On Dit Magazine: Volume 78, Issue 11

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t i d n magazine !

T LI E STUDEN FE, OPINION, POL ITICS, LAID AND CULTURE. ADE

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78

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A tutor at large

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The art of the essay The national campus

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Woroni's bid for independence Student politics AUU, law student elections Primer Delhi disaster Fixer-upper It's a bike!

Culture Hip-hop, murder, sausages our columnists vent Public transport, tech support federal politics Gillard's education shakeup

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Image opposite courtesy Chloe Langford

Editors: Connor O'Brien, Myriam Robin, Mateo Szlapek-Sewillo Cover image: Chloe McGregor October 5, 2010.

Want to contribute?

Email: ondit@adelaide.edu.au Phone: 08 8303 5404 ondit.com.au facebook.com/onditmagazine Twitter: @OnDitMagazine

On Dit is an Adelaide University Union publication.

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

EDITORIAL The Kanye West tweet that resonates most with me?

"Sometimes I get emotional over fonts" (@kanyewest, August 18, 2010). I feel ya, Kanye. I love myself a good slab serif. There's something sexy about a condensed bold that just makes me shiver all over. And if there's anything that can keep me up at night, it's a good conversation about the difference between optical and metric kerning. Arial Rounded makes me cry.

I'm fascinated by what fascinates people. When somebody ribs me about my obsession for typography, I'll point out that they choose to spend their spare time watching buff dudes kicking balls around grassy fields, tending to hamsters they've named after the members of the Brady Bunch, or arguing over whether or not a vampire would French kiss better than a teen werewolf. It's all so silly, but it's all so wonderful.

If there's anything we love to see here at On Dit HQ, it's writers who want to share their obsessions with the world. Over the year, we've run pieces on breast reduction surgery, the politics of band names, roller derby, bisexuality, cash scams, the Chelsea Cinema and Union Hall heritage battles, the Golden Key, video game reviewing, the charm of rural China, and the history of swimwear. You might ask, "Why should I care about any of that?" These writers, to their credit, have made me care. Hopefully they've made you care, too.

This issue, we've got more writers geeking out over their favourite stuff: the art of the essay, sausagemaking, record stores, hip-hop mix tapes, tech support, crime, politics, bicycle maintenance and the Adelaide Metro. I get emotional over fonts; you get emotional over the feel of a greasy bike chain or while skimming the pages of Samuel Johnson's Dictionary of the English Language. Potato, patata.

Enjoy!

Cheers, Connor (and Myriam, and Mateo)

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A short essay on the essay.

Words, Ben Revi. Illustration, Madeleine Karutz.

Over the course of an arts degree, the average student will study twelve subjects, each requiring at least two essays for assessment. That, then, is forty-eight essays over the course of a university degree. And every time a student writes an essay, somebody, somewhere, has to read it.

I'm one of those people. I have just finished marking no fewer than one hundred of the bastards. They were piled high on my desk, ordered in terms of relative lateness; the marked ones then get filed by class.

It took me more than a week, full-time, to read all of them. (Don't get me started on the industrial relations issues there. If we ever committed to a 'work to rule' industrial slowdown, you'd be sorry.) If there were ever an appropriate punishment for lazy students, it's this: we sit you down for an afternoon and force you to read twenty of the laziest essays we have. Then you'll understand that whenever you rush an essay the morning of the due date, whenever you skip out on referencing some bizarre sidetrack you figured would at least eat up the word count, whenever you can't be bothered checking your work to see if any of it makes any sense, you may just make a poor tutor cry.

Yet, the horrible truth is, I'm completely in love with essays. I discovered this when I realised that whenever I found myself drifting off, turning away from my students' essays, my chosen form of procrastination was to check a myriad websites – The New Yorker, the London Review of Books, The Economist, The Guardian, etc. – to see if there was

anything interesting to read. I was avoiding reading essays by reading essays.

An essay is any piece of non-fiction of limited length. Aldous Huxley defined them 'one damned thing after another.' So, in fact, this is an essay. So too are David Mitchell's hilarious rants in The Guardian, as are Benjamin Law's questioning interrogations in Frankie, as are Slavoj Zizek's critical muses in the LRB. Even Stephen Fry's Twitter account could be considered a series of essays. They're of limited length, at least.

The term essay was popularised by Michel de Montaigne. As the story goes, Montaigne was great friends with the poet Etienne de la Boetie; after Boetie's death, Montaigne wrote a series of short non-fiction works, based on the intellectual ideas he would have discussed with Boetie, where the reader takes Boetie's place. 107 of these – about as many as I just marked – he published as Essais, taken from the French word essayer, meaning 'to try'. In English, 'essays' are usually translated as 'attempts'. (Having no appropriate word, we merely stole the French and changed its meaning.) Yet in German, the word aufsatz means 'to set forth', a term which more fully captures the force and the ego of any good essay's true mental ejaculation.

Montaigne was not the first author to write in an informed, argumentative tone about various issues.

Rousseau also published similar things, under the title Discourses; in turn, these authors were inspired

by Augustine's Confessions, and Plutarch's Lives

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(the latter being the first known work of biography).

Montaigne gave the existing form its modern name.

Its style has changed.

In the English language, Francis Bacon and Samuel Johnson developed that style. Bacon eschewed the oratorial language of the time, full of flowery phrases and long-winded poetic rubbish. Instead, he developed a short, curt, forceful and abrasive style of writing. (To anyone who has looked through those peer-reviewed academic journals we tutors rabbit on about, this should seem somewhat familiar.) Yet Bacon too chose his subjects based on his interest. The essays are fascinating, but they would likely fail any university course.

Samuel Johnson's work comes closer to the modern essay. Johnson is famous for developing the Dictionary of the English Language, the first dictionary to include quotations to illustrate the meaning of words, and to reflect the actual English language used by the people. As he was preparing his dictionary, he began to write essays for a publication he fittingly called The Rambler. Yet what Johnson's major influence has come from, strangely, his introductions. His Lives Of The English Poets were essentially introductions before selections of these poets' works; yet they were critical, not merely biographical, and delved deeply into the meaning, the context and the value of poetry. Johnson essentially inspired the critical study of literature; and it is this critical study that has become the basis of the modern essay. In this modern essay, you do not merely speculate based on some

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loose idea, nor do you merely report on facts. You take some material – say, for example, the history and the form of the essay and its abuse by university students – and you critically analyse it. In the end, you say something. You identify some gem of meaning, some unique insight - or some other bollocks - and you try to convince the reader (Montaigne's Boetie) that you are indeed totally correct and masterful and absolutely some sort of frightening genius who towers, like an intellectual volcano, over the weak and despicable readers who are not worthy of your immense brainy talents. That's your argument.

I've committed the key mistake for which I attack my students – I haven't clearly identified my argument at the beginning of this essay. But that argument was in there, if you look hard enough. It goes like this: although you might find essays a form of punishment, essays can actually be inspiring, fascinating and beautiful things. They may well be 'one damned thing after another', but that freedom is what draws us to keep writing them. As you start your major essays, think of your tutors. Sure, you can just give us something to pass you with, but you actually can also give us something to read. 

On Dit's Favourite Essays: Malcolm Gladwell, Drinking Games (The New Yorker, February 2010) Is it even possible to write a list of 'best essays' without including something by our favourite frizzyhaired Canadian? In this recent essay, Gladwell dissects drunkenness and suggests that we we drink mightn't be as important as the way we drink it.

Hanna Rosin, The End of Men (The Atlantic, July/August 2010) Rosin poses the argument that the modern, post-industrial America is better suited to women, and explores some of the possible effects of this. A contrarian and thought provoking look at Western society.

David Foster Wallace, Consider The Lobster (2005) This anthology contains many of Wallace’s best essays. If you have to pick one, read the title piece, which looks at the ethics of boiling a creature alive, and caused a stir among the readers of Gourmet magazine when it was first published.

George Orwell, Politics and the English Language (1946) When I asked my high school English teacher what convinced her she wanted to teach kids how to write, she printed this out and dropped it on my desk one day after class. A strong, concise, clearly-argued attack on weasel words and academese, Orwell's essay offers proof that the best writing is invariably the most straightforward.

Benjamin Law, The Family Law (2010) A rollicking collection of essays about growing up Asian and gay in Queensland in the nineties. Law has drawn comparison to David Sedaris, but his voice in genuine, and his observations are frequently so hilarious as to be disturbing. If you're looking for more chuckle-worthy essay collections, see Sloane Crosley's How Did You Get This Number (2010). (Sloane wrote the cover story for the worstselling issue of Maxim in history).

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The Australian National University's student paper battles for independence.

Words, John Eldridge. Illustration, Madeleine Karutz.

We all like our campus culture to function as something of an antidote to our studies. Pissups and pubcrawls are the forte of the campus's myriad clubs and societies, and the institution that is O-Week serves to give the warm welcome to uni life that week-two assignments fail so splendidly to provide. On Dit has a similar duty - it not only gives you, dear reader, a break from the dreariness of prescribed reading, but it fights for student interests and attempts to keep various important bodies accountable. The magazine is therefore independent of the University proper, and funded mostly by the Adelaide University Union (AUU). A large part of the magazine's job, however, is reporting on student politics and the actions of the AUU. The conflict of interest encountered in the performance of this duty begs the question of whether On Dit would function better as an institution completely independent.

At the Australian National University (ANU), a group of student politicians and writers are exploring this idea of an independent student magazine. Many student newspapers in the USA are independent, but that isn’t the case anywhere in Australia. ANU's Woroni - published by the ANU Students' Union (ANUSA) since 1948 - just might be the guinea pig of the Australian student magazine world, with a draft constitution in the works that will sever its ties to the union and radically alter its institutional structure. The motivation for the push for independence, though, is not as straightforward as one might assume. Arguments for independent media outlets are

generally couched in the language of the fourth estate principle - the idea that an independent media will keep the wielders of power accountable. The push for an independent Woroni, however, comes largely from a confluence of factors peculiar to ANU. Will Glasgow, a former Woroni editor and a key contributor to the draft constitution, explains that only “some people go in for the fourth estate stuff. I think there's a little to it, but it shouldn't be overstated.� He points instead to the concerns ANU students have about the manner in which Woroni editors are elected, and the way in which the magazine changes style with the accession of each new editorial team.

The feeling at ANU is that elections are too acrimonious and the changes in style each year too jolting.

Moreover, there is some evidence to suggest that the two problems are related. As Glasgow explains: No matter how well-intentioned the candidates are at the beginning, the campaigns always get a bit ugly. One side - the antiincumbents - trash the current Woroni and promise to improve the paper in all sorts of ways (most of which never happen - not because they're liars but because for structural reasons improving it is really really hard, and because they haven't been involved they're not aware of this). The other does a mixture of defence and deferral. In every election I've followed the anti-incumbents have won. After the election the paper limps on for the rest

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of the year with the remaining staff. Most of those involved leave at the end of the year, partly because of the nasty things that were said about their work in the campaign. Then the new guys and girls assume office and we do the whole thing again.

Glasgow and the other contributors to the proposed new Woroni constitution feel that the spate of contributor resignations which accompany each election cycle prevent the magazine from developing an institutional culture or memory. The proposed changes would see the adoption of a more gradualist approach to the development of Woroni: In the proposed independent model the paper will have a board of eight editors who serve for 12 months. Elections will happen twice a year - four editors will be elected at the end of semester one, another four will be elected at the end of semester two. Eight editors should mean that a lot more gets done. Elections twice a year should encourage the paper to alter its style rather than radically change it. And with Woroni elections removed from the ANU Students' Association elections the two won't get tangled together. They're pretty modest changes but they should create a structure that encourages editors to build on the previous semester's work.

So no grandiloquent calls for liberty and egalite'.

Just plain old prudence and strategic planning. Dull.

Nonetheless - the question remains as to whether the same conditions which have engendered the Woroni independence push prevail here at Adelaide.

On the question of the acrimoniousness or lack thereof of the On Dit editorial elections, there seem to be few commonalities with the Woroni experience. Though On Dit elections often feature barbed critiques of the candidates' merits, Adelaide student politics is simply less fiery than ANU's, which is

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notoriously cutthroat. This year, for instance, a conflict between the ANUSA executive and the Woroni editors led to the resignation of the entire editorial team and an early end to what was shaping up to be a fine year for the magazine. The custodians of On Dit generally seem to be altogether more relaxed and amicable than our friends in the bush capital. This is especially true of the current crop of dashing editors.

The question of institutional stability is quite another matter. Opinions obviously vary on how much On Dit should change from year to year. Some would assert that an annual culture shift renews the vitality of the publication and keeps it relevant and interesting, while others would like to see a process of change that is more one of evolution than of rebirth.

The resolution of the tension is probably a matter for a wiser head than mine.

Of course, there is the possibility of achieving change in the way On Dit editors are elected without resorting to a separation from the AUU, which currently oversees and helps fund the publication of the magazine. By separating the magazine from the union, On Dit would become far more reliant upon advertising funds, and would become subject to all the commercialising pressures such a reliance would entail. It is of course true that an independent On Dit could petition the University for a special funding agreement, but there's no guarantee that such a request would be met. It is further uncertain whether On Dit would be more independent relying directly on the university than it currently is relying on the union. If it were determined that reform of the editorial election process were a good idea, it seems to this writer that it would be best to achieve it whilst remaining affiliated with the AUU. The conduction of a special election midyear for editorial positions might pose a problem, but it would be nothing the learned hands in the AUU couldn't manage. If there's something important to be learned from the ANU experience, it's that change can sometimes be best in baby steps. 

The Adelaide University Union elections: a recap.

Words, Myriam Robin.

At the conclusion of the most recent Adelaide University Union (AUU) elections, the Left (counting Activate and IndyGo combined) had secured nine out of 16 positions on the AUU Board, as well as almost all the office bearer positions on the Student Representative Council (SRC). This presents a situation unprecedented in recent years, with the Left bloc in virtually complete control of the AUU. The reasons why this has occurred are clear. The Left’s campaign was competent, numerically superior, and ideologically united. Credit for this can largely be attributed to former AUU President, Issue 9 cover girl and veteran student politician Lavinia Emmett-Grey, who recruited and organised both Activate and IndyGo. Problems plagued all the other tickets, from the upstart Synergy to the traditional Liberal ticket, and at the end of the day, they offered no competition to the hardworking and enthusiastic Left. The only other winners this election were the two international student tickets, who together got all four of their candidates elected.

It’s A Numbers Game Prior to election week, Synergy head Mikaela Wangmann revealed to an On Dit writer that her ticket was running thirteen candidates for Board. By the time election week came around though, disqualification, withdrawal and other factors had shrunk her force down to close to a third of its former size. Similarly, the other newcomer, the College ticket, organized by current Board Director Penelope Nugent, went from five candidates to only two or three (effectively, only Nugent really campaigned all week, and even then only half-heartedly). Liberty, the Liberal Ticket, only really had one of its three candidates on the ballot pa-

per campaign all week, and even he didn’t really seem to be making that much of an effort. By comparison, the Left lost very few candidates prior to election week, and on a conservative estimate at least a dozen of them made a concerted effort to campaign all week.

The internationals were also there almost every day.

The Message Counts Synergy’s self-authored spiel in Issue 9 of On Dit raised quite a few eyebrows. Alleging a level of incompetence and waste by the current AUU Board that was news to this observer, the negative message was not balanced by any persuasive ideas for what the body should do. The vehemence with which it was announced also spurred many in the Left to campaign harder to defend their record. In terms of ideas and initiatives, the Left was in a class all its own. Though some of the Left’s ideas were recycled from previous elections (we’ve been promised cheaper textbooks for a while now) or were somewhat inconsequential (i.e. petitioning the government, again), many were not, and offered an impressive plan for where they wanted to take the AUU in the coming year. I have no doubt that if a first-year who was not voting for a friend spoke to someone from all the tickets, either Activate or IndyGo who would have got their vote, so persuasive and competent appeared their plans relative to those offered by the other tickets.

The Liberals and other more right-wing tickets usually accuse the Left of being more interested in social activism than campaigns to directly benefit students. And while some of the actions of the SRC this year do lend strength to the accusations, for example, the SRC’s recent counter-protest outside an abortion clinic. However, the Left does do a lot of

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other stuff more specific to students, and it is on these reforms that they run their election campaigns. This non-political branding ensures non-activist students are not turned off.

How To Alienate Friends and Annoy People Oh Synergy, Synergy, Synergy. I’m sorry to harp on about this newbie ticket, but their failures, compared to those of the Colleges and Liberals, who simply didn’t show up, were very, very public. By day two of election week, many Synergy candidates, resplendent in their fluorescent green shirts, were drinking goon on the Barr-Smith lawns. The Left certainly does their share of drinking, but there is a time and place, and in the middle of convincing people to vote for you probably isn’t it. Wangmann also seemed to develop some fixation on expected Activate Presidential candidate Raffaele Piccolo. First she confused him for Activate candidate Jason Virgo, who left the Labor Party last year, and had a go at him for that. Later in the week, alerted to her mistake, she had a go at him for being State Labor MP Tony Piccolo’s son (that part is true). Piccolo left the State Left faction earlier this year, and Wangmann was suggesting the younger Piccolo should do the same. Now, everyone experiences election stress, and candidates of all stripes have been known to lash out at people, but neither attack did much to endear Wangmann to anyone, especially Piccolo.

On the last day of elections, Labor Right banners from several past campaigns were put up around campus. Synergy billed itself as an independent ticket, and while its Labor Right connections were well-known, Synergy wasn’t organised by the usual Labor Right heavyweights, many of whom who had no idea the ticket was being formed. Synergy’s decision with the banners thus branded it as a natural successor to the Labor Right in the eyes of many. I’m not sure what tactical reason Synergy had for doing that (maybe by the last day, they didn’t really care anymore and thought simply pissing off the Left was worthwhile), but next year, I would think Synergy will find it harder to convince anyone that it is an

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independent ticket.

I, For One, Welcome Our New Left Overlords The Board in 2011 will sit six Activate candiates (Piccolo, elected on an impressive 223 primary votes, as well as Anna Ehmann, Dixie Sasche, Sam Davies, Tali Slater and Minh Nguyen elected on preferences), two IndyGo (Casey Briggs, also elected on primaries, with 186, and Ali Thompson), two Internationals (Xiuming Chen on primaries and Shurong Han on preferences) two Multiculturalists (the other international ticket, who got Fei Huang and Weiwei Wang elected, both on very impressive primary vote counts), two Synergy (Nikola Skrob, who got a high number of preferences from the internationals, and Wangmann) and one College director (Penny Nugent).

This gives nine to the Left bloc and seven to everyone else. In terms of everyday running of the AUU though, I don’t expect to see much change. The Left were usually in full control of things this year anyway, although they did have to convince one or two others to vote with them. Piccolo, provided he is nominated, has always struck me as competent, and so should make a decent President.

Ali Thompson will be the new SRC President, and leads a team of mostly Left-leaning office bearers.

Most of the Left’s policies related to the SRC, so it is there that we can expect to see the most activity, with AUU Board looking on benevolently . The types of campaigns run will really depend on the character of the individual office bearers. It’s not clear at this stage what most of them will chose to focus on.

This issue contains a notice for the election of student representatives to University Council. Council is the big leagues, where all the final decisions about the future of this University are made. The higher stakes mean the Med students, Internationals and Liberals make a proper effort, usually securing two out of the three student seats. The Left will be trying to get at least one of the three positions, a feat they managed last year. It’s not sure whether current undergraduate representative and Left matriarch Emmett-Grey will recontest her seat. 

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A guide to Law student elections

Words, Georgia Goldsworthy.

Student elections. Law Students. By their powers combined, they generally inspire fear and loathing amongst the Adelaide University student body. For one week in second semester, anyone who enters the architectural nightmare that is the Ligertwood building will pass through a barrage of law student politicians, flourishing papers and slogans in various pastel coloured T-shirts. (Brightly coloured T-shirts have been traditionally avoided as they are thought to be too divisive.)

Law student elections are a microcosm of the larger political process. However, these are not the general student elections which divide along a loosely left/right alignment with empty ‘inspirational’ ticket names. Instead, they comprise social groups and personalities battling over the right to run the student bureaucracy known as the Law Student’s Society.

(LSS) Nevertheless, there are subtle distinctions that are

important to remember during the course of these elections. Adelaide Law School has generally been known for manufacturing ‘corporate suits’, and in the past this has been the main group that has controlled the LSS. However, there has been a growing movement towards concerns of student equity and social justice, which last year resulted in the ticket BOAT, mooring in victory harbour. (Not to be confused with Victor Harbor).

So what’s the deal for this year? Well to be perfectly frank, nobody knows. Ticket names, slogans and the individuals ‘pre-selected’ to run on the tickets are closely guarded secrets. If a ticket name is found out prior to election week, it is not unknown for ticket names to change. In 2007, there was the momentous occasion of a campaign of ‘Fresh’ vs.

‘Fresh’. Ignoring the fact the name sounds like the start of a juice bar franchise, that particular election illustrated literally the race to the middle in the

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homogenization of student politics.

The traditional practice of those organizing the tickets is to draw from the various social groups in the law school – private school preps, high achievers, the latte left and so forth. Selecting individuals from each group means that you can tap into a pool of potential voters, who are then harried and cajoled into voting for their friends during election week. It’s unlikely that most law students give considerable thought to the policies that are proposed by each ticket.

So what can non-law students do to avoid this election? Firstly, stay away from Facebook. In the past two years, ‘campaign launches’ have occurred online, resulting in a free-for-all on the mini-feed in the weekend preceding the election. Second, avoid the front entrance to Ligertwood. The concrete savannah of Ligertwood Plaza is where most politicians prey upon individual students as they struggle to class. The side entrance through Napier suddenly becomes a lot more attractive. Additionally, you’ll probably find the number of law students at university inexplicably declines during this week while Arts gains a new legitimacy.

“Would you care to vote in Law Student Elections?”

“No I’m afraid I’m just in Ligertwood for my Beats to Bongs tutorial, which I regularly attend in suit and tie. “ For law students, my general advice would be actually take a look at what the tickets offer. The LSS this year has been very active in ensuring better

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services, social events and competitions for students.

Social justice breakfasts and the highly competitive Quiz Night are two that have been met with resounding success from students. Asking the actual campaigners what their policies are at least offers a modicum of accountability to the process. Law students should also be aware that you do not have to vote down the line in a ticket, a fact that is often ignored during the week. Tickets offering to lower or abolish university fees should also be avoided, only the Federal Government has that power.

Ultimately, these elections are mildly inconvenient for some and of all consuming importance for others. If you enjoy TV legal drama, there’s opportunity to witness law students threaten defamation suits and constitutional appeals against each other in the foyer. That’s ultimately the problem with law student elections. As budding lawyers, we know how to use every loophole in the system to try to get our way.

The success of that will only be seen at the ballot box. Alternatively, you can just pick up a copy of The Hilarian, the Law Student’s Magazine. We don’t offer insight but we do offer cheap laughs. That might be preferred option.  Georgia Goldsworthy is a co-editor of The Hilarian.

When not avoiding deadlines, she is completing the final year of her law/arts degree.

Primer: Your Guide to the Modern World

Words, Michael Norris.

International sporting events, by rights, ought to be a buoyant occasion for all involved. Not so for the 2010 Commonwealth Games in New Delhi. Seven years since the city of 12 million people won the rights to host the Games, an immense torrent of scandal has hit the city, its officials and the event’s organisers. At the time of writing, some ten days from the official beginning of the Games, little has been done to allay fears of disaster and embarrassment. Australia’s Minister for Sport, Mark Arbib, has implied that Australia’s contingent may pull out if the situation deteriorates further.

Security headaches The chief issue has long been security. Since the 2008 terrorist attacks in Mumbai which targeted Western hotel chains, India has been categorised as vulnerable to this transnational threat. Top-tier sporting events, such as the Indian Premier League (which boasts cricket’s “Twenty-20” format), scheduled to be played in India, were relocated elsewhere.

On September 19th, security fears surrounding the Games were again heightened following an attack on a tourist bus. The attack outside the Jama Masjid mosque, one of India’s top tourist attractions, left

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two Taiwanese tourists injured. Despite the incident, Australian Commonwealth Games officials were reportedly content with security arrangements in India.

Absence of common sense This attitude is seriously troubling to say the least.

With Australia’s own Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) citing a ‘high risk of a terrorist attack’ in New Delhi for the duration of the Games, Australian officials ought to be questioning their citizens’ involvement. Sure enough, India has guaranteed 100,000 security personnel in New Delhi for the duration of the event. However, the Indian government has been unable to warrant the safety of tourists during the Games. Roger Henning, from Homeland Security Asia-Pacific, advances that this lack of assurance suggests that the Indian government does not have the situation under control. Indeed, Australia’s chief de mission to the Games, Steve Moneghetti, publicly announced he has been advised of a ‘50-50 risk of attack.’ Henning believes the real risks are the transport routes from airport to athletes’ village and from village to sporting venues. The stated reason for such a lacklustre response to security concerns is bizarre. Federal Opposition leader, Tony Abbott argued that withdrawals from the Commonwealth Games would ‘appear to give terrorism a win’. If Australia’s Commonwealth Games officials, or their security advisers shadow this attitude, then solemn scrutiny is mandated. Participation in sporting events ought to be divorced from achieving political ends; particularly where such involvement may result in unnecessary

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loss of life.

Is anybody listening?

Furthermore, there seems to be an acute breakdown in communication between all parties. The machinations of Australia’s Games contingent, including the role of bodies such as the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT), are makeshift at best. To illustrate: • DFAT is responsible for providing tourists with travel safety information.

• Australian Federal Police (AFP) personnel are charged with supervising the safety of the athletes. There are between 30 and 40 AFP personnel looking after 500 Australian athletes.

• Athletes themselves are responsible for individual judgements on their personal security.

• Australia’s Commonwealth Games officials act as representatives for the athletes, but cannot expressly make common determinations regarding security.

• The Australian government can make common rulings regarding security, including the withdrawal of the contingent if necessary.

The result is a lack of clear hierarchy, leading to conflicting judgments regarding security, with athletes either making individual decisions (such as discuss world champion, Dani Samuels who withdrew on the 21st of September), or waiting for the Australian

government to make a determination.

Construction shambles Security is not the end of Delhi’s woes. The Games’ facilities, particularly the athlete’s village, have been heavily scrutinised. Mike Fennell, president of the Commonwealth Games Federation, has slated the village as ‘seriously compromised’. New Zealand’s contingent, one of the first countries to arrive at the village, moved to a different tower block than the one allocated due to the squalid conditions. New Zealand’s officials complained of excrement in many of the rooms, uncovered wiring, malfunctioning plumbing and a lack of handrails near balconies or stairwells. The response from Indian executives has been abjectly poor. Urban Development Minister Jaipal Reddy (a name which India’s media has been keen to commandeer as a pun) responded to the complaints of filth in the athlete’s quarters by stating, ‘athletes and guests should not bother about such small matters.’ This comment belies the total lack of accountability which has underwritten the preparations for the Commonwealth Games. The collapse of a 90-metre pedestrian bridge linking a car parking area to Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium (the main venue) was dismissed as ‘not as big as being made out to be’

by New Delhi’s Chief Minister Sheila Dikshit.

Yes, workmanship is shoddy and India’s bureaucrats are dreadfully sluggish. But the real Achilles’ heel for the Commonwealth Games organisers has been corruption. Treasurer of the organising committee, Anil Khanna, quit over accusations of fraudulent accountkeeping. The Central Vigilance Commission, India’s anti-corruption body, visited fifteen games sites and found problems with inflated pricing. By exaggerating costs, officials and contractors can proceed to line their pockets accordingly. Credible reports have indicated that figures of 4000 rupees ($86) are being recorded for a single toilet roll. Actual construction, therefore, takes a backseat to dodgy account-keeping.

No winners here And the real loser of the Delhi Games? Well, there are two contenders. The first is India’s image overseas. The Delhi Games, bringing 7000 athletes from across the Commonwealth, ought to have been a showcase for India’s emerging economic power. Instead, it has illustrated India’s propensity for corruption and a lack of governmental accountability. The second contender is India’s people, specifically those of New Delhi. They were promised better roads and waste disposal facilities. Instead, they ended up with fifteen new sports arenas and a group of officials with fatter pockets. It’s just not cricket. 

Endemic corruption So what accounts for the lack of adequate infrastructure? Certainly, Indian preparations during 20082009 have been identified as virtually non-existent.

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Punctures, chains, and bent front forks.

Words, Ben Reichstein. Illustration, Connor O'Brien.

My sister and I had been cruising our local hard rubbish for an hour, and I’d finally hit the jackpot. There, thin and rusty, was an old steel road bike. We threw it in the back of the car and headed home to admire the prize.

I developed a dream: the bike would be stripped of rust, painted sky blue, oiled and tuned to perfection.

It would most certainly not be converted into a ‘fixie’ (fixed-gear) and I would cruise around, fulfilled in the knowledge that I was riding something I’d resurrected with my own hands.

I haven’t really done anything hands-on since I got too old for Lego (not that we’re ever too old for Lego). But since I’d started riding my bike to Uni every day, I’d begun to fix punctures and fiddle with bicycle chains. My confidence grew: I was a real man and I could fix things!

And then the bike sat there for eight months.

Sure, I fiddled with the brakes, changed a tire, sanded the brake pads. I even adjusted the derailleur a bit (the thing that changes the gears) following instructions on the net, but I don’t think I really achieved much. All I really established was that the brakes didn’t work well and so I kept riding the perfectly functional and unexciting hybrid Mum had stopped using. But then one day between assignments and envying the road bikes locked up around town I decided to take my dad’s tools and get started.

Day one started well. I took apart the front brake following the instructions in my Bike Book, and its workings actually became apparent to me. I man-

age to determine I’m dealing with ‘side-pull brakes’ and quickly figure out how they work. But no matter what I do the front brake continues to connect to the wheel on an angle that means the actual area braking is minimal. Probably if I took this thing for a ride and had to brake suddenly, it would slow me down just enough so that I had time to panic and die more painfully. Eventually, what should have been obvious from the start appears to me – one of the rusty brake levers is cracked and bent.

Here came another lesson: when buying new parts, always bring either the old part or, better yet, try to bring in the bike. I didn’t know whether I wanted long or short reach brake arms, and I was not about to trust my own judgment. Once I pulled off the old one and brought it to a store, I managed to get a shiny new pair of the same size. Installing them wasn’t terribly hard, which again filled me with an unjustified sense of pride. But still, the brakes still weren’t connecting properly.

After some thought, I decide it's the front axle that’s bent. Buying a new one wasn’t too hard and I installed it without too much trouble but in the end the problem wasn’t solved. As I fear, this means it’s the steel, front fork holding the wheel that’s been bent out of shape. This time I suck it up and take the front fork and wheel into a bike store. Taking off the front fork was a bit of a revelation; it was the first time I’d actually taken a bike and turned it into the component parts of a bike. Suddenly the whole thing was slightly less intimidating once brake levers, gear

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levers and a handle bar were all just simple bits that needed to be put together.

Once I bring it to the store I’m given some news: it turns out the rusty bicycle that was left on the side of the road to be trashed or stolen is not, actually, easily serviced and nor is it worth much. Not that this was very surprising, but the news that all the wheel and frame measurements of the bike are no longer standard was disheartening. A new fork could be ordered in for forty-five dollars but “these bikes are basically worth nothing and the best way to get spare parts is to look for them for thirty bucks at cash convertors.” The store attendant then gives the fork a look and declares, “You could bend this back into shape, no problem”. I look over his shoulder at the wall of tools. I think back to my single shifting spanner at home. “How would I go about that?” I ask, hoping he’ll answer by saying “like this”, and twist the thing back into shape before my eyes. But no, I’m told to “just bend it” and sent home to sort things out. This is where my handyman delusions start to come undone.

Moving and removing things from where they are designed to sit is one thing, but using my own judgment and, ahem, muscles, to bend something from a subtly incorrect shape to a correct one was going to challenge me a bit more.

When I got home I used the shifting spanner as a clamp to hold one end of the fork and did my best to twist it in what seemed like the right way. I successfully managed to bend the thin ends where the axle sits but at the end it just looked more deformed. After a lot of playing around, the wheel seemed to be sitting better but I certainly hadn’t resolved the problem.

And I was yet to even properly deal with the gears.

For the first time in my life I understood why someone would make a fixed gear bike. I’d always claimed to be above a trend that encouraged people to deliberate decrease the functionality of their bikes, but then I realised there is something to be said for hav-

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ing a really simple piece of equipment to look after.

It’s not even that any of the parts are that difficult by themselves, but the totality of them all can be slightly overwhelming. The internet is full of advice on where to get started and after looking at the clunky heaps of rust that are the, apparently non-replaceable, brakes it’s starting to sound tempting.

As it stands in my backyard now, the bike is clunky and the gears are hard to change but it still goes and will even sort of stop which gives me hope.

While this sounds like a story of failure, the amount I learnt in a short space of time is pretty satisfying.

With a couple of tools and some instructions even impractical klutzes like me can start to get to grips with these wonderful machines. Importantly, get some information to help you: the internet is full of advice but a decent reference book is essential. The Bike Book, which can be picked up from Bicycle SA in town, is comprehensive about most aspects of a wide variety of bikes. The website bicycletutor.com is a great resource in which a tattooed man explains all manner of bicycle maintenance techniques with deadpan, slightly autistic precision. Unless you have a well-stocked shed you’ll have to ignore his advice on what tools are essential, but I found I got by fine with a shifting spanner, some screw drivers and a pair of pliers. And finally, don’t pussyfoot around with bike store attendants. I talked to a bunch while being coy about my plans, lest they inform me my bike was beyond repair, but when I finally gave someone a good idea of what I had and what I wanted to do they were full of good, realistic advice.

So please, if you find an old set of wheels, take them to bits. Even if you can’t have the hip, smooth ride of your dreams the amount you’ll learn about bikes in general is well worth it. I’ll keep cracking away at mine and hopefully one day it’ll even be safe to ride. 

As main street record stores close, a new breed of vinyl specialists set up shop.

Words, Mateo Szlapek-Sewillo. Photographs, Connor O'Brien.

On Dit music writer Seb Tonkin admitted to me when I was canvassing him to write this article that another article on record stores would edge him over the precipice and into ‘self-parody’. True enough, I reasoned. So I’ve decided to undertake the task of writing about Adelaide’s best new record store myself – as I presumably edged into self-parody some time ago.

Wax Museum Records just opened its second store, and first outside of Melbourne, in the Adelaide CBD. The Melbourne store is tucked away in the Flinders Street Station subway, more accurately Campbell Arcade. Why did Adelaide see a store before, say, Sydney? There are a couple of reasons.

The proprietor of the Adelaide store is a man called Ocky, a genial guy who speaks fondly of his avarice for good music. He worked at the now sadly defunct B Sharp Records for eight years, and has long-standing ties with the people involved in running the original Wax Museum. Ocky was given the vote of confidence to take the plunge in the City of Churches. Secondly, and perhaps more presciently, there simply wasn’t the same gap in the market in Sydney that there is in Adelaide. Sydney already has a robust mainstream hip-hop scene, helped along by high levels of Middle Eastern immigration. There isn’t really an Adelaide parallel here, however, especially since the closure of the aforementioned B Sharp.

While Wax Museum may nominally be a new entrant into the under-saturated world of independent Australian record stores, but really what it represents

for Adelaide is, to borrow a popular recent parlance, a whole new paradigm – a specialist vinyl store focused on soul, funk, hip-hop and jazz. Climb the narrow stairs that would normally take you to Vego and Lovin’ It, but instead of taking the door on the left, walk through the one on the right one instead.

Red pill, blue pill, rabbit hole, right? I am Morpheus, for the purposes of this. The previously vacant space has been painstakingly remodelled to resemble the type of storefront you would expect to see in Soho or Brooklyn, not downtown Adelaide. Adelaide’s best local MCs (Dialect and Delta work there during the week) welcome you into a sleek and clean foyer, dotted with top-quality merchandise. However, it’s the other room that’s the point of this whole operation.

Rack after fascinating rack of music, from obscure Afro-jazz releases to the latest in marque underground hip-hop, complete with high quality record players for your listening pleasure. The labels you read up on to get the upper hand in music conversations with your slightly less hip friend – Warp, Stones Throw, Wax Poetic – are all here, in addition to the nostalgia brought on by classic labels such as Stax.

Wax Museum is the type of record store we don’t really have anymore (if we even ever had them) – a specialist store where you can while away the hours and aren’t herded and prodded like cattle. Though it can seem intimidating being amongst a group of people all intensely knowledgeable about music ranging from nascent Detroit house and techno to soul and Afrobeat, they are a pleasure to chat to and always

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happy to give recommendations or hear your own.

Yes, it’s hip to know about Adelaide’s latest trending record store. Yes, we’re vinyl snobs – CDs in Wax Museum are scarce as hens’ teeth. The benefits of that sense of ownership and collectability are well known to those who purchase music in physical formats. But that’s not really the point. The point is the genuinely exciting opportunity this affords the underground scene here in Adelaide. Wax Museum Records represents a creative and consumer outlet for music fans who favour the contemporary experimentation of guys like J Dilla, Madlib and Flying Lotus to the stale, unflattering posturing of relics like 50 Cent. It is a game-changer – a chance to modernise the predominantly northern suburbs-based hip-hop scene and make it more inclusive for younger enthusiasts who read Pitchfork more often than they do XXL and The Source.

People stood up and took notice when Vampire Weekend’s album Contra went #1 in America. They did the same when The National’s High Violet debuted at #3. The BBC used the opening track on The XX’s eponymous album in their recent election coverage. These instances all confirmed what many were already suspecting – that what constitutes popular music is slowly changing. It is a transformation facilitated by the inexorable decline of print-based music magazines and a move to online sources and blogs, which affords the intrepid browser more reviews and mp3s than they can handle. What was once marginal is becoming mainstream. Hip-hop is listening too.

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The underground is coming up and seeing the sun.

While the commercial R&B and gangsta rap juggernauts continue more or less uninterrupted, those outside of the mainstream are succeeding in finding new ways to have their work heard and appreciated.

Success in hip-hop has always been a pretty complicated idea. There is a large element of truth in suggesting that mainstream chart success is its best signifier, and with it the commodification of musicians into a money-spinning brand. But this view has always conflicted with the importance of ‘realness’ – that seemingly never-ending quest for true authenticity. The underground is ‘real’. The underground is becoming increasingly commercially viable, in hip-hop as well as indie rock circles. Stores like Wax Museum are pivotal to continuing this process. This process is an important one because music created according to the inherent dignity of the art form is more worthwhile than that created as a commodity in a vacuum removed from all external forces except the market.

A kid goes in, has a look around, listens to some music, and likes what he hears. But now he can come back, chat to other like-minded types, and perhaps do something about his interest. Repeat the process enough times, and you’ve got yourself a scene.

Whether Wax Museum succeeds in a sleepy market like ours remains to be seen, but please, even if you’re not at all a hip-hop fan, go in and take a look around. You don’t have to spend any money, but do spend some time. You’ll see a record store as they’re meant to be. 

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How to: Construct a hip-hop playlist Words, Louis Rankin So you’re on your dream holiday to New York. You’ve worked two years in a dingy supermarket trying to balance work and uni for this. You get off the subway, and emerge into the daylight, you take a look around: boarded up derelict buildings, graffiti everywhere, the distant sound of police sirens and rap. The crackhead begging on the corner confirms your worst fears, you’re in the ghetto. Oh shit. What next? Take your iPod out and listen to some New York Hip Hop, of course.

1. Mobb Deep – The Infamous [Loud Records; 1995] Raw, dark and violent, The Infamous is as ‘real’ as it gets. Straight out of the notorious Queensbridge housing project in Queens, New York, far from the riches of Wall Street, Mobb Deep rap about the reality of life in urban New York. There’s no boasting about cars and money here, simply a depiction of life on the mean streets of Queens. This album draws you into their world and evokes images of dark dangerous streets, dilapidated housing corridors and 14 year old mothers.

2. Nas – Illmatic [Columbia Records, 1994) Nas’ flow and delivery were invincible on Illmatic – every song is lyrically amazing. ‘N.Y State of Mind’ is one of the best hip hop songs of all time. Illmatic exemplifies New York Hip Hop of the period, sparse jazzy beats and lyrical genius. With only one guest appearance (equally gifted New York rapper AZ) this album catapulted Nas from the underground to stardom.

3. The Notorious B.I.G – Ready to Die [Bad Boy, 1994] So Biggie might have been better known for his radio hits and club bangers, but his flow was still off the chart. This album has the radio friendly hits, with R&B hooks, but it also has some dark gritty classics.

‘Suicidal Thoughts’ is surely one of the darkest songs to come off a major hip hop album, far removed from earlier songs on Ready to Die. The natural rival to Illmatic.

4. Boogie Down Productions – Sex and Violence [Jive Records, 1992] If you’re easily offended, then this isn’t the album for you. DJ Scott La Rock’s funky beats and KRS One’s Jamaican-tinged flow combine perfectly. The title doesn’t lie, and with songs like ’13 and Good’, ‘Drug Dealer’ and ‘Like a Throttle’… well, you get the idea.

5. Gang Starr – Moment of Truth [Virgin Records, 1998] No New York hip hop list can be complete without these guys, DJ Premier with his jazzy beats and Guru with his smooth delivery gained them a huge fan base amongst true hip hop fiends. Moment of Truth is lyrically deep with beats as jazzy as it gets, a true classic, which for many6 epitomises New York hip hop. 

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A trip through Adelaide's sorta-kinda-seedy underbelly.

Words, Alex Gordon-Smith. Illustration, Alexandra Weiland.

When Adelaide court reporter Sean Fewster’s book arrived in the On Dit office, it was met with a degree of comedic cynicism. The blurb of the book City of Evil read thusly: They call Adelaide the city of churches. What they forget is that every church has a graveyard...and every graveyard is full of skeletons.

Immediately it conjured images of a ridiculously overblown sensationalist exploitative work of a current affair tabloid trash, looking to cash in on the successes of recent Underbelly fame and Australia’s ongoing fascination with macabre criminal acts as displayed by such television shows as Law & Order (particularly S.V.U), Dexter and C.S.I. As many may or may not know Adelaide has become known as a murder capital of not only Australian infamy but worldwide. Such atrocities as the

Truro killings of the 70s, the Family Murders in the 70s-80s and the Snowtown murders of the 90s have painted Adelaide as a harbour for the deranged, the psychotic and the evil.

The question is though, does the book City of Evil stand to exploit this infamy with a sensationalised retelling of horrific crimes that blur truth, exaggerate the facts and paint the city red in an effort to make a quick buck, or is this an accurate portrayal of an underlying darkness that plagues our city.

Some of the answers to these questions are dealt with within the introduction, and it seems all too quickly that the publisher has done the author injustice with such a ridiculous blurb. Immediately the author contends that Adelaide is not at all the murder capital of Australia let alone the world and that in fact South Australia’s murder rate has been around 1.7 deaths per 100,000 people since 1989, in line with the national average. Then the author dispels the idea

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that Adelaide is especially grotesque in its murders, citing a story of a New South Welsh woman who killed her boyfriend on Christmas day and invited her friends over to feast on him.

But then something odd happens: The truth is inescapable: Adelaide is not, and never has been ‘Murder town’. The false legend, the erroneous myth, is no more than a convenient peg for naysayers to hang their hats upon. The worst thing about the ‘Murder Town’ fallacy is that it obscures the truth: all of Adelaide’s crime is far worse – more twisted, more perverse, more sick – than you could possibly believe.

Oh. Adelaide is not the murder capital at all, it’s just really, really fucked up.

It is quite interesting though what the author contends are some of the reasons behind Adelaide’s twisted and perverse flavour of crime, he takes it right back to one of its founders – Edward Gibbon Wakefield. Wakefield, as it happened, kidnapped a fifteen year old girl, forced her to marry him and then demanded money from her father. Unfortunately for Wakefield his greed hungry scheme failed and was promptly imprisoned. It was after this prison spell that he became a part of the promotion of the colonisation of South Australia. The author tells that Wakefield promoted the idea of colonisation mainly to religious dissenters and social progressives or as the author puts it, those that were overly secretive and those that were overly accepting.

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The idea of secrecy is one that troubles the author greatly, continually making references to it throughout the book. Again and again the author refers to his distaste for the details of court evidence being unnecessarily suppressed to the public during proceedings, a legal feature that he attests is a mainly a South Australian occurrence.

I have to admit that at this stage I was quite compelled by the book. My pre conception of sensationalism was misguided, bar a few unfortunate phrases in the introduction. It was then that the strange human curiosity of the horrific, psychotic and sordid began to take hold.

The last week or two as I write this have been unusually and unneedfully filled with a strange amount of the abhorrent. Firstly: the movie the Human Centipede, in which a mad doctor kidnaps a truck driver, a Japanese man and two ex porn actresses to stitch them together mouth to arse to form one digestive system. The idea of the movie itself came from the director’s idea for a punishment for paedophiles in which their mouths should be stitched to the arse of a fat trucker. Secondly: upon telling a co-worker of the concept of the Human Centipede he told me of the Italian movie 120 days of Sodom in which four fascists in 1940s Italy kidnap a number of teenage girls and boys and force them to commit acts of detest for the men’s sexual gratification. This included the eating of the men’s shit, rape, torture and various other horrors. Thirdly: the book 120 days of Sodom was based upon, by the Marquis deSade, which was even more graphic then the movie could ever be, featuring not only teenagers but pre pubescent girls. Fourth: was the unfortunate knowledge that a close family

friend had decided the best course of action their life could take was to become a heroin user and in the process not only discard their family and friends but actively abuse, threaten and steal from them.

Then came the joyous moment of reading City of Evil. The book, along with recent events in my life, disturbed me. The unsettling nature of the book was the way I could substitute the people in the book for people from my past and perhaps present. The misguided souls from both broken and stable families that chose, for a time, the life of drugs and crime some of which regained control of their lives and others that are today in prison. Also unsettling is the degrees of separation that many of us would have to some of the victims and culprits within the book, two stories of which I can say I was two degrees away from, in one from the victim and the other the culprit.

Another example of how small Adelaide really is, we may all know a person who kills paedophiles and eats them because his penis is disfigured and he’s addicted to meth because his father called him names and dressed him up in girl’s clothes.

In terms of the factual accuracy of the crimes the book is sound, as author Sean Fewster said in an interview: ‘You can be creative with your turns of phrase at times but that’s as far as it goes. You are required legally to stick to the script as it were.’

Initially, before I read it, I was going to mock this book, and sensationalise the sensational. The truth is though, to do so would disrespect the real victims of heinous indifference and only go to exploit them

further. Whilst the blurb tries to niggle at peoples pre conceived judgments by mentioning the likes of a pro-wrestling truck driving transvestite, within the book it is portrayed that he was more than likely a good person, who was viciously murdered and dismembered by two heroin addicts. Reality this depressing was too hard to satire.

However there is a dim light of somewhat comedic relief with an interaction between a reporter and an accused child pornography in which the accused calls the reporter a vulture to which the reporter replies ‘at least I don’t fuck children’. Game, set and match.

American television producers have brought rape, child pornography, murder, torture, sociopaths, hot headed youths, calculating evil and psychotics to our television and perhaps desensitised the fact that as outrageous as these tele-scripts are, the reality is so much more disturbing. The idea that reality could be a cliché disturbs me. That I see real people playing out these ridiculous scripts in real life and have no remorse or embarrassment for their misguided, anti social and depraved behaviour sickens me deeply. I’d like to understand the part of us that wants our curiosity to be entertained by the likes of these demented criminals, and for psychiatrists to tell us there is a reason. I’d like to understand how in an informed and relatively free society why the likes of these crimes continue. Rape Murder Drugs Money? These culprits are caricatures, selfish and uncaring egotistical attention seekers, aren’t we beyond that? Please. 

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A Vegetarian's Journey Through Eastern Europe.

Words and photographs, Fruzsi Kenez.

In all my twenty-one years, I never thought I'd see the day I would take part in the ritualistic and some might say barbaric act of making homemade sausages. Lucky for me, but less so for my porky friend, I was not on site at the time of slaughter, which was some weeks prior to the sausegefest. I am afraid that if I were, I would have made some silly Lisa Simpsonesque bid to rescue the beast. Made an attempt at riding off into the snowy sunset with my new friend who I would call Lulu, despite his male gender. This little manouver would have not gone down well with my cannibal relatives who I had not seen in about ten years and was making an effort to reconnect with.

'Effort' is an understatement, as my choice of bonding ritual would involve tea and mountainous mounds of homemade biscuits, not the soaking and washing of pig intestines and orange hands from paprika and pigs guts.

Before I go into further depth about the art of turning raw meat mush into something 'delicious' and edible, there are a couple of things you should know about me and this epic experience. You must be wondering how a vegetarian girl from Australia somehow ended up on a small farm in Hungary making traditional homemade meat goods.

Going back to the year 2009, it dawned on me how unsatisfied I was with my life. I wondered how I had managed to overwhelm myself with so many commitments and responsibilities I didn't really need to have. I had to learn to stop being a “yes person.�

At this point I was finishing my second year of

full time study at uni, working two and a half jobs as well as trying to make it as an artist. I stopped paying attention to my health and happiness and was just trying to get by and get things done each day. I finally reached the point where I thought this has to change and made a list of things I thought would make me happy and help realise what I had been doing wrong all this time..

The ball started rolling after I decided to defer my studies for one semester and suddenly there was not enough time in the day to organise everything and decide where to go and what to see. This is probably why my trip ended up being a spontaneous smorgasbord of travel, and looking back now, I would not have it any other way. By the time November 27 of 2009 rolled around, I found myself standing at Adelaide airport with a suitcase full of what I later realised was mostly useless stuff, and my trusty bag of carry-on essentials. This comprised of things like a splendid blue pashmina shawl from my friend and fellow globetrotter Anna, my trusty polaroid camera and a one way ticket to Europe.

The first few weeks were spent in Germany with my boyfriend BjĂśrn, with whom I share many odd passions like cooking salmon steaks, making strange jokes and watching How I Met Your Mother. It was really nice to enjoy some quality time together, as we had been doing the long distance limbo since 2006.

This was when we first met and decided to be together. We have been traveling between Adelaide and Hannover since, racking upsome pretty impressive

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frequent flyer points.

In early December I flew to Hungary to see friends and family and attend all sorts of cultural must-see’s one grows accustomed to when living in a place like this. Events like this include donning special frocks and gowns for going to the opera, and trawling through a maze of stalls at the Christmas markets.

Here even the non-drinkers succumb to the sweet aroma of mulled wine, or “forralt bor” [four-roltboar] as the Hungarians call it, literally translating to 'boiled wine'. If one has an appetite for the unusual, they might even try “Krampampuli”, [crumb-pumpool-lee] which is a delicious combination of goodies like mulled wine, rum, dried apricots and special spices and is sprinkled with sugar then set alight shortly before consumption. It really is quite amazing, especially when combined with my favourite Christmas delicacy, “kürtőskalács“ [kuhr-toesh-kahlarts] which is apparently called 'Chimney Cake' in English. This is probably due to its pipe-like shape and shiny, sugary exterior. This is possibly one of the most exciting snacks I have ever had the pleasure of indulging in. One I highly recommend to anyone lucky enough to visit Hungary in the Christmas season.

For city dwellers these sorts of festive activities complete the social calender but not for those living in the country, far from sleigh rides, shiny bright lights and rosy cheeked carolers. Country folk have to make their own fun, and invent their own traditions to pass down to their children and luckily for me, I was there to experience one of the most exciting and complex rituals there is. That of homemade sausage making.

Upon hearing about my impending visit to the

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country, my little Grandmother, bless her and her extended family, insisted on my participation in the slaughter of an apparently sumo-sized beast on Christmas Day. After kindly declining this tempting invitation I had no excuse when it came to the day of sausage making itself. This saw me making not the usual fourty-five minute car trip, but a two hour journey at what appeared to be an ambling cycling speed down a dangerously oversnowed and icy road.

Warning, two meters of snow may seriously injure your busy itinerary!

I can hardly recall the first ten minutes of my visit, as it all became a blur of sloppy kisses and flailing arms and squeals of “look how much she's grown!” As I proceeded to get pushed into the enclosed veranda space, I was met by the overpowering smell of ninety kilos of pink raw meat. Let me tell you something – it’s really no Chanel! I had to stop myself from pinching my nose and making gagging motions, as I was fairly certain that would break about five rules in social etiquette.

The thing I noticed straight away was the seperation of men and women during work time. I found the women - my grandmother and her brother's wife chatting in the kitchen, their hands darting into a large container of vinegar and intestines. Through the window I could see the boys working up a sweat as they squashed large chunks of meat into the grinder, which wobbled dangerously despite being clamped to the table. Taking turns, my cousins would rotate positions to stay fresh and motivated and laughed loudly at the crude stories they were telling.

Once all ninety kilos of meat was minced, two bathtub-sized containers were brought out and filled with the fresh mush. With a man on either end,

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spices were sprinkled over the top of the tub and the turning, churning and rubbing would begin. Through misted eyes from the intense aroma of kilos of freshly pressed garlic I asked if they should be wearing gloves. Big manly laughs followed saying “ha ha no such thing!” But I'm pretty sure it was me laughing when days later their hands were still orange from the paprika powder.

When the time came for lunch we all piled around a small wooden table with spare chairs being brought from all corners of the house. A traditional lunch of meaty dishes followed, accompanied by pickles, boiled potatoes and huge cob of white bread.

After declining multiple offers of goulash and roast meat (“but its just a bit of piggy!”), I compensated by eating more than my share of cake. This earned much approval from my grandmother who had earlier declared me too thin to survive the European winter.

Conversation and the home-brewed pálinka [pah-lin-ka] flowed, giving rise to questions about my life back in Australia. They asked if there really were koalas and kangaroos in abundance, and if we too made our own plum pálinka at home. They asked about the ocean and the dangers of my scuba diving, as they were certain I would get eaten by a shark or impaled on a stingray like poor Steve Irwin. I found their curiousity endearing, and appreciated their knowledge and interest of this faraway land I now love. Having moved from Hungary ten years ago, I found myself looking upon the culture and the way of life from an different perspective altogether. What I once saw as the normal everyday was now the subject of my camera lens. I was puzzled by this change of vision, and wondered if it was possible to be a native of more than one place, and call two countries my

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home?

Having been snapped from my contemplative state, I came to realize that it was only after lunch that the party really started! Once a big white funnel was attached to the mincer, the competition for the largest and most evenly filled sausage began. There were whoops of joy and aaawws of disappointment as the intestine filled and occasionally burst. The boys handled the operation with the wisdom and expertise of old sailors as they turned the handle and wiggled the ever-expanding intestines, making the mince inside dance.

The blue lavor [lar-vour] on the ground was slowly filling with up with sausages bigger and longer than my arms. When the time came to carry the basket to the attic, I was shocked at the weight of it. As my cousin and I climbed up the rickety stairs I watched the fat sausages wiggle in a way that can best be described as content. They were gloating! Like they were saying “hee hee we are delicious and you will never taste us!” “Good riddance too, you fat meaty gherkins!” I'd retort, and despite my complete confidence in my reasons for vegetarianism, I couldn't help but wonder if I was missing out on some vital part of my culture.

The sun eventually began to set, casting an orange glow over the kitchen and the busy bees inside. There was a general hubbub of joy and exhaustion that one experiences after a hard day's work. Once the tables were scrubbed and the floors swept, the old pálinka bottle was brought out once more. “Egészségunkre!“ [eh-gey-shay-gunk-reh] we all cried as we chinked glasses, drinking to good health. 

SCRAPBOOK - contemporary and/or local culture, high and/or low -

Deerhunter's Halcyon Digest The Atlanta, Georgia quartet - who possess the best rhythm section in all of indie rock - have returned with their 5th proper LP (if you count their 2008 release, Microcastle/Weird Era Cont. as two separate albums), and it is a doozie. Halcyon Digest plays off not only the jangle pop of predecessor EP, Rainwater Cassette Exchange, as well as Cox's own sense of artistic license. In a viral effort to market the album, Cox circulated a collage poster influenced by the DIY stylings of '80s punk and '90s indie, and urged fans to print them out and stick them up around the United States. Totally worth it.

Vego and Lovin' It If you start at the Exeter and head West for thirty seconds, you soon reach a door under a mosaic with a flight of stairs leading up. These are the stairs that lead to Wax Museum, and its neighbour, Vego and Lovin’ It. More commonly known as Vegos, it’s the vegan organic food restaurant even carnivores love. Operated by a somewhat intimidating man who doesn’t open his doors for very long (it only really does lunch Mon-Fri), the food is wonderful, filling and cheap. So, just walk up those rickety, narrow stairs confidently and like you’ve done it a million times before, and soon you’ll be sinking your teeth into food so good you’ll never miss meat again.

Well, maybe. (Full disclaimer: this review was written shortly after returning from McDonald's).

Fruity Lexia Goon is meant to taste bad. It’s meant to make you feel dirty and sick, thus ensuing you don’t keep buying 30 standard drinks for under $10 (which we hear can have very bad effects on your liver). For that reason, I’m not sure Fruity Lexia should count as goon. It’s a sweet white wine, that just happens to be sold in 4 litre boxes. Next time you’re at a party where you don’t really have anyone to impress, why not bring some along. We buy it because it tastes good.

Is Wild Animus the weirdest book ever written?

Words, Dave Harden.

Upon the hallowed grounds of Yale University, a suspicious package is discovered sending the campus into a lockdown as the surrounding area is cordoned off. A remote-controlled bomb diffusing robot is cautiously sent in to investigate the brown papered parcel while terrified onlookers stand well back in fear of the unknown. Slowly and carefully, the long robotic arm peels back the brown paper. A few gasp and one lady releases a sharp shrilly scream. The contents are much, much worse than initially expected. They are not explosives but complete box sets of Rich Shapero’s self-proclaimed ‘complete storytelling experience’ Wild Animus. ‘Dear Lord’, gasped one onlooker, ‘It’s arrived’.

Last month when similar packages arrived upon our own hallowed grounds to little fanfare, the question was asked whether the university lacked a similar bomb-defusing robot. Most concluded that the package’s proximity to Union Hall promoted the lax response with the administration secretly hoping that it might subsidise the impending demolition of Adelaide’s greatest example of functionalist style architecture. Nevertheless, accompanied with the bundle was a mysterious woman with an American accent who swiftly distributed the box sets to vulner-

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able students on the Barr Smith lawns, literally singing the praises of its contents. The distribution posed even more questions. Who was this woman? Could she perform magic? Had she too arrived inside the suspicious package near Union Hall? Where had all of these brand new box sets come from? The answer to all of these questions was a resounding yes!

Upon receipt of my very own Wild Animus box set, I wasted no time in exploring its contents. Inside was a 315 page novel or ‘narrative shell’ as the author declares, along with three music CDs which ‘express the emotional core of the story’. The novel smelled like Japanese candy and my laptop’s DVD drive ceased working upon receiving the first of the three CDs. I can’t help but think that this was an act of defiance, a DVD drive’s equivalent of a strike action.

I read the little note provided by the author which informed me that ‘Wild Animus is the story of a search for meaning’ and that ‘before the printing press, people told stories like this around a fire, and they were sung’. With this in mind I placed the second CD into my stereo and proceeded to read a few chapters of poorly constructed and painfully descriptive text to the soundtrack of what appeared to be two possums fornicating on a tin roof. It soon dawned on me that there was a very good reason why these box sets were being given away as no sane individual could possibly wish to hand over hard earned dollars in return for one. But the big question was why, and how?

The mastermind, writer and financier of this project is a man named Richard Shapero who appears to have made his millions as a venture capitalist and

director of companies like Powerwave Technologies Inc and BlueStar Communications. His wealth has allowed him to not only self-publish his ‘storytelling experiment’ but also to distribute hundreds of thousands of copies around the world, completely free of charge. It is rumoured that he eventually aims to distribute a total of one million copies around the world.

Promotion techniques have even included a dancing pack of wild ‘wolf-women’ prowling the streets, thrusting copies of the music CD’s to unsuspecting passersby. In fact, this wolf pack hit Adelaide streets during the Fringe back in 2007. All of these acts do well to question the definition of philanthropy, but as reviewers on Amazon have duly pointed out, Wild Animus does also serve practically as an excellent source of fire-lighting material, is surprisingly absorbent and makes a rather dashing paper-weight. With such rave reviews, the tip of the negative-things-tosay-about-wild-animus iceberg, one must surely question why someone would subject themselves to the humiliation.

Shapero answers these claims by admitting that his work ‘isn’t for a big audience’ but he is hoping that ‘broad exposure’ will get his story ‘in a few of the right hands’. But like Tommy Wiseau’s horrible film The Room before it, Wild Animus only serves to highlight the ugly perfection of a storm containing wealth, yes-men and artistic endeavour. Though where The Room serves as an often hilariously entertaining example of how not to make art, the prose and music of Wild Animus fails to rouse much more than mockery. 

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me & my daily battle From the struggles of Emma Marie Jones

I finally got my Ls a few weeks ago. The reason this happened so long after my sixteenth birthday is a long, epic tale, fraught with laziness and excuses that I won’t go into here. The main benefit of this— other than the fact that I now have an ID that security staff at nightclubs don’t openly ridicule—is that, six months from now when I finally graduate to my P plates, I can give Adelaide Metro the flick.

For life.

There are so many things to hate about Adelaide Metro. The route names are always changing, making it stupidly confusing to navigate what should probably be the country’s smallest and most straightforward city. The bus to my parents’ house has evolved from three simple numbers to a spastic combination of alphanumeric symbols which usually leaves me stranded at Flinders Medical Centre. The bus to my house is always either late or early, so that two buses often arrive at the bus stop at the same time. This seems to be characteristic of my new north-eastern neighbourhood, as is the whole ‘no standing room’ thing. (If I wanted to spend half an hour pressed intimately against a fat, smelly stranger, I’d queue up at Centrelink.) The bus drivers often have me clinging to the yellow poles, fearing for my life and frantically trying to text a last will and testament to my housemate, whilst missing my stop despite having pounded the stop button.

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All of those things are bad. All of those things are very bad, and I have to put up with them at least twice every day. But there are worse things.

And those things are called passengers.

There are the regulars. Thanks to a strictly non-flexible Uni timetable, I catch the same bus at the same time every day, and if they know me as ‘Blaring iPod Girl’, I know them as ‘Mole Face’ (self-explanatory, nice to mole you), ‘Nose Picker’ (don’t ever look under your seat, EVER) and ‘Bad Mother’ (letting your kid watch you check Facebook on your iPhone does not count as parenting).

Nose Picker in particular scares me. It’s like seeing a gory car accident and not being able to tear your eyes away. When you do though, you’ll see the other passengers. It’s hard to choose the lesser of two evils. There are the creeps that sit next to you when there’s nobody else on the bus. Conversely, there are the people who’d rather stand than sit next to you, causing you to question everything from your attractiveness to your potential body odour, significantly denting your self-esteem.

There was once a kid who sat behind my friend and I and peered over our shoulders trying to sneakily discern what we were listening to so merrily with one headphone each. That was weird. There are screaming babies, shrieking schoolgirls, stinky schoolboys and people who glare at you because they can hear the tinny echo of your music. There are drunks who try and talk to you, and you edge away politely, terrified that if the bus driver hoons around a roundabout (as they do) the drunkard might puke on you, just a little.

Forced to contort myself uncomfortably against the window by a socially unskilled geriatric who doesn’t understand the concepts of personal hygiene or personal space, I stare longingly at the cars on the road and imagine myself with the windows down, happily blaring music and not having to breathe through my mouth. I finally reach my stop, but as I disembark, I catch a glimpse of what might possibly be the most beautiful boy in the world. I sigh in defeat.

Okay, Adelaide Metro. You win this round. But someday I’m going to drive my first car onto the O-Bahn and fuck your shit up. Peace out.

(un)pop

culture With your host, Elizabeth Tien An Flux

“Flpff” – that was the sound of my parents’ gently breaking spirits. I was later to discover that mine would be more of a “whumph whumph CRACK’ number. “Can you talk to them?” Dad asked as he passed me the phone. CLANK went the prison gate closing on my life for the next hour.

Phone tech support: lifeline to the helpless, or a solitary employee passing the time by putting on different accents?

Today I called a reputable phone company to sort out a moderately complex issue on my parents’ mobile phone. Now, when three separate parties with three separate goals get involved to solve a single issue, danger signals should be already be popping up, much like notifications for an unwanted conversation on Facebook chat. That, or you re-create ‘Charmed’.

Parents’ goal: three minute calls to me, free of charge. Telephone company’s goal: new personal record for number of transfers and ‘please holds’ they could request before the customer cracks. My goal: eat a bowl of cereal, and keep calm. I guess a two out of three achievement ain’t so bad.

The best way to picture the overall scenario is to imagine a ping-pong match. On one end of the table stands the almost local team. Complete with headsets and deceptive coherency; their true incompetence is masked by their carefully practiced voices of pseudo-efficiency. Towards the other end hovers an androgynous team of definitely-notlocals. Their nametags, just visible, are, of course, written in wingdings. This is Billing vs. Tech Support. Two sectors enter, only dissatisfaction leaves.

Apparently today it was tech support’s turn to serve. In my role as ping-pong ball, I found myself

speaking to one of the androgynous (but possibly male) crew. Snap. It was like I had phoned in to a radio competition. First, we had the conventional questions: name, date of birth, phone number etc. before moving onto the slightly more involved “what can I help you with today?” Sure, that was fine. However, it was then we went through to the surrealist round.

My phone number was demanded (“again?”), along with my father’s date of birth (“…”), followed up with a hearty “are you calling from an iPhone?” before my support technician “hmm’d” and put me on hold before patching me through to someone I’m pretty sure was actually himself.

Once again we went through my name, my father’s name, everyone’s date of birth within a five kilometre radius, as well as once more explaining my problem. “Ah, have you tried switching your phone off and on?” “Yes.” “Oh, well let me just put you through to billing”. Click, and the French disco music began.

Tag ‘Team Billing’. “Well, I’m 100% sure we can solve this, just let me talk with my colleagues.

Hold please?” Cue piano music. Their smooth, efficient tones lulled me into a false sense of ‘everything will be resolved soon’ – so much so, I even made myself a cup of tea, expecting to drink it in the warm afterglow of a problem solved. Imagine my dismay when I was put through once again to “tech support”.

Three office cycles of death, and a host of obscure questions later (I’m amazed they didn’t ask what I was wearing), I was finally let through to the gym trainer/sent through to a “level 2” technician. I confess, I may have been a bit narked at this stage. “SURELY this information is IN YOUR COMPUTER”. I guess my shouting was super effective, because problem fainted.

So overall, what did I gain from this experience? Other than negative one hour and a boosted level of cynicism, there was the opportunity to complete a survey at the end of it all. “What would you rank your level of satisfaction with our service today? Press…”

Beeeeep. I pressed one for ‘poor’. Ha. That’ll learn ‘em.

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State of the Union.

Words, Fletcher O'Leary: AUU President

Welcome back everybody, to the final term of 2010.

That went quick, right?

I hope everyone’s been doing better at their study than I have, and even if you haven’t don’t stress – University isn’t just about the classroom, it’s about the experience. As long as you enjoy yourself on the way, you can’t say you really have any regrets. If you do have regrets, you can always see if the EWOs are able to help out with any issues you may have.

Speaking of regrets, campus elections have come and gone, and I chose not to recontest the election.

It’s very strange watching people so publicly vying to replace you. I have no doubt that the new Board Directors and activists in the SRC are going to have a great time next year. The new President will be elected at a special board meeting in October, and my term ends on December 1.

We had World Week (formerly Multicultural Week) from September 14 – 16. It was a great event, with a whole bunch of interesting acts, from traditional Acehnese dancers to Brazilian drummers. The food was spectacular. The AUU and SRC were also surveying international students at the event, to see how we can provide better representation and services.

Congratulations to Leanne and Rebekka for organising the event, and all the AUU volunteers who helped make the event happen.

The Clubs Association AGM is coming up soon and delegates need to register! A register of delegates was introduced to increase accountability and to help monitor how active clubs are. If you are on the execu-

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tive of a student club, then please get in contact with the Clubs Association immediately. By engaging with the Clubs Association you are eligible for grants, and you can get help in organising an event or getting a bigger profile on campus. It’s well worth it.

The Student Representative Council is asking for submissions into possible changes to its constitution.

Even though it’s a young organisation (only incorporated last year), the SRC want to know that it’s the best it can be. So if you have some thoughts, put them in.

Coming up in October is Prosh, which is a longstanding University tradition that unfortunately has fallen to the way side in recent years (thanks, VSU). Prosh is a tradition of pranks, stunts, jokes and general jollity to raise funds for charities. Some of the more outrageous pranks historically have included suspending a Holden under the Torrens River footbridge, stealing the Myer Centre Ronald McDonald and holding it to ransom, and attempting the world’s biggest round of tequila shots on the Barr Smith Lawns. Adelaide has the oldest Prosh tradition in Australia (the University of Western Australia claims Australia’s longest Prosh tradition, from 1920, but I have documentary evidence of the 1916 Prosh parade down King William Street to dispel this myth). So get involved, it’s always great fun.

Remember, you can contact me anytime on auupresident@auu.org.au if you want to raise any issues with me, or just to have a chat. I’m pretty easy going.

Hasta la victoria siempre. 

The Federal Government have abolished the Education portfolio.

What might this mean for students and universities?

Words, Fletcher O'Leary.

As background, here is an edited extract from my diary dated September 11, 2010: Dear Diary, It was a bit of a shock really, when the list of Ministers was quietly put up on the Government’s website. The lack of clarity in the initial announcement gave the expectation that more was to follow, so when I quickly

scanned the list, I was confused but comfortable with the fact that an Education Minister had not been announced. I waited, refreshing the latest news section of a certain public broadcaster’s news website. In fact, it took a long time for the fact to dawn on me after all those times Gillard had declared education her passion – I kept thinking she must have something cooking.

Alas, another disappointment. There apparently wasn’t any education in Australia any more. Instead you’ve got schools and skills. The butterflies in my stomach develop teeth and start gnawing at its lining.

My initial reaction was a bit like when you finally pluck up the courage to ask that cute work colleague out on a date – the one you have chemistry with. You go to dinner, then a movie. You chat and you start thinking ‘Jesus Christ, this is my soul mate’. Then, BAM, they start talking about the Zionist Holocaust conspiracy. You say goodnight, pick up your tattered dreams, and go home to update your CV and get a head start on job hunting. That’s kind of what it’s like for your passion to be filed by the federal government under the rather perfunctory title ‘Skills’.

And this is all before you look at the name beside the title. I mean honestly, Simon Crean may have the charisma of a bag of wet cement, but Chris Evans is like a scrappy old

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teddy bear on sale for fifty cents at an op shop.

Chris Evans is the guy who oversaw that remarkable debacle known as the Department of Immigration and Citizenship. I don’t even remember seeing Evans for the entire election campaign. This is despite Tony Abbott spending most of July repeating three infuriating words as if he was suffering from an extreme, undiagnosed case of political Tourette syndrome: Tony (insistently): “Stop the boats, stop the boats. Umm, err, stop the boats!”, Margaret (soothingly): “There, there, Tony.

Let’s get you a cup of tea and a nice lie down, you’ve been up for thirty hours straight.”

Tony (nodding, suddenly sleepy): “Stop the boats.”

And, unbelievably, not one peep out of Chris Evans. I found this softly, softly approach to Tony Abbott’s incredible smackdownability pretty galling – especially from a minister whose remit was to at least attempt to introduce a granule of humanity to our immigration system. Crean at least made some sympathetic noises about Youth Allowance, student organisations and so forth during the campaign when he was Education minister, which were unfortunately drowned out by the shrill superficiality of the campaign itself.

What Universities really want is one minister for Universities, one person they can talk to about anything. This follows the example of the United Kingdom, where there is a Minister of State for Universities and Science, under which everything about higher education and further education falls. Of course, Universities are huge organisations engaged in a whole bunch of activities, and Universities asking the Government to restructure to suit them has so

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far gotten weak smiles and a polite ‘maybe next year’ from the Government.

So what’s wrong with ‘Skills’ anyway?

It’s all in the name, you see. More than anything, this signifies the diminishing role of the educator in our society. A skill is an outcome of education, most definitely, but not the process (which is just as important). The skills-based outcome is why every single one of your course guides has ‘graduate attributes’ that you’re expected to have.

Your degree’s main purpose, according to the government, is to give you a job, and this is what the emphasis on skills in the Government’s policy reflects. Vocational providers of course love it, which is important. The boundary between TAFEs and Universities is starting to break down, with Universities in particular looking to TAFEs as pathways to University for students that help them meet their goals for including more people from non-traditional backgrounds (i.e. students from poorer backgrounds).

Universities are also expanding into vocational fields.

TAFEs, on the other hand, are increasingly looking at offering more comprehensive study – up to and including actual degrees (which already happens in other states with Nursing degrees).

So while we may laugh at UniSA and call it ‘SuperTAFE’, our gentle derision reveals the truth – it is a university with vocationally focused courses and large number of students from poorer backgrounds.

And when you look at UniSA, you look at the future of the whole sector. You can say goodbye to the time when Universities were hallowed grounds of learning and the intellectual advancement of society. We all go to degree factories now, and the name put the spotlight square on this uncomfortable fact.

Practically the whole higher education sector responded to the change like they’d respond to being told Santa Claus doesn’t exist. In the end, the words

‘Tertiary Education’ were added to Chris Evans’ title, but this was clearly an afterthought to appease the huddled mass of Vice Chancellors baying for blood and Christmas presents.

The ménage à trois: Schools, Skills and Innovation Education in Australia now sits suggestively in the laps of three men. Peter Garrett is the Minister for Schools, Chris Evans is the Minister for Skills, and Kim Carr is the Minister for Research. Between them, this covers education and learning from Kindergarten to postgraduate research.

While the demarcation of responsibilities looks simple enough to fit into a soundbite, in truth, it’s a patchwork. Peter Garrett is responsible for the Student Services and Amenities Fee by virtue of being Minister for Youth, practically his sole responsibility for higher education. Chris Evans looks after coursework postgraduates but not research postgraduate (even though a lot of postgraduate degrees are a mix of research and coursework). Regional Affairs Minister Simon Crean looks on from the sidelines to safeguard regional and rural Universities. International education is one of our largest trade exports – just ask AusTrade (a division of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade) who are out there busily spruiking it to anyone who will listen. Immigration Minister Chris Bowen handles international student visa issues.

These are just some examples of the policy overlaps that happen in higher education. In the end it’s a double edged sword.

On the one hand, we can expect more focus on our Universities. The Education Revolution never attempted to storm the barricades around our universities, preferring instead to fall into decadence and counter-revolutionary school building programs.

Chris Evans has a sole focus on higher and further education, so this will hopefully mean a better deal

for universities.

On the other hand, the continued compartmentalisation dramatically affects all aspects of your education. As Adelaide University Union President, I have sat in mind-numbing meetings where academics complain about the new SACE, the drop in standards, the fact that some undergraduates can’t write or spell – they complain about everything with new students.

And some of it may be true – more students are finishing school and going on to University, but by the time they come to University they have had vastly different experiences depending on which school they went to, what teachers they had, what courses they chose. Lecturers increasingly are moving towards the lowest common denominator, and say that they are doing the work that teachers in years 11 or 12 should have done.

This of course is that wonderful byproduct of bureaucracy: blame shifting. So will Garrett and Evans play nice or will there be a little game of bureaucratic handball? Who knows, they may go down completely separate paths as their policy priorities diverge, or they may actually come up with a fully coordinated and comprehensive plan to see everyone get a good learning experience.

So really, the education revolution is continuing, but it’s not going in the direction anyone really hoped for. The economic reductionism of the government sees the final goal of our Universities as the valueadding to our economic and social infrastructure.

Hallowed institutions have become hollowed out factories, where we move along the production line until we get our degrees and then a job. The fact that the government has been blunt about this is welcome, from my perspective. At least we all know what we’re fighting now. 

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Letter 1: On Monsanto What ever my thoughts on being the milk maid of three hundred years ago, and taking walks with my not so sweet smelling farmhand, I do not feel the need to love Monsanto. I don’t claim to be an expert on this, but it would have been nice had the article in the most recent issue of On Dit had shown evidence of real research.

Monsanto as a company may be responsible for many technological ‘goods’. But if our opinion of them is to be based on their behaviour in the past, can we at least throw in some of the numerous ‘bads’; examples of heavy handed tactics in patent protection, environmental failings, corruption, and the downright evil of products such as Agent Orange, of which Monsanto was one of the largest manufacturers.

And if we wish this argument to be about the future, and what Monsanto is doing for us now, I would point you towards Monsanto’s purchase of Delta & Pine Land Company, the company which has the patent on Terminator seeds, in 2007. Monsanto went ahead with this purchase after making that pledge and have consistently refused to sell the patent to Greenpeace for £1.Greenpeace’s request is unreasonable, perhaps, and should probably not affect our opinion of Monsanto. They have pledged not to use the technology, right?

However, even the open letter of 1999 admitted that the company was interested in the technology, and reserved the right to change its mind in regards

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to using it. As to the 2009 pledge, well, I couldn’t find it.

I don’t eat organic food. I have no problem with genetic engineering in circumstances where it increases profitability for farmers and leads to an increased production of food. These are good things.

I do have a problem with the historic and current practices of Monsanto, and in fact their products have not even been proven to give those benefits.

They have increased the amount of pesticides that are used, which coincidentally are mostly produced by Monsanto. The initial outlay for farmers is so much higher, and so the risks are larger, and so there are many farmers who indeed could not cope with the situation. While I would hesitate to blame Monsanto for everything, I don’t think that doing so would be so far from the truth as the article suggests.

Finally, I would ask, if people are so unwilling to change their consumption, why is it that, as is admitted directly beneath this statement in the original article, organic food is making such a comeback.

While I enjoy having a publication that panders to my taste down to the books mentioned and recommending my favourite comic, I don't agree with the article's stance on this. That said, I suppose we all carry around unjustified beliefs, and I now have one less. My only real issue is that the article hoisted a nice straw hippie man, who was so backward in everything that rational people could hence only think him wrong. Also, he was smelly.

Thanks for a fantastic read, as usual, Stella Crawford.

Letter 2: On the University of Adelaide Design School Piece Shortly after the publication of Issue 10, On Dit received a response to 'Design Fault', an article which argued that the School of Design was failing its students. Executive Dean of Professions, Prof Pascale Quester requested that we print the following corrections, quoted directly in italics below: • There has not been any cut in funding whatsoever in 2010. The school has been in a chronic financial deficit for many years and has, up to now, benefited from heavy cross subsidisation by other schools in the faculty, particularly the Business School. Given that we do not expect such a surplus to continue to be generated in the future, it has become critical for SALUD to actually become more financially sustainable. This includes deleting programs which have repeatedly failed to meet their target intake, such as the MDM. • The building site has certainly impacted on the school’s operations but it was very much the preference for the school to remain located there and SALUD stands to benefit much from its proximity to our new state of the art facility when it opens in 2011. The faculty has also allocated a substantial amount for refurbishment of additional space gained in the old Staff Club building. Indeed, some design students have been very positively involved in the consultation process around the Learning Hub and have worked with the Transforming Student Experience committee (which I convene) to provide the means for students’ input (the What wall in the library was a great success and it was designed by students from the school).

• I am not aware that key staff have resigned or left because of inadequacies from the university or in protest against anything specific. The Acting Head of School has initiated a number of changes and some staff have not taken well to such changes. One staff has resigned to take a position elsewhere and a couple of others entered into a pre-retirement contract well before any of these issues emerged. There is much opportunity for renewal in that school and I have tried to encourage staff to be bold in their vision for a future.

• In relation to the Bachelor of design Studies itself, I have asked the Office of Learning and Quality to undertake a review of the program. I have encouraged staff and students to contribute to this review and look forward to the advice that will be provided by external members of the panel as they review the structure and content of the program. We expect a report before the end of the year and the school will have 6 months to put in place the new program, in time to be advertised for the 2012 intake.

Editors' Note: We feel that most of these comprise not corrections, but differing interpretations of the same facts, or expansions on things covered briefly in the article in order to put the University in a better light.

We welcome the differing interpretation, and recognize the right of the University to respond. We are heartened by Prof Quester’s interest in and attempt to rectify the situation, and wish her success. However, offering a chance for the University to justify the state of the program was not really the aim of the original piece. We fully support the writer of the original piece, Stamantina Hasiotis, and the information she uncovered from her sources, the vast majority of which is not in any dispute.

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On-Line Election of Students to the University of Adelaide Council Call for Nominations In accordance with the ‘”University of Adelaide Act 1971” nominations are hereby called for the election of Two Undergraduate Students and One Postgraduate Student to the Council of the University of Adelaide for a term of one year from 6 March 2011 to 5 March 2012.

The retiring undergraduate members are LAVINIA EMMETT-GREY and CHRISTOPHER WONG and the retiring postgraduate member is XU TING. They may be eligible to re-nominate for re-election.

Who is eligible to vote?

Undergraduate: Undergraduate Students enrolled as students of the University proceeding towards a bachelor's degree or a diploma other than a graduate diploma on Close of Roll Day, 10 September 2010.

Postgraduate: Postgraduate Students enrolled as students of the University proceeding towards a masters degree, a doctorate, a graduate diploma or a graduate certificate on Close of Roll Day, 10 September 2010.

Who is eligible to be nominated?

Undergraduate: In respect of a person seeking election as an undergraduate student of the University, the prescribed qualifications are that the person: (1) is eligible to vote in an election for an undergraduate member of Council; (2) is not a member of the academic or general staff of the University; and (3) was enrolled as required by sub-section 12(7) of the University of Adelaide Act 1971, on Close of Roll Day (ie. was enrolled as an undergraduate student for the semester last preceding the date of the election, on Close of Roll Day).

Postgraduate: In respect of a person seeking election as a postgraduate student of the University, the prescribed qualifications are that the person: (1) is eligible to vote in an election for a postgraduate member of Council; (2) is not a member of the academic or general staff of the University; and (3) was enrolled as a postgraduate student for the semester last preceding the date of the election, on Close of Roll Day. When and how do I nominate? Nominations may be made at any time from 5 October 2010 and must reach the Returning Officer, Council Secretariat, University of Adelaide NO LATER THAN 12 NOON 15 October 2010.

Nominations must be made on the prescribed form, signed by the candidate and two persons eligible to vote in the election.

Nomination forms may be downloaded from the University’s website at http://www.adelaide.edu.au/governance/council/elections/ or obtained from the office of the Council Secretariat (telephone 8303 5668). The Rules for Election of Council members can be downloaded at http://www.adelaide.edu.au/policies/621.

Council members must not normally serve more than twelve years. Students who are considering standing for election and who, if elected, will exceed the 12 year limit during their term of office must lodge an application, giving reasons why they should be permitted to nominate, with the Returning Officer by 8 October 2010.

Should elections be necessary, the ballot will open on 20 October 2010 and will close at 10.00 am on 5 November 2010. Voting in the elections of student representatives to the University Council will be via an on-line ballot. Ballot papers will not be mailed to voters.

HEATHER KARMEL

Returning Officer

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