wonder how much longer they will

s t a y.

They become brighter in the shower, warm water does the

trick-

I used to wear bandages the red was so very

thick

My gin is pink It lets me the words are numb without - I am

My arms lie tucked hidden from the dare they witness the chaos that

speak

red lines pt.1

My eyes are white my sheets are I hid my razors in the dark dare they ﬁnd me

I wanted to be red again to feel the safe the kisses of the soul they have such a

If only it would heal everything but it would just make everything revert back to that

The girl is red you need just look It isn’t hard to see I promise it’s -

INDI SHEAD

w e a k.

world

t w i r l s.

stained

d r a i n e d.

praise

g a z e.

away

d a y.

within

safe

51. Red lines under skin that never seem to

fade

I just celebrated 100 days I wonder how much longer they will

s t a y.

They become brighter in the shower, warm water does the

trick-

I used to wear bandages the red was so very

t h i c k.

My gin is pink It lets me

speak

the words are numb without - I am

My arms lie tucked hidden from the dare they witness the chaos that

My eyes are white my sheets are I hid my razors in the dark dare they ﬁnd me

red lines pt.2 INDI SHEAD CW: mental illness, self harm, suicidal ideation

I wanted to be red again to feel the safe the kisses of the soul they have such a

If only it would heal everything but it would just make everything revert back to that

The girl is red you need just look It isn’t hard to see I promise it’s -

w e a k.

world

t w i r l s.

stained

d r a i n e d.

praise

g a z e.

away

d a y.

within

s a f e.

52.

ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

S I D COV

ER Y

ARTWORK: Jasmine Small

a spotify playlist LOVE FROM THE CONTENT TEAM

Love Me More – Mitski Move – brb. Slow Life – Grizzly Bear and Victoria Legend! Hares On the Mountain – Davey Graham and Shirley Collins California – 88rising, Rich Brian, NIKI, Warren Hue (feat. Warren Hue) Could Have Been Me – The Struts Runaway – AURORA. Young Blood - The Naked and Famous About This Thing – Young Franco (Feat. Scrufizzer) Love You Good – Rochelle Jordan Fifty-fifty Clown – Cocteau Twins Sex On The Beach – DJ Assault Deus – HVOB, Winston Marshall

53.

54.

ARTWORK: Jessica McLeod-Yu

a definitive ranking of canberra’s asian supermarkets ASHLEY DAVIES EDITED BY ROSE DIXON-CAMPBELL

Disclaimer: This is by no means an exhaustive list of Canberra’s Asian Supermarkets, I’ve mostly focused on stores in the inner north for ease of access, but there are plenty more out there. The opinions expressed below are my own. As a snack lover and a terrible cook of all my favourite foods, I am sure you can understand my need for a good Asian supermarket. Although Canberra doesn’t boast the kind of diversity in cuisine that Sydney or Melbourne does, as the city has grown we’ve thankfully gained access to more international food. With an influx of supermarkets it can be difficult to know where to go and which stores offer what kind of food. How can we know which Asian Supermarkets are good? Fear not my friends, I am here to help with my guide to the best Asian Supermarkets in Canberra.

55. To better get a feel of the Asian Supermarkets we have in our beautiful bush capital, I’ve sorted the stores into a short list of the top five, featuring honourable mentions as well. My rankings are based on how accessible the stores are, the range of food they carry and finally whether they have basics like toiletries, fresh veggies/fruit, and snacks. Dear reader, you are welcome to disagree with my list but without further ado, let’s dive right in. First up are the honourable mentions. I highly recommend visiting many of these stores, but they didn’t beat out my top picks. This was generally because they lacked range or were less accessible. In the city, the two stores that didn’t make it onto my list were Daily Market on Childers St and All In One located on Alinga St. In Dickson, Saigon Asian Grocery, Abuy, Panda Fresh Mart and Deji Asian Supermarket fell short, but Dickson is still a great spot because of its high density of Asian Supermarkets, so if you can’t find something you need in one, there is always another shop to go to. In Belconnen, UC Supermarket, Asian Super Grocery, Apna Indian Bazaar and Angkor What missed out by a slim margin, but are all diverse in the range of foods they offer and similarly to Dickson, if you can’t find something in one, you might just find it in another. But now onto our top five: 5. Bharat International Located a little way from the heart of Belconnen in Oatley court, Bharat International, is a maze-like store, stocked to the brim with food from all over the Indian subcontinent. Although its cramped aisles may make for a claustrophobic experience, the supermarket carries a huge variety of frozen and ready to eat meals. And that’s not even the best part - their house-made Indian sweets are to die for! Succulent desserts like Jalebi are made fresh and in a quantity which allows you to buy as much as you like. 4. Mega Asian Supermarket Mega Asian can be found in the centre of Dickson. Tucked in between an Ali Baba and a Zambrero, this compact supermarket boasts a wide variety of Japanese cooking basics, a well-stocked drinks and snacks aisle and a large range of dried spices and veggies. They also have a delicious range of dai-fuku, to satisfy anyone’s sweet tooth. If you’re looking to try

your hand at sushi or recreate your favourite ramen dish, then this is the place to get your ingredients. 3. Daily Market in Kambri Third on my list is Daily Market. This supermarket ranks this high not only because it’s the most accessible for the ANU community, but it’s also got absolutely every item you could ever need, from picnicware, to niche Chinese jellies, to fresh fruits and ready-made meals. If you’re in need of a quick snack while studying, whether healthy or not, then Daily Market is the place to be. And all that without even mentioning their relatively good alcohol section and the massive drinks fridge. If you’ve spent any time at ANU and you haven’t been to Daily Market, what are you even doing? 2. Bestore Asian Supermarket Heading a bit further afield we’ll go to Bestore, located in Mitchell. Bestore ranks highly because it is by far the largest store on this list and this size allows it to have a larger range of fresh vegetables and an inhouse butcher for fresh meat cuts. Although Bestore is a Korean specialty store, its sheer size and range means that you get a lot of variety within the products that they have. No matter if you want to save a bit of money and have at home k-bbq or try your hand at cooking some more traditional Korean recipes, Bestore has it all. They even offer memberships. The only downside is the far-off location. 1. Emart Asian Supermarket Located in No Name Lane in the city, Emart is another Korean specialty store and by far one of the busiest Asian supermarkets I’ve visited in Canberra. Its central location, roomy size and range of products set it apart from the others. Emart has an entire aisle dedicated to different types of seaweed; boasts some beautiful, big, king oyster mushrooms and has a tiny back corner holding alcohols such as makgeolli (a type of beer brewed from rice) and Korean plum liquor, something I’ve not seen in Canberra elsewhere. It’s popular for a reason and well worth the visit. The shelves are always well stocked, and this combined with all the reasons above distinguishes Emart as the best Asian supermarket in Canberra.

56.

ARTWORK: Sian Williams

uncertainties: a collection COLLATED BY CHETHA NAWANA

We never know what will happen tomorrow. We never even know what will happen in the next few hours of each day. We have so many questions and not enough answers. We make plans just for them to change. Life itself will always be uncertain, but isn’t that what we should love about it? The possibilities are always endless. But sometimes all we yearn for is confirmation that everything will be okay. That we’ll be happy and healthy and that all our dreams will come true.

back. Anonymous, 23. I feel like I have many uncertainties in my life that I wish I knew all the answers to. But to be honest, the beauty of life is this idea of not knowing. You have no idea what will be happening in a week, a month or a year, etc. Anonymous, 19. Whether I will be successful, not just career but whether I will be happy and content with my life. Anonymous, 20.

Do you have any uncertainties in your life at the moment? What do you wish you could confirm, if life was to be ever so generous?

Whether or not I can study abroad in Japan this year?! Anonymous, 20. COVID! Everything is really uncertain in jobs, travel, education and socialising. It’s changing so often that it’s hard to keep up to date. Ruby, 19. What I’ll be doing one year from now. Will COVID catch me if I go to Europe in the middle of the year? Clancy, 20. I wish the world would tell me if he liked me

My love life lol. Anonymous, 19. Will life, in particular uni, ever actually get back to normal? I feel as though I might never get the uni experience I was looking forward to for years and talked about by friends and family. Dacey, 19. As I approach my graduation, I feel very uncertain about what my life will be like in one year’s time. Where will I be? What will I be doing? Who will I be? Will I enjoy it? Rose, 21. My fit for Badger on Thursday. Anonymous, 18.

57. Where I can confidently handle being COVID positive in the inevitable situation that I contract the virus and what my health will be life after. Anonymous, 47. My future. Anonymous, 19. Everything, I guess. Mainly if I’ll end up where I want to, even if that plan changes. Jasie, 19. I want to know if I’m liked. I want to know whether people find me annoying or not, not so that I can dial down my personality for others, but so I can find a balance which will make everyone feel comfortable around me. Anonymous, 18. If my family is happy and healthy. Anonymous, 20. I feel uncertain with my place in the world as a person of colour. I’ve so often been belittled by white people. It’s hard to feel safe when quite often, white people speak over POC or try to suppress them. Anonymous, 23. If this is going to be the year of my burn out or revival. Anonymous, 20. Employment and financial future. Currently super poor, I wish I could be told that everything will be okay. Pete, 20.

If I have COVID or not or if I’m going to get it in the near future. James, 19. I’m uncertain about what the world is going to look like in 10, 20, 30 years etc. When, from an environmental standpoint, the path that we humans have been on isn’t a reciprocal one, but a more linear destructive one. And that’s the reason I’m doing the degree that I’m doing. Because I’m uncertain about what the natural world is going to look like in 30 years. I want to be a part of those who try their best to preserve it and find more sustainable and regenerative ways for us humans to live. Jack, 19. Whether I will ever eat a quesadilla as good as the one I just had. Tiarna, 20. I’m really uncertain about where I’ll be in 10 years from now. Sean, 21. If my car’s going to break down today or tomorrow. Sarah, 21. I’m uncertain about my future, like whether I will succeed in life and be happy and content. I’m uncertain about the future security of the world, both in war ways but also access to resources such as food. Maddie, 20. Whether my package is going to arrive on time. Olivia, 20.

What I’m eating for dinner tonight. Matilda, 19. I worry about the fact that I’ll probably never be able to buy a house. Anonymous, 20. Whether I’ll fail my supplementary exam, lmao. Anonymous, 19. Uncertain on the direction of uni life and my career following. Gus, 18. Uni experience and whether it will be fun or sad. When will COVID stop defining our lives? When will I pull myself together? How to get rid of pantry moths. Anonymous, 19.

Uncertainties abound and yet the most troubling of all seems to be my own indeterminate feelings! How much could the going-ons of the outer world matter when my own inner world is wildly thrashing shades of sensation that I must say are the emotions and thoughts of a sentient being? Anonymous, 19. I am uncertain as to whether I am on the right path and if the decisions I am making now are leading me to the life I want to lead. Ollie, 19.

58.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

renaturalising sullivan’s creek NICK BLOOD EDITED BY SAI CAMPBELL

Dedicated to my Dad. During Semester 1, 2021, a group of ANU students was formed to work with local community organisation SEE Change on the topic of “renaturalising” Sullivan’s creek. The ‘SEE’ in SEE Change stands for Society, Environment, and Economics and these are the “three pillars” of sustainability that underpin the framework used by our group. Our task was to create a report that considered key issues and explored a broad range of ways to approach the idea of “renaturalisation.” What does renaturalisation mean? Simply put, it means to return a place to its natural state. One area we focused on were the sections of the creek with concrete beds. How might we go about returning them back into soil and plants, and what are the potential benefits of doing so in terms of biodiversity, human wellbeing, economics, and community sustainability? These are all important areas we wanted to address,

but there’s something largely absent in these sorts of considerations: First Nations peoples and perspectives. I had the privilege of speaking briefly about this project with Dr. Virginia Marshall, the Inaugural Indigenous Postdoctoral Fellow with ANU’s School of Regulation and Global Governance and the Fenner School of Environment and Society, and a Wiradjuri Nyemba woman. With respect to our focus on flooding, she noted that: “If we look at various concepts of living within an Aboriginal world view, the understanding of the benefits of floodplains and flooding is [that it is] nurturing to the entire environment. Why do we build near rivers that flood?” She pointed to research into the colonial history surrounding areas like Gundagai, Daly River, and Wingecarribee River – among many others – where Aboriginal people warned settlers not to set up camp near rivers. We at the ANU have certainly set up camp here at the creek.

59. Referring to earlier discussions about the “three pillars” that began this article, she stated that a fourth pillar - Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture – is considered as ‘core,’ adding that the “triple bottom line” employed by sustainabilityminded organisations in homage to the three pillars framework would instead be a “five bottom line” in many Aboriginal communities where the fourth area of culture is joined by a fifth - law. These are different frameworks that open up a broader range of considerations. What does natural mean? To return a place to its natural state may seem selfexplanatory, but what does “natural” actually mean? A state without human interaction? A time before human intervention? The Ngunnawal peoples, among others, have lived in this area for at least 20,000 years. Before colonisation, the entirety of Australia was what you might call an Indigenous constructed landscape. Dr. Marshall echoes these points, noting Bill Gammage’s appropriately titled work The Biggest Estate, as well as the work of Aboriginal authors Bruce Pascoe and Tyson Yunkaporta. Her own awardwinning book, Overturning Aqua Nullius takes this same argument of an expanded, managed estate to the waters of Australia – so often forgotten in discourse that places Western words, frames, and concepts like “land” above other more inclusive Indigenous terms like “Country.” We don’t need to rewind the local ecology 20,000 years to arrive at a time before these concrete blocks were placed, yet we use a word such as “natural” which implies an absence of humans. We could just as easily, and more accurately, describe this process as “re-Indigenising” if what we’re aiming for is the healthy Indigenous environment from just a few centuries ago. The settler-colonisers who invaded this Country saw nature as something different to and separate from themselves. As early as the 1500s, influential legal thinkers like Grotius enshrined these ideas in frameworks of sovereignty. Later, Blackstone’s 1754 comments around ideas of agriculture and the right to take those civilisations deemed lacking it formed the basis of other disastrous concepts like terra nullius. These legal frameworks prevented

settlers from seeing the landscape as something already “deeply shaped by people,” with severe and far-reaching consequences still felt today. We obviously want to avoid repeating those mistakes, but it’s often hard to do from the start when the language we use, and the way we’re taught to understand it, prominently features those same frames. A similar idea is found in the concept of “wilderness.” In fact, a “rewilding” project for ANU was already raised long before our project began. The ANU Below Zero initiative is exploring ways to reduce campus emissions, and a community consultation document refers multiple times to the idea of “rewilding” campus. Again, this isn’t a bad idea, but perhaps we should be mindful of the framing here too. A term like “wilderness” implies an absence of humans, perhaps even more strongly than the word “nature”. At the time of the interview, Dr. Marshall was planning to attend COP26 as a Pacific delegate, to engage in discussions around these issues, exploring “how we can learn from Indigenous knowledge and culture in working with an Indigenous environment”. She added that: “Wild and wilding is a colonial concept that relates back to the colonial discourse of ‘prehistory’, ‘primitive’ and ‘nomads’. Indigenous peoples are very uncomfortable about these terms for good reasons.” In Carving Wilderness, Tracey Banivanua Mar describes the creation of our national parks system and how it both depended upon, and reaffirmed, the concept of a deserted wilderness. This idea left no room – in the mind, or on Country – for Indigenous landscapes. In a related paper on ‘narratives of dispossession’, Mar continues this line of thought and considers these colonised landscapes as a kind of history text – one read through mere occupation, an act that constantly reaffirms those same ideas. It’s important for us to appreciate the hidden values in frames like these so that we can work to also include thoughts beyond or outside them. Once we also start framing “nature” as “Indigenous environment” or similar, it opens new and exciting ways of thinking about problems like those concrete blocks.

60.

ARTWORK: Xuming Du

“to be chosen” ANDY YIN EDITED BY SAI CAMPBELL

Mathematics has the most demanding standards of truth of any field of study. For a fact to be considered mathematically true, it must follow from previouslyknown facts using precise rules of inference. In turn, those facts are justified by inference from previous facts, and so-on. But this process has to terminate at some point, or nothing could ever be justified. You need some facts which don’t need to be justified by something else. They’re called axioms — they are the sources of truth. Because axioms are assumed true without justification, choosing axioms to believe in is more subjective than maths usually is. Today, most mathematicians agree to work under the Zermelo-Fraenkel axioms. These axioms assert that there is only one kind of thing in existence: a set, i.e. a collection of things. Just as our understanding of people could be reduced to the movements of

atoms, many beautiful structures in mathematics – numbers, space, geometric objects — can be reduced to sets. The Zermelo-Fraenkel axioms include reasonable assumptions like “Two sets are the same set if they contain the same elements,” and “If you have two sets, then you can create a new set containing everything from both those sets.” Not especially controversial. But there was one axiom whose proposed inclusion in ZF caused a stir: The Axiom of Choice, also known simply as Choice. (You know a mathematical statement is famous when it has a mononym like Prince.) Choice can be written so innocuously as to believe its controversy: Given a collection of nonempty sets, it is possible to pick one element from each set.

61. You could also call it the Axiom of Decision: if you have a bunch of decisions to make, you can always make every decision. Still sounds totally obvious and noncontroversial. But, viewed from the right angle, the obvious can be troubling. Choice asserts, without reservation, that you can always make any collection of decisions, no matter how many decisions that may involve. This is a little troubling: how do we make infinitely many decisions? Actually, algorithms do that all the time. If you want to program an autonomous vehicle – say a rover – to travel for an indefinite length of time, it must be prepared to make infinitely many decisions. Every millisecond – or however short a length of time it takes to adjust the vehicle’s course – it has to decide on a direction to move in. But you don’t actually have to make infinitely many choices. You could program the vehicle to move in a straight line, or turn 90 degrees every 300 metres, or list 1° to the right every two minutes. Making decisions infinitely is not so difficult if you can write an algorithm or procedure that makes the decisions for you. The trouble with Choice is that it asserts, even if you can’t write down an algorithm, that there is always a way to make infinitely many decisions. Choice is nonconstructive — it guarantees the existence of a decision process, but doesn’t tell you how to describe it. And, by invoking Choice, one can argue for the existence of strange and unintuitive things that can’t be explicitly described. Choice implies that you can cut a set of points out of a finite line so that the set can’t be assigned a meaningful length. Even more amazingly, we have the Banach-Tarski paradox: a solid three-dimensional ball can be split into five parts, which can be moved around by rigid motions, and reassembled into two balls of the same size as the original. The existence of indescribable objects (let alone indescribable objects that violated beliefs about measurement) was objectionable to some mathematicians when Choice was first introduced by Ernst Zermelo in 1904. It was a key reason for some mathematicians to reject Choice.

But there were also mathematicians prepared to support it, because of its astounding usefulness. Any areas of maths with incredibly useful applications, would be impoverished without Choice. Also, just as Choice has many strange consequences, rejecting Choice does too. For example, rejecting Choice implies that there exists a set that can be split into more parts than it contains objects. So Choice sat in the middle of a crossfire. Who was right? How could we determine whether Choice is true or not? In 1938, Kurt Gödel showed that Choice is consistent with the Zermelo-Fraenkel axioms. That means the ZF axioms, broadly accepted by mathematicians as a foundation of truth, couldn’t prove Choice wrong. That means Choice had to be true, right? Not exactly. In 1963, Paul Cohen proved that ZF axioms couldn’t prove Choice true, either. Choice is in the strange position of being totally independent from the ZF axioms. There are “mathematical universes” where the ZF is true and Choice is true, and there are also universes where ZF is true and Choice is false. Accepting Choice is equally valid as rejecting it. How, then, did mathematicians decide what to do? Eventually, Choice became widely accepted. Except for mathematicians who study axioms themselves, most other mathematicians accept Choice as an axiom. Choice plus ZF is called ZFC – it’s the foundation for most mathematics done today. Should that worry us? Choice has consequences that are physically absurd: a ball can be broken apart and reassembled into two balls. Should we be concerned that modern maths has no bearing on reality, because it relies on Choice? No, not really. Choice brings about some strange, unintuitive things, but they can’t be explicitly described, and can’t really have any impact on the real world. Choice is certainly not at odds with the success that mathematical models have enjoyed at describing our world.

62.

ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

plasma donation for the high maintenance

I didn’t want to know my weight and I was not expecting to see the scale you are expected to put yourself on. In hindsight, it is obvious that they need to know your weight among other information like blood pressure. I asked the front desk if there was a way for them to weigh me, so that I didn’t have to put it in myself. It didn’t seem like they had been asked before, but they were down to help, and it helped a lot! And now that at least one person has asked before, you know you won’t be the first.

DEANNA ATHANASOS EDITED BY ELIZABETH WALKER

Speaking of the questionnaire, it can seem very dramatic. Which is fair, because while a cold isn’t a big deal to you, it could be a big deal to the person receiving your plasma. It is weird the first time, having to tell them about the surgery you had when you were five. And then trying to remember if you had possibly been to the UK in 1997 (despite not being alive at the time). It is also weird having to admit to (gasp!) having one small almost healed cut on your hand, or having taken Paracetamol the day before (oh, the horror!). In the interview room however, the interviewers have common sense and there really are no issues with things like that. They have all been super calming no matter what I have thrown at them. My nervousness about the questionnaire was definitely more my own self than the actual medical professionals.

When plasma or blood donation gets brought up, there’s usually an echo of “oh, I need to get around to that.” Or, a round of reasons for not being able, or allowed to donate. I was this person too once. Then, during one of those rare times when I finally get around to everything, I simply booked my first appointment. And after three donations, I am no longer part of this echo. On the other hand (arm?), the first time I went might not fully count. I was freaking out and my arm was stinging, so the donation ended early. I had read every page of the website, but there was still a lot I was unsure about. To help others avoid my fate, I present an insider guide, ordered by how unprepared I was for each thing. Here are: My Top Tips for Being a High Maintenance Person, and Having the Best Possible Experience, at The Plasma Donor Centre. The website does not tell you that you have to squeeze your hand. If you managed to donate, and squeezing your arm was obvious to you or not difficult: good for you. But like, they put a needle in my arm, told me not to move my arm and then told me I have to move my hand to squeeze it? I got used to it by my second attempt, and the staff there were incredibly patient with me. I am not joking, I probably asked a million times if I was squeezing right. They gave fair warning when I needed to squeeze harder, and anticipation wasn’t a major problem. So it turned out I was squeezing just fine. And I was doing okay. And then – I had done it! Another way to reduce chances of freaking out, something I didn’t know was an option until I asked, is this: if you don’t want to look at the machine as it churns your blood donation – you can just ask to turn the machine around. The bloody-spinny-machine bothered me in my first attempt, but with it turned away, the second time got a lot easier.

Something I wish I had thought about is coming up with a reason for being bandaged up. For me, it gets boring saying the same thing every time, even if I’m only wearing the bandage for four hours. My goal for next time during the donation is, instead of watching Netflix, to plan elaborate stories to tell. My only idea at the moment is that I was attacked by a Rodent Of Unusual Size. Or, that someone famous touched my arm and I want to preserve it forever. Speaking of aftercare, not being able to lift heavy things or exercise for 12 hours can be a blessing sometimes. During the donation, they bring you chocolate milk, and afterwards you can have a sausage roll, TimTam and a bag of chips. That’s everything I had last time. They also have vegetarian pastries, muffins, crackers, Freddo Frogs, or even fruit… If that’s your thing (no judgement). If you are eligible, you have time, and you aren’t too scared of needles: 10/10 would recommend. Especially for a costeffective lunch. So go forth, and become the hottest, most high maintenance person at the plasma donation centre. Or second most, if I’m donating at the same time.

ARTWORK: Navita Wijeratne

The Wizard of Oz, starring Judy Garland, is a fantasy musical in which a frightened little girl finds herself in an unfamiliar place and bands together with a few lovable freaks.

follow the (fellows) brick road CHRIS AUSTIN EDITED BY KAROLINA KOCIMSKA AND ASHLEY DAVIES

For first-years, your introduction to university life is in many ways going to parallel the iconic 1939 film; your first year will certainly feel, at times, like being hit in the face by a midwestern farmhouse. In other ways, it will be decidedly different. For example, the only way you’ll find a gold-paved road on campus is if our dear Chancellor can kick her pricey office-purchasing habit. While it might be optimistic to assume you’ll make three friends, I nonetheless advise you to link arms with whoever you can, whistle a jaunty tune, and begin skipping towards the Emerald City. If you can just get that testamur, adorned with its rubyred seal, you’ll be on your way home.

63.

64. Brains will undoubtedly be the first obstacle you encounter. Presumably, you have some brains. At the very least, I say with some certainty, you are literate. No doubt you’ve been fairly academically successful thus far. Hopefully, it is your intention to acquire more brains throughout your degree, or at the very least break even between rigorous study and rampant alcoholism. It is difficult to definitively say which students are the smartest among us; perhaps the cargo-short-clad science students, or the suitedand-booted humanities cohort. Just take heed to avoid the unequivocal academic nadir inhabited by whoever actually still cares about their ATAR score. Heart, too, will inevitably hold sway over your university career. Matters of the heart tend to occupy your time with the realisation of unfettered freedom and a wide pool of bedfellows. Obviously, this may be less applicable to off-campus students, but you should have known that the savings in rent come at the cost of having no fun. To the full citizens of campus, it is my advice that you tailor your advances for the best results. An interesting tote bag or tasteful piercing is always a good icebreaker for Arts students. You may then effortlessly segue to the topic of minimumwage work and build a truly unbreakable bond. Law students are, without exception, egomaniacal and emotionally stunted; best ingratiate yourself by means of sickly, sycophantic devotion. Psychology students are often those most in need of mental help, so a sympathetic ear is priceless. Business and economics students love bright colours, flashing lights, and crayons can prevent a tantrum if they get ornery. Maths, engineering, natural sciences; often the mere act of you, a living, breathing, real person talking to them is more than enough to pique their interest. Courage, though, is perhaps the most important trait of all. You know you’re not a genius, and you’ll quickly feel like an idiot the second you step into a lecture theatre. Classes will sooner or later be hard. You will bear witness to how your fellow students handle the myriad challenges of university life better than you. They’ll find courses easier. They’ll

manage their time better. They’ll easily integrate work, study, and domestic tasks. They’ll remember to call their mothers more often. But there is a secret, and at the risk of being trite I’ll tell you; it’s all bullshit. Everyone struggles; university can be a seismic change. For some, it’s nothing more than education in a different building, but for many it’s the radical upheaval of every norm once relied on to structure their life. Different people, a different city, a different home. A new, intimidating set of academic standards to rise to. Many times you will wonder whether you have enough brains, or enough heart, or even the courage to continue. To feel some form of imposter syndrome is normal, even expected. Stress and anxiety, also to be expected. But you will become courageous, and that might be the most important thing you do here. Certainly more important than bar hopping, but maybe even more important than the technical skills you acquire. Because university is a holistic process. Every day you spend here you will undoubtedly evolve more and more into the person you long to become. Each word read will make you more analytical, each person you meet will make you more affable, and each adversity you overcome, however minor, will make you stronger. And while lingering self-doubt might never fully disappear, one day you will find yourself with enough skill and experience to sincerely say; “I am a competent individual, and I bring value to the world.” When it inevitably comes time to face a wicked witch or loud-mouthed charlatan, you’ll be ready. So be sure to indulge in everything to offer, however trivial it may seem. Find that equilibrium between comfort and taking it seriously. Be punctual to lectures. Find a group of people to do dumb things with. Spend eight straight hours studying in the library. Go out drinking on a Thursday and show up trashed to a Friday tutorial. Maybe join a club or something. Welcome to ANU. You’re not in Kansas anymore.

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We would like to acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the traditional custodians of the land on which Woroni is created. We pay respects to Elders past, present and emerging. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.

Woroni Edition 2 2022

Articles inside

High Maintenance

Renaturalising Sullivan’s Creek

“To Be Chosen”

Asian Supermarkets

Uncertainties: A Collection

The Sins of My Children

Survivor

To Love a Green Haired Girl

A Weaving Mind

Could Stop it All

The Jacaranda and The Jar

The Trouble with Choosing

I’ve Got Nothing to Wear- Yet

Male Gaze as Panopticon If You Called Your Dad, He

A Letter to My Younger Self

Blind Pimple

and One Child at a Time

Growing Our Economy Won’t Make Us Happier

ANU Residential Halls Respond to Evolving COVID-19 Situation on Campus

Progressing Progressives: A Response

First SRC Maps Out Plans for an Activist Yet Service - Providing ANUSA in 2022

Day Protests

A Road to Nowhere - Part II

Disclosures of Sexual Misconduct