CATALYST: 'NOSTALGIA', Issue 5, Volume 70

5

the nostalgia issue

catalyst

nostalgia

the end is almost nigh. submissions for catalyst six ‘unthemed’ close 5pm friday 6 september e: rmitcatalyst@gmail.com

4

colophon

editors Alan Weedon Allison Worrall Broede Carmody

subeditors 5 | 70 August-September 2014

editorial committee Alexander Darling Amelia Theodorakis Beth Gibson David Ross Denham Sadler Finbar O’Mallon Jo Burnell Michael Walsh Richard Ferguson Rushani Epa Sam Cucchiara Samantha Winnicki Sarah Maunder Yara Murray-Atfield

art direction Alan Weedon Alexandra Kimpton Chelsea Hickman Carly Candiloro Emma Do Jack Callil Rida Abassi Sophie Banh

cover artwork Jack Callil (jackcallil.com) Emma Do (emmaqdo.wordpress.com)

logo design Lachlan Siu (lachlansiu.com)

Alexander Darling David Ross Finbar O’Mallon Jo Burnell Max Stainkamph Richard Ferguson Sam Cucchiara Yara Murray-Atfield

proofreader Ainsley Ryan

Catalyst is proud to acknowledge that this magazine was produced on the traditional lands of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation.

We pay our respects to their elders, both past and present. We also acknowledge the traditional owners of all the lands from which the stories and artworks in this issue were sourced.

Catalyst is the student magazine of the RMIT University Student Union (RUSU). The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of the editors, printers or RUSU. All material remains the property of the individual writers and artists. Catalyst reserves the right to republish in any format. © 2014 RMIT University Student Union

printers Paterson Press Tripart Marketing Pty Ltd PO Box 189 Richmond VIC 3000 Ph: (03) 9429 8999 sales@patyork.com.au

with thanks to Gin Myriam Robin Rachel Baxendale

photographers Alan Weedon (alnwdn.com) Marisa Hang (instagram.com/youngblud_) Patricia Casten (patriciacasten.com) Prue Stent (pruestent.com)

5

contents

06

Editors’ Note

Number Crunch

University News [features]

12 18

Flybz

Skin Deep

Finbar O’Mallon

The Women of the Gallows Allison Worrall

Denham Sadler

Whatever Happened to my Rock ‘n Roll? Alexander Darling A Government funded Richard Ferguson Sing-a-Long

07 08 16 22 26

[art and culture]

32 38 46 50

Castles

#NoRegrets

Chris Gooch

Dani Leever

Lani Holmberg

Forget the raquet, I’m here to make a racket David Claridad

Be Kind, Rewind

Feel good hit of the summer

Photo Essay

Alicia Barker

Between Melbourne and Adelaide Sarah Maunder

Jade Bate

Cold Comfort Samantha Winnicki

33 44 48 52

[creative writing]

56

Three Poems Francesca Di Stephano

[rusu]

58

RUSU President’s Address James Michelmore

Dirty Desks Jo Day

57

6

number crunch

36

The current age of actor Joshua Jackson, who played Pacey in Dawson’s Creek

281 The combined age of the band members of The Rolling Stones

400, 000 The estimated number of people who made it to the Woodstock Festival in 1969.

1966

The year the first episode of Play School aired in Australia

Hey there good look’n, thanks for picking up issue five of Catalyst.

At the start of the year we decided our editorial cover photos would either be unflattering or just down-right ridiculous. So I guess it was inevitable that photos from our childhood would crop up at some point.

If you haven’t noticed already—particularly by looking at Broede’s bowl haircut and the fact that he is about four years old in the photo above—this is the ‘nostalgia’ issue.

While the majority of people reading this have never lived in a world without the internet, a lot has changed since the early-to-mid ’90s. And no, not just the fashion (thank god).

In this edition the talented Alicia Barker revisits some of her favourite television shows from her childhood, while Samantha Winnicki has a very

professional and scholarly analysis (cough, cough) of the Cold War and how the tensions between Russia and the US exist to this day.

On a more serious note, Finbar O’Mallon speaks to two rappers who were formally child soldiers in Africa. And we investigate why Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students are disappointed in the way RMIT decides to fly the flags of Australia’s first peoples.

We only have one more issue to go, so if you ever wanted to submit to Catalyst now is the time. Oh, and keep an eye on our social media channels because we’re gonna have a big end of year bash and you’re all invited (except the people who handle RMIT’s flags).

With love, The eds xx

7

@broedecarmody / @allisonworrall / @alnwdn

broede, allison and alan

editors’ note

8

catalyst

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students disappointed with RMIT’s flag policies

@broedecarmody

Broede Carmody

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander students at RMIT have once again expressed disappointment over the way the university chooses to display the flags of Australia’s first peoples.

The Aboriginal flag, which is not flown alongside the Australian and RMIT flags at the university’s La Trobe Street entrance, was accidentally removed from the top of Building 2 following NAIDOC Week.

After a number of weeks the Aboriginal flag was reinstalled above Building 2 on 23 July due to students pointing out its absence—only for the flag to be flown upside-down for a number of hours.

The incident is part of a long and drawn-out process between RMIT and the university’s Ngarara Willim Centre for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples, who have previously raised issues over the placement of the Aboriginal flag at the city campus and the fact the university does not fly the Torres Strait Island flag except during certain cultural days and events.

Causing Indigenous students, staff and community members further frustration is the fact RMIT does not fly the Aboriginal or the Torres Strait Islander flags at its Brunswick or Bundoora campuses except on Sorry Day, Reconciliation Week and NAIDOC Week.

Catalyst understands Melbourne, Monash, Swinburne, La Trobe and Victoria universities fly both the Aboriginal and the Torres Strait Islander flags in prominent positions at the entrance to or on their campuses.

In a statement, the Ngarara Willim Centre said it had received a number of enquiries and complaints from Indigenous students and community members regarding the positioning of the Aboriginal flag on RMIT’s city campus and the fact the university does not fly the Torres Strait Islander flag beside it.

“The flags demonstrate, to both RMIT students and the wider community, the university’s recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander

people,” a spokesperson said. “Flying both flags promotes a sense of community partnership in addition to demonstrating RMIT’s commitment towards Closing the Gap and broader reconciliation and anti-racism movements.”

The Ngarara Willim Centre pointed out that while the city campus does fly the Aboriginal flag, it is not in an easily visible location at the entrance to the university.

“We acknowledge the presence of the Aboriginal flag flown on top of the Emily McPherson building alongside the Australian and RMIT flag, but note the continued absence of the Torres Strait Islander flag,” the spokesperson said. “This building is not a prominent position at RMIT and therefore the flags that are displayed often go unseen.”

RMIT University Student Union President James Michelmore told Catalyst it is disappointing RMIT does not fly both the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island flags prominently at the entrances to all campuses.

“Melbourne, Monash, Swinburne, La Trobe and others are all putting us to shame on something so simple but so important,” he said. “We understand that current space limitations mean there is only space for two flag poles at the entrance to Bowen Street, and that this has been the excuse for not flying the additional flags in the past.

“As a university of technology and design, the Student Union believes RMIT can surely devise an amicable solution that would see all the flags flown prominently.”

In a statement, RMIT said the Aboriginal flag was accidentally taken down from Building 2 after NAIDOC week.

“This does not reflect the instructions given to Security this year and appears to be an oversight,” a spokesperson said. “Events and Venues has emailed Security and requested that this be rectified immediately.”

9

RMIT officially announces NAS plans

RMIT Hotties causes a stir

Sarah Burt

Mariam Koslay

RMIT University has officially announced its plans to dramatically refurbish its campus buildings along Swanston Street, known as the New Academic Street construction.

The project will refurbish Buildings 8, 10, 12 and 14, which have been part of RMIT’s main city campus since the 1970s.

Professor Gill Palmer, acting Vice-Chancellor and President at RMIT University, has approved a call for expressions of interest from construction companies.

In a media release Professor Palmer said: “NAS is a bold step into an exciting and innovative future for RMIT, building on and maximising the past seven years of campus development.”

The NAS project is expected to be completed by 2017.

The media release did not explain how students would be impacted during the renovations—which include buildings where the Hub, cafeteria, student union offices, gymnasium, RMITV studios and Swanston library are located.

As previously reported in Catalyst, Swanston library will undergo restoration in an effort to create up to 40% more study space. During renovations, Catalyst understands up to 80% of library renovations will be moved to the Bundoora campus.

The plans include providing the buildings along Swanston Street with more natural sunlight, and views onto Bowen Street as well as outdoor terraces, laneways and study areas.

“The NAS project will reinvent the centre of the City campus and improve support services for students and staff,” said Professor Palmer.

Such services will include a new student hall, as well as a multi-story outdoor garden space and a variety of shops, food and beverage outlets and recreational facilities.

A Facebook page that posts photos of “hot” RMIT students is using many of its images without consent.

The Real Hotties of RMIT page has garnered almost 2000 likes in little over a month.

Michael, a 20-year-old RMIT University student who does not want his last name published, is one of the founders of the page and said photos will only be removed upon request.

“If you want us to remove a photo we will take it down immediately but otherwise, we choose what pictures are hot,” he told Catalyst.

Students are encouraged to submit photos to the social media page, but Michael doesn’t seek permission from the people in the photos before publishing them. He also said he can’t stop others from tagging people.

Tristen* said her friend submitted her photo and she was shocked at the comments it received.

“At first I was happy that I was chosen but I was soon annoyed at the activity around my photo,” she said.

“Even though it’s not intended, women are judged on their looks and people forget that we’re still people.”

The founders of the page said it was set up to compete with similar pages of rival universities.

The Real Hotties of RMIT had around 1800 likes at the time of publishing, while Monash and Melbourne’s equivalent pages have more than 10,000.

“It’s great competition to other universities who think they are better,” Michael said.

Michael said when the page was originally created, he wanted to post photos of “different types” of RMIT students but the founders of RMIT Stalker Space recommended a strict “screening process”. *Name changed

@mariamkoslay

@burt_sarah

news

FEATURES

12

catalyst

flybyz: or how two kids escaped hell and lived to rap about it finbar o’mallon

nostalgia

I was just eleven, when I became a soldier Bullets in my hand, and a gun on my shoulder While the opening lyrics of Flybz’s song ‘Child Soldier’ echo the dark and bloody experiences of the two young rappers, their message is one of hope.

After escaping a genocidal regime in Africa, Fablice Manirakiza, 21, and Irahiza ‘G-Storm’ Jeanchrisostome, 18, have built a new life in Melbourne in the hip hop music scene.

Their experiences serve as the basis for many of their lyrics. When Fablice was just eight years old, he watched as his parents were murdered. Three years later, government forces took him and turned him into a child soldier.

G-Storm’s past is entwined with Fablice’s. By blood, they are uncle and nephew though Fablice is only three years older. The pair spent their childhood in Africa. As children, the pair were helplessly swept along in a wave of violent events that started in the lead up to the Rwandan Genocide, which saw its twentieth anniversary this year. The violence not only took the lives of many but it ripped away the innocence children like Fablice and G-Storm were entitled to.

It’s a world away from their current circumstances.

After arriving in Australia in 2007, the two young men experimented with hip hop music as a way to express themselves. In recent years, Flybz have performed around Melbourne and interstate and they’ve caught the eye of some of Australia’s most iconic musicians, including Paul Kelly who featured on their debut track.

The story of Flybz is long and complicated, but so worthwhile the pair often speak to high school classes about their past. A history lesson with a difference.

“Been to hell and back” The Belgians came to Ruana-Urundi (now respectively Rwanda and Burundi) and found two groups, the Hutu majority and the Tutsis, who comprised 15% of the population.

They regarded them as different ethnicities, introducing ID cards in the 1920s to show which tribe one belonged to.

They used the Tutsis in administrative positions, hoisting them as superior to the Hutu and long after the Belgians had given up their Imperialistic dreams, that belief of Tutsi superiority lingered. The hatred between the two groups was perceived as ancient.

Violence would frequently break out between the Hutu and Tutsis.

In 1993, in neighbouring Burundi, a year before the Rwandan Genocide, the Burundians voted in a man named Melchior Ndadaye.

He was Hutu and quickly appointed a Tutsi as an economist in his cabinet to quell any ideas of a Hutu-centric Parliament.

In October that year, Ndadaye was taken by Tutsis inside the Burundian military and murdered, along with three other members of his staff.

His death triggered mass killings, with 150,000 dying and 300,000 Hutu fleeing the country, some to neighbouring Rwanda.

Among them was Fablice Manirakiza (barely a toddler) and his family. His mother was a Hutu, and his father, a Tutsi.

“Many Burundians lost their lives,” said Fablice.

“Whoever could, ran away.

“So we became refugees in Rwanda for a couple of months, and then it didn’t take long until Rwanda was in action as well.”

On 6 April 1994, unknown forces shot down the plane of the Rwandan President, Juvénal Havyarimana (a man who took the presidency by throwing the previous incumbent in prison to starve to death).

Rwanda was bankrupt, and despite having enjoyed some economic prosperity with a healthy GDP in the ’60s, the country was now poor and overcome with refugees.

The violence in Burundi only convinced Rwandan Hutus that Tutsis sought to totally control Hutus in Africa. They began importing machetes and small arms into the country, hiding them in townships across Rwanda.

When Havyarimana’s plane crashed, killing everyone on board, Hutu military leaders took

13

14

@eloquent_dog

“The Burundian military would deprive Fablice and other boys his age of sleep and feed them drugs to get them addicted.” control and began the genocide of all Tutsis and any Hutu moderates across the country.

The New York Times called it an “uncontrollable spasm of lawlessness and terror”. But like the Holocaust, the Rwandan Genocide had actually been carefully planned and meticulously coordinated.

“In less than a month, one million people [had] died,” said Fablice.

His father, a Tutsi, was an instant target. So was his mother, a Hutu, who was an accomplice for loving a Tutsi man. The family fled back into Burundi despite the violence there and worked hard to get “back on track”.

However, when Fablice was eight years old, they were both murdered for the reasons mentioned above. “I was there,” he said. “You just want to forget about it sometimes. I wish that it never happened.”

As an orphan he found shelter and he began schooling for a few years, until he was taken by government forces when he was 11. Burundi was in a state of turmoil, made worse by chaos in its political circuit.

“They came into the school and [said], ‘Tall boys.

Let’s go.” Fablice was dragged into a truck to become a child soldier. He was 10.

“The Devil had his way” Child Soldiers International, a UK-based NGO, estimated during the 2000–2005 period, there were approximately 2500 child soldiers active in the Burundian government’s military.

Child soldiers are a common way for armed groups to boost and replenish their ranks. They are

easily brainwashed and naturally, as Fablice points out, have a lot of energy.

Orphans, like Fablice, are even better because no one comes looking for them.

Liberia’s warlord-cum-president Charles Taylor had been using them to fight off Liberians United for Reconciliation rebels on the other side of Africa.

And the Tamils grabbed orphans from refugee camps in the wake of the 2004 tsunami in Sri Lanka to help replenish their ranks.

The Burundian military would deprive Fablice and other boys his age of sleep and feed them drugs to get them addicted.

Fablice managed to escape after a while and lived with his sister in Burundi.

He was still addicted to drugs and would struggle to come off them long after escaping his tormentors.

He continued to do things like sniff petrol as a way to cope with his experiences.

He would soon join his other older sister, also a former child soldier. She had been raped by her cousin in a refugee camp and had given birth to Fablice’s nephew, Irahiza Jeanchrisostome, at 17 in a refugee camp in Tanzania.

When he was seven, Jeanchrisostome—who went by the name G-Storm—would secretly escape the camp (it was illegal to leave) and steal food from nearby homes. He would also sell marijuana to local police until he was eleven, using the money he made to buy food.

“You needed to become friends with the police,” he said. “Because if you were friends with police it would be hard for you to get in trouble.”

flybz

“Of a life with no childhood” At times, G-Storm’s mother would be arrested on false charges by police, who had been tipped off by people inside the camp with an agenda. Other times she would return to Burundi or visit other refugee camps.

One of the camp’s unspoken rules was that children were under the care of all the parents there, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that G-Storm’s mother left.

But he wouldn’t always get along with his ‘foster’ parents. At one point, G-Storm spent two weeks sleeping in a tree outside the camp waiting for his mother to return, eating rats and mud to stave off hunger.

“I was my own father and my own mother at the same time,” he said.

The family’s luck started to change in 2007. In late August, G-Storm’s mother attended a meeting with UN immigration officials at a refugee camp.

“It’s probably the one day that I will never forget in my life,” he said. The officials had given the family a green light, thanks to his mother’s strong lobbying, and would soon find them a country to settle in.

The family had to walk back to their own refugee camp along a road that cut through the jungle and was renowned to be dangerous. There were stories of bandits robbing and killing people on the road, taking their heads and then later selling them.

It started to rain heavily on the way back, and G-Storm’s mother had started to lag behind after talking to a friend. He waved his family on and decided to wait for her.

G-Storm knew he wouldn’t be able to protect his mother, but figured if it was someone he sold drugs too they may decide to leave the two alone.

No one came, they walked back safely but to G-Storm, as the rain started, it seemed like a sign.

“I found freedom in the land down under” The next month, the family immigrated to Australia.

“On the way when we were coming here, they told us how to say ‘No English’,” said G-Storm.

Both were extremely interested in rap. G-Storm found it a way to express himself, especially regarding his relationship with his real father.

“I feel music is someone I can talk to whenever I have problems,” he said. When he was six he had won an award at school in the camp for a rap he performed in Swahili.

In Australia, Fablice saw some of G-Storm’s work and said he liked it, but it needed some work. They decided to work together as Flybz.

If they were going to rap in Australia they would have to learn English, so they did, and fast. They listened to music, watched cartoons and read kids’ books. You wouldn’t be able to tell if you had spoken to them when they first arrived, they would have just said, “no English”.

Rap is a way of channelling what they’ve been through and it’s one of the most important things in their lives.

Fablice studies International Business at RMIT and the pair were recently the subject of an ABC documentary.

Hardened by their experiences, nothing really upsets them.

“You just learn to forgive people,” Fablice said and quoted Nietzsche, “what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”.

“For me, the things I’ve passed through in my life.

It’s too hard to get mad,” said G-Storm.

The two are set on living good lives now and their music is all about moving people.

As Paul Kelly sings in ‘Child Soldier’, the pair have “seen hell itself ” and are now crafting a much sweeter life for themselves in Australia.

15

catalyst

@denhamsadler

denham sadler

16

skin deep.

nostalgia

I used to duck under it when I washed my hands.

Sometimes I would close my eyes. It wasn’t for metaphorical reasons after committing an awful crime as a toddler and it wasn’t because of underlying vanity or superficiality. It was because I couldn’t stand to see just how bad it had gotten.

From a very young age I suffered from eczema.

For most, eczema is either an inconsequential joke, or a go-to phrase for any skin ailment that may befall them. For me, eczema was years of pain, discomfort, hospitalisations and awkward staring. For something that is commonly regarded as a joke, it can be a very serious and life-affecting issue: one that needs to be addressed more in general society. For most of my childhood I was itchy. As a young rascal I didn’t have much control over my impulses. So I scratched.

Eczema can be a debilitating problem, and for much of my childhood I was unable to wear shorts or short-sleeved shirts, both for comfort reasons and for fear of displaying my condition for all to see.

This proved especially problematic during the hot summer months at school. I got used to strange, almost fearful looks, especially during the earlier years. Nobody except for the bravest of kids would ask about my skin, which would sometimes resemble a bright-red bumpy desert, but most of them would stare.

During a particularly bad spell in year 11 that happened to coincide with a week-long Melbourne heatwave (where the days passed 40 degrees) I wore long pants and a long-sleeved white shirt underneath my school uniform. I was questioned about being dressed like an apiarist during these sweltering conditions. After the excuse of “Oh, I just lost my shorts” started to wear thin, I adopted the “Oh, I’m so sunburnt I can’t even show my skin to the cruel mother earth” line.

I became well-acquainted with all the various brands of creams and ointments: most proved only mildly soothing and not at all helpful in the long run.

We even ventured into experimental leaf treatment (at least that’s how 11-year-old me remembers it) and endured numerous news stories proclaiming to have apparently found the “ultimate cure” to eczema.

My family was always incredibly supportive, putting up with the traumatic ointment times and never once treating me as the disgusting outcast that I sometimes felt I was.

We tried a “wet dressing” technique, which basically involved mummifying me with ointment and wet bandages at nighttime, ensuring I wouldn’t scratch myself to pieces in my sleep. A valiant effort, but one that resulted in my lying awake at night.

Sometimes I tried to pretend I was a cool Egyptian mummy, but more often I was just resisting the urge to rip those damn bandages off and get that brief relief through scratching.

There were also the oil baths, where I stayed in a slimy bath for extended periods of time, often too

17

afraid to get out. This resulted in me resembling Betty White with much worse skin.

I eventually gained high priority status with my dermatologist: a useful perk that meant I could get an appointment pretty much whenever, while other commoners had to wait up to a year.

After being put on some serious big boy medication, I got to first name basis with the bloodtesting lady at my local clinic. Leaving school for a couple of hours and returning with a bit of tape on my elbow was a regular occurrence.

At the worst times, it was almost impossible to move my neck and other joints, so I would just curl up into a ball on the couch, trying to hide from the outside world.

With this came infection, and with infection came hospitalisation, sometimes for weeks on end. The nights spent in hospital were probably my darkest, covered in oily ointment, surrounded by children that were obviously much worse off than me. I didn’t feel like I belonged there. I was young, otherwise healthy, and after all, didn’t I just have a measly skin condition?

Around 3% of the population has eczema in some form or another, but it’s still regarded as a novelty: the butt of jokes or a way to describe a heat rash.

Children suffering it will continue to endure hurtful stares and comments until it is properly identified as a serious problem.

I’ve been virtually eczema free for about three years now. All I’ve got to show for these younger years are a few barely distinguishable scars and an ingrained ability to resist scratching mozzie bites.

I’ll always appreciate being able to get out of the shower and just put my clothes on without having to entirely cover my body with creams and subsequently ruin my clothes.

I’ll always appreciate being able to wear shorts and a T-shirt during summer, being able to wear the right uniform when playing sports, and being able to go to sleep without being turned into a mummy.

And I’ll never again be afraid to look in the mirror.

18

catalyst

the women of the gallows.

nostalgia

Between 1842 and 1924, 133 people were executed at the Old Melbourne Gaol,which once encompassed much of what is now RMIT University’s city campus. Of those sent to the gallows, only four were women. Allison Worrall writes about what led the women to their doomed fate.

Warning: graphic content In 19th century Victoria, execution was the mandatory sentence for murder. But after judges convicted killers, an executive council reviewed each case and decided whether the sentence would be carried out or commuted. Usually, hangings were reduced to a time in prison—especially in the case of women.

“My research says that if you’re a woman, you can expect to spend between one and 15 years in gaol for murder,” says Trevor Poultney, historian and tour guide at the Old Melbourne Gaol.

The gaol, located in the heart of the city centre and now part of the RMIT University city campus, was the site of 133 executions. Just four were women.

Their crimes were considered so heinous that a prison sentence was deemed too soft a punishment.

Elizabeth Scott At 13 years of age Elizabeth was married to Robert Scott, an older man in his forties. The couple ran an inn in Mansfield and started a family.

“I’ve got full sympathy for her,” says Poultney, who has worked at the Old Melbourne Gaol since 2000 and written several books about its history. “He was a drunk, he beat her—he was really nasty. They had five children, two of which survived. I would’ve killed him.”

Robert Scott was shot and killed one evening, while two men were in the Scotts’ house. It was alleged in court that one of the men, David Gedge, was Elizabeth’s secret lover. Alongside Gedge and coaccused Julian Cross, Elizabeth was convicted for the murder of her husband, despite not having been in the room when the deadly shot was fired. It was believed she helped organise the murder.

The media was unsympathetic—the local Beechworth newspaper called her “the female monster”. When her death sentence was pronounced after just 20 minutes of deliberation she showed no emotion. A Melbourne Herald reporter wrote: “There was no trembling of the limbs, no paleness of cheek or lip, no quiver of the eye and indeed no indication she was filled with dread…”

Elizabeth Scott became the first woman to be hanged in Victoria on 11 November 1863 alongside Gedge and Cross. It would be another three decades before another woman would face the gallows at the Melbourne Gaol.

Frances Knorr When her husband was sent to prison in 1892, Frances Knorr was left penniless. Times were tough in Melbourne, and Knorr became what was known as a baby farmer.

Baby farmers were paid to take babies from women who could not or would not look after them. They either raised the children or sold them to those who did want a baby.

“Well Frances Knorr short-circuited the system. She took the babies, got the money, killed the babies, buried them in the yard and moved around. So there were houses dotted around Melbourne with babies buried in the backyard,” says Poultney.

Knorr admitted to murdering two babies, but Poultney believes it was probably closer to 10.

Despite the nature of her crimes, the public was divided when she was sentenced to hang. “There hadn’t been a hanging of a woman in 30 years so it was big news. Everyone was talking about it,” says Poultney.

19

20

@allisonworrall

The hangman at the time was William Walker.

He was responsible for placing the noose around the neck and releasing the trapdoor. In the lead up to the execution, Walker was hassled about hanging a woman. Even his own wife threatened to leave him.

He arrived at the gaol two days before the hanging and committed suicide. Nevertheless, the hanging went ahead.

Knorr had reconciled herself with her fate during her time in prison and was strongly religious, according to Poultney. “She was okay about being hanged. But she was worried about one thing,” he says.

When prisoners were brought inside the gaol to be hanged, they were pinioned. This means their hands were tied behind their back so they couldn’t clasp at the noose and the knees were also tied together.

“For a woman, they would tie their knees together outside their long skirts, which went right down to the ground,” Poultney says.

Knorr was worried that when she fell through the

she got money every time they died. But she spent virtually every penny of that money on their graves and memorials.”

What begs belief is that Martha Needle was not arrested until after she poisoned and killed her new fiance’s brother because his family did not approve of the relationship. Needle never admitted to committing murder but the courts sentenced her to death. “The fiancé though believed her to the very end and stood by her until she was hung,” says Poultney.

Emma Williams It’s hard to compare the severity and awfulness of each of the women’s crimes. But the story of Emma Williams is as shocking as it is unbelievable.

Originally from Tasmania, Williams moved to Melbourne with her husband in the early 1890s.

He left her soon after and took their child with him before he died in November 1894. Williams then gave birth to another child.

“Knorr was worried that when she fell through the trap door, her skirt would fly up and the witnesses ... would see her ankles.” trap door, her skirt would fly up and the witnesses— who were all men—would see her ankles. “She didn’t want this to happen,” Poultney says. “So she petitioned the Governor and they put a pound of lead in the hem of her skirt and a drawstring. And the last thing [the hangman] did was bend down and draw the drawstring tight.”

Martha Needle “Now I think [the death of her daughter] was probably a natural death. But she reveled in the sympathy she got. She just loved it,” says Poultney.

“And when the casseroles stopped coming and people stopped saying ‘you poor thing’, she really missed it.”

Needle then poisoned her husband and two other children to “get that feeling back”, according to Poultney. “Now this is my theory but I’m absolutely sure it’s right. Because all of them were insured and

“She was a prostitute here in Melbourne at a time when life was really, really tough. She had a baby and it was one of those crying babies,” says Poultney.

There are differing accounts as to why Williams wanted to give her baby up but Poultney says it was because her pimp told her to. The baby was bad for business.

She carried the baby around Melbourne, visiting both institutions and individuals she knew pleading for someone to take her child. But everyone refused.

“So in desperation, she takes it down to the bay, rips a bit of lace off her petticoat, ties it around the baby and ties the other end around a big rock and biffs them into the bay. She murders her own child.”

But the body was quickly discovered and was instantly recognised because of her previous efforts to find another family to raise her child. Both Williams and her pimp were arrested and shoved into the Watchhouse at the Gaol site.

“While they were waiting to be interviewed, she

gallows

suddenly realised what a pickle she was in,” says Poultney. “And she ripped off the rest of that lace off her petticoat because she realised it was evidence.

And she shoves it up the chimney.” But her pimp was not prepared to pay for a crime he did not commit and dobbed her in. He was freed and she was sentenced to death.

In a last-bid attempt to avoid her sentence, Emma Williams said she was pregnant. “That means they can’t hang her because that would be taking two lives,” says Poultney. However, according to the law books at the time a woman could be hanged if a baby could not be felt moving in her stomach. At 27 years old, Emma Williams was hanged.

It was 1895, and would be the last execution of a woman at the site.

dig was being carried out on the university campus before the present Alumni Courtyard was to be put in, when a body was found. It was not close to other graves. And it is not known who the remains belonged to.

It is just one of a number of secrets hidden in the history of the gaol, and the grounds university students now walk upon every day.

“We’ll never know everything,” says Trevor Poultney. “You just keep picking up bits and pieces.”

Bits and pieces

“But her pimp was not prepared to pay for a crime he did not commit and dobbed her in. He was freed and she was sentenced to death.”

In 1875, a new law stated those who were hanged in the gaol had to be buried on gaol grounds. The four women were all buried on the Old Melbourne Gaol site, along with the other prisoners. Interestingly, Trevor Poultney believes the gravesite was located near where the popular Pearson and Murphy’s café is now.

The Gaol closed in 1924 and five years later, the land was designated for educational use. This meant the bodies could no longer remain on the land as the law specifically stated they had to be on the site of a gaol. “Plus, they didn’t want the kiddies playing on the graves,” adds Poultney. Much of the prison was demolished,and RMIT University was built in its place.

There were no headstones on the old gravesite and the bodies were never identified. A contractor dug up the graves with tractors, the bodies were put on a truck and were reburied in mass graves at Pentridge Prison in Coburg, where they were disinterred in 2008.

It’s not widely known that the last body didn’t leave the site of the gaol until 2002. An archaeological

21

22

catalyst

whatever happened to my rock ’n roll? alexander darling

nostalgia

“I fell in love with a sweet sensation I gave my heart to a simple cause I sold my soul to a new religion Whatever happened to you, rock and roll?”

—Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (2000) I was 13 when I first heard Slash’s opening riff on ‘Sweet Child of Mine’. I quickly googled Guns n Roses and found the five coolest-looking men I’d ever seen. I was hooked.

I liked everything about rock and roll. The riffs, the solos, the instruments, the musicianship, the attitude, the dress sense, the excesses, the swagger, the debauchery—the list goes on.

In the seven years since, my life at home has revolved around the spare room where I keep my electric guitar, and my bedroom, where I keep a guitar of the air variety and where my door has a mark on it from the number of times my dad’s banged on it telling me to turn it down.

Yep, for me, rock is where it’s at, and I’m always surprised more people don’t appreciate just how incredible my favourite music really is. Perhaps that makes me like any other music fan, but rock fans like myself, have a point of difference: our genre is under threat.

You know things are bad when there are statistics to prove it. Rock made up only 12% of the songs on Triple J’s Hottest 100 count in 2011, its lowest share ever. Only six years earlier, rock was commanding 40 of the 100 spots on the same list.

Meanwhile, rockers that are still pulling crowds today seem to be, without exception, those who started out in the glory days. According to Billboard, the five top earning rock acts in 2013 were Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, the Stones, Roger Waters (Pink Floyd) and Paul McCartney.

With the exception of Jon Bon Jovi, who’s 54 this year, all these acts are in their sixties, and nearing the end of their careers. The old guard is knocking on heaven’s door and it’s becoming ever harder to deny the doomsayers declaring that “rock is dead”.

This breaks my heart, obviously, but how did it come to this?

“Everywhere I go the kids wanna rock.” —Bryan Adams, 1986 Catherine Strong is not your average expert. As Australian Chair of the International Association for the Study of Popular Music, Strong has published articles on Kurt Cobain and the sociology of the Grunge movement of the early ’90s.

According to her, the popularity of rock music is linked to times of increased prosperity.

“The 1950s was that really sort of secure time economically, and that was when rock first appeared as Rock ‘n’ Roll,” she says. “At the same time the teenager—the main audience for rock at that time— was very much associated with a prosperous society.

Teens had money to spend for the first time, so they were the ones who were then seen as the group to target rock music to.”

Since the seventies, when rock reached it’s popularity pinnacle, Strong says there has been far less job security for people in the western world, especially young people, and current forms of popular music are reflecting that too.

“When rock starts to be seen as your parent’s music, then people develop interests in other genres which are seen to be about youth, like at the moment Hip Hop or Electronic Dance Music (EDM).”

Strong’s IASPM colleague and RMIT Music Industry lecturer Ed Montano attributes some of rock’s decline to the rise of music software programs, which are much easier to make music with than a conventional band of people.

“If you’re in a band, you’ve got to spend a few years learning your instrument, organise other people into a band and find places to play,” Montano says. “If you’re making EDM, you need the knowledge it takes to work the computer programs and you’re on your way. So maybe there’s a lack of interest in going

23

24

@darling_I_am

to all that effort to make rock music.

“This doesn’t necessarily mean EDM is better or will be any more popular than rock, but it will still influence people’s tastes.”

“The internet has destroyed rock.”

—Stevie Nicks (Fleetwood Mac) It’s easy to blame rock’s decline on the technology explosion and its ramifications on the music industry.

But Montano says factors such as illegal downloads and new online channels on which artists can publicise their music haven’t hit rock harder than other genres. Rather, it’s the indirect effect they have had on the biggest traditional supporters of the genre—the fans and the big record labels—that’s been the kicker.

“The industry doesn’t operate the way it used to, obviously. Before the days of the internet, if you were a band, you got signed to a major label, the label promoted you and you got on the radio.

“I don’t know whether you get major labels investing in band’s careers any more. I think there’s certainly an expectation that you’re an established act before they sign you, you very rarely get completely unknown bands getting signed by big labels these days.”

This, he says, has made it harder for start-up rock bands to break the mainstream market.

“You also don’t see long term fan engagement with bands on a mass scale anymore.

People tend to move on to new music a lot more quickly these days, and that’s why a lot of artists get thrown away after a few years.”

“Pop music often tells you everything is okay, Rock music tells you that’s it’s not okay, but you can change it.” —Bono Rock has also become hybridised with other genres over the years. An early example is Aerosmith’s ‘Walk this way’, a riff-heavy seventies rocker that was fused with Hip-Hop beats and vocal delivery when re-released by rap duo Run DMC in 1986.

Three decades on, Catherine Strong says it’s quite common to see elements of rock turn up in other genres, with Hip Hop being the biggest borrower of the freewheeling attitude, aggression and bad boy image traditionally associated with guitar music.

“For a long time, rock was the common language that everyone was speaking musically. But the tendency with music is that people will want to push the boundaries and react against what’s come before.

“So it’s sort of inevitable that you get people doing things that are oppositional to rock or that diverge from pure rock.”

With its most appealing features being increasingly outsourced to other genres, Ed Montano wonders if rock has anything left to offer the ever-evolving world of popular music.

“The last significant phase of rock was probably Grunge in the early nineties, or maybe Alternative a few years later. Will there ever be another? I don’t know. Maybe people just want different stuff ? I guess there’s only so far you can push a guitar, bass and drum kit. You can’t get an endless amount of variety out of that arrangement.”

“It’s a long way to the top if you wanna Rock ’n Roll” —ACDC, 1973 So what is the future for rock music and people playing in rock bands? Fearing the answer to this question, I asked it nonetheless of Gemma Bastiani, booker, writer, editor, band manager to Melbourne acts the Trotskies and Busy Kingdom and—it must be said—all-round cool gal.

To my relief, she told me not only are there bands still making careers out of rock music, but that the quality of the bands she’s seen is good enough to deserve wider success.

“It all comes down to the songs and the songwriting, it doesn’t matter what genre. Like there’s this local rock band Royston Vasie, they’re spectacular. And they’re working hard on their live shows and music and starting to move up and up,” Bastiani says.

“I mean, I can’t see them ever being the biggest band in the world, but I can see them touring the world and making a reasonable living off it.”

So what expectations do rock bands need to meet if they want to be successful in the 21st century?

Bastiani says rock music at its core is still about good songwriting and musicianship and that this still appeals to, and makes rock respectable to, a lot of people.

“Take the Black Keys: as much as their new album is pop-based, everything they’ve done up to this point is very rock, very blues, and they’ve gotten

rock ‘n roll

popular with that style in a very unfriendly time to be a rock band.

“I think to say that because you play rock it’s harder to create a fan base is unfair, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable for a rock band. Or people who want to start a rock band, to still aim for the top.”

“Hey hey, my my, Rock and Roll will never die ... Keep on rockin’ in the free world” —Neil Young, 1979 and 1989 So it looks like rock and roll isn’t dead after all, if Gemma Bastiani, Catherine Strong and Ed Montano’s (and Neil Young’s) words are anything to go by.

Montano, who also researches EDM and DJ culture, spoke of his time in the UK in the late ’90s.

“The scene then was very ‘DJs are the future’ and ‘no one will want to play guitar any more’. Then two or three years later rock bands like the Strokes and Jet and Bloc Party got big, rock came back and dance died off a little bit.

“But then look at dance now. I think based on that trend rock will come around again.”

Strong thought it was “interesting” I mentioned rock being in decline, and elaborated on Montano’s point that rock’s popularity comes in cycles.

“You’ll go through a period where people will want to move away from or shake up the classic formulation. Then you go through a period of nostalgia where everyone wants to revisit it really unambiguously—like we want to sound like Led Zeppelin of Black Sabbath.

“I suspect what we’re seeing at the moment is a backlash against that revival that happened with Jet and the Strokes, but I wouldn’t say that’s the end of the story. The next cycle will come and it’ll just keep going round and round.”

Ultimately, it was Gemma Bastiani who reassured me that rock—because it has created so many offshoot genres and is constantly revived—will always be part of popular music.

“Every musician that I’ve ever known, even the ones creating electronic music, started out listening to rock and learning those riffs on guitar. So even if we see even fewer really popular rock bands in the future, rock will still be relevant and still influence what’s going on in music.”

25

26

catalyst

a government funded sing-a-long.

nostalgia

The Victorian Government spends millions of dollars advertising big budget musicals—but who, if anyone actually watches it? Catalyst’s own Richard Ferguson takes a look at the musical machine behind the mask.

Exhibition and Collins are hardly Broadway but it appears of late that Melbourne is trying its darndest to become the musical capital of Australia. More than halfway through the theatre year, we’ve seen a string of big budget musicals straight from the New York stage.

The opening nights have been opulent and selfindulgent and frankly fabulous. None more so than the recent opening of Les Miserables in June of this year. Apart from the z-list celebrities, the Josh Thomases and Rhonda Birchmores, the night was dotted with Liberal MPs. Sitting in row G, on the opening night, I found myself sandwiched between the Minister for Tourism Louise Asher and the Minister for the Arts Heidi Victoria. In front of me sat the Premier and Lady Napthine. And in the corner of my eye–most glorious of all–I saw the Speaker of the House of Representatives Bronwyn Bishop wearing a fur coat I swear was still alive..

And they’ve been spotted throughout the year.

From King Kong to The King and I, the members of the Liberal Party and the Napthine Cabinet in particular have been ensuring their massive role in bringing Broadway to Melbourne has been noticed.

Especially in comparison to their Sydney rivals.

The New South Wales minister George Souris told The Age’s Sonia Harford the Victorian Government were offering a “substantial sum” to the producers of Les Miserables to get the show to Melbourne.

And what an offer it was —$51 million according to TimeOut performing arts editor Andrew Fuhrmann.

Add this to The Age’s reports on the massive subsidies the Government put into the recent production of King Kong The Musical, and we see a government willing to dig deep into its pockets in order to woo tourists and locals alike with the songs and the spectacle.

Whatever the cost, Arts Minister Heidi Victoria believes the government and the state will reap the rewards. “While many of the shows themselves have come direct from Broadway or the West End, these productions are created in Australia providing a wealth of opportunities,” she said.

Looking at the figures, it’s clear what’s Victoria song and dance. The Government has claimed the state has benefited enormously from this kind of event theatre with a whopping $475 million into the Victorian economy. Wicked—the musical retelling of the Witches of Oz—made $126 million on its own during its first run from 2006-2010.

“Victoria is home to stunning theatres and audiences hungry for more. I hope we keep growing, bringing more of the best theatre from around the world to our state,” Ms Victoria said.

The love of Broadway seems to be bipartisan. It was Steve Bracks’ Labor Government who started the massive push for international musical theatre when they brought first brought Wicked to Collins St. At the time, Mr Bracks told The Australian it was, “a real testament to the strength of Melbourne’s reputation as the theatre capital of Australia”.

Despite the cross-parliamentary love for these big, bright and very commercial productions, there are critics.

Andrew Fuhrmann is a performing arts critic with TimeOut Melbourne and The Daily Review. He’s been critical of the government’s focus on commercial musical theatre, saying the money is falling into the hands of international theatre corporations rather than in the pockets of Victorians. Most notably Cameron Macintosh, the world-famous producer of hits such as Cats, Oliver! and now Les Miserables.

“Cameron Macintosh isn’t coming here because as he says ‘Melbourne is the cultural capital of Australia’. Nobody believes that, it’s because of $51

27

28

@RichAFerg

“What we need in this state is more money for things like the VCA (Victorian College of the Arts).” million they are reportedly giving him,” he said.

“What they’re getting from that money is just PR from Cameron Macinstosh. That’s it. What we need in this state is more money for things like the VCA (Victorian College of the Arts). “”The Mary Poppins situation where they’re all international performers – bar some local performers who are left behind when the show heads to Sydney – isn’t the best investment for Melbourne,” Mr Fuhrmann said.

These words ring true in a very difficult time for the rest of Melbourne’s arts scene. The Federal Government’s 2014/15 Budget was devastating to an under-funded theatre community. The Australia Council—the government’s arts funding body— experienced overall cuts of $30 million and CEO Tony Grybowski told the ABC he worried about the small and medium theatre companies like La Mama and Theatreworks that make up Melbourne’s theatre scene.

“The major companies are being fully supported by both state and the federal governments and the problem is that those least able to bear the impact of cuts, the small to medium arts companies and individual practitioners, are bearing all the impact.” Mr Grybowski said.

To spend so much money on international companies manned by international performers when local theatre-makers are struggling as a direct action of government policy is a bridge too far so some members of the theatre community. Mr Fuhrmann said the focus should be on improving and empowering local theatre and local artists who have repeatedly shown their talent and their ability to engage audiences at home and abroad.

One exception to the rule is King Kong, an original Australian production written, managed and performed by Melbournians. And a massive

sing-a-long

success to boot. Mr Fuhrmann admits King Kong is an example of what commercial theatre can achieve for the local arts scene. But he’s not too confident about its chances in New York.

“They haven’t found a theatre yet. We’ll see,” he said.

Opinion may be divided over whether governments should bank-roll commercial theatre.

Yet, the consequences of government pulling the red carpet from under commercial theatre are clear.

In the early twentieth century, commercial theatre was dominated by the company J.C. Williamson.

This legendary company brought classic hits like My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music to Australian audiences but by the 1970s, musical theatre was in a creative freefall.

Tim Mitchell—now executive producer of ABC staple Gardening Australia—was the heir to the theatre company before it collapsed because of a lack of government support despite the best efforts of his father (and managing director of J.C. Williamson at the time) Alistair Mitchell.

“My father was managing director in 1973 and he went to the Government of the day and sought some help from [Gough] Whitlam. And the answer came back from Whitlam that the Government wouldn’t fund commercial theatre in Australia.

“They tried for a couple of years after but it just got too much,” he said.

Whitlam’s refusal to help saw the death of an 100-year-old theatre behemoth and a depression in commercial theatre that would last far into the late 1980s. But Tim Mitchell doesn’t begrudge Whitlam for not backing his father.

“It was a crisis of theatre itself—the shows were awful—and the company didn’t have the money to sustain it through. And I’m not sure it was the government’s role to support them,” he said.

The musical theatre landscape is radically different to the one J.C. Williamson dominated 50 years ago.

Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Macintosh brought a blockbuster mentality to musical theatre in the 1990s which enraptured audiences. And the past few years have seen innovation in the area.

Culminating in the Disney stage shows such as The Lion King and Mary Poppins.

Satire in particular finding a voice in The Book of Mormon and Avenue Q. And Australians have done well in the art, most notably WA star Tim Minchin’s stage version of Roald Dahl’s Matilda. It should be said Melbourne hasn’t really seen this particular side of the musical genre of late, sticking to the family classics.

When travellers from afar and locals coming back home drive away from Tullamarine, they are met with huge posters of the musical treats in the city centre. The Victorian Government has dipped into the coffers to ensure all who enter this city associate it with the glamour and the fireworks and the razzle dazzle of Broadway. Even if the rest of the arts are being left behind.

“It’s a different attitude. It’s now seen as event theatre and good for the economy,” Mr Mitchell said.

A very different attitude than his family’s company took long ago.

“It used to be just a show,” he said. Well, it’s a show Heidi Victoria and the State Government is willing to watch again and again.

29

CULTURE

catalyst

chris gooch

32

Castle (1)

chris-gooch.tumblr.com

Castle (2)

33 art

34

catalyst

#NoRegrets Regret is that nauseating knot you get in your stomach when you think of the ‘could of, should have and would ofs’. Far from being pleasant, regret can plague you and weigh you down for anything on the spectrum from drunk-dialling your ex to making terrible life choices. We turned the spotlight on students of RMIT to ask them the brutal question: what do you regret?

words by DANI LEEVER photos by BILLY GIBNEY

culture

MICHAEL, CIVIL ENGINEERING, YEAR FOUR

Everyone has a drive, right? Like this motion that’s guiding them. Most people fail to follow it. I’ve done that in the past. Just not living to the fullest. In this society you have to be a part of it, even though there’s limits. You just have to live by your heart and your desires.

KEVIN, COMMUNICATION DESIGN, YEAR TWO Oh I don’t know… I regret buying oversized stuff that I never wear. I spend $35 on an oversized coat from Salvos that I’ll probably never wear because it’s just too big. So I regret that. Where else could that $35 could have gone? I should have spent it on karaoke.

SHANNON, MEDIA, YEAR TWO Well, I have a Twitter account called TeamJoelMadden that I made when I was about 15, and because of that, him and The Voice know me. I got this thing through Vodafone to go up there for the Grand Final and be like a social reporter. At the Meet and Greet, I regret not talking to Joel Madden ’coz I was way too scared and nervous. I just hugged him and that’s it, I didn’t say anything!

36

TIM, INDUSTRIAL DESIGN, YEAR ONE Not dedicating myself 100% to things I should have. Like various sports. I used to do cross country running at quite a high level. I wish I had given it my all when I had the chance.

AMELIA, APPLIED BUSINESS AND MARKETING, YEAR TWO Screwing up Year 12. I regret not studying as hard as I could have. So I had to go to a bad university before RMIT, which has made me older than I should be in second year consequently. It just made me waste time, so it’s a big regret in life.

catalyst

TITO, JOURNALISM LECTURER AND

My biggest regret is not continuing with my piano lessons when I was a kid. It’s such a beautiful thing, I’ve always loved music and it’s a big part of me. Whenever I look at a piano I just get this regret that I can’t just play it. I was pretty good actually! My teachers said I was talented, but I just didn’t have the discipline.

37

culture

HAYDEN, COMMUNICATION DESIGN, YEAR THREE I wish I wore a warmer jumper today. That’s it? So you don’t have any other regrets in life?

Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I like to live with no regrets.

AMANDA, COMMUNICATION DESIGN, YEAR TWO My biggest life regret… Well I was at my cousin’s wedding and I decided to have the prawn salad (I’m allergic to prawns) and my lips swelled up and I had to take a family photo...

SEB, ADVERTISING, YEAR ONE Probably going out with three girls for a year each and wasting the period of 15-19 years old. Having those girlfriends is a bit of a regret… But I’m over that now! They were cool girls, I just regret wasting my precious youth on them. What do you do now? Sit at home and play Xbox. No regrets there.

38

art

Catalyst is proud to bring you the works of Melbourne-based photographer, Lani Holmberg.

Lani is currently completing her third year of a Bachelor of Arts (Photography) at RMIT, and has exhibited in Sydney through Tap and Brenda May Galleries respectively. Additionally, Lani’s socially-conscious work has brought her to TEDx, The Hoopla, and the Danish School of Media and Journalism.

Hailing from rural northern Victoria, her commission for Catalyst’s ‘Nostalgia’ issue is quite apt.

These images are intimate yet distant, as Holmberg’s portraiture displays the subjectivity of her subjects in full force, and yet are situated in such a foreign context. To some this may feel like a pastiche of Americana (albeit with a distinctly Australian flavour), with the almost rodeo-like nature of these images challenging the viewer’s sense of place. But of course, what’s represented here eschews a subtle approach to Australian nationalism, much like our best friend in North America.

Holmberg associates this series with her early adolescence, as a churning tummy fuelled by misguided show ‘food’ (we use the term ‘food’ very loosely here) being one of her first tastes of independence. Between the ages of 12 and 13 she would be given her own money to head along to rural agricultural shows, which she says were “sometimes best left as memories”.

In late 2013, the Kerang and Shepparton

Agricultural Shows brought Holmberg back to shoot a portrait series. This set makes it clear that Holmberg invests in the art of documentary photography, herself stating: “Real people, places and stories inspire Lani to tell stories with a heartbeat that evoke empathy that reminds us of individuals behind stereotypes.”

While the sheer volume of images produced by a visually literate public may dilute the idea of the documentary photographer, Holmberg’s work just goes on to demonstrate the care that underpins her chosen medium. And the idea of the ‘stereotype’ is incredibly fitting here, given the multitude of stereotypes surrounding ‘carnies’ perpetuated by pop culture and common misconceptions. Now, if the first thing that pops into your head about agricultural shows is that of overpriced food, rickety rides, and a lax attitude to one’s duty of care, than you wouldn’t be too far off Holmberg’s assessment of going back: “I wanted to do a portrait series of show people, but there was such a gap between my fond memories of the show growing up and what I found that I decided to focus on the silliness of the whole thing.”

After all, nostalgia is sometimes bittersweet.

Lani’s drive to tell stories is a central tenet of any budding communications student is one of many reasons why we’re pleased to showcase her work this issue. As with all of our talented artists we’ve featured, please send your money and love to yet another RMIT creative who is doing great things.

laniholmberg.com

lani holmberg

Foreword by Alan Weedon

40

41

42

43

44

catalyst

forget the raquet, I’m here to make a racket Around the time of this year’s Australian Open, David Claridad dons his ‘tennis gear’. His blowy shirt from Wimbledon allows maximum sweat in the heat, his shorts showcasing cross-trained calves beaming in the sun, and runners that were beginning to show wear and tear. @lamedavid

nostalgia

Of course, any casual observer can see I’m far removed from the ATP circuit, even with my Völkl tennis bag slung over my shoulder like an everyday Boris Becker. Upon closer inspection, my shirt is an over-sized tie-dye from the counterculture Carnaby St when smoking paraphernalia was something to aim for. My shorts are too short to carry any tennis balls in my pocket. And my runners (Volleys) were a last-minute purchase, when I noticed only a day before last year’s Colour Run that maybe I haven’t had runners for the past five years.

I miss half my shots as I swing like a child with its doll. I get frustrated and throw a kid-like tantrum as if I’m John McEnroe. Instead of angling it at contested line judgements from umpires or un-sportsmanship behaviour, I’m frustrated when remembering just how good I remember being, almost yelling “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” at a former self.

But then there are a handful of shots that land which just quietens me. Seeing the ball spin into an outright winner, I get nostalgic about playing competitively. There’s more nostalgia for the casual hit with my older brother on a Sunday afternoon.

And tomorrow, when parts of myself ache that I have forgotten could actually ache, I will be nostalgic for a younger me.

That’s been the story for a while. In fact, in roughly half a decade I had managed to swap groundstrokes and net approaches for a life of excess and coming home under the morning sun. “Forget the racquet, I’m here to make a racket,” I probably rationalised to myself as I bought my first pack of smokes in 2007 on my 18th birthday, swapping the habit of tennis lessons on a Friday night for one of smoker’s cough and misguided puns. Cue the bongs and dopiness, shots and hangovers, late nights/early mornings and breakfasts in the afternoon.

Fast forward through that haze and, again, I’m in bed, sore from a friendly indoor cricket match with work colleagues. I spend less than 10 minutes running and swinging the bat like The Don on his porch threatening the local youths with exhausting vigour. I begrudgingly get to work to see my fellow cricket players—at least 10-30 years older than me—are fit as a fiddle. “Okay, I’m unfit but I used to be fit,” I swat back at them like it means something.

But, really, there’s an element of truth to my lame comeback, however tenuous or stretched it may be.

My dad did force me onto the court at five years old—that’s a full year of development more than Nick Kyrgios (amazing, right?). Three years later, I was the youngest at the Vermont South tennis club to play competitively. I did cry in year 7 at tennis tryouts because I was better than those schlubs holding their racquet like fry pans. By year 12, I had ascended to the number one spot (for the second

45

best team, and lost most of my games but that’s beside the point).

I even remember that day I wore shorts that looked like Andre Agassi’s which might’ve pushed me to ace and smash my opponent off the court in a golden set in this sport of kings—and all to my dad’s delight.

My tennis prowess came with general fitness too which helped in other places. I could chase the soccer ball for 90 minutes without puffing myself out. I could ride my bike from Burwood to the city and back and still do more that evening. I could match the sporty ones in my year level during PE classes to their dumbfounded looks as if to say “But, but, wha-a-a-at?” like the team playing the Mighty Ducks at the end of any of those films when victory was a shoo-in at halftime.

I was young and literally unstoppable, not a body of pain the next day ever.

Today you can find me in my bedroom with the blinds turned, curtains drawn and door shut. I’m (still) wearing pseudo-exercise gear, but this time I’m keeping up with my instructor Kelly from the Fitness Blender YouTube series as she leads me through 30 minutes of burpees, ventral jacks and plank slap routines. I sweat everywhere and profusely when Kelly doesn’t. My movements are betrayed by my body and its university days, lacking a finesse where Kelly’s are majestic. I almost dry heave 15 minutes in during bicycle crunches and again doing a side leg raise and crunch at the 25-minute mark. I swear out loud like there’s no tomorrow—or at least not one without sore obliques and abdominals.

How will I cope when I make my futsal season debut soon?

46

catalyst

be kind, rewind Won’t somebody please think of the children?! Those of us born in the ’80s and the ’90s undoubtedly have fond memories of sitting in front of the television, despite being told our eyes would go square. Alicia Barker reminisces on five of the best kids’ shows she watched growing up. @alicialbarker

nostalgia

Arthur (1996 – present): The longest-running children’s animated series in the US, this PBS cartoon follows 8-year-old anthropomorphic aardvark Arthur Read, and his Elwood Elementary classmates, as they learn important life lessons and pretty much just live the good life. Not only does this show have one of the catchiest themes ever, courtesy of reggae royalty Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers, Arthur actually manages to tackle issues like cultural diversity, dyslexia, cancer and the importance of reading, all without being preachy or condescending. The characters, like Arthur’s troublemaking little sister, DW, spoilt rich kid, Muffy, and Arthur’s rabbit bestie, Buster, are so loveable and will always have a special place in my heart. Who can forget the song ‘Having fun isn’t hard when you’ve got a library card’ or when the Backstreet Boys guest starred in an episode? What a wonderful kind of day, indeed.

Daria (1997-2001): The ’90s really excelled at cartoons, and this spin off of Beavis and Butt-head perfectly captured everything great—and everything that sucked—about the era. Daria Morgendorffer is a misanthropic but highly intelligent teenager, whose acerbic wit and dark sense of humour sets her up as the straight woman to her ridiculous, stereotypical but often loveable family and classmates at Lawndale High.

Daria’s monotonous voice and indifference is symbolic of a generation that was disenfranchised by big corporations trying to make a buck off teen culture—ironically the series first appeared on MTV— and the show was not afraid to poke fun at alternative culture either. Creator Glenn Eichler said in an interview “the basic tenet of the Tao of Daria is that life is not fair”, and in a world where most shows for younger audiences would have you believe the opposite, Daria is—and was—refreshing.

Round the Twist (1989-2001): Can we talk about the brilliance of this cult classic? The first two series of the show were based on short stories

by Paul Jennings, an English-born Australian children’s author, whose fantastic imagination gave the program its spark. The show, filmed around Aireys Inlet, Victoria, tells the story of the Twist siblings Pete, Linda and Bronson, who live in a lighthouse with their affable but slightly pathetic father, Tony. I’d be willing to bet that there has never been a kid’s show that got away with so many bizarre, fucked-up storylines. One episode sees youngest son Bronson eat a rare whirling derfish, resulting in his, erm…you know… spinning like a propeller, allowing him to become a human outboard motor known as “The Port Niranda Porpoise”. In the The Big Burp, girl-crazy Pete takes a piss on a tree, falls in love with tree-spirit, Jeannie, only to find out she has impregnated him with her dryad spawn. If you want to know how the baby is born, take another look at the episode title.

Rugrats (1991-2004): Nickelodeon produced some of its finest cartoons in the 1990s and Rugrats is no exception. Who can forget the antics of Tommy, Chuckie, Phil and Lil, not to mention the aptly named Angelica; the tyrannical, bullying ‘big kid’ cousin of Tommy, whose schemes got the Rugrats into all kinds of strife. Rugrats also had, at least at the time, the rare quality of appealing to adults and kids; I have fond memories of my dad sitting down to watch with my sister and I, and laughing at all the jokes thrown in for older audiences; who doesn’t love jokes about tax and “male bonding”? To these toddlers, the world is as mysterious and as full of wonder as it was to the kids watching the show. The Rugrats movies were great too, and introduced Tommy’s cute little brother, Dill, but the spin-off Rugrats: All Growed Up was questionable at best. Stick to the original, guys.

Art Attack (1990-2007): I’m sure if you asked some of the artists who’ve been featured in Catalyst what first inspired them to be creative, Art Attack would be a major influence to many of them. Host Neil Buchanan, like many other frustrated artistes, was rejected from Liverpool Arts School, but went on bring many kids the joys of projects such as ‘paint on a plate’. Take that, art school snobs! I remember playing the Art Attack video game at home—I think my parents bought it because they were sick of the house being covered in paint and glitter—and it was just as amazing as the show. Neil Buchanan’s voice was really soothing for some reason—must have been the Scouse accent—and even though watching Art Attack never really brought out the latent artistic genius in me, I got to watch Buchanan make ‘papier mache balloon trousers’, which is infinitely better in my books.

47

48

catalyst

feel good hit of the summer.

For the first time in over 20 years, Big Day Out won’t be a part of next summer. Jade Bate remembers one of Australia’s most popular and long-lasting festivals. @jadebate

nostalgia

It was 1992. Every suburban teenager who dreamt of escaping their mundane hometown and becoming a rock star had only one band blasting in their ears: Nirvana. Before they were famous, before Nevermind became a part of rock legend; Kurt, Dave and that other dude (Kirst) made their live Australian debut at a brand new music festival held at Sydney’s Hordern Pavilion. Regular suburban kids were able to bask in the glory of their rock saviours for the first—and only time. Although only a handful of acts played the first Big Day Out, it was such a success that in 1993 it expanded to four capital cities. The Big Day Out was christened that summer and it would change the Australian music festival scene forever. Or at least that’s what legend states.

Fast-forward 22 years to the Big Day Out 2014.

I’m standing in the middle of a rambunctious crowd of sweaty, sunburnt, sombrero and singlet wearing bogans waiting to watch Perth psych-rock gods Tame Impala take to the orange stage at Flemington Racecourse. Melbourne’s infamously unpredictable weather meant that the morning was greeted with a huge downpour followed by an afternoon of sweltering sun. But in typical Aussie style, none of the punters that day seemed to care.

Honestly, the main reason I was at the Big Day Out was to finally see my favourite band in the flesh. As soon as Arcade Fire were announced as coheadliners with Pearl Jam and Blur I was handing over my money to anyone who would give me a ticket. As expected, they were extraordinary, and their 90-minute set has become one of my most beloved memories. I was incredibly lucky to see my musical heroes in real life; it was a life-changing experience to say the least and the closest thing to a religious epiphany if I’m exaggerating just a little.

They closed their set with a rousing rendition of Wake Up and I was unashamedly brought to tears.

It was then I realised that this is what thousands of other people had done over the Big Day Out’s 22 years. They had formed emotional connections and memories through the music they experienced on that one-day, every year. This was the festival’s legacy.

2014 was my first Big Day Out, and unfortunately, it may have also been my last. Over the past year, the legendary festival has been in and out of the news for all the wrong reasons. In September 2013 the announcement came that the festival’s primary ownership was being handed over from co-founder Ken West to veteran music promoter, AJ Maddah.

Then came the news that co-headliners Blur were pulling out of the 2014 festival, only eight weeks before it was due to begin. Luckily organisers were able to score three bands—The Hives, Beady Eye and Deftones—to replace Blur at very short notice, but the damage to the Big Day Out brand had already been done.

With the revelation of poor ticket sales and the discontinuation of the Perth leg of the tour, many

49

were left sceptical about Maddah’s devotion to the legendary festival. Sure enough, on 25 June it was revealed by Music Feeds that Maddah had stepped down as the festival’s director and sold the remainder of his shares to American company C3 Presents, leaving them to become the sole owners of the Aussie institution. The day after, C3 Presents put out a statement saying that the Big Day Out would not go ahead in 2015, but they intend to “bring back the festival in future years”. This announcement understandably left many people in an utter state of shock. The Big Day Out, as they knew it, was dead.

However, with the state of Australian music festivals and their constant cancelations, perhaps you could see it coming. With Harvest, Parklife and Homebake all facing sudden deaths over the last few years, it seems to be the way of the festival industry nowadays: quick lived and loved, with little legacy to leave behind. Perhaps the main cause of shock for most was that the Big Day Out seemed invincible.

Of course the festival has had its due amount of controversies over the years and moments of bad press that organisers would rather forget: the Rage Against the Machine riot, drug busts, a postCronulla flag ban in 2007 and tragically one moshpit death in 2001. But somehow it always recovered after all the controversies and still drew crowds. Not to mention it was also a monumental icon Australian music, allowing up-and-coming bands the chance to get their names in lights and gain legions of fans.

The Big Day Out at one point also seemed to be the major draw card for huge international acts to make the long trip down under. The Ramones, Sonic Youth, Björk, the White Stripes, Queens of the Stone Age, New Order, Kanye West, the Strokes; past Big Day Out headliners read like a who’s-who of influential and game-changing musicians. But without a festival like the Big Day Out backing them, many international artists will find it difficult to make the trip to Australia in the future, and this may be the real damage done by the festival’s cancellation.

The real question on everyone’s minds, however, is whether there’s still the possibility of the Big Day Out returning in years to come. Many, like myself, are hoping the “BDO” will see the light of day again, but some may feel like it’s had its time. Perhaps after all this drama, bringing the Big Day Out back in the future may cause lasting damage to the legacy it holds within Australian music history. There will never be another Big Day Out 1992 and nor should there be. For devoted music fans the memories made at Big Day Outs over the years will be everlasting, and perhaps that’s good enough.

50

catalyst

between adelaide and melbourne South Australia is the only place in the world where a milk drink outsells Coca-Cola. It’s been three years since Sarah Maunder moved to Melbourne, and she still suffers from Farmers Union Feel Good Coffee withdrawals.

The pitfully small flavoured-milk section at the local Coles is still a cause for anxiety. @s_maunder

nostalgia

I grew up in Adelaide, the City of Churches, in a southern beachside suburb called Hallett Cove. My entire life existed in those southern ’burbs.

When I turned 18, I got a job working at a cinema, and I spent three years there figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. I got into movies for free, and after shifts I would have cocktails at the dodgy Marion nightclub, New York Bar and Grill.

My mum was a Melbourne local, born and bred in Coburg. Dad was a New Zealand expat. My parents met each other at a party here. I was born at the Panche hospital, and six months after I was born, my dad relocated us to Adelaide. They resettled in a rather oddly named suburb in the south called Happy Valley. Mum hated Adelaide at first. She says the lack of trams and all the trees seemed kinda ‘fruity’, but I think it was the name of Happy Valley that was really putting her off. Twenty-five years later and my parents can’t imagine living anywhere else. My dad still boasts that Adelaide is the best city he’s ever been to, and he’s generally the oracle on this sort of thing—having lived in Canada, Switzerland, New Zealand and Australia.

Adelaide wasn’t quite the same for me. I was 13 when I first realised I didn’t want to live in Adelaide forever. I was determined to get out, to live my life in a bigger city.

I chose to move to Melbourne when I was 22 for a few reasons. The short, hour-long plane trip back to Adelaide being the most appealing of course. Familiarity also had something to do with it; I had been to Melbourne quite a few times before. Although it did little the first time I went into the CBD to meet a friend: I spent hours lost inside Melbourne Central, couldn’t figure out where Bourke Street was, and told a German tourist I “didn’t know” where Swanston Street was, not realising I was actually standing on it.

I left Adelaide in a bit of a hurry. I received a call from RMIT saying I had gotten through to the interview phase of my application, so I cancelled my goodbye party and jumped on a plane two days later. Everything happened so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to realise what leaving Adelaide could mean.

There are three types of Adelaidians: those that want to get out, those that fiercely defend it, and those that are just blissfully happy and don’t care where they live. Adelaide expats are viewed by some Adelaidians with contempt. We failed Adelaide, left it behind to go be great somewhere else. We didn’t realise what we had, and by leaving we basically said ‘fuck you’ to the greatest city in the world.

I’ve met a lot of country kids that ‘left behind’ their hometown to move to Melbourne. It’s obvious why they did. Their hometowns are small, most of them barely with populations in the thousands,

51

hours to travel anywhere and limited opportunities.

They needed to come to Melbourne.

The reasons Adelaidians get so worked up over expats is because no one needs to leave Adelaide.

Adelaide has everything: wine, festivals, a fantastic music scene, great universities, community radio stations, world-class coffee, great shopping and beautiful beaches. Adelaide has a fourth of the population of Melbourne, so wandering around the CBD is actually a relaxing experience, rather than a fight to the death. The public transport is shoddy, but everyone drives so it doesn’t matter. Traffic jams will only make you five minutes late, rather than 30, and there’s nothing that quite compares to eating chips and gravy at the 24-hour Vili’s bakery on South Rd. In 2009 I came to Melbourne for the now debunked V Festival. My friends and I went to Crown Casino (like all Adelaidians do) and in a slightly drunken daze I sat on a bench overlooking the Yarra River.

Melbourne was breathtakingly large and exciting—I knew then I would come to study here.

My friends all exclaimed “we lost another one!” when I left, and this was an oddly proud moment for me, but I quickly suffered from anti-Melbourne jibes.

“Melbourne’s too busy, I don’t like it”, “Melbourne kinda smells right?” and “we now have Krispy Kreme in Adelaide! Just another reason not to visit Melbourne!” being the most recent. These comments hurt, and I feel a stab of guilt for my beautiful little city. Guilt for leaving and guilt for the way I’ve fallen in love with Melbourne. But most of all, I feel guilty for thinking so badly of Adelaide for so long, for craving to get out.

I now feel I belong to two cities. Once, I could never see myself ever living in Adelaide again, but now I would be happy to live and work there. The same way I’m more than happy to live and work in Melbourne.

Unfortunately, the animosity between the two cities may mean I might struggle to leave or come back.

Melburnians sometimes laugh over the thought of Adelaide. “There’s nothing there,” they say. While Adelaidians furiously come back with the ever classic, “Let’s kick a Vic!” Adelaide, Melbourne: it’s the time the two of you stopped competing. Neither city is better than the other. Melbourne, you’re a bustling metropolis and cool alleyways will never stop being your thing. And Adelaide, you’re too cool to care anymore (let’s just not tell those Adelaidians that no-one in Melbourne actually eats Krispy Kreme anymore).

52

catalyst

cold comfort Don’t you miss the Cold War? The days of Russia and the USA being shitty with each other, using other countries as chess pieces? Samantha Winnicki brings us back to a time where passive agression didn’t just translate in emails... @winnickis

nostalgia

And hey, that whole “threat of nuclear war” thing is totally in the past. Also, hippies and smoking weed, that like, totally doesn’t even happen anymore. If you pay any attention to the news, you’ll be keenly aware that Russia’s Vladimir “Sexy With His Shirt Off ” Putin likely hates Obama, the general Free World and anything associated with Majestic Eagles.

Also there’s the whole Ukraine deal. Poor Ukraine will never rid itself of the “Russia uses me whenever they need a pawn” title.

“Why are you talking about the Cold War? That was so decades ago” I hear you say that. But I would also like to point to the fact that researchers, historians, journalists, people with a finger on the pulse have all called it: there’s going to be a second Cold War. Cold War II, if you like.

I have thus taken it upon myself to explain how they have come to this conclusion and what to expect.

Other than the academics, Beyonce called it.

Rosie the Riveter, though it may not sound immediately familiar, is one of the most popular images from World War II. Remember the poster of a woman looking pretty tough, with a speech bubble coming out of her mouth saying “we can do it!”? What might sound a little more familiar is Beyonce replicating this photo on her Instagram in July. Some might argue that Beyonce, the icon for a post-feminist society, actually just posted that to be let everyone know that they can do it!

But my thinking is this: The Rosie the Riveter poster was published in 1943, two years before the beginning of the Cold War. The year is currently 2014, and if history has a penchant for repeating itself, it’s totally obvious that Beyonce is clued up and (along with all the other experts) has realised that Cold War II is two years away.

I like to think that academic types started thinking about it more because of Beyonce, but that is so not true. I sit in wait for the day that Instagram becomes influential enough to predict world conflicts.

Ukraine keeps getting its lunch (aka “democracy”) stolen.

If the world was a playground, Russia and the USA would be the two rich kids from opposite sides of town who, because they have a tough home life, go around being a dick to everyone else. In this scenario, Ukraine is a weedy kid who has nice lunches.

Ukraine has been unlucky enough to be birthed out of Russia, then have Russia change its mind, then be absorbed again, and then just be messed around and I think Ukraine totally has some trust issues now.

Ukraine should brace itself for having its lunch stolen over and over again. Currently America is being nice to Ukraine and not letting Russia steal too much of its lunch. Bless their cotton socks.

Will Putin still be sexy?

Look, to be completely honest I don’t really understand because I never really saw the sexual beast within Putin like many others have. The thing with Putin that has to be remembered (and maybe this is why so many people think he is a big Q T), is that he thrives best under a challenge. Remember the time he gave a bunch of weapons to Syria’s Bashar al Assad? And hey then Assad used some chemical weapons against civilians. The only thing Obama could do was beg Putin to go ask Assad to give it up. Putin’s a genius! His friend Assad still reins in the terrifyingly war torn Syria and Obama couldn’t really do anything because essentially, everyone had obeyed his requests.

If you find this kind of shit sexy then yes, Putin will likely be a very sexy man. Cold wars mean that no one really shoots anyone else, and mostly involves manipulation and nuclear scares, so if you’re into that, you’ve got a weird fetish.

What will happen to the Eagle of Freedom?

In the years of the Cold War, around 1945 and 1990ish, the American government managed to get a lot of people to stop smoking weed with a propaganda campaign which more or less stated that marijuana was actually this thing that the USSR had placed in America. The USSR, apparently, had this grand plan to get everyone feeling a bit stoned, and then, while the country’s defences were down as a whole, the USSR would attack and take the Land Of Freedom as its own. Luckily America has enough nuclear weapons with Cold War-aged technology to bomb the world. Floppy disks run the nuclear missile centre. They’re not even normal size floppy disks, they’re the massive ones twice the size of your head. People in America keep trying to get rid of them (the missiles, not the floppy disks), but then a bunch of other people keep saying, “Nah guys what if we need them eventually?”

Because who knows, perhaps eventually there will be need to destroy the entire known world.

53

CREATIVE

56

Three poems Francesca Di Stefano

i.

The safest modes of transportation: 3. Dreaming, 2. Air travel, and 1. Decomposing back into the earth, and drifting away in the wind.

My grandfather wakes from a reoccurring nightmare: he’s stuck on a boat, and it’s leaking. The water will fill his shoes and ruin them.

My parents accuse me of having a lack of ambition, but I know that all I want to do is lie outside in the sun.

My grandfather can’t remember how to garden anymore. I watch him stare at his hands.

On warm days he likes to sit outside together and listen to the hum of the trees.

He tells me, “My granddaughter is coming today.” ii.

I think we store the sacred things in the spaces between the seconds.

Eventually my grandfather will disappear. But in his place, flowers. iii.

I’m only 19 years old—the most expensive bottle of wine I’ve drunk was 11 dollars.

I passed out on your lawn chair.

You were still asleep upstairs.

Count the steps between us / hold your breath.

If you faint before you reach me, there’s too much space.

There are already three layers of skin.

I buried my love in the folds of people who didn’t even want it.

“Take it,” I said, and cried when nothing but weeds grew.

57

dirty desks

By Jo Day

on monday we went bush, as she called it. we’d borrowed gumboots from her friend who lived out there, close to the waterfall walk. em was on her Ls and I was on my full licence but I hadn’t driven in years, so we reckoned she was the safest bet. we ignored the sign that told us we couldn’t go in and climbed over trees that’d fallen from the storm a week before.

I was convinced I was gonna fall into the healthy wintry creeks we crossed over, and, city slicker that I am, I worried more about the phone and camera in my pocket than the idea of any physical injury. it felt like all those days I’d followed her in the country where we’d met, like that night we’d camped next to a windmill in a field, us and another friend, and the tent only big enough for a person but it was okay because we didn’t end up using it, just huddled under our cheap sleeping bags. before I left this time we smoked up and then she walked me to the coach stop, our hands and noses numb with cold, our sunglasses on. the roads were huge and empty and I kept stumbling over my feet, looking at the paddocks and mountains so unfamiliar to me that I thought we were back near that windmill. and on the coach, for ten minutes, I forgot that I was going back to dirty desks and looming assessments and stained alcoholic eyes and excuses excuses, and thought, instead, that I was on my way to somewhere new.

rusu

james michelmore

World Week, Trivia Night, Bluestockings Week, Save Your GPA Day, Education Rallies, Band Comp, Your Rights At Work, Moon Cake Festival, Elections, Trade Union Fare, Winter Wonderland Ball, Pub Crawl, English Language Workshops, and Stress Less Week. These are just some of the exciting things that your Student Union is bringing you this semester.

There is literally something for everybody at your Student Union, RUSU. We have academic, spiritual, cultural, political and social clubs for students to join and engage with. We offer the university’s biggest and best volunteer program. We support and represent students from VCE and training, to TAFE and associate degree, right through to undergrad and postgraduate. We run free events on campus, give out food to hungry students, throw parties to celebrate and socialise, and fight for the rights of all RMIT students at every level. We also look out for you when times get tough. If you have an issue with the university, come see us on your campus or email us at student.rights@rmit.edu.au. And if you’re experiencing life difficulties and want to know where to go to resolve them, contact compass@rmit. edu.au for confidential information and referrals to relevant services.

Your Student Union is run by and for students, and it exists to advance the education, welfare, social life and cultural activities of all RMIT students.

Each year our Student Union Council is elected by the students of RMIT. These elected students such as myself are charged with ensuring the Student Union is active and accountable in ensuring student money is spent on students for the things that they want. The annual election in September is your best opportunity to engage with and shape the organisation that represents and supports tens of thousands of students within the RMIT community.

Every student can vote, and it’s important to get

involved and have a say in who represents you.

The Student Union recently lead a campaign during mid-year orientation to see the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Flags flown at RMIT’s campuses. The campaign received resounding support from students, and consultation is now underway to address the absence of these flags as soon as possible. Hopefully we will see these flags flown at the entrances to all our Melbourne campuses by the end of this year—stay tuned!

And more good news! After years of lobbying from the Student Union, it has finally been announced that a student bar is to return to RMIT’s city campus. By 2016, construction of the new student bar will be completed as part of the recently announced New Academic Street (NAS) improvements to the Swanston Street buildings. The bar will be located in building 14 and will overlook Franklin Street and the Melbourne City Baths. The bar and many other fantastic new spaces coming in the NAS improvements will provide additional opportunities for students to socialise and remain on campus longer throughout the week.

It’s not too late for you to join and reap the benefits of members—jump on our website and sign up today for just $10!

is the president of the RMIT University Student Union, RUSU

58

59

nostalgia

HEALTHY · ORGANIC · LOCAL · GREEN · FRESH · TASTY

FRUIT & V EG BOXES

· DELIVERED TO YOUR DOOR FOR $28 · Fresh and local produce, home-delivered. Being healthy is now easier than ever!

Discount available to all RMIT Students.

Visit: www.organicempire.com.au/shop/ and select the RMIT Student Box. Enter the code RUSULOVESHEALTH in the notes section for the discount.

www.su.rmit.edu.au

RUSUpage

RMITSU