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Edition 81.10



Volume 81 Edition 10 Editors: Casey Briggs, Stella Crawford and Holly Ritson. On Dit is a publication of the Adelaide University Union.




On Dit is produced and printed on the traditional country of the Kaurna people of the Adelaide Plains. We recognise and respect their cultural heritage, beliefs and relationship with the land.









The opinions expressed within this magazine are not necessarily those of the editors, the University of Adelaide, or the Adelaide University Union.





Talk to us:







Published 10/09/2013.























Cover art by Kelly Arthur-Smith. Thanks to Deanna’s face; Galen for being interesting; Tom for distro and driving; Angus for being great; Lewis for debating classification with us; chocolate coated preztels; ‘Seek Light’ for inspiring us; media people who give us free things. Unthanks to insufficent battery life; the weather, for getting good this weekend; embargoes; fornightly print deadlines. See you in a month, folks!




Truth be told, I’m a little scared right now. No, I’m not a trypophobe (Google it) with a crumpet sitting in front of me, nor is there a spider anywhere in this room, and I’m fairly certain that the magazine you’re holding isn’t defamatory/ factually incorrect/ irrelevant. Rather, there are a whole lot of things about to happen that I know nothing about, and that are completely out of my control. And honestly, that’s terrifying. For you, dear reader in the future, some of these things are no longer unknowns. Someone is Prime Minister for at least the next three years. Student representatives for 2014 have been elected. I have made semi-concrete plans for this summer, potentially involving long walks on the beach, lots of reading, and budget flights to Vietnam.

A friend of mine tried (unsuccessfully) to explain metaphysics to me this week. I’m not so sure on the whole time travel thing, but I think that by the time I’m at the point in time that you are now, I’ll be feeling much better. So maybe that’s just it. Scary unknown things become known things, and then we just deal with them. The mere fact that something is scary shouldn’t be enough to stop us from thinking about it, or talking about it, or actually doing something about it. Often the relative scariness of unknowns goes away once you shine a metaphorical light on them. So for this edition, we’re shedding the light of new knowledge on a number of otherwise scary things – meeting an internet friend in real life (p. 15), Russia (p. 18), the defence industry (p. 22), brain surgery (p. 40) and getting nude (p. 36). Speaking of getting nude, we’d just like to give a student media shout out to our friends at Honi Soit at the University of Sydney. They probably hesitated for at least a

moment (or maybe not, they’re pretty brave) before running 18 vaginas on their cover, but they did it anyway and it was awesome. What’s less awesome is censoring a part of the human body out of fear of distressing a ‘reasonable person’. That kind of fear is at best unproductive, and at worst verging on destructive. Of course, there’s a subliminal message in all of this rambling. We want you to contribute to On Dit. Yes, it can be a bit scary attaching your words or pictures to an email and irrevocably hitting send. But you’ll never be know how great we probably think you are until you do so. And we’ll give you kudos anyway just for facing your fears, and other such clichés. TL;DR: here are my editorial pearls of wisdom. 1) Be scared. 2) Do it anyway. 3) Crappy things end, and everything will eventually be warm and sunny (like the weather, and the pages of this magazine) again. Love, as always Holly (and Stella, and Casey) xoxoxoxo



Yep, we were surprised too – who knew there was even a Smurfs 1!? We sent Michelle Bagster along to see the film. Read about how much fun she had online.

will be written from the perspective of the characters of Sex and City, as though we were watching the film in the Game of Thrones-verse. Review available Sept 20.


Nope, nothing to do with oxford commas. Tom Coleman spent some time wallowing in the sounds of this English pop-trio. You’ve heard the single ‘Hey Now’, now don’t hesitate to read about their new album If You Wait.


Back editions of On Dit, that is. You’ll find editions from the good old years of 2011 and 2012 online, as well as all your favourite from this year. Plenty of holiday reading there!

You might have heard talk and rumours about course rationalisation cuts accross university faculties. For the latest news and information, keep an eye on our webpage, Facebook and Twitter. If you hear something, know something, or have just got something to add, let us know at



Dear On Dit, I keep hearing people pronounce your name like it’s all fancy and French. Could you stop them? I remember the good old days when On Dit was pronounced with a hard ‘t’ and we used to go fishing and once I caught a really big fish that was super impressive and Dad told me that it was the biggest fish he’d EVER seen and I told him it was probably the biggest fish in the world, bigger even than the one Steve caught back in ‘89 on the day the Berlin Wall came down, and he said that I was probably right, and I felt so proud. Now there’s blasted kids with speedboats and their fancy moustaches eating baguettes and catching much bigger fish and holding on to that tenacious ‘Dee’ like they’re infatuated with the fourth letter of the alphabet or the chemical properties of deuterium. I won’t stand for it, and neither should you. Sincerely, Irritated. Dear Irritated, We’ll try our best. Keep up the good work. Love, On Dee

Dear On Dit, In his article Fabricating the Nation (On Dit 81.9), Jack Lowe points out that the manufacturing industry employs four times as many people as the mining industry, and accounts for 35 per cent of Australia’s exports. What he fails to mention is that mining accounts for 55 per cent of our exports. Let me say that another way – with a quarter of the number of people, the mining industry brings in 60 per cent more income for our country than manufacturing. This is why manufacturing is dying – it might keep low-skilled workers employed with taxpayers’ dollars, but it does not grow our economy. Jack Lowe should take a course in basic economics before he tells us that the government should support a dying industry. Regards, Taylor Rundell

The following letter from the SRC Queer Officer is in response to the Green Fairy’s letter printed in Edition 81.9: Dear Green Fairy, I truly am sorry to hear that you are so disenchanted with the state of Adelaide University Pride and the George Duncan Room. As the new SRC Queer officer, and also as a fellow first year, I too am disheartened by the unfortunate steady decline of pride on campus. Having only been appointed to fill a casual vacancy for the rest of this year, I unfortunately don’t have long to do everything I would like to as Queer Officer, but I’m making a start and will do everything I can within my capacity and with the time I have! As you noted, the pamphlets and information in the George Duncan Room unfortunately do date back to the Stone Age. There is updated literature on the way. You can also rest assured that there is currently a group of incredibly passionate individuals who have tasked themselves with re-booting Adelaide University Pride, myself included. It’s going to take time for momentum to grow again, but please know that the first steps have already been taken. However, it’s not just going to take us to get this thing happening again, it’s going to take an entire group of people like yourself who genuinely want to see pride return to the George Duncan Room, and to our campus. With that said if you, or anyone else, are interested in helping to re-boot pride on campus or have any suggestions for events for students who identify as queer, send me an email at or swing by Fix Student Lounge on a Wednesday between 12pm and 1pm and have a chat to me. I would absolutely love to hear from you. Thank you for continuing to hold out hope that pride can, and will, return to our campus! (And thanks for cleaning the fridge.) Caitlyn Georgeson SRC Queer Officer

We like getting emails! Email us your thoughts with the subject line ‘Letter to the Editor’ to and you might be printed on this page in a future edition.

Dear On Dit, I am aware of speculation about ‘cuts’ in the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences. Let me address those concerns. Firstly, the University has made no decisions about any curriculum changes or cuts to small classes in any faculty for 2014. On the contrary, to deal with the Commonwealth ‘efficiency dividend,’ all faculties have been asked to consider ways of preserving and growing their income, such as through new courses, and opportunities for limited CSP load growth in areas where this can be achieved without reducing ATAR entrance scores. Faculties have also been asked to identify the core areas of curriculum most important to the mission of each faculty, so these areas can be fully funded and protected from the effects of recent Commonwealth funding cuts. I am confident the University of

Adelaide will be able to offer a breadth of course choice for students in future that is both appealing and relevant. Our strategic plan, Beacon of Enlightenment puts small-group discovery at the centre of the student experience we want to offer. There is great interest in the University’s implementation of the new strategic plan, and it is important we work together as a campus community to ensure we can deliver an outstanding learning experience for every student. I hope that the students will continue to engage in a genuine dialogue with the university and the faculty of HumSS, consistent with the co-creation philosophy that is so unique to this university and which has proven so beneficial for students in recent years Professor Pascale Quester Deputy Vice-Chancellor and Vice-President (Academic)




STUDENTS FIGHT BACK Students and staff at the University of Adelaide were amongst thousands nationally that rallied on 20 August as part of the National Day of Action against federal government cuts.

The government’s $2.3 billion cuts to higher education were the most vicious cuts in 20 years, and the average Australian student will lose $332 in funding from 2014. The protest began with speeches from the National Tertiary Education Union and Greens Senator Sarah Hanson-Young, but it was the outcry of domestic and international students including student activist Grace Hill and SRC President Catherine Story which roused students in attendance. Students at the rally expressed their anger that their ability to attend and succeed at university has been and will continue to be relentlessly attacked by the government, regardless of the winner of the federal election. Following the speeches, the organisers led a mass of students into Hub Central to begin an occupation to reclaim the Hub as a political space for students to discuss and campaign around the issues which affect them the most. It was later decided by a vote to move to the office of the Deputy Vice-Chancellor (Academic) in order to protest and disrupt the administrative staff. The University of Adelaide does not have a recent history of student radicalism. Student activist Alex Sutcliffe said that ‘In light of the NDA rally we, as a student body, can no longer ignore the immense importance of such radical, grassroots action as the best and

only means of defending our right to education.’ Students have vowed to continue protesting the funding cuts. Mara Thach, a student activist who helped build the rally said ‘It is empowering to see students mobilise against the imposition of austerity measures which seek to undermine the value of our education’. ‘The NDA is just the beginning. We need to keep protesting against the neo-liberalisation of our education otherwise we’ll only have less than what we deserve.’ Laurence Lacoon Williamson


The most recent Council meeting of the Clubs Association was marked by controversy over proposed constitutional changes. More than double the ordinary number of councillors attended the meeting on 27 August. Among the contentions were changes to election rules of the Association including restrictions to those who could serve as Returning Officer, and changing the position of Women’s Officer to Equity Officer, which could be held by a man. Due to the nature of the document, it was not clear whether provisions were changing entirely or simply being reworded. Provisions about the Association being permitted to impose fines on clubs of up to $500, payable by grants from the AUU, seemed to be entirely new additions. Discussion of these changes was postponed, however, as requests were made for a track-changes document and further opportunity

to submit feedback to the Executive. The changes are scheduled to be discussed again at the Council meeting on September 10. Stella Crawford


The Prophets of Impending Doom and The Skeleton Club were the lucky (and talented) winners of the University of Adelaide final of the National Campus Band Competition. They’re in the running for the $10,000 prize. Stella Crawford


There are a number of errata in Edition 81.9 that we wish to correct. Holly Ritson’s Student News story Gender Imbalance at Adelaide Uni (p. 8) was referring to the state of university governance as at 31 March 2012; she did not intend to discount the role of current Pro ViceChancellor Professor Denise Kirkpatrick. Nonethless, due to an oversight in research, the author mistakenly claimed that the university had never had a female Chancellor or Vice-Chancellor. This is, in fact, incorrect. Professor Mary O’Kane was Vice-Chancellor from 1997-2001, and Dame Roma Mitchell was Chancellor of the university from 1983-1991. Our sincerest apologies to these remarkable women. In What’s My Age Again? (p. 16) it is implied by the author that the legal age of consent is 16; this is not the case in our state. In South Australia, the legal age of consent is 17.





By the time this edition comes out, we will have elected a Prime Minister. I feel like I can quite confidently predict that it will be an old white dude. With the Federal election behind us, as well as student elections, I feel like I can now write about something that is possibly less boring for your garden-variety student – why you pay the Student Services and Amenities Fee (SSAF), and what it means for student organisations. Prior to 2006, student organisations were well-funded independent bodies thanks to University Student Unionism, a system in which every student was required to join their student organisation. Consequently student organisations were able to provide

operated everything from food and catering to health, welfare and advocacy services suddenly found themselves in dire financial straits. The money to run events and services simply wasn’t coming in. Student organisations were forced to make staff redundant, massively decrease their services and event offerings and sell their assets. Some collapsed all together. I started university in 2010, so I can only imagine what campus life at the University of Adelaide would have been like prior to VSU. Before the deadly effects of VSU began, the Union owned a craft studio, UniBar & about six food outlets on campus. We operated many facilities within Union House, and had the capacity to provide a much bigger array of services with over 100 staff members. VSU meant our income dropped by over $3 million.

THE SSAF HAS REVITALISED STUDENT ORGANISATIONS AROUND THE COUNTRY a wide variety of events and services to students on campus. Then, in 2005, the Howard Government repealed Universal Student Unionism, and introduced Voluntary Student Unionism (VSU). This move kicked all student organisations hard in the nuts. Suddenly, students were no longer required to pay a membership fee to their union. Organisations around the country that had previously owned and

money the University receives from the SSAF that students pay. The Rudd Government introduced the ability for universities to charge this fee in 2011. The SSAF is not Universal Student Unionism. It does have flaws, namely, that universities ultimately control how much of the SSAF student organisations receive. But the SSAF has definitely revitalised student organisations around the country. Flinders University have been able to establish a brand new entire students’ association, for example. The SSAF has enabled the Union to offer about half a million dollars worth of extra services and events to students this year, including heavily subsidised accredited training courses, a much improved O’Week, grants for medical expenses, and an extra Education and Welfare Officer at Student Care. I hope that when you pay your SSAF (or defer it), you can do so with a degree of comfort that it’s being put to good use. I also hope you make the most of the services and events that we’ve been able to provide via the SSAF. There’s plenty of them! Until next time,

We survived (unlike some other student organisations) because we secured a funding agreement with the University. As part of the agreement we had to hand over a lot of assets, but it meant that we didn’t have to wind up, and could continue to provide services and events to students, albeit at a diminished degree. That funding will continue for another few years. Nowadays it mostly comes from the pool of

Deanna Taylor Union President Twitter: @auulifeoncampus




Q: A:

What is the role of the Postgraduate Officer on the SRC? To ensure that a postgraduate voice is heard by the University, both by the committees where the big decisions are made and by the key figures who ultimately drive them. The Postgraduate Officer is also tasked with running events throughout the year.

Q: A:

What do you bring to the role? I bring considerable knowledge of and considerable experience in dealing with the University, having previously served on various committees, including University Council, as well as having completed my undergrad here. I also bring a strong desire to push postgraduate concerns at the highest level, and the confidence to do it.

Q: A:

What are your plans for the rest of 2013?

Attend a lot of meetings, organise another event, and try not to neglect my thesis.

Q: A:

What is your favourite icecream flavour?

You can never go wrong with chocolate.

Have you got questions for your student representatives? Email us at or post it on our Facebook page and we’ll quiz your reps. Make sure you tell us who it’s for!

At the time of writing this column, we are a week from the Federal Election. By the time this column is published Australia will have decided on which party will lead for the next three years. It’s not looking great for the future of higher education. With Labor cutting $2.8 million from higher education and the Liberals set to do the same, it’s a pretty dire time for tertiary students. In the last decade our classrooms have doubled. Two reviews, the base funding and the Bradley review have called for a 10 per cent increase in Federal funding to make sure universities are sustainable, but to to no avail. We’re paying higher course fees than ever before. Ironically, this comes from politicians who enjoyed free tertiary education. International Students are paying huge amounts of money to prop up universities, without necessarily getting higher quality education. Universities around the country, including ours, are being forced to make cuts. Whether they’re shavings or lacerations, these will have profound effects nationally. Yes, if forced to universities can make their own money, but it severely limits what can be learned and taught. It limits equal access to higher education. The idea of public education is surely pretty basic. So where does this leave young people? Australia Institute polling suggests that young people care about the future of their employment, housing issues, and funding for universities. 1.2 million

young people polled felt that no political party represented them. The chances of many of us buying houses within the next 15 years is slim, youth allowance is below the poverty line, and we’ll leave uni with a decade of debt. It seems Pauline Hanson-esque immigration policies (stop the goats!!!) are in vogue this year as the two parties shuffle towards each other and then take a right turn at the end of the catwalk. Are human rights out of fashion? And yet we hear ‘Oh why aren’t young people enrolling to vote? Don’t they careee’. We can’t we blame young people for apathy when they’re not being thrown any sort of bone. It’s very easy to become disengaged when you can’t visualise any alternative. Education and social welfare issues matter to young people. When we start putting aside basic needs, education, welfare, housing, and employment issues, where does that leave young people in the political discourse? The only future I can see is one of of solidarity, of talking with other young people and getting angry and getting sad and fighting in all the ways we can. A future of we make by protesting on the streets, lobbying, and trolling politicians over social media. The future comes through finding solidarity with other young people that are just as angry, or sad, or disengaged with mainstream politics as you, bonding through the things that you care about and finding hope. Catherine Story SRC President Twitter: @adelaidesrc





Why are you at uni on a Sunday? Do you think that Russia should be allowed to host the Winter Olympics next year? If you could host any radio show you wanted, what would it be? Would you take a job with the defence force? Why/why not? How old do you think you’ll be when you die? Does the world need more or less nudity? Why?


1. I thought I should catch up on work, and the change of environment is good. 2. Personally, no. It should be boycotted. There’s probably some exaggerations in the media, but I think there is very bad. Homophobic attacks aren’t acceptable. 3. Something about current affairs, I’m quite interested in that. 4. No – I don’t really agree with them, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable in that environment. 5. In my 80s at least, but it depends on my quality of life. 6. More. I’m saying this, but I wouldn’t do it myself; I’ve been brought up in a very conservative culture. But if people want to, why not.


1. Making a mock up of On Dit for the student elections. 2. What’s the issue? I’ve been living in a bubble. I guess I can see where both sides are coming from. 3. I like to talk about architecture, so I could talk about that for hours. 4. No – what would I do! I think that the defence force is a waste of money. I don’t want to support that. 5. I don’t like that question. I don’t want to jinx it! 6. More – clothes are a hassle.


1. Because I have lots of things to do. 2. Yeah – they have good transport, it’s a convenient location, and it’ll bring economic benefits to the country. 3. How to make friends in different countries. 4. No – I don’t have time now, but maybe on the holidays. 5. Oh god. Maybe 90. 6. Less nudity – because of the weather in Adelaide.


1. I’ve got some assignments. But I’d much rather be outside with my son. 2. I’m not sure I can enter that debate. It requires an understanding of how Russia positions itself as open to other cultures. 3. I’d like to talk about how we will communicate in the future; how helpful or divisive IT can be. 4. No – I’m a Quaker. We’re pacifists. 5. I’d like to live as long as I can. I’d like to see my son get married. 6. I don’t think that there’s a right or wrong answer to this question; I’d like less nudity, but more respect.


1. Playing catch up on physics study. 2. I think the way they treat LGBTI people is bad. If the international pressure works to change that, that’ll be good, but it’s very complicated. 3. There’d be a lot of smack talk, loud noises, a bit of science, and some music. 4. Being an engineering student, realistically I’ll probably be a civilian contractor, but I’ll stay commercial if I can. 5. I don’t want to know, and I don’t want to think about it. 6. I’d like people to be more comfortable in themselves. More nudity means more comfort, and that’s a good thing.


1. I just went to the gym. 2. No – I am upset about their position on homosexuality. They need to be more forward thinking. 3. Probably something on current affairs and politics. 4. I have to work in a transparent workplace. That’s really important. 5. I’m 36, and the life expectancy for Aboriginal men is around 60. I’d like to live to 90 or so, but that’s out of my control. Death is certain. 6. I’m an advocate for nudity. I go to ConFest every year. There’s nothing wrong with nudity in the right context.


1. I’m doing assignments. 2. Yes – it’s a big country and they have the facilties. 3. Sports. All sports, but especially soccer as that’s what I know most about. 4. Yeah – I like the army, they’re important. Sometimes they seem like the bad guys, but they’re just following orders, and we have to know that those orders are good. 5. Old I hope, I really don’t know. 90 I think. 6. More – always more is better.




Here’s where you’ll find information, gossip, shout-outs, news, events, bake sales, pub crawls and anything else you could possibly want to know about your university. Have something to add? Think you know what’s on? If you’re running an event (pubcrawl or otherwise), let us know at

OVERHEARD @ THE UNI OF ADELAIDE ‘It’s always good to pause and think pleasant thoughts about sunflowers’ Corporate Law Lecturer. ‘You don’t have to buy children but they do have maintenance costs Finance lecturer comparing having children to buying a Ferrari. ‘You know what the first thing that develops in a human? The anus. There was a time in your development when you were nothing but an asshole’ - Human Perspectives Tutor. ‘So that’s how you murder someone using arsenic. We’ll talk about cyanide next week.’ - Lynn Rogers, in a biochemistry lecture.


Last day to withdraw without failure (WNF): If you withdraw after this date, you’ll have a fail on your academic record, which might not seem like such a big deal now, but one day you’ll calculate your GPA and be sad. Also, you still have to pay for the course. If you’re struggling, don’t hesitate to get in touch with the university’s Disability and Counselling services (8313 5663), or the Union’s Education and Welfare officers (8313 5430 or for support and advice.


No, it’s not a horrific disease of the oesophagus, it’s more like Dungeons and Dragons for politics students! Here’s the deal: at the South Australian Model United Nations Conference you pretend to be a country and argue with other people pretending to be countries. It runs from Sept 24-27 and features healthy debate, interesting speakers, and fun socials! More info and registration at, nerds.


Have your tutorials been cut? Heard some juicy goss? Got something that you think On Dit should know about? Head to tipoff/ to send us an anonymous tip off.


The games will be on the Gold Coast this year. There’ll be 29 sports contested, over 6000 athletes, and all levels of ability. Sept 29 to Oct 4. More details at unione.

Roll up, roll up, because it’s time for everyone’s favourite event on the university calendar...

INTER-FACULTY ACTIVE RECREATION WEEK Featuring the ultimate physical challenge...

THE VICE-CHANCELLOR’S CUP! Watch in AWE as staff and students from the university compete in a grueling relay around the North Terrace campus. Gasp as competitors run up the stairs (will they trip?!), be wowed by their sheer athletic ability (if those guns were any bigger they’d be bursting out of his shirt!) and cheer as the ViceChancellor presents a trophy to the winners (will his eyes be closed in the photo op?!). Friday 13 September, 1:15pm


Did you think elections were over? Not so if you’re a law student! Elections for the 2014 Law Students’ Society Committee will be held in week 8.


For the first time the Adelaide University Union will have their own lantern constructed and included in the OZ Asia Moon Lantern Festival Parade. The parade will be held during the OZAsia festival. Come along to a lantern making workshop on September 12 (1-4pm in the FIX) to make your own lantern and get involved with the parade. Email to register your interest. Hurry, places are limited.

ATTENTION PHOTOGRAPHERS! IF YOU’RE EVEN MILDLY INTERESTED IN PHOTOGRAPHY, HERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU WILL QUITE LIKELY BE INTERESTED IN. PHOTOGRAPHY CLUB EXHIBITION The Adelaide Uni Photography Club is holding an exhibition. It features work from 30 of the University’s talented photographers covering a diverse range of subject matter. September 18-20, Level 4, the Hub, 11am-4pm daily. IMAGES OF JUSTICE PHOTOGRAPHY COMPETITION Open to all students. Entries due 16 September 2013. The Adelaide Law School invites you to explore the concept of ‘truth’ through imagery. First prize in each category is $1000. For more information and entry details, head to SCIENTIFIC PHOTOGRAPHY COMPETITON Open to all students. Entries are due October 10. Since this is a scientific competition, all entries should be submitted with a short (50 word) abstract explaining the science. There’s a a chance to win a $100 CASH PRIZE for each prize category including Popular Choice, so make sure you get involved! Head to www.facebook. com/UofAOSAsc or email us for more information.

HUMSS CUTS MEETING 5pm September 12, venue TBA. Come along to join the discussion on the cuts in HumSS and have a say in working out where the campaign should go from here. Keep an eye on 8235836701/?fref=ts for details.


Beyoncé is in town: 11/12/13: FIFA World Cup:





SRC and Union meetings are open to all students. SRC meetings are held fortnightly on Tuesday (September 10 is the next one) in FIX Lounge. Union meetings are held monthly in the Union board room; the next one is September 18.


Ever feel like you need a time turner? Well we can’t help you with that, but we can offer you a talk that meditates on the way imaginative experience links to our complicated experience of time. Gail Jones is an award winning author and Professor of Writing at the University of Western Sydney. Bookings: robina. au by Sept 17. GOLD COIN ADMISSION SUCKERS. Thurs 19 Sept, Ira Raymond Room, 6pm Psst... We’ve filled this edition with pictures of people we admire. Head to pages 44 and 47 to find out who we love.


Email: Facebook: Twitter: @onditmagazine Snail Mail: On Dit, c/o Adelaide University Union, Level 4 Union House, University of Adelaide, 5005 In person: Pop into our office near the Barr Smith Lawns between 1-3pm, Tuesdays & Wednesdays during term time.





Sick of being the last to find out who hooked up on pub crawl? Going deaf straining to hear strangers’ conversations while ‘studying’ in the Hub? Riddled with tiny cuts because of all those damn rosebushes? Despair no longer. I’m about to teach you the tricks to modern life’s highest art form: Facebook stalking. All your stalking can now be accomplished in the comfort of your own home, coffee in hand and slippers donned. All you need is an internet connection, Facebook and some interesting friends. Or at very least, a few odd acquaintances you haven’t seen in years but still inexplicably care about.


Admittedly, this technique won’t tell you much about the person’s life now, but it makes for some hilarious viewing. A few clicks and you’ll be presented with awkward high school uniforms, teenage selfies, braces and bad haircuts. If you’re lucky, they’ll have posted some fond childhood memories. This is basically the equivalent of befriending your crush’s mum and convincing her to show you their family albums, but without all the pesky small talk. For advanced players: Try searching for your friends’ MySpace pages. In the mad rush to abandon MySpace for Facebook, many forgot to deactivate

their accounts and left an untouched time capsule of their teenage years, ripe for exploitation. If your memory of MySpace is vague, I have two words for you: customised layouts.


This one is just a little too easy. See, if your friend sends you a message from their phone, Facebook will tell you where they sent it from. Just tap on the message or hover over the location symbol, then select the handy Get Directions button. So you want to ‘accidently’ bump into that cute guy from your tute? Just send him an innocent message to say hi and then turn up at his Grandma’s house for family lunch. He’ll never suspect a thing.


This is one of my favourites. Go to a friend’s page. On their cover photo, there’s a cog symbol with an arrow. Click on it, and then click on See Friendship. Go to the top right of the page and click on More. There you are. Stalking gold. You can now view the friendship of any two of your Facebook friends. That’s every wall post, photo, common like, mutual friend, and shared event. Do you know a couple whose relationship has more drama than The Bold and the Beautiful? Just grab some popcorn, find their couple page and you will have a front row seat for all of the gut-wrenching breakups and doubly gut-wrenching reconciliations. Now, you’re almost ready. But before I release you into full-fledged cyber creepiness, a few words of caution. Never underestimate the importance of a steady hand. Many a stalker has met peril at the slip of a finger. Whether it’s liking a photo from 2008 or accidently adding a friend, these seemingly tiny errors will expose your true nature. Avoid like the Barr Smith lawns during student elections. And with these words of wisdom, you are ready. Go, my young padawans, and use your new-found knowledge. Or maybe just change your privacy settings. Louise Schulz is a 5th year law student who is unashamedly obsessed with llamas and secretly dreams of campaigning for the forgotten minority: left-handers.


In the mid-year break I took a couple of plane flights and found myself in Middle Earth – Wellington, New Zealand, more precisely. But before I made my way to NZ, I’d formed a new friendship on Instagram.

at the Crab Shack. On that lucky evening, the eatery featured a flock of 50-year-old women draining tequila shots and chanting 80s Madonna tunes ‘Like A Prayer’ and ‘Material Girl.’ We cheered them on; what a show!

Every person I told about this friendship, pre- and post-holiday failed to hide their smile or sometimes quite audible laugh. Despite the expansion of social media and its integration into daily life, it’s often assumed every unknown is a predator. Regardless of these expressions of concern and distrust, this chick known as ‘k_thx’ seemed legit; a real human, who was definitely not out to do unsavoury things to me. I’ll let you know now so you’re not reading in suspense: I’m fine, and still have both my kidneys. In the months leading up to my arrival, we liked and commented on each other’s photos regularly. I know, how romantic; thankfully it was a purely friend-zone kind of communication. Over e-mail we’d organised to meet on my first day there. Not knowing where I was going on a windy Wellington Saturday, I set off to Sweet Mother’s Kitchen, or Sweet Mother’s Milk as the fan of hipster Adelaide coffee shops kept calling it. I arrived. She hadn’t. I sauntered to the counter, attempting casual, Amanda Bynes-like ‘I don’t give a shit I’ll throw all the bongs out the window’ kind of behaviour, and said these words: ‘Hi. I’m from Australia. I’m meeting a girl I met on Instagram and I don’t know what to do.’ I then gave her my life story and embarrassed myself by admitting to meeting an ‘Internet’ friend. Good thing I’m not on the field for picking up chicks. When I got tired of staring into my hot chocolate at the bar, on my own, I gazed around to realise the place of choice was almost certainly the hipster hub of Wellington. Old plastic dolls stuck to the wall, bunting strung here and there, some ironic alternative band that no one’s probably ever heard of playing in the background. It had it all. Eventually, she rocked up. We spent the entire day together. She took me to Te Papa Museum, café hopping, to the rugby, back to her place for some sweet, sweet wi-fi connection and then out to dinner

Now, for the poignant life lesson: without social media I never would have had these experiences that broadened my world-view and enriched my life. Yes, Madonna is life enriching. I’m not here to say that social media is entirely positive; I’m just saying that cool things can come of it. As I’ve said, many people are still wary of meeting people in real life that they’ve only talked to online. In this scenario I was street smart about it and judged she was just a gal lookin’ for a pal. In an increasingly networked world I reckon this kind of thing will become more normal, and not an interaction that’s chortled at. Instagram has become an avenue where I can mix two things I love: a certain appreciation for creativity and the lives of other people. It has connected me with individuals across the globe and given me insights into people’s lives that aren’t normally revealed. Most of all, this form of social media has given me unique friendships and experiences – ones that you’ll never have if you don’t give in to the ‘artfully’ filtered world of Instagram #youknowyouwantto. You’ll usually find Thomas Wooden accompanied by a tall beauty. They’re not dating, they just have a lot of feelings. Holler at him on IG @thomaswooden.




Why is it that everywhere I look these days, there is an advertisement for baby clothes, mothers’ social groups or pregnancy hormones? What happened to the imagery of young, single socialites, which was (once upon a time) associated with Generations X, Y & Z? When did all my young-adult friends and relatives hold the meeting to decide the D-Day dates for reproduction? And, where do people like me belong now that my peers are starting to nest? I am one of the seemingly dwindling number of people my age who have made the active choice to not have children. It’s not that I inherently hate children; as a high-school teacher I do, in fact, think most teenagers are pretty awesome. I also love my nieces more than words can describe, so I know I am at least capable of enjoying tinier tots. I just simply do not have a maternal instinct in my body – I have not the least bit of interest in having my own children. Until recently, I thought many more of my fellow young Australians felt the same. I think I was wrong.

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, there were over 50,000 more babies born in 2011 than in 2001, and in comparison to 1961 (the peak of Australia’s ‘baby-boomer’ era), there were almost 62,000 more births. When did my raving, bingedrinking, candy-flipping buddies become ‘Mr. & Mrs. Joe Bloggs of Adultville, Australia’? This population boom poses a particular problem if you happen to be one of the few like me – child-free – namely, the ‘parents’ pity’. The feigned jealousy on the faces of my ‘settled’ friends, when I tell them about my latest intrigue, or the severity of my weekend-wasting hangovers. The looks of contempt or consolation after explaining to newly-weds and new-parents that I am neither married nor with child. Seriously, when did it become so bloody important to my peers to tick boxes on an imaginary checklist, dictated by social bureaucracies which I thought had been long considered out-dated, chauvinistic shackles, designed to control the fast pace of these modern times? But worse than the looks, or the ‘pram-packed’ aisles of the supermarket, is the kindly hand-holding, coupled with the assurance that ‘one day it’ll happen for me’. Newsflash, I don’t want it to happen for me! Furthermore, the fact I don’t intend to have children does not personally reflect that I’m selfish or, god forbid, a lesbian. That would be like me saying that every unplanned pregnancy to unprepared parents is selfish, as it could deny the child social, economic and cultural prosperity. Both arguments are extremist trash. I’m not writing this article in the hope of empowering the anti-children brigade, or starting a new liberation movement. In my opinion anyone can do whatever it is they feel they were meant to do in this life. But, come on people, it’s time we accepted that not everyone wants the same things from life. As my father told me, time-and-time again, ‘if we all followed the same path, Belinda, the world would be a pretty boring place’. So, if you’re a parent with a single friend, maybe leave out the fake envy and the depressing ‘one day’ speeches. And to the ‘childless wonders’ out there, be understanding when the parents in our social circles say they can’t come out drinking on Friday – but remember that just because you don’t have an anklebiter latched to your boob, your lives are just as worth living, and living well. Belinda Quick is a self-professed professional student at Adelaide. When she’s not trapped in the BSL basement, you’ll find her enjoying being a ‘childless wonder’ in the UniBar.


I moved out of home and into student accommodation two and a half years ago. In that time I’ve lived with around 15 different housemates. I’ve definitely met some weird and wonderful people. Unfortunately, I’ve also learned that it’s impossible to get along well with everyone. I’ve spent a lot of time-sharing a confined space with some pretty weird and not-so-wonderful people too. In my first year I got lucky, really lucky. I moved into an apartment with 5 people I’d never met and somehow we all hit it off. Unfortunately, it was when some people moved out and others moved in that was when I began to realise that not all housemates are created equal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually pretty laid back, but I speak from experience when I tell you that to share even a kitchen with some people can inspire nightmares. There are always the usual complaints: dishes piling up on the side of the sink that no one will own up to, someone stole the last piece of cake from the fridge. To be honest none of that really bothered me too much. My first real issue was one of unrequited love. To begin with this guy seemed nice, very nice, with intense eye contact and a narrow concept of personal space. I quickly realised that he liked to talk about himself, a lot. I was his housemate though! Sharing an apartment means getting to know one another. There could be no harm in that. Wrong. I soon became his first point of advice, a shoulder to cry on, the only one who seemed to understand him and his newest BFF. I know, that doesn’t sound so bad. If anything I’m the jerk for encouraging his friendship then resenting it. That was until I decided to invite the gorgeous new guy I’d started seeing over for a glass of wine. It was going well. That is, until my BFF hurtled into the living room, drunkenly slinging abuse at my date and professing his love for me because I reminded him so very much of his darling mother and his senescent grandmamma! Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. After that came horrible housemate #2 who was at least less emotionally draining. Smoke billowed from his room day and night. While he and his friends sat around having their little pow-wows, our neighbours

became increasingly frustrated and started making complaints. Security were routinely knocking on our door late at night and at one point one of the reception staff came barging into the apartment and angrily told me I needed to control my housemates or we’d all be evicted. Excuse me? I didn’t invite him in, I was not going to be held responsible for his actions! There was no negotiating with him though, in his mind he was paying for the room so he could do what he liked. Eventually he did get evicted – though he took half my crockery with him. By my second year there was only one of the original six still sharing the apartment. Out went the old grievances and in came the new, in the portly, dishevelled shape of horrible housemate #3. He introduced himself by telling us all about how much his last housemates hated him and that he had no clue why – because he’s such a great guy. He then proceeded to divulge every sordid detail of his unorthodox sex life from his favourite positions to that time when his ex-prostitute ex-girlfriend gave him chlamydia. He proudly displayed the confederate battle flag above his bed unable to comprehend why his previous housemates had taken offence to it. ‘What? Why would they think it has anything to do with slavery? It’s inspirational! The Dukes of Hazard were rebels!’ Day after day the giddying fumes of construction adhesives choked all oxygen out of the apartment as he worked on his projects in his bedroom, drills whirring and hammering away, telling everyone it’s okay, ‘There’s no need to do this stuff outside! It’s safe, I’ve always done it like this’. Nothing a diplomatic discussion can’t resolve though? Except that the last one I had with him began with me politely declining his offer to help clean the kitchen and ended with him telling all the other housemates what a ‘crazy OCD bitch’ I was. What a great guy indeed. Maybe I’m the real horrible housemate? Not to worry though, I’ve since happily moved out of student accommodation and into a new fancy pants apartment with a childhood friend who somehow doesn’t have a problem with me. I doubt I’ll get as many wild stories living here – but I will get more sleep.

Sarah Hunter is a sexually ambiguous overlord to the stars. She also needs to stop leaving her email account logged in around friends.



WITH LOVE WORDS: ALYONA HAINES ART: RACHEL MUNDY As you may have noticed, Russia has been making a few headlines lately for all the wrong reasons. The treatment of gays, lesbians and those who support gay rights in Russia is now out in the open and, understandably, the rest of the world is outraged. There is no debate to be had about whether what is happening in Russia is right or wrong; it’s a horrific infringement on human rights and dignity.

as they are here. In light of all that, you can start to understand that external judgements of their behaviour are based on an unfair comparison.

However, it’s worth discussing why the Russian people are acting this way towards their fellow humans. It is easy to assume moral superiority and judge from our supposedly ‘enlightened’ perspective. It is more challenging to be properly educated about the issue, because in this case it’s not as black and white as it seems.

To clarify, I am not defending what Russia is doing in any way. Rather, I am attempting to explain that what seems obvious from your perspective is not so obvious from theirs. To illustrate my point, we need to look at the whole picture of Russia: its most recent history, the struggles of everyday life, issues of gender equality and, of course, politics.

I am Russian. I lived the majority of my life there. I can tell you that living there is nothing like living in Australia. Everyone is so much worse off, the economic situation is terrible, and jobs are hard to come by. People are not the same


Russia in an ancient country with rich history that it is immensely

proud of. In the last century, Russia has gone through an enormous amount of heartache. It began with World War I and a revolution, followed by World War II and the Cold War. Then, in more recent history, 1991 happened; the Soviet Union collapsed. The country fell apart with the dissolution of the USSR and, as if this was not enough, it was further destroyed by an incompetent president who was too eager to westernise Russia’s economy. You might have seen Boris Yeltsin on TV before: he’s the one being frequently made fun of for his drunken shenanigans. Little do most people know, the man caused immense suffering to thousands of Russians, including my family.


Yeltsin applied what is known as ‘shock therapy’ to the Russian economy. Shock therapy is an economic strategy of fast liberalisation. It involves pulling out state subsidies, dismantling welfare, selling off public assets and generally privatising the market. Yeltsin did this almost overnight, and it failed spectacularly. The GDP fell, prices sky-rocketed, industries were wiped out, and unemployment rose dramatically. As the country fell into a deep drepression, food disappeared off the shelves and basic commodities were gone. My mum told me about how she used to stand in line for 5 hours just to get some milk. There were no clothes for me, no books, no toys. My father lost his job and couldn’t find employment for years. This led to his deep depression and

our family eventually fell apart, just like the family of almost all of my classmates.


During WWII, a significant portion of the male population at the time died. While the rest of the world was rejoicing and experiencing a post war baby boom and women’s revolution, Russia was trying to put the pieces of what was left of their society together. A few generations have passed but the gender imbalance remains. In Russia, there hasn’t been any time for gender equality activism; the bigger focus is on mere survival. Here in Australia equal rights both politically and socially are a norm, but let’s admit it’s not perfect. There are

still wage gaps between men and women, sexism is alive and well, and discrimination against the gay community is a big problem. This is after decades of work towards equality in a relatively lucky country. It would therefore come as no surprise that Russia has not yet reached the same point in its social development. Men and women are worlds apart; their roles are strictly defined. The culture of masculinity is very strong. In Russia, men are ‘manly’ and women are weak. Any deviation from such definition is met with ridicule and hostility. The manliness of men isn’t a simple social norm; rather, it is a defining feature of the Russian

culture. Men are the protectors, the conquerors; they make the country strong. Such a sentiment has deep roots in history, especially after the last century and the two World Wars. There is even a day to celebrate men’s achievements in war – February 23 – the Day of the Protector of the Motherland. What is peculiar about this day is that it’s not a day for veterans, rather, it’s a day for all men. No matter what their age, all persons of the male sex are celebrated. On this day in Russian schoolyards, the boys stand proud while the girls applaude them and give them gifts. Why? Because they are men, who will one day protect and serve. To be fair, there was also Women’s Day on March 8. But I must say, it’s treated distinctly differently. There doesn’t seem to be any particular reason behind it in the Russian context, aside from some notion of women deserving a day off. The men usually buy women flowers and vacuum the floor and if you’re lucky they might even do the dishes. At school we got the stupidest of gifts. While the boys would get Lego sets, construction toys and tool, girls would get smelly candles, teddy bears, or my favourite – a heart shaped pillow. I still remember throwing a huge tantrum about that pillow; I hated it. The upbringing of children is a good reflection on Russia’s attitude towards the gay community. Apart

from the ‘gender’ days, we faced discrimination on every corner. In PE, we were not lined up based on height, rather, it was boys first, girls last. In home education classes, boys were separated from the girls. The girls did cooking and sewing, and the boys did woodwork. As it happens, our school didn’t have a woodwork teacher so the boys got two free lessons a week to do as they pleased. When the girls were done cooking, it was custom to feed the boys. We were being raised to have a master-servant relationship. And boys were mean –they’d hit us without a second thought and would frequently get away with it. It seemed normal that boys were superior. If this is how women are treated, imagine the attitude towards gays and lesbians. As in many countries, calling someone ‘gay’ can be used as an insult in Russia. But it had a special feel to it back when I was there. It felt deeper than a mere word that teenage boys use on X-Box a lot. Being called ‘gay’ in Russia meant having your masculinity undermined. It was degrading; it meant weakness and being unable to stand up for yourself and deserving to be dehumanised. It was often the shy boys who got called that. Maybe they were gay, but we’ll never know because coming out is difficult and most people didn’t do it. If you are openly gay in Russia, people see you as asking for trouble, asking to be hurt. And that is precisely what happens if you come out – you get beaten up, you get humiliated, you get raped. And no one will care.


The careless attitude with which a lot of Russians carry on is related to the difficult life they have. It’s hard enough trying to survive in the chaos that is modern Russia, let alone tackle the controversial topics and be politically active. Life goes on the way it always has. While sexualising women is common practice, talking about gays is a no-no. It is something people see as a sick choice that should be kept behind closed doors. There is an overall feeling of indifference when it comes to these things – if someone is getting hurt, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not me. And if people did find the time and strength to care, what then? The government is broken. Democracy is merely an illusion. Knowing this, most people give up on trying to stand up for what they believe. I remember years ago there was a famous comedian, much loved by many, who decided he wanted to run for government. He was openly critical of the president and many of those who had power. He was shot within weeks. No one knows who did it, but the message is pretty clear – do not challenge authority. In more recent history, we can look to the experience of Pussy Riot: God knows what will happen to them . And we all know what happened to the protesters at the gay equality rallies. Politically, there is a feeling of helplessness. Those who care do not feel like they have voice. If you’re wondering why Russians allowed the anti-gay laws to be passed, it’s because they were afraid to deviate from the

traditional viewpoint, and their fear is perfectly justified.


But as Gandalf said – hope remains. Every country has gone through this period in their history. Remember the fight for women’s rights? The movement for indigenous rights? The struggles of African – Americans in the US? The traditionalists of those times resisted change, with anger and cruelty. They truly believed they were right. We were all like this at some point in our life, until we learned otherwise. No one is born enlightened and most of our beliefs are shaped by the way we were brought up. The last century of Russia’s history has predisposed the people to be hostile, to be defensive, and to be afraid of change. What we can do, however, is give them some grace and support. Don’t be too quick to make judgements about Russian people based on the headlines – they are far more complex than what you see on TV. Russia is an old country. It has been through good times and bad times, but it is resilient, and it will recover. The deep anger that we see is a result of deep wounds inflicted by the greedy and selfish leaders. It will take time to heal. Once the people stop fending for their own life, they will start caring more about others. In the meantime, don’t hate Russians. They are people just like us and they will come around.

Alyona Haines immigrated from Russia nine years ago. She recently finished a degree in politics and philosophy and is hoping to get back to study next year.


HOW 22




What do Cruise Missiles, the SA Government, Aberfoyle Park High School, and the three public Universities in South Australia have in common? On an ordinary day, probably nothing. But we hardly live in ordinary days. If you pay even vague attention when driving, you may have noticed a new design and slogan become increasingly common on the license plates of cars: South Australia – The Defence State. It’s in the context of a slogan like this that those four things begin to share a common history. In November 2008, staff at Aberfoyle Park High School were told to ‘frock-up’, and the science block was put into lock-down for an event. Only students and staff involved in the Students with High Intellectual Potential (SHIP) program were admitted, and the mysterious event went down without even the teachers at the school knowing what was happening. At the end of the day, the principal issued a memo explaining the situation. The State Government had brokered a deal with US missile manufacturer Raytheon and the Principal of the school, which resulted in a $450,000 partnership between the school and Raytheon. As a result, the SHIP program was renamed IGNITE, the students were supplied with laptops, and Raytheon supplied science and engineering mentors to the students. This may come as a surprise to you, but it was just one of the more spectacular of defence industry

shenanigans. Salisbury High School has had similar programs in place as far back as 1996. In 2009 the State Government committed $5.7 million of federal education funding to Henley High, Aberfoyle Park High, and Valley View High to develop specialised curriculums to prepare students for jobs in the defence industry. Le Fevre High School, situated down the road from Submarine Corp and the ‘Techport’ where those Air Warfare Destroyers will be built, was awarded $540,000 over four years to entice students toward careers in ‘Naval and defence industries’. There is also now an American style Space Camp for year 10’s, also a creation of the defence industry to convince students to work for them. After locking defence industry interests into secondary education, the next target became primary school students. The program Concept2Creation is a project of united capitalist interests, the ‘Advanced’ manufacturing sector in our Northern suburbs. With board participants such as Playford City Council, GM-Holden, BAE, Raytheon, Codan, Lockheed Martin, the program brings robotics fun days to students in years four to seven. The interest of the defence industry in education makes some degree of sense. The industry needs highly skilled labour. But why go to such lengths to attain it? Why not recruit labour from elsewhere? The answer lies in the nature of the industry. The defence industry makes weapons of war for western militaries. For example, Raytheon manufactures Tomahawk cruise missiles,

which rained on Baghdad those first nights of the US-led invasion of Iraq. The US military won’t buy weapons unless they’re made under certain conditions, which include constraints on the nationality of the people involved in designing and building them. For this reason, British Aerospace Engineering is the only company to date to have sought and been granted an exemption from South Australian Equal Opportunity Laws, to be able to discriminate on the basis of nationality when employing workers in its offices and missile component factories. It wouldn’t do to recruit workers from somewhere like Iraq. The lived experience of having been terrorised by the very weapons they’d be employed to produce would result in worker resistance and potential espionage. The workforce producing the weapons needs to be alienated as much as possible from the outcomes of their labour.



This alienation is key in establishing Kadavergehorsham (corpse-like obedience), and demands socialisation from an early age. This is exactly what the defence industry is accomplishing through its involvement with schools. Raytheon’s mentors at Aberfoyle High give the company direct control over the socialisation of the children, of their attitudes, values, as well as their natural creativity, and allows them to construct in the students exactly the values and attitudes the industry requires. They make war seem okay by introducing kids to it by playing with robotic gizmos in primary school. At the same time, on the other side of the world, the military outcomes of such technology are felt by children of the same age. The alienation is strategic, and although the defence industry is now fostering it in primary and secondary schools, this is only because of their success in applying the same thing in universities. The research projects universities undertake on behalf of the defence industry typically appear to be completely innocent. For example, researchers at the University of Melbourne are working on a radar chip that can be installed in cars. Funding came from the likes of Ford, but also from Raytheon. The stated aim of the research is to make cars safer on the road, by making systems that can detect hazards and cause the car to break. Sounds innocent to me, too. But the same technology, once developed, can then be taken by Raytheon, and put into military applications – tanks, Hummers, etc.The same principle applies to most defence research; researchers

are just developing a new kind of radio, a new kind of alloy metal or a new technique for data analysis. Seemingly innocent research is being undertaken in most universities, but the real outcomes of that research are nothing short of war. UniSA employs a former Managing Director of BAE, and top academics involved in defence related projects seem to transfer effortlessly from working in industry to working in the university. In the case of the degree in Maritime Engineering at Flinders University, the Commonwealth Government’s Defence Materiel Organisation stepped up and dished out the cash to set up the course. Likewise, the Commonwealth Defence Science and Technology Organisation (DSTO) funds research centres and scholarships. Most universities in the country have DSTO scholarships available to engineering students. Industry interaction in universities usually takes the form of funding for research projects and research centres. The University of Adelaide has the Centre for Defence Communications and Information Networking, jointly sponsored by BAE and the DSTO, as well as the Radar Research Centre, funded by Raytheon.

RMIT, Swinburne, Melbourne, and the University of Queensland all have different research centres, funded generally by either BAE, Raytheon, or the DSTO. The research centres are in all fields and as such they employed to do most of the work that these weapons manufacturers need. This decentralisation is key to both the success of military production, as well as the maintenance of the spectacle of defense itself, the maintenance of an image that this industry does no harm, intends to do no harm, and in fact is good for us. No one university is being paid to develop the next generation of laser guided bombs which can be outfitted with depleted uranium warheads. But the collective effort of all our universities is what makes those bombs. Only because of the complicity of our own Universities in military production is this kind of action is even possible. We must oppose the defence industry. We need to drive these companies out of the schools, and out of the universities.

UniSA has the Centre of Excellence in Systems Engineering, funded by BAE, and the Defence & Systems Institute, funded by BAE, Raytheon, Lockheed Martin, and SAAB. Flinders Uni has the Centre for Expertise in Energic Materials, DSTO funded. Other Universities in the country such as Wollongong, Sydney,

Gabriel Evangelista is an anarchist; as such, he believes that humanity could live without war, exploitation and oppression.



WORDS: MAX COOPER ART: MADELEINE KARUTZ The Adelaide University Theatre Guild was founded in 1938 and in the 75 years since has been a consistent presence on the campus of the university. The company has presented over 300 productions, and won numerous awards. However, its history is not entirely without troubles. In recent years, the company has faced significant troubles connecting to the student body – rather than being an organic part of the University, the Guild had become simply a company that operated on the campus.


The disconnect between the Guild and the student body began in the mid-90s, according to Chair of the student committee Ben McCann. The University discontinued its drama program, and student participation correspondingly dropped off. The Guild didn’t manage to draw in enough student

interest following the loss of these (plainly interested) students, and thanks to inertia the Guild had a massive issue by the mid-2000s.

University raised some eyebrows due to how tenuous a link they had back to it.

Students hardly knew it existed, and when they did they has no idea how to – or even that they could – get involved.


McCann described ‘the new premium on students’ time’ as an added difficulty to the job of the Theatre Guild to connect to students. Where once ‘you would finish your classes and go to an audition or a rehearsal’, people now have many competing commitments. He also talked about how the Guild was not necessarily quick to accept this, or to make efforts to accommodate student needs. The focus of the Guild was ‘very un-student oriented’ at the time and while the Board of the Guild was incredibly receptive to student involvement when it was pushed, this process took a lot of time and energy. Though the Guild was still doing well financially, and receiving quality reviews, there were persistent concerns about the lack of engagement within the campus. The Adelaide University Theatre Guild had lost its connection to Adelaide University, and the support that it received from the

In 2009, the Guild was also facing the planned closure of Union Hall. With the demolition of the Hall, the Guild moved to their current home on Level Five of Union House, but they still needed a rehearsal space to replace the Hall. This led to their agreement with the University over a priority arrangement for the Little Theatre. The Guild is guaranteed access to the Theatre during their rehearsals, which take up nine months of the year. The fact that the Guild is not exclusively a student group – coupled with the increasing distance between the Guild and the students at the time – meant that this agreement drew critical eyes. The idea of University resources going to non-students, especially at a time of prominent and severe cuts, seemed to be more about the University saving face than promoting campus culture.


And then, in 2009, the direction of the Guild changed. Everyone



involved in the Guild that I spoke to agreed: this was when things started looking more positive. According to Alex Antoniou, one of the Guild student representatives on the board for 2013, it was down to a group of dedicated students who ‘took the initiative and revived much of the student presence within the Guild’. One of the biggest changes was the introduction of the ‘Student Production’. One of the Guild’s three major productions each year is now designed to focus on the student body. The Guild recruits directors with experience working with students to head these up. Auditions are designed to take place shortly after O’Week so that students who discover the Guild are given a chance for involvement quickly. According to Antoniou, these productions aren’t designed as a pittance to appease students:

they’re one of the Guild’s three main performances of the year and consistently ‘well reviewed and well attended’. Australian Stage Online said of 2013’s student production of Michael Gow’s Away that: ‘such a production not only gives experience to aspiring thespians, but also shows us what (and who) might be waiting in the wings as the future of theatre in a community’. The productions are given the same resources and importance as the two major non-student productions each year, and received just as well. McCann also noted that, although Richard III was not a student production, over half of the cast ‘were employed by the university, or students, or recent graduates’. Another significant change was the introduction of a lot of activities outside of productions: student workshops, staged readings, and


social events. These activities theoretically let students become involved without having to commit to the enormous task of a production, although they remain dependant, of course, on the interest of the student body. Antoniou spoke enthusiastically about hopes to introduce ‘regular theatre nights – where students can all see productions (the Guild’s and otherwise) together’ in 2014. Another person, though not a student himself, who has done excellent work for the Guild’s relationship with students is former Artistic Director Edwin Kemp Attrill. Antoniou said that he ‘was tasked with ensuring a better student presence within the Guild’. His work included attempts to reach out to the faculties of the University. For example, Kemp Attrill visited lectures with actors from the 2011 production of Macbeth to talk about the importance of performance in theatre. The persisting problem of the large commitment a production requires still remains, but Kemp Attrill’s work has been incredibly helpful for the company. McCann and Antoniou both emphasised how important his efforts were in helping the Guild to connect with the student body.

Though Kemp Attrill has now moved on, it was not before he, as Antoniou put it, ‘succeeded in many respects’.


The work of people like Kemp Attrill, as well as the dedicated directors of the student productions, has been incredibly helpful for the Guild. The directors have included former Guild actors and high school teachers – people who have a passion for, and experience with, working with students. Kemp Attrill also shared the commitment to student involvement these directors have shown, and their work has been incredibly helpful in developing the Guild’s relationships with students.


Despite the loss of their old home, things for the Guild are looking up. A combination of dedicated students, a board with members receptive to their concerns, and the work of dedicated individuals within the Guild and its productions bodes well for the Guild. Truthfully, the priority agreement for Little Theatre, though it does give a huge swath of time to the Guild, doesn’t preclude other groups from using it. The theatre is often used by other clubs, University Senior College’s Drama students, and even outside companies. Three months out of the year are free of Guild productions, but the Theatre remains well trafficked during these times. The argument also becomes less and less convincing the more the Guild reaches out to students. It is also important, if the Guild is to connect to the student body, that they have a home at the University somewhere. Though no formal announcements have been made as to the 2014 line-up for the company, McCann was very excited about what was coming up. He said that the Guild was ‘unafraid of Shakespeare’ and tried to do at least one of The Bard’s plays each year

(Richard III in 2013) and suggested that the play would be ‘something everyone knew’ but he was still looking forward to the director’s new perspective on it. Similarly, the student representatives are looking forward to seeing what 2014 holds. They’re already discussing ways for the Guild to connect more with students, and though the work is slow, the student committee shares a view that ‘all that hard work is building momentum’. They need students who are interested in the work they do, but it looks unlikely that any of them will give up any time soon. McCann thinks that the Guild is hopefully headed towards a ‘golden age’ with the renewed focus on

student involvement, becoming a group truly built for as well as by students. There is a lot of promise in the current work being put into the Guild, though hopefully it will be picked up on by future students, as everyone I spoke to made clear the importance of cultivating student support for the Guild’s continuing existence. The Adelaide University Theatre Guild’s next production is Andrew Bovell’s Holy Day, directed by John Graham, in October.

Max Cooper wants his life to be like a sitcom, but secretly worries he’d be the Will rather than Karen or Jack. Or god forbid, Grace.

TARRKARRI TIRRKA : THE FUTURE OF INDIGENOUS LEARNING? WORDS: VIVIAN KENNY PHOTOGRAPHY: ELIZABETH GALANIS Since their inception, universities have played a significant role in developing and distributing knowledge. Historically, and problematically, universities’ attitudes towards Australia’s Indigenous peoples have often been controversial. Universities were among the institutions that embedded beliefs that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people were savage primitive beings and played a role in the injustices that were perpetrated against them. The University of Adelaide’s very own Professor Edward Stirling (as in the Stirling Lecture Theatre) advocated: ‘The more of those half caste children you can take away from their parents and place under the care of the State the better.’ These views have long vanished

from our universities, but there continues to be little recognition of Aboriginal knowledge or of Australia’s Aboriginal past. Recognising and valuing this knowledge and history is essential to journeying towards reconciliation; by failing to teach in and acknowledge the value of this knowledge, the university is failing to observe its role in encouraging positive social change.


What most Australians understand as pre-1788 history primarily comes from Great Britain – The Mother Land. Meanwhile, the bulk of Australians have a mere token understanding of this country before colonisation in 1788. We know that boomerangs are fucking sick, didgeridoos are pretty much impossible to play and the Kaurna are the traditional custodians of the Adelaide plains. But what else? In terms of post-1788 Australia, Aboriginal perspectives are seldom acknowledged, or simply brushed off as a ‘black armband view’.

In high school, we watch Rabbit Proof Fence and once it’s over the teaching ends. There’s little or no discussion, and rarely any lessons on the context of that story in a broader history of Australia. Instead, we memorise the names of the ‘founding fathers’, debate the merits of federation, and celebrate the ANZAC legend. All in all, a fairly narrow interpretation of ‘Australian History’. I’m not advocating that we abandon other ancestral histories – but the two histories must coexist equally. This approach to teaching history can be done successfully. A friend of mine grew up in New Zealand and remembers sing-alongs at primary school in Maori languages. For an Australian primary school student to know an Aboriginal word is practically unheard of. The very fact that most of us can say hello in five European languages but not in an Indigenous one simply exemplifies our cultural cluelessness1. This is our country and our history, therefore 1 For those of you playing at home ‘nina marni’ is hello in Kaurna.


ouresponsibility. Ignorance feeds prejudice and fails to justify the place of Aboriginal people in Australian society today.



While Kevin07 apologised to the Stolen Generations back in 2008, there has been no effort to reconcile the Stolen Knowledge. When children were taken from their families and communities, their cultural knowledge was also stolen. Universities now have more than a moral responsibility to preserve, nurture and teach Indigenous culture, knowledges and perspectives; they have a pedagogical obligation. By disregarding this role, they are taking part in a gradual neglect and destruction of Aboriginal cultures. The specialisation of our tertiary education voids us of cultural awareness. The incorporation of Indigenous perspectives into all aspects of education develops cultural understanding, and will hopefully release us from our ignorance. The likelihood of graduates – especially from education, engineering, health and law – working with and for Aboriginal

people and organisations is high. An ability to interact competently with Aboriginal people is critical, and that requires having an understanding of (at least the existence of) Aboriginal knowledge. This is something our neighbours at UniSA recognise. They have a policy that requires the incorporation of Indigenous perspectives into the curriculum of all undergraduate programs. The University of Adelaide says nothing on the matter.


Beyond this, Aboriginal people are significantly underrepresented in universities, contributing to the high level of social and economic disadvantage that they often experience. The Behrendt Report2 highlighted the need for cultural change within universities. It outlined the link between fears of cultural isolation and low participation of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. In order for universities to become culturally safe environments, governance structures and teaching methods 2 Review of Higher Education Access and Outcomes for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People.

need to be inclusive of and influenced by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander expertise and perspectives. A quick glance over the numbers at our university confirms that, by this measure, our university does not provide a culturally safe environment. In 2011 of the over 4,000 students to complete a degree only 31 were Indigenous. This well under one per cent of our graduates – and well under population parity of 2.5 per cent. In that same year the average retention rate of Indigenous students was almost 30 per cent lower than that for nonIndigenous students. Further, Indigenous staff make up only 0.5 per cent of the university’s academic personnel.


While this paints a damning picture, the University is trying to appear as if they are altering their attitude. In 2003 they released their Reconciliation Statement – committing the university to increasing Indigenous staff and students and promoting the process of reconciliation through education.

The university now has another strategy, and, as such documents usually are, it’s full of visions, missions, objectives, recommendations, targets and, of course, KPIs. Tarrkarri Tirrka (Future Learning) is the University’s Integrated Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Strategy, released last month. The strategy creates pathways to improve Indigenous student enrolment and completion rates, and ensure staff employment rates that are reflective of state population parity. In order to increase Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander student enrolments and completions the strategy recommends:  Introducing preparation programs  Increasing scholarships & financial support  Establishing Indigenous Student Recruitment and Outreach Committee  Increasing Indigenous imagery on faculty websites. The strategy, in conjunction with the university’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Employment Strategy, further outlines its commitment to increasing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander staff through:

 Indigenous staff targets  Student cadetships  Appointment of Indigenous representatives to University Council and Academic Board It also aims to enable Adelaide University students to gain knowledge of Indigenous Australia through developing an Aboriginal Studies Major (to be implemented in 2014-2015) and incorporating Indigenous content into undergraduate programs. The strategy is a praiseworthy document. It is the first step towards a serious commitment to Indigenous knowledge and equality. But why did this take until 2013? It was ten years ago, in our Reconciliation Statement, that we committed to this. It is six years since Kevin said Sorry, and it is years after UniSA took similar steps. The biggest question surrounding the plan is funding. It is a costly plan, which, in the light of the Federal Governments $20 million cuts to tertiary education and the likelihood of further cuts from the incoming government, will be difficult to pay for. At the same time as making these commitments, the university is demonstrating an ability to overlook these ‘recommendations’.

As reported in The Australian, Indigenous Australian history courses will not be offered next year. This move is not aligned with Tarrkarri Tirrka, which acknowledges the necessity of continued delivery of higher level Aboriginal studies courses taught by Aboriginal academics. It’s all very well to have a policy, but this is not the achievement. The achievement will be in the delivery. All we have at the moment is a document full of flowery language. Given the current pressures on the university, there’s legitimate concern that the targets set in Tarrkarri Tirrka will be delayed beyond their deadlines. While students and staff can play a role in reminding the University of their obligations, it’s ultimately up to the University to ensure that their declarations of ‘vision’, ‘missions’ and ‘objectives’ and their self-imposed recommendations are put into practice. Otherwise, we not only run the risk of ‘losing’ to UniSA, but of losing an incredible and important part of this country’s history and knowledge. Vivian Kenny is a accomplished user of the Bureau of Meteorology website. As such, he always knows when it’s going to rain.



LEX SALUS: LAW WELLBEING Ligertwood is where fresh-eyed high school students go to learn about cases and legislation, and where ‘thinking creatively’ means reading minority judgements and asking if plaintiffs can pursue equitable remedies. By the end of a law degree, most students have spent four or five years in a highly competitive, highly stressful environment. Many law students suffer from mental illness over the course of

their degree. A recent brace of studies in Australian universities have shown that more than one in five students will suffer from mental health issues in any given year, and more than a quarter of those will not search for counselling or support. Law students are more likely to suffer than students in any other degree. But for one week this semester, Ligertwood, whilst still just as hideously ugly as always, was a far friendlier place. From table tennis and knitting circles to lecturers dressed up as pirates and law themed comedy shows, the program was called Lex Salus (Law wellbeing in Latin) and aimed to address some of the issues law students face. The staff behind the initiative, Kellie Toole, Mark Giancaspro, and Corrine Walding were keen to promote the program. Mark explained that Lex Salus came about because of research into depression and mental wellbeing amongst law students. Mark highlighted that: ‘a lot of the Research has indicated that law schools cultivate competitiveness and autonomy. Lex Salus is about working together to destigmatise the issue of mental health. To relax a bit,

and stress that law school isn’t all there is. We encourage this aura of competitiveness, law is a competitive field, and that can’t be helped, but to some extent it can be.’ Whilst other schools have been doing research into the causes of mental health issues amongst law students, Corinne explained that: ‘We wanted to do something about it … something proactive encompassing not just mental health but also general wellbeing’. The concept started some time ago when Corrine, Mark and Kellie got together, along with the manager of counselling and disability services, and two student representatives. After months of planning and ideas they settled on a week of activities, which would kick-start a broader, longer term campaign. Of course, that didn’t reduce the shock when I walked into my corporate law lecture to see my lecturer Professor Christopher Symes dressed as an elf. Lex Salus started with posters scattered throughout the Law School, and then became free food giveaways, organised events, and efforts made during the week to make students more comfortable talking to lecturers and other law students.

33 WORDS: SAM YOUNG ART: ANTHONY NOCERA It included a Facebook account, which Mark explained really helped to connect with students. ‘We’re actively engaging in social media now. No other law school is doing so as actively as we are. In a sense we’re trying to ‘ befriend’ the student body, and actively engage with social networks, which is really important. It all starts there. It’s enough to hand out a show bag and send students on their way, but that’s not what this is about. It was a weeklong program, but that’s just something to build on.’ Kellie explained that building on the apparent success of the program this year, they have plans to expand and improve. ‘We’ll do another week next year, but also mainstream it more. We’re looking at having an 80s day this semester, giving out free soup, looking to get the table tennis table to come back. We’ll be doing promotion of mental well-being on an ongoing basis as well as having it in just one intense week. We’re also looking to get more input from students.’ The input from students so far, has been positive, although in many ways quite representative of the way law students are taught to think. Mark related that:

‘A student asked, what’s the rationale behind the costumes?’ and I said there isn’t one. And that’s a typical law student way of thinking, rational, linear, they see reason, and that’s not what this is about. It’s about tapping into the other side of the brain, striking a balance, and not always being in this cocoon of competitiveness.’ Whilst the feedback so far has been positive, Corrine pointed out that success can’t really be measured yet. She said that: ‘It’s a work in progress. The more we do, and the more input we get the better. Our success will not be known immediately – it might be a couple of years down the track, if we have a positive impact by the time people leave. Now we want to keep the momentum going, and make a difference.’ Whatever the case, the whole week was be good fun. Anything that makes me get up even just a

little more keen to go to uni and learn about shares and directors duties has got to be a good thing. Whether or not the project is going to be a success in the long term, Lex Salus has got to be a move in the right direction. Sam Young spends as much time cycling as attending class. That’s a lot of one, and not much of the other.



In the last five years I’ve attended more rallies than I can remember and organised a few myself. Some big, some small, some that got national media coverage, some that probably no one besides the people there even knew happened. Pretty much without fail, they follow the same speech, march, chant, speech format. While important and with varying degrees of impact, these rallies can fall easily into a trap of routine – the

excitement and impact soon fades for people who’ve attended a few. Recently in Adelaide something has changed – and for the better. In recent months, rallies in Adelaide have been injected with a new, seemingly spontaneous ‘rebel energy’ that’s pushing the envelope as to what’s considered acceptable. Previous to this, rallies were increasingly becoming heavily controlled and regulated – not just in Adelaide but throughout Australia. At both refugee and student actions in the past months, people have taken part in minor acts of nonviolent civil

disobedience, many for the first time. At protests for refugee rights people sat down in intersections stopping traffic across the Adelaide CBD while at the student protest against cuts to higher education federally and cuts to humanities subjects at Adelaide Uni students temporarily occupied the Deputy Vice Chancellor’s office. This ‘rebel energy’, as George Lakey termed it, has the potential to revitalise movements for change in this country (and importantly, this city). It couldn’t have happened at a more important time. Our country is implementing harsher and harsher policies towards refugees, cutting funding to vital sectors like higher education and failing to act

strongly on climate change when we know that we need to peak our emissions within the next three years. A movement that is willing to challenge the status quo and take risks by engaging in civil disobedience is essential. Indeed, civil disobedience has been a critical ingredient to successful social movements for centuries. While traditional his-story tends to focus on the conflicts of the powerful, rarely do we hear about how ordinary people, often those most marginalised, have pushed the limits of what is considered ‘acceptable’ to challenge and defeat perpetrators of injustice across the world. Throughout the 1960s, Indigenous people undertook acts of civil disobedience such as the Gurrindji Walk Off in 1966 at Wave Hill pastoral station (we all know the song From Little Things...) that led to legislation for Aboriginal Land Rights in 1976. Women and workers waged campaigns for equal rights and fair wages and environmentalists defended from destruction special places like the Franklin in the 1980s or the Kimberley more recently, all using different methods of civil disobedience. All of these campaigns, and campaigns like them, were willing to take risks and also face serious consequences such as arrest or violence from police. To do this, they needed to be disciplined. They also needed strong bonds of trust and support between the people who were involved. Developing these bonds takes time and patience but leads to movements that last (and win!). This is one of the key challenges for everyone involved

in turning these initial and exciting sparks into a widespread movement that has the power to succeed. For many, a new world and mindset were opened as we occupied the student hub and then the office floor of the Deputy Vice Chancellor’s office. Many students said things along the lines of ‘this is the first time I’ve done anything like this but it feels right’. That’s an incredible step forward that opens the space for our actions to go deeper and create more impact. However, the question remains open as to how this movement can take the next steps into the space we collectively created. If we are going to continue to take actions of civil disobedience we need to train ourselves to learn about our comfort zones. It’s important that we know the answers to questions like ‘how long we are willing to occupy the office of a key decision maker for?’ And ‘what are we willing to risk when we do it?’ Knowing these answers will ensure we remain in control of our actions and in control of the consequences. Of course, this will lead to push back from both those in power from some more conservative members of the public who watch on. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, if civil disobedience is largely outside of the experience of the majority of our generation trying to create social change. You can bet that when we do it, we will be playing politics well outside of the experience of most decision makers and authority figures like security and police. It’s also exactly what makes civil disobedience a tactic with such high potential: it takes decision makers to a place they don’t know how to control, so they might be willing

to negotiate. But because we’ll be taking people to places they’re uncomfortable, we also need to be able to clearly communicate what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. If we can do this, we can design actions that win over people watching our actions – and hopefully get them off the proverbial sidewalk (or maybe off their laptop in the Hub) to join us! It is clear at this point that our collective movements need to go beyond just voting, beyond petitions and beyond rallies. While all of these are important tactics, our generation of activists cannot afford to ignore civil disobedience as a legitimate and necessary strategy for social change. It won’t be news to anyone to say much more work needs to be done before we see the kind of actions that stopped the Vietnam War. But while it feels like there is much to despair about politically right now, these sparks of rebel energy offer hope that from them the movement we need to create a more just, humane society can be born. Dan Spencer is a community organiser working to replace coal with renewable energy, a very part time student and still a CD buyer.



AS BARE AS YOU DARE WORDS: LEWIS LAURENCE ART: DAISY FREEBURN For those of you who missed it (which was all of you because the only people who turned up were myself, an anticircumcision activist and one dental student) the World Naked Bike Ride was on in Adelaide earlier this year. Meeting at a secret location known only to those with access to Facebook, the ride was a festival of body paint and concern over whether everybody was going to get arrested - in other cities. Here, we just sat around uncomfortably fully clothed until it became clear that nobody else was going to turn up, and then we went home. The general idea of WNBR is to draw attention to the vulnerability that cyclists face on the road, but it’s also to have fun and challenge one’s personal boundaries. In particular, it makes me wonder whether genitals are really so ugly that they are not fit for public display. Compared to a nose, which makes sucking noises as it inhales and exhales, and dribbles mucus in public which then dries and sticks to the hairs within (and,

from time to time, without), our unfortunately named ‘privates’ are quite presentable and wellbehaved, especially when covered with some tactful modesty-fur. And what about the stumpy, malformed hands that we call ‘feet’? What would a nimble chimpanzee say if it saw what evolution had done to its beautiful and useful appendages (probably something like, ‘progress my foot!’)? I want to labour this point a little, actually. Put your hand on the floor next to your bare foot, and imagine the beautiful hand metamorphosing into a grotesque, demented foot and then tell me it’s our crotches which besmirch the dignity of the human race. Whenever I talk about the freedom and liberation of being nude (not ‘naked’, which carries connotations of being vulnerable) people always say the same thing: ‘But do you want to see old man penises all the time? Should children have to see old man penises all the time?’ As if slightly more relaxed attitudes to nudity would lead directly to some flash-a-thon where primary school fences are lined by armies of old men sword-fighting with their erections while children cry. But in fact, children at nudist festivals look pretty bloody carefree to me. Actually, everybody looks pretty bloody carefree.

It turns out that old man penises don’t have a vast and terrible power to destroy one’s mind and corrupt the innocent. They’re not that bad, I’ve seen a few at said festivals. You get used to them after about three or four. They’re about as wrinkly as an old man’s hands, only less sunexposed. And people hanging out in the nude in non-sexual contexts like festivals or nude bike rides is far less confronting than the hyper-sexual images that saturate the media, for children and adults. Before I went to a clothingoptional festival, I expected that once people shed their clothing (and hence part of their identity) that they would become some kind of undifferentiated mass, like a herd of curious ruminants or a stack of ludo pieces. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Turns out it’s our clothes which homogenise our otherwise totally bizarre and different bodies, as editors homogenise collections of poor analogies. And my high school health textbook lied to me: there is no symmetry, except for a drab few perhaps. It also turns out that the answer to questions which begin with ‘I wonder if I’m the only one...’ is always no. Of course, in our regular lives these facts are always hidden by a bikini or a budgie smuggler.


Outside of nudist festivals and WNBR, though, Australia has a vagina problem (more accurately, a vulva problem). This was written up recently in Sydney University’s student paper Honi Soit (possibly the only student paper with a sillier name than On Dit) which recently published eighteen vaginas as its front cover. Of course, since we live in stupid-land where the human body is offensive to, um, humans (… explain that one, ‘evolution’) it was temporarily banned and now comes hidden by a plastic cover. It gets worse, though. It turns out that the Australian Film and Classification Board has certain classifications which actually require digital censorship of labia. This means that all softcore porn mags, among other types of content, airbrush vaginas. But who cares about passing off unrealistic, digitally altered depictions of genitals as normal? Really, where’s the harm? Well, cosmetic female genital surgery is on the rise. Sydney plastic surgeon Dr Laith Barnouti claims to have performed the operation on girls as young as fourteen. Taking a step back, we need to look at what the bigger issue is here. Why are the only naked people we see on a regular basis, apart from sexual partners (and

disembodied dick rather than the human being who occupied most of the frame. What kind of horrendous way of thinking does that entrench in people? A fuckload of boys don’t ever see a naked woman in a non-sexual context, apart perhaps from when they are very young children (and I’m sure that the same is true for many women, too).

even then many insist on turning out the lights), trimmed and airbrushed actors? In practice, it means that nudity is confined to people’s bedrooms. For many men of our generation, the first hundred naked women they will see will be literally getting fucked. And they’ll look like porn stars, because they are. When I was about thirteen, we thought it would be funny to open some porn on my friend’s computer. The video featured a naked girl and a huge penis floating in from stage right. Thinking about that now, I assume that my friend would jerk off to that video, which (since he was hetero) meant that he was empathising with a

Our whole lives men are trained, not necessarily by the media or by culture, but by experience to view female nudity as inherently sexual. There are a myriad of gender issues going on in our society, but taboos on nudity combined with readily available pornography are surely not helping. I have no problem with pornography per se, for the record, but only with the imbalance between non-sexual and sexual nudity in our culture I wouldn’t want to convey the impression that WNBR is entirely about nudity. The philosophy is ‘as bare as you dare’, and it merely uses the vulnerability associated to nakedness to highlight the vulnerability of cyclists on the roads – no matter who’s responsible for the accident, we’re the ones who get hurt. But it does raise important issues about our bodies, and hopefully Adelaide can put on a better show next year.



You know that feeling you get when it’s one in the morning and you’re still awake and everything is kind of blurry and you’re pretty tired and jonesing for sleep but also fuck it you know you only live once and then suddenly, in this one-am stupor dolphins just seem really, really, really funny? You’re not high, but Christ, for some reason… dolphins, you know? Well, every week, for twentyseven weeks running, I’ve had that feeling. Why? Because once a week, right on the cusp of the Thursday night/Friday morning cross-over, I host Midnight Static on Radio Adelaide. We play music, talk into microphones, and occasionally giggle about dolphins. All up, it’s a Pretty Sweet Gig. Radio Adelaide is a community radio station. And, more and

more in recent years, that’s a complicated and tenuous thing to be. We’ll get to why it’s so complicated in a sec, but first:


If you’re a commercial radio station, you’re pretty much ‘on your own’ in the broadcasting stakes. You pay licensing fees off your own back, pay for DJs and equipment off your own back, and fund the whole enterprise with advertising money. If you’re a national broadcaster, money comes directly from the government. Community radio is, in some sense, ‘the third way’ here. If you’re a community radio station, you don’t run ads, a small portion of your budget comes from government funding, and you’re a non-profit organization. You’re still regulated by the same central government authority (the Australian Communications and Media Authority, ‘ACMA’) but you follow a separate Code of Practice. Incidentally, it’s ACMA that grants you a broadcasting licence. For you to get a ‘community’

licence from them, you have to be strictly non-profit and address a perceived need within the community. This whole ‘third tier’ of radio started in the 1970s. It was born out of a desire for specialist radio licences for specialist groups within the community. Radio Adelaide, by the way, is the oldest running station of this kind. We’ve been broadcasting solidly since 1972. Today, there are over twenty community radio stations broadcasting in SA alone. At this point, community radio might sound a little like an unsightly combination of ‘airy fairy’ and ‘acronym heavy’. It’s not. Community radio stations are concrete things with concrete goals. They promote new music, cultural diversity, local interests, and minority voices. The CBAA code of practice sets out some pretty clear requirements along these lines – 25 per cent Australian Music, appropriate handling of Indigenous issues, etc – but perhaps the most interesting is Code 2. Code 2 of the CBAA Code of Practice requires that community broadcasters ‘oppose and break down prejudice on the basis of ethnicity, race, language, gender, sexuality, age, physical or mental ability, occupation, religious, cultural or political beliefs’. As broadcasting codes go, that’s a pretty interesting statement to make. It’s one am, I’m blurry-eyed and giggling about dolphins, but I should be actively opposing and breaking down prejudice. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a wonderful, and incredibly serious, requirement. Having a microphone and a band of airwaves isn’t something we should take lightly. For all of the silliness and

beginner-ism that community radio has the potential to hold (Student Radio especially), it seems right and just and responsible to me that we hold ourselves to exacting standards.


Here are some numbers from the current ‘Commit To Community Radio’ campaign. 34 per cent of community radio broadcasters are the sole providers of local radio content in their area. Of Australia’s radio listening population, roughly 25 per cent listen to community radio each week. That’s 4.4 million. Every week. The Federal Government provides ongoing funding to these stations through the Community Broadcasting Program, and that funding provides, on average, 8.5 per cent of average station income. The remainder is made up through limited sponsorship, subscriber support from listeners, and other sources. It’s a big job, and it’s done on a shoestring. Across the country, over 22,000 volunteers produce and present community radio and television each year. Basically, community radio is there for you. Whether you know it or not. There’s a thing called the ‘Community Radio Network’. It’s a satellite that broadcasts a program feed to subscribing community radio stations. Including Radio Adelaide.


There’s a giant fucking satellite in geostationary orbit broadcasting community content 24/7. There’s 168 hours in a week, and that’s a lot of hours – especially if your hosts and producers are volunteers who want to

be sleeping. To deal with this problem, the CBAA organised a thing called the COMRADSAT. This is not, unfortunately, a covert military project. Instead, it’s a satellite that allows each community radio station to broadcast programs taken from other community stations around the country without the rigmarole of sending tapes in the mail. They did this in 1993. I was born in 1993. COMRADSAT is as old as I am, people. It’s as old as one of its hosts. The ‘C1 satellite’ is controlled via Optus: four channels of radio are sent to the satellite, 24/7, via an uplink at a place called Belrose Park (in Sydney). Talk about calling for back-up. There are four channels of radio sent to the satellite: the National


I like top forty stuff as much as the next guy, and I’ll listen politely to ABC Classic FM when my granddad’s in the car, but community radio fills the gaps. The big, gaping gaps in community interest. Say what you like about the things you don’t like, but shows like ‘Country Brekky’ and ‘Bluegrass Unlimited’ and ‘The Role Playing Hour’ and ‘The Legacy Hour’ are genuinely valuable broadcasts for people. Every week, Radio Adelaide – and hundreds of other stations like it – broadcast content that wouldn’t be broadcast elsewhere. They do non-English language shows, and local music. That matters. They give students a chance to get good at broadcasting

I WANT MORE CHOICE THAN ‘SAFM’ OR ‘RADIO NATIONAL’ Indigenous Radio Service from the AICA, Radio for the Print Handicapped Australia, the BBC World Service, and the Community Radio Network. For 25 hours a week, Radio Adelaide switches to the BBC World Service.

in the Student Radio block, and they give us a drive-time show that’s genuinely listenable (‘The Range’). They play a shit-tonne of jazz, which some people like. And, my god, they do it all with a tiny fraction of the money they deserve.

The Community Radio Network, though, is perhaps the most interesting of the four. They provide 30 or 60 minute programs from member stations, live coverage of festivals, and national radio news in the form of hourly bulletins. They do this as a ‘sustaining service’: they never stop. There’ll be no dead air. It’s a beautiful thing. Also, it’s a fucking satellite, people.

I don’t want to get all high-horsey and selfish, but this matters to me, and it should matter to you. I want more choice than ‘SAFM’ or ‘Radio National’. I want to hear good music, and no ads. And I want to hear the voices of people – a variety of people – who are different from me. And you know what? I don’t think I’m alone in this. It seems as though at least 25 percent of the Australian population agrees with me.






Just over a year ago, I was in a neurosurgeon’s office being told I was properly unwell; at the time, I didn’t feel or think much of anything. Now, when I look back, it’s as though I was in one of those maths problems you hear about in school where behind one door is a car, but behind the others there are sheep. Or goats, it differs.

The first sheep had four piercing eyes: this was radiotherapy, in which multiple lasers are directed onto the affected area of my brain to zap the issue away. The second I imagined as having a wonky left side; this was the sheep that had neurosurgery and was left a little worse for wear. The third door hid the sheep with no head. This was the scariest treatment. It was the one where the problem is left alone and it hopefully doesn’t kill me. The only thing I had to do was choose which sheep I would name, which treatment I would take, which door I would open to fix the malformation in my brain.

The point is, you don’t want to end up with the door with the sheep behind it. You use percentages or something, and then you figure out how to avoid the sheep and get the prize.

My neurosurgeon went through these options in explicit, medical detail. We would need to do more tests before I could make an ‘informed decision’. I said thank you for the advice, even though I didn’t know what was going on.

But in my case there was no prize, just three sheep behind all three doors. Each was vaguely different to the others, none more appealing than another. I saw the sheep as the three options I had to treat my problem.

It took me a week to properly understand the anatomy of my affliction. The Arteriovenous Malformation, the AVM. After my doctor parents sat me down with diagrams I learnt that an

AVM is an abnormal connection between arteries and veins that leads to a tangle of weak blood vessels and are prone to bleeding than can end up giving people headaches and strokes and death. I had a glob of this in my brain. At the time, however, when I’d first been told and didn’t know what I was talking about, I could get away with not explaining it properly because no one else knew what it was either. ‘It’s basically just a thing in my brain that shouldn’t be there’, became my script. ‘I’m not really sure what’s going to happen yet,’ and ‘yeah I might lose my hair’ were also part of these conversations that felt like monologues. People didn’t know what to say, and so they stared at me or cried at me instead. But all this discussion was quite easy before I had made my decision about treatment because it was so ambiguous. I had no straight facts with which to terrify people, only a few details with which to slightly scare them. It was enough for me to say ‘I need more tests until we


really know what’s going on’, for them to hear ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, nothing will happen.’ It was only after the tests were performed and I went back to my neurosugeon’s office that people really started to say ‘oh shit’. The test was an angiogram, where a metal rod contaning dye was wriggled from my inner thigh up to my neck, then the dye was squirted around my head with a determined heat that I could feel in my face and my legs. Before the procedure, I was lying in a bay of six beds, all occupied by people waiting for angiograms like me. I looked at each patient – this was also the moment when I realised that I was a patient now – but none of them were healthy enough to look back at me. They were old, most over eighty, with wrinkled and yellow skin. Bruises on their arms from drips and lines that were visible to me on the opposite side of the room. It gave me a glimpse of what I might experience should I choose neourosurgery. For the first time since this started, I felt scared. I was scared at the thought that I was looking at these old sick people and experiencing the same things that they had experienced. When a man came to take my blood without gloves (it’s easier, dear) before the angiogram and asked for my age, I could barely say it. I couldn’t help but say ‘seventeen’ with shame. He thought I was nervous, but I wasn’t. I was sad. Afterwards, my neurosugeon talked me through the images from the scans and all I could think was how beautiful yet how twisted they were. How beautifully twisted it

felt to look at pictures of the part of my brain that threatened to render me paralysed or kill me, and think, ‘they are beautiful’. That Tuesday night, after talking about my brain with my neurosurgeon and listening to my parents talk about it and my sister cry about it, I made my choice. People comforted me, but mostly themselves, by saying that I had made the right decision, that it must feel so much better now to have some direction. That if I went with the ‘no treatment’ treatment they could never forgive themselves or if I’d picked radiothereapy they would always look at the neurosurgery door and wonder ‘what if?’. This was all fine and again I listened and nodded, but I knew that it wasn’t true. I hadn’t made the right choice because it was never my choice to make. My choice was made for me at birth when a glob of blood vessels didn’t turn out the way it should’ve. It was made for me when I started getting headaches in the same spot everyday and they wouldn’t leave me alone. The AVM, that tangled ball of blood vessels, when stretched out and untangled with a scalpel, spells ‘you never had a say’. My faithful neurosurgeon passed me on to another who operated interstate. At the airport I got special treatment for the first time when my mother asked the security guy to let us keep that manicure set because it was a gift from her friends who thought I would be bored in hospital, where we were headed. It’s still in my room somewhere. I never used it. At four in the morning on the following Tuesday I had a shower with special hospital soap and washed my hair with it. It made

it tangled, so I sat on the hospital bed with my mother for at least twenty minutes brushing it as though my life depended on it. I didn’t bother to think that in about two hours it would all be shaved off. I put on my hospital gown, which is exceptionally hard to tie up when your hands are shaking but you are trying to hide the fact that they are shaking. My dad and sister came in to talk to me and take photos with me and the funny thing is my hands weren’t shaking anymore, and I ran them through my hair and I didn’t mind that it was still tangled. A man introduced himself to my family and I for the first time. He said it was nice to meet me and he was looking forward to the operation. It was odd to give my life to a relative stranger, but I’d googled him and he was friendly but not condescending and he wore nice ties, so I felt okay. When the porters came to wheel me down to operating theatre, my mum and dad came with me, one on each side, their hands gripped to the sides of my bed pushing me along with white knuckles. When they had to leave I smiled a smile of comfort, not fear. Then the lines went in and the drugs went in and the door to operating theatre opened. I was trying to see the door, to see what texture it had or listen to the sound it made as it opened. I tried and tried to commit to memory the qualities of this door that had opened in front of me, but my eyes were foggy and my ears were heavy and my drugged mind shut. I was out for the next five hours. Henrietta Byrne is just another arts student with a pixie cut; you’ll never find her.





Being a student has plenty of perks. Undoubtedly one of the best things is holidays (especially those sweet, sweet summer breaks!) Another great thing is the endless weekday socialising. And with the East End and Rundle Mall right across the road it’s no wonder we all gain a few kilos while at uni! But as much as I love café culture and spending all my (limited) pennies at Nano or Chocolate Bean, I’m increasingly aware that to nip out and catch up over coffee isn’t all that cheap or convenient anymore. Add cake to that and you’ve just lost yourself $10. I really woke up to these outrageous costs the other day when I was in a quirky café, clearly trying to appeal to students, and found out a little citrus tart cost $5. ‘Ridiculous’, I thought, ‘I could make a whole pan of citrus tart for that!’ So I came home this week and pulled out a recipe I first tried a month or so ago. It’s very yummy, fabulously versatile, and pretty easy. But be aware, you can stuff it up (I did the second time I made it!) – I’ve included tips to hopefully avoid this. Enjoy!


(This can be tricky to get right - if you can’t risk failure opt for store bought shortcrust.)  About 100g butter (diced and softened)  cup sugar  1 cup flour (NOTE: you may need to add a bit more) Filling:  3 eggs  3/4 cup sugar (I think you could add more or less to taste, the original recipe I adapted this from used 1 1/2 cups!)  About 1tbsp citrus zest  1/2 cup fresh squeezed citrus juice (you can use any citrus fruit you like! Limes, lemons, grapefruit etc.)


 To make the crust combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix with fingers until a crumbly mixture is formed (if the mix seems too buttery, add a little more flour)  Press the crumbly mix into a greased baking pan  Poke some holes in the dough with a fork and bake for about 15 minutes in a 180˚C oven. Remove and let cool while you prepare the filling.  To make the filling, whisk all ingredients together until combined. The mixture should be reasonably runny and not thick/floury (too much flour will make the tart rubbery rather than custardy; if you think it’s too floury add a little more citrus juice)  Pour the mixture into the pan with the crust and bake at 180˚C for about 20 minutes or until the mix has set (it may still seem a little runny, but I found that it continued to set after I took it out of the oven)  A llow to cool a little, dust with icing sugar if you have it.  Indulge!

Eleanor Ludington studies medicine. More than anything she loves her dog, Trixie. She pretends to have ‘runner’ status, and enjoys baking chocolatechip biscuits in her spare time.




HOROSCOPES VIRGO It’s your party and you’ll cry if you want to – in a stand against all the Body Shop vouchers that formed the bulk of this year’s gift haul, you will lock yourself in a bathroom. LIBRA After a long week dodging student politicians on the lawns, you will develop a nervous tick whenever someone in a lurid t shirt enters your peripheral vision. SCORPIO It’s time. It’s time to instigate your dreams of an on-campus tobogganing club that will bring glory to the university the way mere light never will. Definitely start ordering branded snowsuits, it’s in the bag. SAGITTARIUS Desperately seeking a housemate, you will post adverts for potential roomies in the weekly newspaper ‘lonely hearts’ pages. You definitely won’t want to move in with niceguy76, but at least he’ll shout you a romantic dinner at Zambreros. CAPRICORN After constant awe from your peers over your apparently intuitive second sense at finding free barbeques, you decide to market your skills as a handy app. The ensuing student influx will spoil the free sausages for the rest of us, jerk. AQUARIUS A chance encounter in the Union House stairwell late one Thursday will result in a week’s speculation as to whether ‘that smouldering glance’ ‘really meant something’. It didn’t. Sorry.

BY CLARE VOYANT PISCES In a bid to dazzle your housemates with you culinary prowess, you will attempt to invent a dish you dub ‘fish fingers a la rouge’. The Poison Information Line is 13 11 26. That number again is 13 11 26. ARIES After drowning your sorrows on Bowler’s Run sauv blanc on election night, you decide to reappropriate several of your local member’s corflutes as souvenirs. The stobie polls thank you. TAURUS You’re well into twenty-first season and are strapped for cash for gifts. Time to embrace the art of the handmade present – a spray painted pinecone or homemade bong can only go down well. GEMINI After a three-hour ‘Embarrassing Bodies’ marathon, you decide to cancel your erstwhile gym membership and become a life drawing model. Good for you. CANCER Another ‘75 per cent chance of rain’ forecast spurs you on to design and construct a natty wet weather poncho out of free AUU condoms. You ensure the ‘protection’ irony escapes no one. LEO Your train carriage is deserted, yet the ageing man with a perm and matching trainers/tracksuit combo will sit next to you. Use discarded take away containers and tute readings to form a rudimentary quarantine barrier.

UNSCRAMBLE THIS! Whose name have we scrambled? CREATES PLAQUES

WHOSE LINE WAS IT ANYWAY? Match the quote to the person who said it. This whole talk of industrial action is all about chest beating à la class warfare.

Professor Pascale Quester, Deputy ViceChancellor (Academic)

There’s class warfare, all right, but it’s my class, the rich class, that’s making war, and we’re winning.

Professor Pascale Quester, Deputy ViceChancellor (Academic)

A useful perspective comes from an understanding that our graduates are both customers AND our products! I am keen for all parties to embrace co-creation and recognise the need for trust and collaboration. The advanced bachelors is a bit like being on the A-team.

PICK YOUR FACE Whose face have we pixelated?

Professor Pascale Quester, Deputy ViceChancellor (Academic)

Professor Pascale Quester, Deputy ViceChancellor (Academic)

Warren Buffett, American business magnate

PASCALE QUEST(ER) Quick! Pascale is late for her co-creation consultation! Help her get through the maze so she can seek a lighter future.




In the graveyard scene, Hamlet talks about a fellow of infinite jest. Well, you may call me Yorrick, because my comedy is limitless. And, like an owl in my wisdom, and an eagle in my baldness, I will take you, obtuse reader, under my wing, so you too can have a wit as sharp as a stiletto – and I don’t mean the heel, either. You see, wit is no laughing matter. But, with these exemplars of witty remarks, you will find that your wit can and will sting like vitriol, and leave those around you in need of anodyne for their burns. ‘Well, I would offer you some ice,’ you can say; ‘but, like my wit, it’s far too dry.’


Imagine that one day you are for one of one hundred reasons late for a class. You may knock on the door quietly, open it and find the cold eyes of your tutor, a punctilious individual, fixed upon you. They say: ‘You’re late.’ Then you say: ‘Well, actually, time is relative, so I am only late relative to you, just as you are, relative to me, an appalling tutor.’ And then you turn and walk out, leaving in your wake a room of awestruck students, and one relatively speechless tutor.


One day you and somebody with whom you have a contentious friendship are arguing over a particularly contentious subject, and your friend, frustrated by your opinion, says: ‘Well you’re just dumb.’ Then you say:


You walk into a shop one day, and the attendant says: ‘Man, Toby, I must say, you are dressed extremely well.’ And then, naturally, you say: ‘Thank you, but I am not actually Toby.’ Then when they say ‘Oh I’m very sorry – you are just so well-dressed I thought you were Toby’ – it’s okay: you don’t need to be witty here; you have been confused with somebody who dresses really well, which is advantageous.


You are a tired male, and find that you have entered the girls’ bathroom by mistake. You emerge from the cubicle, and a line of women are staring at you with looks of absolute resentment. All you need to do is shrug, and say: ‘Ladies, I know what you must be thinking, and there’s no need to be upset; I have left my number on the cubicle wall.’ And then you are free to leave while they all laugh, and even applaud, their adoration trailing behind you.

‘It’s funny you say that, because, in fact, a dumb person is a person who is incapable of speech; and yet I can speak, so it is fundamentally impossible for me to be dumb – even you, sadly, are not dumb (because you can speak); but you might as well be.’ And then you may turn away from this friend, who tries to retort but can’t, and walk off into the sunset, while they must simply watch you go, your wit having actually turned them dumb.


You misspell ‘affect’, writing ‘effect’ instead, and an insufferable acquaintance of yours notices, and comments: ‘Ha! I thought you would have learned that difference ten years ago.’ Then you say: ‘Okay well while we’re on the topic of effects, perhaps we could examine the effect of you never speaking again on the general wellbeing of everybody who knows you. You’ll find it affects them quite beneficially.’ And because you’re speaking you don’t even need to worry about the spelling.

ADDRESS Level 5 Union House Adelaide University North Terrace, Adelaide SA 5005 OPENING HOURS Mon–Fri: 6.30am–10.00pm Sat: 8.00am–2.00pm Sun: 11am–3pm

NE W CL A SS J U ST A D ES C ALL 83 DED 13 69 TO BO O 99 K!










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Backbiting and scheming, haute couture and private jets. Welcome to a world you could never imagine.

‘...shrewd, funny, sexy...a potent combination of vintage Jackie Collins and early Evelyn Waugh.’ Michael Korda

On Dit Edition 81.10  

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