2017 Edition 3

GHOSTS | CRUISERS | FAITH

FARRAGO EDITION 3 2017

CONTENTS COLLECTIVE 02 03

COMMENTARY 19 20 22 23 24 27 28 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 38 40

contributors editorial

CAMPUS 04 05 06 07 08 08 09 09 10 12 13 16 17 18

news nuggets may calendar home system 3 below the line bad banks cadmus, again safer sport testing 1, 2, 3 the critical incident co-op stand off breaking the news OB reports field guide under the tree

starstruck the maycomb era peek-a-boo pulse life in parkville 3 sick sad world soldiers in petticoats pupils 3 dear kevin plastic poop when nixon went to china on the origin of strangeness artist profile: samuel condon in memoriam shari'a and me here / there

CREATIVE 41 42 43 44 48 50 52 54 55 56 58 62 64 66 67 68

a list of life facts that i learnt my new friend artist profile: rebecca pidgeon no such thing as an eaglehawk the world is fucked pt.3 horror films i think the stars are screaming city of blue fruit gathering schubert dreaming down the tacuari goldfish recollections 3 frogmouth chroma a ho-hums rant for and against: vodka cruisers

ARTWORK BY CLARA CRUZ JOSE 03

COLLECTIVE

THE FARRAGO TEAM EDITORS Alexandra Alvaro Amie Green James Macaronas Mary Ntalianis CONTRIBUTORS Kergen Angel Ashleigh Barraclough Daniel Beratis Tessa Campisi Kye-Lee Cheong Hamish Clark Samuel Condon Alaina Dean Laetitia Louise Djaja Raven Eylander Tilli Franks Markos Hasiotis Lauren Hunter Khairul-Bariya Khan Wing Kuang Esther Kuok May Yan Jack Langan Claire Miller Ellen Muller Foad Munir Jeremy Nadel Ruby Perryman Sam O'Connor Sarah Peters Rebecca Pidgeon Ed Pitt Tamara Reichman Jacob Sacher Ruby Schofield Bethany Slaughter Alison Tealby Gajan Thiyagarajah Alexander Baky Tran Peter Tzimos Sen Wagaarachchi Lucy Williams Stephanie Zhang

SUBEDITORS Elizabeth Adams James Agathos Natalie Amiel Kergen Angel Harry Baker Amy Bartholomeusz Amelia Bensley Sue-Ann Chan Esther Crowley Noni Cole Esther Le Couteur Sebastian Dodds Katie Doherty Alessia Di Paolo Simone Eckardt Victoria Emerson Esmé James Annie Jiang Celine Lau Vicky Lee Maggy Liu Caitlin McGregor Sinead Medew-Ewen Ellen Muller Jeremy Nadel Jesse Paris-Jourdan Ellie Patton Sarah Peters Ed Pitt Lara Porczak Jeffrey Pullin Claudia Seers Alf Simpson Felicity Sleeman Morgan-Lee Snell Reilly Sullivan Caleb Triscari Peter Tzimos Matt Wojczys Alice Zeng Stephanie Zhang

GRAPHICS

Charlotte Bird-Weber Ella Hope Broadbent Edie Bush Leung Chin Ching Ewan Clarke-McIntyre Cornelius Darrell Sebastian Dodds Anwyn Elise Veronica Fernando James Goh Minahil Munir Hamdani Ilsa Harun Darus Noel Howard Kyaw Min Htin Carolyn Huane Lauren Hunter Winnie Jiao Clara Cruz Jose Nakate Kakembo Esther Le Couteur Sarah Leong Sarah Fang-Ning Lin Lisa Linton Hanna Liu Eloyse McCall Lilly McLean Rachel Morley Amani Nasarudin Sam Nelson Wasinee Phornnarit (Gwen) Elena Piakis Ruth Simone Rathjen-Duffton Amelia Saward Nellie Seale Bonnie Smith Morgan-Lee Snell Sophie Sun Selena Tan Jasmine Velkovski Reimena Yee

ARTWORK BY CHIN CHING LEUNG 04

COLUMNISTS Madeline Bailey Anwyn Elise Ilsa Harun James Hazeldine Carolyn Huane Claire Longhouse (online) Tessa Marshall Harry McLean Monique O’Rafferty (online) Ed Pitt Danielle Scrimshaw Claudia Seers (online) Benjamin Smart (online) Linus Tolliday WEB Jenny Huynh Jack Kaloger Cathy Weng SOCIAL MEDIA Elizabeth Haigh Ilsa Harun Annie Liew Monique O’Rafferty Acacia Pip Ramone Taanya Rohira Mega Safira Maddie Spencer James Goh

COVER

Farrago is the student magazine of the University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), produced by the Media Department. Farrago is published by the General Secretary of UMSU, Yasmine Luu. The views expressed herein are not necessarily the views of UMSU, the printers or the editors.

Farrago is printed by Printgraphics, care of living artwork Nigel Quirk. All writing and artwork remains the property of the creators. This collection is © Farrago and Farrago reserves the right to republish material in any format.

COLLECTIVE

EDITORIAL

A

mie was the first. How Amie got the virus is anyone’s guess, but it was got and before you could say “I can’t, I’ve got assessments,” the illness was upon us all.

Mary was the next, protesting she would keep going despite the ravages of cough and cold. James took the weekend (and Monday and Tuesday and – okay, he took the week) to lie in bed and mutter feverish things. Alex protested that she would be fine and that nothing could go wrong but she too succumbed to a few days off, nursing stress and mucky sinuses in equal measure.

It should have destroyed us, this festering thing, it should have ripped us apart. The question is, why didn’t it? Was it the Easter break? The change in the weather? New episodes of Survivor and Doctor Who? No! None of these things! It was you! You – our noble, reliable and (frankly) gorgeous contributors and readers. This one’s for you.

And despite the looming threat of epidemic and the dreaded Riverdale hiatus, the month wasn’t all doom and gloom.

A pleasant email from Rod*, a past student, describing us as ‘whingeing bigheads disrespecting society’ and a 'pathetic insignificant group of childish brats’ really brightened up a rainy Tuesday morning. But, as Kanye said, 'when you’re the absolute best you get hated on the most'.

Overcoming our malady, we released our first video of the year (NASTY – check it out), we rang in Edition Two with a fab launch party and got simultaneously silly, serious and sparkly at another Wordplay.

In this edition of Farrago, Claire Miller explores the topic of student deaths in ‘The Critical Incident’ (pg. 10) and Jack Langan uncovers the radical robot who is hellbent on making sure you don’t plagiarise your essays in ‘Cadmus, Again’ (pg. 8). Read Tilli Franks’ letter to someone from her past in ‘Dear Kevin’ (pg. 31) and delve into the depths of 8chan’s /leftypol/ with Ed Pitt (pg. 27). We’re hoping your feathers are ruffled by Alaina Dean’s ‘No Such Thing As An Eaglehawk’ (pg. 44) and that you find something in the imagery of Raven Eylander’s beautiful poetry (pg. 54).

Our front cover by the amazing James Goh pays homage to Ruby Schofield’s ‘Peek-A-Boo’ (pg. 22) in which you’ll learn where to catch a ghost sighting in Melbourne.

A number of our readers (including Rod) took issue with the abrupt close to our last editorial. So, we decided to take your advice and try something different. Can you feel the wind? Can you hear it whistle in your ears as you fall? Cry out!

Cry out as the void opens up to swallow you and there’s nothing you can do but burn up like a star going supernova.

The colours you leave behind as you shine, brighter than ever before, are up to you, but know that they will shape this oblivion for any and all that pass that way. Now – go fuck yourself.

Alex, Amie, James and Mary

*Name has been changed to protect anonymous emailer, Bernie.

BACKGROUND BY SOPHIE SUN PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEBASTIAN DODDS 05

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No BS from MBA The Melbourne Business School's Full Time MBA has been ranked at 76 in the world and third in Australia by the Financial Times Full Time MBA Ranking, an improvement on the 2016 position of 87 in the world.

NEWS NUGGETS

Bargain hunting The The collective Switcheroo bargaining process between Deputy Provost and the University and its staff has Deputy Vice-Chancellor begun. The National Tertiary International at the UoM, Education Union is currently Victory for Professor Susan Elliott has questioning the University’s victims announced her resignation. She has proposal to split the agreement After a barrage of public been appointed by Monash University into two, catering for academic pressure, all 39 Australian to the role of Deputy Viceand administrative staff universities have decided to Chancellor and Vice-President separately. release individualised data from (Education). the nationwide survey into Speedy Student sexual assault on campus. The Precinct survey is set to be released The new student precinct 1 August 2017. is now set to be complete by the end of 2019. The ground plane between 1888 and Alice Resignation Hoy will be lowered in the nation Summer break of 2017-18.

Two UMSU student representatives have resigned this month – The FAP-pening, Education Co-office bearer continued Daniel Lopez and Women’s Recommendations have been Co-office bearer, Anjana revealed for four of eight Flexible Abeyratne.

Academic Programming streams.

They include more study spaces, more thoughtful timetabling to account for travel times between classes and more off-campus, site based learning to engage large classes.

457 Visas Universities have raised concerns over the Turnbull government’s changes to 457 Visas, claiming that it will reduce their ability to remain competitive internationally.

Currently UoM employs 580 staff and associates on 457 visas, including some of our most senior colleagues.

The Group of Eight Universities said the new TSS Visa will make it difficult for universities to hire newly graduated international PhD students.

LET IT BURN(LEY) The University has stated that it wishes to discontinue the Burnley campus’ Associate Degree of Horticulture. Burnley Campus Coordinator Jessica Peeler, has expressed frustration at UMSU Students’ Council over a lack of consultation with students and a lack of comparable subjects and degrees.

V Hive UMSU’s new volunteering hub, opening this May, will now be called the V Hive. It is located on the Ground Floor of Union House.

ARTWORK BY MORGAN-LEE SNELL 06

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MAY CALENDAR WEEK 10 Monday 8 1-2pm: Queer – Trans Collective 1-2pm: Welfare – Monday Mingle 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Zumba

WEEK 11

WEEK 12

SWOTVAC

Monday 15 1-2pm: Queer – Trans Collective 1-2pm: Welfare – Monday Mingle 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Zumba

Monday 22 1-2pm: Queer – Trans Collective 1-2pm: Welfare – Monday Mingle 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Zumba

Monday 29 1-2pm: Queer – Trans Collective 1-2pm: Welfare – Monday Mingle 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Zumba

Tuesday 9 10am: Enviro – Bike Co-op Breakfast 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, Bevs & BBQ 2-3pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 2-3pm: Queer – Queer People of Colour Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5:30pm: Enviro – Play With Your Food 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

Tuesday 16 10am: Enviro – Bike Co-op Breakfast 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, Bevs & BBQ 2-3pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 2-3pm: Queer – Queer People of Colour Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5:30pm: Enviro – Green Screen 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

Tuesday 23 10am: Enviro – Sustainability Advocates Forum 10am: Enviro – Bike Co-op Breakfast 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, Bevs & BBQ 2-3pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 2-3pm: Queer – Queer People of Colour Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5:30pm: Enviro – Play With Your Food 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

Tuesday 30 10am: Enviro – Bike Co-op Breakfast 12-2pm: Activities – Bands, Bevs & BBQ 2-3pm: Enviro – Enviro Collective 2-3pm: Queer – Queer People of Colour Collective 4:15-5:15pm: Disabilities – Anxiety Support Group 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Meditation

Wednesday 10 12-1pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Mudcrabs – Rowdy Laughter 1pm: Enviro – Guerilla Gardening 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga Activities – Trivia Night

Wednesday 17 National Day of Action 12-1pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Mudcrabs – Rowdy Laughter 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

Wednesday 24 12-1pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Mudcrabs – Rowdy Laughter 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

Wednesday 31 12-1pm: Women’s – Women’s Collective 1-2pm: Mudcrabs – Rowdy Laughter 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Free Yoga

Thursday 11 1-3pm: Queer – Queer Games 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defence Classes 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 4:30pm: Media – Farrago Launch Party @ Tsubu Bar 5:30pm: Ed Pub – Ed Pub @ Pub

Thursday 18 1-3pm: Queer – Queer Games 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defence Classes 6pm: Creative Arts – Pot Luck Open Mic Night

Thursday 25 1-3pm: Queer – Queer Games 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defence Classes 6pm: Queer – Queer End of Semester Party

Thursday 1 1-3pm: Creative Arts – Creative Arts Collective 1-3pm: Queer – Queer Games 1:15-2:15pm: Disabilities – Disabilities Collective 5:30-6:30pm: Welfare – Women’s Self Defence Classes

Friday 12 12pm: Enviro – Small Space Gardening 12-1pm: Queer – Women Loving Women 12-2pm: Creative Arts – Life Drawing 2:30pm: Disabilities – Screenings @ the Rowdy Clubs and Societies – Eurovision Party Queer: Eurovision Costume Spectacular

Friday 19 12-1pm: Queer – Women Loving Women 12-2pm: Creative Arts – Life Drawing 2:30pm: Disabilities – Screenings @ the Rowdy

Friday 26 12-1pm: Queer – Women Loving Women 12-2pm: Creative Arts – Life Drawing 2:30pm: Disabilities – Screenings @ the Rowdy

Friday 2 12-1pm: Queer – Women Loving Women 12-2pm: Creative Arts – Life Drawing 2:30pm: Disabilities – Screenings @ the Rowdy

ARTWORK BY MORGAN-LEE SNELL Reverse this calendar to see Anwyn Elise’s ‘Home System’. Each edition will piece together to form an eight part artwork.

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BELOW THE LINE WORDS BY PETER TZIMOS ARTWORK BY WASINEE PHORNNARIT (GWEN)

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POST-GRADUATE STUDENTS BARRED FROM RECEIVING WELFARE

tudents from a number of Masters degrees at the University of Melbourne are ineligible for financial support through Centrelink, adding to the financial distress faced by many university students.

Every year, the Department of Social Services (DSS) assesses applications made by higher education providers to register postgraduate courses and approve them eligible for student payments.

However, a number of courses did not make the cut this year.

According to the DSS website, a Masters by Coursework program may be approved where the course is the minimum educational requirement, the fastest pathway or the only pathway to gain an entry-level qualification for a profession.

Master degrees including Public Policy and Management, Finance, Economics, Journalism and Marketing Communications do not meet these requirements.

However, other higher education providers have submitted similar courses to the DSS which have been approved for Centrelink payments. RMIT’s Master of Communication and Deakin University’s Master of Commerce are approved for student financial support, whereas their University of Melbourne counterparts are not.

The University of Melbourne Student Union’s (UMSU) Welfare Officer, Ryan Davey, is concerned about the inconsistency.

A Master of Public Policy and Management (MPPM) student himself, Davey had to make a decision about his post-graduate studies based on his eligibility for Centrelink support. He initially enrolled in RMIT’s Master of Public Policy – which is approved for student payments by the DSS. “For me [not receiving Centrelink] was a big factor in choosing my Master. Without concession, travelling into the city was going to cost me $20 a day, and my Office Bearer pay wasn’t going to be enough, so I enrolled at RMIT,” he said.

Senior Student Advisor of the University of Melbourne’s Campus Community University Services, Roger Deutscher, stated that the University does not decide which courses are approved for student payments.

“Whilst the first criteria, the minimum educational requirement to gain entry to a profession, is a criteria that can apply uniformly across institutions, the other two criteria, the fastest or only pathway to a qualification, will vary considerably between institutions,” he said.

“The University submits all those courses that faculties judge may meet the criteria, but approval or not is a matter for the Department."

Deutscher also stated that there were early signs Centrelink may approve all Master courses for student payments. However, there has been no movement on the issue in recent times.

The financial strain students face has been a widely debated issue since the announcement of budget cuts to higher education in April 2016. Despite the Turnbull government benching all higher education reforms until 2018, these matters are still pressing for students.

With degrees like the MPPM costing over $25,000 a year, the price of post-graduate study can deter future students. This makes employment increasingly difficult as many employers expect job applicants with multiple qualifications.

Current MPPM student, Conor Serong, began post-graduate study in 2014. While studying his Bachelor of Arts, he had received Youth Allowance and Rent Assistance from Centrelink. It was a shock to him to learn that, after undertaking his Masters, he would no longer have this support.

“I just assumed that my Masters would be eligible, but when I made the claim I was told over the phone there wouldn't be anything available to me,” he said.

Coming from a rural and low socio-economic background, Serong could not depend on his family for support. Students may be eligible for Commonwealth-supported places (CSP), FEE-HELP and HECS-HELP loans, but the number of Commonwealthsupported places awarded are limited and the debt of the HECS system can be daunting.

“I was offered another course as well…this would have been eligible for Centrelink, but it wasn’t a Commonwealth-supported place, meaning the debt would have been huge”.

As a result, Serong began working upwards of 30 hours per week to pay his bills. This also meant he had to cut back to parttime study.

“I wanted to study a Masters degree specifically for the employability prospects...in the end, I took the MPPM without any Centrelink support,” he said.

Having to study only one or two subjects a semester means that Serong is now two and a half years into a two year degree – still with no end in sight.

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T

BAD BANKS

CADMUS, AGAIN

WORDS BY WING KUANG ARTWORK BY SOPHIE SUN

WORDS BY JACK LANGAN ARTWORK BY SOPHIE SUN

he University of Melbourne Student Union's (UMSU) Environment Department has raised concern over club funds being invested in banks tied to the fossil fuel industry.

This follows UMSU's decision to disallow companies tied to fossil fuels from sponsoring Summerfest and promoting deals during O-Week.

Affiliated clubs and societies, according to regulations adopted in 2006, must open their bank accounts at on-campus banks. Under the regulations, the Commonwealth Bank, National Australia Bank (NAB) and Pulse Credit Union are qualified.

However, both Commonwealth and NAB invest in fossil fuel companies. The Commonwealth Bank has invested $20,590 million in fossil fuels since 2008. NAB, following the Commonwealth Bank as the third biggest investor of fossil fuels, lent $1,352 million to fossil fuel companies in 2016.

UMSU Environment Officers, Elizabeth Nicholson and Kate Denver-Stevenson, said they intended to change the regulation.

“We did a long-term plan to talk to the Clubs and Societies Department about it, and they are doing a whole bunch of new policies this year, so hopefully we can work something out with them rather than do a big campaign about it, as it will be much easier.”

Nicholson and Denver-Stevenson said they will propose to make ethical local banks also available for clubs.

“Ethical banks like Bank of Australia and Bendigo Bank both have traditions in supporting communities and smaller clubs, so it could be simple to explain club process, who UMSU is, and what kind of documentation that clubs need in the same way that I'm sure had to happen when clubs started to use NAB and Commonwealth.”

UMSU Clubs & Societies Coordinator Fiona Sanders commented on the Environment Department’s proposal, saying details will need to be discussed.

“The on-campus banks obviously provide significant proximity, and also understand the university context a little bit better than off-campus banks.”

“Our clubs get fee-free accounts at Commonwealth and NAB campus branches, and so we have to negotiate an equally beneficial arrangement for them. Sometimes its hard to get the club to change their signatories.”

However, Sanders said a well-considered solution is necessary rather than simply a call for change.

“Finding a solution is a good thing and we obviously have no reasons or desire to oppose that, but we also have to have a solution that actually benefits the 200 student groups and makes their banking possible.”

C

admus, a Google Docs style software designed to target plagiarism, is undergoing further trials at the University of Melbourne this semester.

The online program stores students’ keyboard movement patterns, such as typing speed and rhythm, and tracks information about the time when a body of work is being written. Algorithms detect whether slabs of text have been copied and pasted into the document.

This data could be used in the event that suspicion arises about the validity of a student’s work and could be used as evidence in an academic misconduct hearing.

University of Melbourne Student Union's (UMSU's) Education (Academic) Officer, Caley McPherson, is taking action to make sure students’ best interests are known before the software is implemented University-wide.

“Our main areas of concern are around kinks in the system and policy, specifically access for students with disabilities or with limited internet,” McPherson said.

A public information session hosted by UMSU was organised on 30 March to hear students’ feedback on the use of Cadmus at the University.

Students feared that those without a smartphone would also be disadvantaged. In order to use the software, an app must be downloaded in order for Cadmus to establish a biometric keystroke profile. Whilst there is a way around this step for non-smartphone users, students involved in the trial said it was tedious.

Additional criticisms from students concerned accessibility for students with disabilities, the implementation and training of faculty in how to appropriately use the software and the ethical dilemma of the University possessing so much data.

This year the trials are taking place in five classes in the Arts, Science and FBE faculties with 50-100 students enrolled in each class. The use of Cadmus in these classes is compulsory for all students in the subjects.

Plagiarism is a serious issue that universities across Australia are trying to combat. Deputy Provost (Academic and Undergraduate) Professor Richard James said that the existence of contract cheating diminishes integrity of all university assessment and undermines the value of the University of Melbourne degrees.

“We’re not prepared to stand by and do nothing in this space,” he said. He did admit that the implications of implementing such a program are unclear.

“We’re a long way away from considering what a future implementation might or would look like,” he said.

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SAFER SPORT

TESTING 1,2,3

WORDS BY KYE-LEE CHEONG ARTWORK BY LILLY MCLEAN

WORDS BY DANIEL BERATIS ARTWORK BY LILLY MCLEAN

CONTENT WARNING: REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT

T

he University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) is taking action to work with Melbourne University Sport (MU Sport) to make sure grievance procedures for sexual assault are more visible.

Currently, MU Sport does not have grievance procedures of its own. UMSU President, Yan Zhuang, told Farrago that UMSU is aware of this issue and is working with MU Sport to ensure reporting procedures are accessible and to fill any gaps.

“We understand that because MU Sport is a department of the University of Melbourne, the University’s policies apply to it.

Hence, the body responsible for grievance procedures is Safer Communities, which is the University’s program for dealing with behaviours of concern,” she said.

“However, UMSU is concerned that students and staff members involved in MU Sport may be unaware of this procedure. We want to ensure that all bases are covered and that students understand what options are available to them if something potentially goes wrong,” she said.

Any grievances involving students at a sporting event (such as the Australian University Games) need to be dealt with under the University's Student Complaints and Grievances Policy or the Student Misconduct Policy.

Former MU Sport Advisory Board Student Representative, Hana Dalton, believes there is plenty of room for improvement at the University to establish just and accessible procedures for dealing with matters such as sexual assault. .

“As a woman and former student athlete, I'm acutely aware of how certain spaces at sporting events can feel quite unsafe, particularly where alcohol is involved,” she said. “I think the issue of sexual assault and harassment needs urgent attention at a sectorwide level as well as at a university level and within all sections of the university community.”

MU Sport claims to be addressing this issue, and have implemented proactive steps to ensure student safety during events. Director of MU Sport, Tim Lee, says that student safety is a serious priority for the centre.

“There is a female staff member present at all major student sporting competitions and all student athletes, team managers and coaches sign, and commit to, a Participant Agreement outlining expectations of behaviour. Team managers and coaches are also selected carefully and an extensive training program undertaken.”

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tudent representatives are no closer to implementing planned drug harm reduction policies as they face strong resistance from the University.

Significant differences of opinion have emerged between The University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU) and the University, with the two making little progress in reconciling differences since the initial attempt by UMSU to begin providing drug testing kits to university students in 2016.

Elizabeth Capp, Director of Students and Equity, said that while the University was keen to work with UMSU on promoting student wellbeing, they had strong doubts around several aspects of UMSU’s policy, including the legality of drug testing kits, the logistics of administering the kits and the potential reputational risk to the University.

“There are probably a dozen risks at least that need to be managed and thought through. Things like, how you manage giving students these [kits] in a confidential setting. How do you manage students bringing drugs on campus to test?” Capp said.

Co-creator of 2016’s harm reduction policy, Gulsara Kaplun, with Students for Sensible Drug Policy Unimelb, acknowledged the roadblocks between UMSU and the implementation of its policy.

“They expressed concerns…a laundry list of concerns,” Kaplun said. “Having their concerns is valuable because it’s made us move towards a more rigorous system.”

Both sides are hopeful that they will reach a compromise, and resolve the currently existing differences. However, both sides also said that a lack of agreement would mean that the policy could not be implemented.

If no compromise is reached, Kaplun indicated a willingness to pursue other policy settings.

“If that avenue was closed off by the University then maybe we include it as part of our activist branch and we try and make sure that it’s available at the state level,” she said.

“It’s a tremendously useful service that needs to be accessible.”

Students' Council passed the inital motion to implement the harm reduction kits in 2016.

Students’ Council has voted on a motion to reaffirm its position in 2017 and to suport providing education sessions to students on reducing drug-related harm.

However, a motion for a member of Students for Sensible Drug Policy UniMelb to attend the Harm Reduction International Conference 2017 in Montreal was not carried at the last Students' Council meeting of April.

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THE CRITICAL INCIDENT WORDS BY CLAIRE MILLER ARTWORK BY ELLA BROADBENT

HOW UNIVERSITY COMMUNITIES REACT WHEN A STUDENT PASSES AWAY INDIGENOUS AND TORRES STRAIT ISLANDERS ARE WARNED THAT THIS ARTICLE MENTIONS DECEASED PERSONS

W

hitley College’s Critical Incident Form succinctly and clearly advises anyone who steps foot onto college grounds how to act in the case of a traumatic event.

The document readily provides examples of potential situations such as natural disasters, fires, explosions, intruders and attacks.

According to Deputy Warden of Whitley College, Genevieve Leach, however, the worst critical incident is when a student passes away.

In 2008, Whitley College – which houses 130 students – was deeply affected by the unexpected death of a student on college grounds. During this period, Ms Leach was the Welfare Coordinator at University College. She is now responsible for Pastoral Care in her position at Whitley.

“In the event of a student passing away there is an enormous responsibility to make sure people are informed,” she said.

Ms Leach said students received updates from the Warden, Margie Welsford, during dinner – a time when the majority of students are present.

Ms Leach asserted that, for the staff at Whitley, paying attention to how students chose to grieve was extremely important.

“Grief is individual. You’ve got to gauge where people are at and what they want,” she said.

The form also directs that those closest to the deceased should be the first to be notified. Ms Leach said that Heads of Colleges should know which students belong to whose friendship groups.

As well as providing information regarding how to react immediately and in the two to three days following, the form advises an ongoing follow-up plan.

Ms Welsford, who has extensive psychological training in grief and counselling, decided that the deceased student’s room would serve as a place of quiet.

The College installed a fish tank and the room was open to all

students and was frequently used in the year following the student’s passing.

However, Whitley’s Critical Incident policy is not one that is consistent among colleges – there is no single overarching procedure. Ms Leach noted that whilst Colleges collaborate in regards to sport, academic programs and fair treatment, every college is different in how it handles the death of a student.

Medley Hall is a department of the University and, as such, is subject to their policies and procedures. Following the death of a student at Medley last November, Principal Phillippa Connelly commented that, although there are University guidelines and procedures in place, her response was mostly intuitive.

“There are the University’s guidelines but you just go in...do the things you do as a human being for another human being.”

Like Ms Leach, Ms Connelly wanted to ensure that students were informed and supported. After she and Medley staff had knocked on every student’s door, they then addressed all 59 members of Medley’s student body.

They spoke to everybody, and then to those who were deeply affected. Ms Connelly emphasised the importance of maintaining privacy and information, given the uncertain and intimate nature of the event.

“This was a sudden and unexpected death, it was of immediate importance to avoid misinformation and speculation and to control the flow of information until the student’s family members had been informed,” she said.

Students were also asked not to communicate any information via social media. Members of the Wellbeing Team promptly arrived including the University of Melbourne's Wellbeing Associate Director, Daniel Persaud, who Ms Connelly praised for his involvement.

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“He came immediately and was readily available for students,” she said. She also said that other College heads were “tremendously helpful” in offering assistance to a bereaved Medley Hall.

As well as receiving support from the Principal, her staff and the Wellbeing Team, students also provided support for one another.

Ex-Medley Hall student, Wunambi Connor, reflected on the profound shock experienced by students upon learning of their fellow student’s passing.

“Because of the uncertainty of how [the student] passed, people wanted someone or something to blame," he said.

He said that students continually checked in with each other.

“We’d say, 'everyone we’re going to sit and watch a movie' and that’s what happened in the weeks following,” he said.

Connor said that students made sure to privately notify former students of Medley Hall that were close to the deceased.

At times, however, those on the outside of college communities are left unable to participate in the collective greiving process. One former student who had resided at the college the previous year said that she was informed online.

“It was such a shock…I was on holiday in Thailand and my friend messaged me on Facebook.” The student and the rest of her cohort that attended Medley Hall in 2015 received a formal email in the following days.

A spokesperson for the University said there are support materials and services aimed at timely reporting to enable the University to assess the circumstances and provide responses based on appropriate intervention and support.

“The Wellbeing Team leads the University’s response in conjunction with the wishes and feelings of the family, while also working with the relevant academic department," they said.

A tutor at the University, Anita*, found herself frustrated when staff at the University neglected to tell her that her student had passed away.

Instead, she was informed by another student who happened to be aware of a bond shared between the deceased and their former tutor. Anita was incredibly grateful for the student who had passed on the information.

“She had the wisdom and ability to understand how it mattered to me,” she said. “It was really distressing that I wouldn’t have found out.”

She described a sense of isolation, having been informed by students who were also mourning.

“I couldn’t get them to sit in my office for 10 hours and talk about the student because I knew they were distressed themselves,” she said.

Anita found herself informing her superiors and Head of School about the deceased student. Dismayed by the lack of system or procedure in place, the tutor also emailed the classmates of the deceased student. The students were then able to write to their former tutor to offer reflections and reactions and discuss their memories of their classmate.

Anita said that one of her colleagues who had also taught the deceased student held a gathering to commemorate the student. “[It was] her completely personal non-mandated response to the need to mark a tragedy like this,” she said. Anita was also able to watch the student’s funeral via live stream.

According to the Universtiy spokesperson, the University employs particular practices when providing support for staff and students affected by a fatality.

“Internal operating practice guidelines specifically address the required counselling and psychological support following any fatality,” a spokesperson said.

Although this does include counselling services, Anita felt the initial free services were not sufficient in the aftermath.

“It was a bureaucratic response to human tragedy,” she said.

In these events, privacy is also of concern, with some communitites aiming to protect students from the mainstream media. In 2014, Trinity College student, Joshua Hardy, died in the CBD. The case subsequently received widespread media coverage.

Sarah Lawrie, Head of Marketing, Events and Communication at Trinity College reflected on the grief following the student’s passing.

“The Joshua Hardy case had a wide spread effect across the College, not only with our students but also our staff. It was a terrible case.”

Ms Lawrie declined to give any further comment.

As institutions, the University of Melbourne and its colleges have a responsibility to ensure that policies are accessible and pragmatic in any event. In the case of the death of a student, it seems clear that the policies implemented by colleges and the University cannot totally account for the enduring and visceral response individuals experience when reacting to the loss of life.

Principal of Medley Hall, Ms Connelly, acknowledged the residual intimate effects of the passing of a student.

“There are administrative consequences to do with procedure and policy, but it is ultimately deeply personal…it reverberates, it goes on, a person died and that person mattered.” * Names have been changed to protect sources.

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CO-OP STAND-OFF WORDS BY JEREMY NADEL ARTWORK BY AMANI NASARUDIN

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INSIDE THE INFAMOUS CO-OP BOOKSHOP'S AGM

ehind a façade of tacky logos, overpriced textbooks and shelves overflowing with Doctor Who merchandise, a power struggle is unfolding in the University Co-op Bookshop (the Co-op) between the Board of Directors and students campaigning to make the organisation more accountable to its members.

On 30 March, students attended the Co-op’s AGM to expel the board but were foiled when National Secretary, Talal Yassine, declared over two dozen of the students’ proxy votes “invalid” without providing reason.

The board held the AGM in Kooindah Waters, Wyong, more than 100km from their head office in Surrey Hills. Members were not directly notified. Leading the 'Take Back Our Co-op' campaign, General Secretary of University of Sydney’s Student Representative Council (SRC), Daniel Ergas, submitted resolutions to vacate the board and reduce board members’ salaries to $0.

According to the Co-op’s annual financial reports, directors receive $330,000 in total remuneration per annum. Student campaigners argue that this is grossly out of self-interest, as directors are required to do little more than attend six meetings per annum.

“That $330,000 includes the travel and accommodation costs and other expenses associated with director’s responsibilities,” Yassine clarified at the AGM. The Co-op, which effectively has a monopoly on university textbooks, has also been consistently under-performing financially.

The company ran at a loss of $1.4 million in 2016 and $3.7 million in 2017.

Students entered the AGM confident as although a number of managers and other staff from Queensland, Western Australia and other states had flown to New South Wales to attend, students outnumbered those in support of the board by three people.

Students who did not attend the AGM had submitted over twodozen proxies in support of Ergas’ motions.

However, it was clear the house had won when Yassine declared that there were 109 proxies in support of the board’s motions, with Ergas’ motions now “invalid”.

Yassine shut down students who repeated requests to specify how students’ proxies violated the Co-op’s rules and to prove motions in support of the board were genuine.

“You’re not here to ask questions. This isn’t Q&A. We are entitled to say no, whether or not you accept that answer,” he said.

Ergas says this is just another example of the Co-op evading its responsibility to its members.

“Holding the AGM in Wyong and declaring students’ proxies invalid without justification is astonishingly telling of the lengths that people running the Co-op will go to in order to avoid scrutiny and protect their $330,000 pay package,” he told Farrago. “Their refusal to accept our proxies means we have an avenue to pursue legal action.”

Students also questioned the ability of the Co-op to make decisions on behalf of members when a large portion of members – students –­ are not represented. The Co-op’s rules require that board members have participated in the management of a medium to large business for at least five years and have completed a tertiary degree, which excludes the vast majority of students.

The campaigners argue that this is contrary to the ideals of the co-operative movement, which have traditionally dispersed decision-making power equally among their members.

In an interview with Farrago last year, CEO Thorsten Wichtendahl declared his support of this policy.

“Quite frankly, I wouldn’t want to be reporting to a 21 year old, first-year uni student. I take my guidance, strategic direction, coaching and mentoring from our board of directors – experienced company directors,” he said.

At the AGM, Yassine reinforced the CEO’s position stating that it was not in the Co-op’s members' interests to be lead by students who lacked the “necessary experience”.

Students highlighted the irony of suggesting students lack the experience to manage the organisation. An investigation by Farrago last year unveiled that since the academics on the Coop’s board lost control to a team of accountants, who substantially increased directors’ salaries in the early '90s, its history has been rife with branch stacking, factionalism and legal disputes.

In an interview with Farrago, Former Board Director and professor of Political Law, Graeme Orr, explained that Talal Yassine, an emerging NSW Labor right powerbroker and prolific donor to Labor branches and candidates, had wrested control of the organisation in 1999.

Since, the board has been constantly occupied by individuals employed by his investment bank, Crescent Wealth, and connected to the Labor Party. It was also unveiled that the Western Australian Labor MP, Anne Aly, was a director until late last year and appears not have declared her directorship to the parliamentary register of interests.

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OFFICE BEARER REPORTS PRESIDENT | YAN ZHUANG As leaves wither and grass starts to brown, Semester One is nearly at its close. I’d like to take this opportunity to sow some seeds of student engagement. A whole bunch of projects are slowly blossoming into fruition and we want you to be involved every step of the way.

Work on the new Student Precinct is underway, and in the coming months we’ll be looking to you to make sure it’s on the right track. We’ll also be looking for feedback and opinions on Cadmus, the academic integrity software the University is currently trialing. There’s a lot more happening, but I don’t have room for it all here. To keep in the loop, find out about opportunities, to get involved and read more of my ramblings, check out our Facebook page, ‘UMSU University of Melbourne Student Union’. And as always, my door is always open if you’d like to chat about anything at all!

GENERAL SECRETARY | YASMINE LUU Aloe there! Thistle be a succulent report, I’m sure. As the General Secretary of UMSU, I’m quite frond of meetings, we’re basically like two peas in a pod. I have planted myself into a number of different working groups which are growing policy and procedure that is really blossoming. Soon we’ll have an ethical sponsorship policy, a harm reduction proposal and a few regulation and constitutional changes. It takes a lot of thyme but lettuce think of all the great work everyone’s put in! The Volunteering Hub has well and truly opened like a flower in bloom and hopefully you’ve had a chance to look at some berry cool UMSU volunteering opportunities! If you’re ever stumped on how to get involved in UMSU, have a look at our website! I will leaf you now. Keep having a great semester buds!

EDUCATION (ACADEMIC) | CALEY MCPHERSON & ROGER SAMUEL The office has been a hothouse of activity, with new growths shooting up and ongoing projects blossoming and extending in new directions. We liberally watered Cadmus trial subjects with information about UMSU and our forum. Our feedback survey has now been connected with trial subject coordinators and tutors. From many meetings with the University, we received support for a greater role for Academic Board and UMSU representatives in the Cadmus process if the decision to integrate the software beyond the trial is made. Sun shone on our department with our first Student Representative Network meeting, on 6 April when we planted a stall on South Lawn and when we successfully lobbied to have lecture recordings from Engineering Mathematics available as quickly as possible. We will be presenting in conjunction with Burnley campus students at the Academic Programs Committee on the planned discontinuation of the Associate Degree in Urban Horticulture.

EDUCATION (PUBLIC) | SINEAD MANNING Green thumbs belong in greenhouses. Education thumbs belong in one of our blossoming collectives. Join our Facebook groups and you will be the seedlings from which orchids bloom.

Education Forum is a flourishing store of student saplings ready to discuss all things education, with monthly meet ups/pruning sessions! Students’ Rights at Work Collective is a space to fight for your rights at work. A fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work out tending the garden! How Privilege Manifests in Tutorials is a fertile and inclusive patch to share experiences and organise actions and workshops focusing on the ways in which unconscious bias permeates tutorials, seminars, lectures and labs! Links to all these little greenhouses can be found at our facebook page: facebook.com/umsueducation

WELFARE | RYAN DAVEY & TERESA GORNALL We’ve been rolling along with our regular events. Keep on growing towards the sun by nourishing your body and soul with Meditation, Yoga and Zumba. Ward off swooping magpies with Self-Defence classes (looking at you, Ryan). As we head towards the sticky end of semester, make sure you bloom and grow by attending our free breakfasts each morning, either at the Breakfast Bar or outdoor buffet in South Court on Thursday mornings. Be free, be good, be healthy our beautiful butterflies.

ARTWORK BY RUTH RATHJEN-DUFFTON 15

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DISABILITIES | ALSTON CHU & CASSANDRA PRIGG It's getting late into the semester and well and truly into autumn; while assignment crunch time in Melbourne mightn't be the inviting pastoral scene your heart desires, remember that verdancy arises from rain as well as sun, or something like that. Anxiety support group, collective, and screenings are still running if you need help to keep your skin clear and your crops thriving. Our sign language classes are winding up, but will be running again next semester, so sow the seeds early and contact us at disabilities@union.unimelb. edu.au to reserve a place! If you need additional help, Stop 1 and the Counselling and Psychology Services are still here for you, but mind that it's the end of the semester where they're at their most stressed too. Don't be afraid to ask about other options if you can't wait!

INDIGENOUS | MARLEY HOLLOWAY-CLARKE & WUNAMBI CONNOR They say the grass is greener on the other side right? With assessments floating over your head like dark and mysterious clouds it can feel like that. But fret not, we plan on bringing some of the green and chill to this side of the river with plenty of activities to not only help you along with your studies but to also give you an opportunity to take a break. We have weekly sporting matches to keep your brain in check and social activities to help you branch out such as Under Bunjil, where you can have your voice heard. Don’t worry, you’ve got this, we’re rooting for you.

Follow us on Facebook @umsuindigneous for all the latest!

PEOPLE OF COLOUR | ELLA SHI & HANANN AL DAQQA Can you beLEAF we’re nearly at the end of semester one!? We’ve been working with our pals in Education on a discussion group addressing racism and privilege in tutorials. This initiative was developed from the ‘How Privilege Manifests in Tutorials’ Diversity Week event and the response from students has been great. You also may have noticed our mural in Union House titled ‘They Called Me ____”. Students from different cultural backgrounds were asked to submit childhood nicknames in a language other than English. The artwork challenges preconceived expectations of cultural labels and names. Shout out to our amazing artist April Kim for all her hard work! We’re currently planning end of semester events so keep an eye out for updates via our social media (@UMSUpeopleofcolour on Facebook and Instagram).

QUEER | BLAKE ATMAJA & EVELYN LESH Hello students, marketing employees, Fiona! We’re now knee-deep into semester, meaning assignments are due and clubs are throwing balls, and lecturers are maybe even starting to know your name? Maybe. We at the Queer Department are also getting caught up in the majestic greenery of university life – we’re reviving our gaming afternoons on Thursdays, adding a new collective on Fridays, cross-university picnics and even a wicked event of our own (with Clubs and all the other departments): EUROVISION. Keep your eyes peeled for information online (search ‘UMSU’ ‘Queer’ in the search provider of your choice, you’ll find all of our details up there) and see our vibrant community come to life!

Another pro-tip: we also have a coming out support group that meets once a week if you’re still exploring what it means to be queer or queer-adjacent, and you can find it online too!

Remember, we’re always around either in the office on Level 1, or in the Queer Space.

WOMEN’S | HANNAH BILLETT It’s been a plant-astically busy time at the Women’s Department recently. We were sad to say goodbye to one of our OBs, Anjana, this past month and thank her for all her hard work.

We wish her all the best as she starts her new journey in Sydney and hope her time there is unbe-leaf- able. Still, the hustle continues in the department as we get ready for Respect Week in Week 10. The week seeks to emphasise issues of respect at home, on campus and online and will include workshops to help staff and students grow their knowledge. It’s a collaborative event with the University and we hope that the UMSU contribution will plant some seeds of discussion about difficult issues on campus. Make sure to follow us on all our socials to stay up to date!

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ACTIVITIES | JACINTA COOPER & LYDIA PAEVERE This semester has been a blooming wonderful one. We have had George Kamikawa, Wroclaw, Tigertown, Bec Goring, Bec Sandridge and The Vanns play at Tuesday Bands, Bevs & BBQ. In the upcoming weeks you can come see The Bennies, MDRN Love, The Vacant Smiles and Tulalah perform also. The first of our trivia nights sprouted Week 3 and you can come see what it grew into in Week 10! If you missed the Poetry Slam and Campus Comedy competitions, where the winning students walked away with $500, keep an eye on the 5 Minutes of Fame and Portraiture Paint Off happening next semester. As always, check our website and like our Facebook page to be kept up to date on all of our events. xoxo Gossip Activities.

CLUBS & SOCIETIES | GULSARA KAPLUN & KAYLEY CUZZUBBO Gulsara and Kayley quite contrary/ How does your clubs grow?/With Gunter's travels, Carnival/And Eurovision all in a row.

The Semester is now in full bloom and you better be-leaf that C&S still has a bunch of budding ideas to make the remaining weeks as eventful as possible. Last month saw our Clubs Carnival where several Officer Bearers and club presidents got a little ‘over-watered’ at the bucket machine. The next project we are directing our green thumbs of fun towards is the Eurovision party. We have branched out and partnered with the Queer Department to bring Unimelb a night with bucket loads of European music, wheelbarrows full of glitter and memories that will stay rooted for a lifetime.

CREATIVE ARTS | HARRIET WALLACE-MEAD & SARA LAURENA Creative Arts is unearthing something new. We’ve assembled our Mudfest production team and we’re looking for artists, budding and ripe alike, to be a part of the festival! If you’re still waiting for an idea to sprout, you have until 8 May (at the latest!) to get your application in. In other parts of the Creative Arts garden: we have life drawing lined up for the last three weeks of semester, an open mic night where you can be your own special sunflower and a collective where you can let your ideas grow.

ENVIRONMENT | ELIZABETH NICHOLSON & KATE DENVER-STEVENSON It’s getting late in the semester, but we’re still running all our regular events. If you need help with your bike, pop by the co-op in the John Smyth Basement on Tuesdays between 10 and 1. If you want to a feed on Tuesday nights feel free to come by Play with Your Food or Green Screen. If you want a more plant based activity, the Community Garden on Monash Road has workshops on Guerilla Gardening, Seed Bombs and Small Space Gardens coming up in the next few weeks. We have had a tree-mendous time in the last few weeks. We took 16 students out to East Gippsland over the break to do some citizen science in the forest! We planted a bunch of radical seeds in students minds at Radical Education Week! If you ever wanna find out more come along to collective meetings on Tuesdays at 2!

BURNLEY | JESSICA PEELER Sadly it hasn’t been fun and games over in the land of Burnley, after the announcement that our beloved Associate Degree in Urban Horticulture will not be offered from 2018. As a respected degree both within the student cohort and the horticulture industry, this is really sad news, especially as students weren’t properly consulted! We’re hoping to get this decision reviewed and if that’s unsuccessful, we’ll be focusing on supporting existing students and advocating for horticultural study being incorporated into other degrees.

Our wonderful gardens are not bothered by this sad news, and continue to put on amazing displays! They’re the perfect place for one last picnic before winter sets in. Garden tip: After removing summer veggie crops, plant legumes like broad beans and peas in their place to restore soil nitrogen for winter!

VCA | NICHOLAS LAM The VCASA has been trying to grow its roots this month by providing a free breakfast to the first 50 students every Monday and 120 serves of BBQ food on Wednesday! In the coming months, we'll really bloom with more activities at the end of the term! Don't miss out and keep an ear out on the grapevine by joining our Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/ vcastudentassociation/

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BREAKING (THE) NEWS WORDS BY JACOB SACHER ARTWORK BY SELENA TAN

STUDENT IN BAILLIEU LIBRARY SLEEPS FOR RECORD BREAKING 154 HOURS

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that all students looking for a computer to study at shall be graced with his passion for excellence.”

Not all students are as impressed by Michael’s actions.

A representative from The University of Melbourne Student Union (UMSU), the University’s peak student representative body, stated that some students felt inconvenienced by those who slept at University computers.

“Whilst the vibrant sleeping culture at the University of Melbourne must be maintained, care should be taken to ensure that students are also allowed access to educational resources," President Yan Zhuang said.

"It is a real possibility that a student may fail a subject, drop out of university or miss the opportunity to receive a Centrelink payment as a direct result of a student sleeping at their booked computer,” she said.

Murphey’s new record has truly shaken up Ballieu staff, with most librarians losing money after placing bets on third year student and two time sleeping champion, twenty year old Michelle Keegan, on breaking the long standing record.

Keegan, the most lauded university sleeper of all time, had been the bookies' favourite to take out the coveted sleeping record with odds at $1.40.

irst year Commerce student, Michael Murphey, has amazed Baillieu library staff by becoming the first student to sleep in the library for over 154 hours during an academic week.

Staff were alerted to the sleeping student after receiving a number of complaints by other students.

The nineteen year old had allegedly remained sleeping at a computer on the Baillieu’s third floor. When contacted for comment he explained that finding a computer to sleep at had been the hardest part about sleeping through Week Eight.

“I had to wake up every three hours to rebook the computer I was sleeping at,” he said.

“I’d love to be able to sleep at a part of the campus that I don’t have to book, however I choose to sleep at a computer out of consideration for my fellow students. Sleeping on a couch is lazy.

Sleeping at a computer makes sure other sleeping spaces aren't taken up.”

Murphey's dilligent booking of the computers he sleeps in front of has been met by praise from University staff. An official statement from the office of Glyn Davis, University Vice-Chancellor and part-time Kevin Rudd look-alike, praised Murphey.

“Whilst students at other universities around Australia tend to sleep on their campus with no regard for the University experiences of others, Michael encapsulates the diligence of a University of Melbourne student,” the letter stated.

“It is not only Michael’s commitment to day-napping that should be applauded, but also the dedication he has to ensuring

'Breaking (the) News' is Farrago's satire column and is not to be taken seriously.

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COLUMN BY MADELINE BAILEY ARTWORK BY REIMENA YEE

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EDITION 3: THE PARKVILLE PUSH-BIKE

here is a Push-Bike that’s not owned by anybody. It looks like the other push-bikes people pedal around campus, but it’s different. It picks its own parking spaces. It locks itself to a rack outside Baillieu or it leans on the Cussonia Court fence, under the tree. It counts the leaves that have come off and twisted to the pavement. (Last time, 337.)

The Parkville Push-Bike has no voice, but it knows language.

It also knows it has a mind because words keep flickering in it— phrases, sentences and other fragments. Some are always there, imprinted. Others are loose and flick through it like pavementleaves. (∞.)

It is difficult to describe the Push-Bike’s physical features, because they shift. Its shape depends on who is watching. Some students who walk past will see a racing bike with flattened handlebars, but for others they will be curved. The bicycle could appear battered with bent spokes and a patched seat or be glossy and vintage-style with cloth flowers wrapped to the frame. It could fade or shrink or gain gears. It could grow a wicker basket.

On weekdays other bicycles are cluttered around campus, but by the time it gets dark, most of the parking spots have cleared.

This is when the Parkville Push-Bike can jitter around the Uni. If it's windy, it chases stray coffee cups. It likes the texture when its tyres touch their cardboard. It is calmed by the sound that they make as they crumple.

Sometimes the Push-Bike needws language. Sometimes it needs it to stop. At night it often tries to set itself a pronoun but gets nowhere. 'It' makes no sense to it, but 'she' and 'he' make less.

The Parkville Push-Bike does not want to worry anybody by moving without a person, so it has vowed to be more careful on main roads re: taxi drivers. It will double check Grattan is clear of cars now, when it crosses. It has boycotted Swanston altogether.

(7-Elevens. Late trams.)

By 9 a.m. the Push-Bike likes being outside the MSD. It clips itself somewhere it can see into Standing Room, because it likes the glass wall and the plants. It likes the people leaving with soy lattes, and bagels in paper bags. At 9 a.m. there are so many.

At 3 a.m. there is no one. Or, no one except the people skating in the park. They glide across the concrete, skidding, twisting, trying tricks. They have spiked hair and nose rings and no pronouns and their calves are grazed but elegant. Sometimes the Parkville PushBike needs to hear their skateboards clatter. It leans nearby and wonders what shape they would see in it.

Sometimes college residents who’ve lingered too late in the library hear its wheels whir and its gears click as they walk home.

Sometimes taxi drivers glimpse it. They see its spokes glint in the streetlights when it crosses Grattan Street on its way down towards the law school. (It likes resting in the park there. 53 trees and 1 fountain.)

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UNDER THE TREE WORDS BY RUBY PERRYMAN ARTWORK BY RACHEL MORLEY

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Botanical name: Cercis Canadensis Common name: Forest Pansy or Eastern Redbud Next is a scrawny plant living at the Grattan Street entrance, in front of the Gatekeeper’s Cottage that really should belong in the forest.

He is supposed to sprout perky, pink buds every now and then, but I’ve never witnessed these. Instead he has grey bark and crumpled leaves, and is definitely too weak to be climbed.

He is small, surly and should be replaced by someone much more equipped to welcome people to the University.

he University’s space management facility provides an interactive online map of all trees on Parkville, Southbank and Werribee campuses.

Yes, all trees!

As if this information isn’t exciting enough already, the map describes each tree by its botanical name, common name, height, canopy…and much more. All of this is available at a mere click.

Based on data from an October 2016 survey, the map aims to record and sustain all University landmarks. Farrago is touched that each individual tree is considered important enough to be part of it.

To give them the attention they evidently deserve, I visited a small selection of our foliaged friends at Parkville. Read on to gain exclusive insight into their hidden lives. ***

***

Botanical name: Eucalyptus Common name: Eucalypt First on the list is a medium sized tree with a large personality.

Located between the Baillieu and Professors Walk Café, this fellow may appear to a passer-by as sad and lonesome. However, he is really quite the socialite.

When planted on the wooden bench in front of him, the friendly rustle of his leaves tells you stories if the wind picks up. He is quintessentially Australian in appearance and smells like the outback.

He is also quite the gossip, dusty white branches leaning in to snoop when two people perch below to chat. This sly side slightly lessens his charm.

Botanical name: Ginkgo Biloba Common name: Maidenhair Tree I approached a group of prickly babies next. They huddle on the right side of the concrete steps leading up to South Lawn.

One member of the group slopes against a light pole. She is very dependent.

The constant flow of students intimidates her during the daytime. She has the most luscious leaves of the group, and I think she is ostracised because her sisters are terribly jealous.

At night the pole beside her lights up and she shines bright in its reflection. She’s still pretty timid and useless though. She needs to learn to value herself.

***

***

Botanical name: Corymbia Citriodora Common name: Lemon-scented Gum My favourite tree hangs out near that bunch of random rocks.

You know the ones, next to an opening to the underground car park and that vaguely chilly walkway that comes out at Carte Crêpes.

Her leaves mingle with those of fellow tall trees in the surrounding area, allured by her peaceful aura.

She is grand, arms extending wide to create masses of shade.

The grass beneath her is patchy, but she’s a perfect study partner if you don’t mind having soiled pants.

Her thick, sturdy branches also appear to be very climbable, but only if done so in a quiet and respectful manner.

Botanical name: Betula Pendula Common name: Silver Birch A humble tree stands behind a concrete bench near House of Cards, providing generous shade for coffee sippers.

He is very aesthetically pleasing, with puzzle-piece leaves on branches that form a perfect triangle when spotted from afar. This shape is reminiscent of a Christmas tree, exuding comforting and jolly vibes.

He seems to enjoy hugs and will listen to you with utter content.

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STAR STRUCK

COMMENTARY

WORDS BY ALISON TEALBY ARTWORK BY LAUREN HUNTER

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h, astrology. The Earth spins, the planets shift and darkened skies tell me that today, a friendship could develop into something more.

Regardless of whether you’ve ever cared about horoscopes, you’re almost certainly aware of your star sign and quite possibly know the personality traits it has lumped you with.

You can’t help it if you’re cynical. You were born in June.

That being said, in our current era of scientific and technological progress, even the most gullible of Pisces has a right to scepticism. Physics does not leave much in the way of legitimacy for cosmic divination and there have also been plenty of studies disproving any correlation between planetary movements and the state of your finances. And so it remains, a vestigial organ pumping away at the peripheries of magazines and newspapers, offering wisdom akin to the insides of a fortune cookie.

This is not the shape of astrology in its prime. It is the remnant of a much larger beast, buried beneath centuries of hard-packed science. And yet, try as you might, the legacy of astrology will not so easily be uprooted.

So then, what is astrology? What is this pseudoscience that shouldn’t hold any kind of weight in the modern world?

To begin with, different strands of astrology were founded independently in various cultures across the world, including within Chinese, Egyptian and Mayan societies. While astrology has morphed into different shapes depending on time and location, it has always shared the same, basic purpose – to establish a relationship between human and celestial activity.

This is distinct from astronomy, a branch of science that involves studying the universe beyond our atmosphere without relating it to our human lives. Modern Western astrology owes its origins to an ancient Babylonian precursor from at least 3000 years ago, which reached the ancient Greco-Roman world and eventually spread throughout Western Europe.

The earliest forms of astrology are thought to have evolved from the practice of charting astronomical patterns. This allowed ancient civilisations to produce calendars from recurrent, visible cycles in the sky – for example, seasonal cycles and lunar phases.

From these cycles, weather patterns could be predicted, which was of particular importance for agricultural purposes. Such mapping then evolved from predicting weather patterns, to divining information from the sky about activity that directly related to humans.

Cognitive psychology, as independent scholar Kirsten Munk outlines, can explain why we so readily worship or blame extra-terrestrial matter for terrestrial events. Humans have a tendency to attribute human characteristics to objects and events – a phenomenon known as anthropomorphism. It is due to this perception mechanism that you might view a figure, like a moving dot in a videogame, as a goal-oriented agent in its own right. This is considered to be an evolutionary adaptation.

It was beneficial for our ancestors to assume that an inexplicable movement indicated a potential predator, rather than a harmless object. Upon viewing recurring astronomical movements, it is not difficult to imagine how the planets and stars were ascribed their own supernatural agency by an ancient human audience.

This is all well and good, but does not answer our question.

Why should astrology persist when we can determine the upcoming seasonal cycles from our phones? When we know that stars are reducible to gas formations and that the planets are barren and dead?

Herein lies the very reason astrology as an idea remains so resistant, despite attempts of scientific demolition. Astrology, in all of its forms – religious or superstitious, mathematical or creative – works off the premise of a living universe. In many ways, the objective, mechanical lens through which we are now taught to observe the world does not.

Patrick Curry, an academic in Religious Studies, Cosmology and Astrology, aptly summarises the current discourse of our knowledge – thirsty era, “the scientific operation was a success, although the patient died”. We know more about the cosmos than the early astrologers could have dreamed, but in terms of the connections we feel to this universe, the stars have never been more distant.

And so, perhaps there is a point to the beautiful madness of modern day astrology. Through star signs and horoscopes, we are reminded that beyond the cares of everyday life, we belong to a complex, interconnected system of shifting planets and galaxies.

We are reminded of our home in this universe – a universe that is cold, and dark, but also alive and breathing in patterns that are fundamental to our lives on Earth. We are reminded, if we allow ourselves, of the potential of the night sky.

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COMMENTARY

THE MAYCOMB ERA WORDS BY KERGEN ANGEL ARTWORK BY JASMINE VELKOVSKI

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TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD AND AUSTRALIA'S 'WAR ON TERROR' In 309 pages, it produces a precise microcosm that captured the character and settings of the fictional town of Maycomb. With its fears of African-Americans amongst country white folk, it mirrored the real-life segregation at the time of writing. We watch the innocent development of rumour into stigma and stigma into fear, until it’s dissipated by the good old power of raw truth. Now, 57 years after the novel's initial release, we enter once more into a Maycomb Era. I am sorry to see an overbearingly white Australia distort another’s state of being into something it is not.

If there’s a group of people who make me angry, it’s the small yet powerful few who build walls out of money to keep others out. If you want to see one of the least diverse communities in Australia, look no further than the cultural echo chamber of private schools that produced our current Prime Minister and the majority of his cabinet.

Much like Atticus Finch’s arguments for the equality of perspective, minorities face a legislative and judicial system that is more focused on condemning those they haven’t listened to than discovering the truth. Apparently, listening to only white conservatives gives divisive Members of Parliament such as Jacqui Lambie the right to denounce immigrant groups, “We have one law in this country and it is the Australian law – not Shari’a Law.” I’m tired of schools being seen as ‘bad’ or ‘unruly’ because they have a demographic of immigrant, refugee or low-income kids there. I remember those kids. A fair few of them were shits and they picked on others like nobody’s business. Most of them dropped out

by Year 10, whether they were shits or not. Without them I would

y sister has never really liked to read. Being dyslexic probably doesn’t help the matter, but it often led to her questioning my love of it. “Why are you so obsessed with looking at black things on a page?” she would often ask me. I would casually shrug and nestle my mind further into that vibrant other world created by authors I saw as gods.

For me, books provide insight. They're tools that transition your mind and soul into the perspective of another. They let you walk around in someone else's shoes for a little while. They help you shape your opinions and encourage you to acknowledge the other side of your argument.

As global citizens with access to information at rates faster than ever before, authors and their works offer us insight into the experiences of individuals half a world away. Unfortunately, as developed as our capacity is to empathise, the rise of 'fake news' and a hateful rhetoric is shitting on what should be one of the greatest social advancements in human history.

Now, 57 years after the novel's initial release, we enter once more into a Maycomb Era. I think my favourite author of all time is Harper Lee. Her great literary contribution, To Kill a Mockingbird, calls forth a kind of people who saw courage as something that begins with patience and truth, rather than fighting against illusory fears based on assumptions.

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not be aware of the absolutely abhorrent fuckwittery they were put through by our government. I also would have no concept of how horrible home life can get for a vast majority of kids, especially those living in poverty.

I’ve had my fair share of trials and tribulations, to use an age-old term. As a child from a single-parent family, I stepped up at too young an age to parent a sibling and have waded through enough crap in my life. But at the end of the day, I still had people who believed in me. No matter what I did, I was enough. Still, I can’t help but think, my struggles pale in comparison to what those kids and their families have been and are still going through.

And still, the majority of our society still vilifies and pushes away people who are in need. I can’t believe the absolute crap we put Muslims through. Tearing off hijabs, abuse in public. I once witnessed a group of white men across platforms at a train station heckle a young Muslim woman and her baby and the absolute terror in her eyes.

The Western media and our governments are obsessed with the so-called ‘war on terror’, defending our borders against ‘terrorism’. I think what has happened to victims and families of bombings and clarified terrorist acts is appalling.

Still, as I think back to that woman at the train station, I can’t help but be tormented by the thought, ‘To what extent are we, too, the terrorists?’

I understand a portion of the fear. Nearly every major developed country has been bowed by the threat of Islamic State, a terrorist group that has misappropriated the teachings of Shari’a into something extreme and, terrifying.

I am not Muslim and I have not read the Quran, but I trust theologians such as Dr Jamila Hussain who have spent much of their lives studying this faith.

“Some terrorists have hijacked Islam in order to explain their actions or to get more popularity among Muslim populations. But they’re not acting according to Shari’a or according to Islam.”

It is for the same reason that many Australian Christians cherrypick much of their religion and forego many of the heavier aspects, such as this section of the bible that was gently put aside by Pope Francis in 2013: ‘If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads’ – Leviticus 20:13.

If Harper Lee taught me anything, it is that we must not fear, and we must not unjustly accuse.

Religion evolves. As ironic as that sounds it is a true statement.

Underneath nearly all religion lies the concept of harmony with one another. It is no mere coincidence that religions shift to preserve this concept in order to adapt to societal change. This is no less true for those that openly practise Shari’a Law, Catholicism, Buddhism or even Pastafarianism.

Not even a century on, we’re already forgetting one of mankind’s biggest lessons from World War II – to fear and vilify an innocent, marginalised group based on religion is one of the greatest moral sins of humanity. Currently, Muslim people are the mockingbirds, the Boo Radleys, the falsely accused black man of our time (although this is most definitely still prevalent). If Harper Lee taught me anything, it is that we must not fear, and we must not unjustly accuse. We must have true courage in the face of uncertainty.

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PEEK-A-BOO WORDS BY RUBY SCHOFIELD ARTWORK BY BONNIE SMITH

“I

WHERE TO GO FOR GHOSTLY SIGHTINGS IN MELBOURNE

t was only a movie”, you assure yourself as the credits roll. But then…what was that sound? You could’ve sworn you just saw a...no, it couldn’t be. It was only a bump in the night. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that it almost sounded like footsteps.

Ghost stories are often brushed aside as no more than fanciful legends. Religious-themed story lines, exorcisms, creepy nursery rhymes, hovering figures in sheets – these are Hollywood tropes.

So, if you saw a ghost and it didn’t look like it was straight out of The Exorcist, would you recognise it? If you did, would your first explanation be the paranormal? After all, no two ‘spirit sighting’ stories are the same, and manifestations are reported in as many different ways as there are tellers.

If not the classic full-bodied apparition, they can appear as orbs of light, clouds of smoke and even animal manifestations, as in old mythology. So, how certain can you really be that you haven’t already come into contact with the paranormal? When our universe is only made of 4.5% baryonic matter (the ordinary and visible stuff you and I are made of), and the rest is largely unknown, anything seems possible.

Some claim that if you look across to the end of Platform 10, you can see that one of the fisherman never left.

Perhaps I’m biased, but Melbourne seems to have some of the most interesting local haunts. You’ve probably heard of the graveyard under the Queen Victoria Market. But what about stories of wandering spectral nurses in QV, or ghostly apparitions at Flinders Street Station after dark? The QV building used to be home to the Queen Victoria Hospital. Ever been to Harvey Norman upstairs? That’s the location of the old Children’s Ward.

Here, QV night workers, as well as day-time security staff, are reported to have experienced ghostly sightings. Most of these appear as nurses pointing up to the Children’s Ward, with one worker, Kevin Phillips, claiming to have even spoken to one of the ghosts. If that’s not enough to get your spine tingling, the same nurse is reported by different workers to have said, “This is where they keep the bastard children.”

Fisherman’s Bend, near Flinders Street Station, is the location of many deaths along the Yarra River. Some claim that if you look across to the end of Platform 10, you can see that one of the fisherman never left. George, the fisherman in question, still looks out, melancholic, over the Yarra. Though breaking bread with George may prove a tough act to follow, he isn't the only (ghostly) fish in the sea.

Renowned opera singer, Frederick Federici, is rumoured to be the friendly poltergeist of the Princess Theatre. It is said that he died of a heart attack after singing his final note in the 1888 production of Faust. Eerily, he may have been aware his final moments were imminent. Reportedly, before his performance, he said, “I will give a fine performance to-night, but it will kill me.”

He was dead by the time the cast was due to give their final bows.

However, many performers who were later told of his passing said, confused, “He’s just been onstage and taken the bows with us.”

Since then, theatre staff have claimed to see Federici sitting in the third-row dress circle. And so there, on opening nights, a seat is left empty for him. The show must go on.

Just like when the horror movie credits start rolling and the story lingers in your mind, so do these legends. But the tales may all just be hearsay or figments of the imagination, so before you jump to conclusions, consider that there are also many real-world explanations for reported paranormal happenings. For example, neurological phenomena can induce visual, auditory, olfactory and even multi-sensory hallucinations. These are most often associated with schizophrenia, but may also affect perfectly well individuals.

They can be caused by sleep deprivation, drug use, migraines or even plain old stress. For others, paranormal experiences may be the result of what an individual exposes themselves to, or what their brain takes notice of. You know when you’ve heard of something before and then it starts popping up everywhere? That’s called the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. So, if you’re a horror movie enthusiast who subjects yourself to all sorts of ghostly tales, your brain can easily convince itself that you see or hear paranormal phenomena in real life. Perhaps you want to believe in the afterlife because you fear death. Maybe your brain is using anthropomorphism to try and make sense of objects, sounds or shadows you don’t understand. It could be that your gas heater is leaking carbon monoxide, known to cause all sorts of hallucinations.

There are numerous possibilities that need to be considered when presented with tales of the paranormal.

It also doesn’t take much digging to find many of the spooky snaps that float around the internet. But with high-end digital photography and advanced editing software, it is hard to say whether or not the captured phenomena is rigged, if there are problems with the camera or whether these ‘apparitions’ are just a trick of the light. Either way, those photos are still enough to give you the creeps.

But who’s to say that those images, videos and testimonials you passed off as ‘just a bit weird’ or ‘off’ are the truths among the webs of falsities…and perhaps you did hear footsteps in the night.

So…who you gonna call?

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PULSE

senessenceblog.wordpress.com

ARTWORK BY SEN WAGAARACHCHI 25

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ARTWORK BY ANWYN ELISE 28

SICK SAD WORLD COLUMN BY ED PITT ARTWORK BY HANNA LIU

INSIDE THE LEFTYPOL COMMUNITY

I

CONTENT WARNING: ABLEISM

first heard about leftypol (a 'portmanteau' of left & politics) a couple of years ago from a staunchly anarchist housemate.

Since then, although I'd known it was there, I'd never bothered to venture forth into that part of the internet. Part of this hesitancy stemmed from the fact that it is hosted on 8chan – a website created because its owners found 4chan too restricting. And, from a glance, that's technically correct. 4chan, for all its woes, at least doesn't have a forum dedicated to zoophilia. And while 4chan draws a firm line at child pornography, for the owners of 8chan, child pornography is an inevitability of freedom of expression – a freedom, to them, that is either absolute or not. The website also has boards that spawned the alt-right, as well as the gamergate movement. However, associations being what they are, I cannot blame leftypol for this any more than I can blame the internet for facilitating hate speech (technically you can though as denizens of /leftypol/ provide advertising revenue for the website's owner but, hey, that'd ruin this analogy).

At this point, I was sure I had stumbled onto some sort of official messaging board for the Socialist Alternative.

Fortunately for me, leftypol, despite existing in a particularly wild part of the internet, was not home to any of this patently 'notsafe-for-work' content. Instead, I found heady and somewhat arcane discussions concerning, amongst other things, Soviet cybernetic computerised planning, the Kurd-controlled Rojava region in northern Syria and leading green-anarchist Murray Bookchin.

And then, of course, discussion and dissection of Trump and the Republicans' policy agenda, criticism of 'social justice warriors' and such movements and arguments with members of the alt-right.

Most of these descended into petty squabbles that Russia, China or Venezuela 'wasn't real socialism'.

Unlike their counterpart, /pol/, which bore the alt-right, there is a plethora of different groups with competing views on leftypol; Marxist-Leninist 'tankies' (apologists for the deaths of civilians by communist governments), anarchists, anarcho-communists, socialists, left communists, anarcho-capitalists, antifascists, Maoists and the People's Front of Judea.

Unlike the broader left-wing of politics, however, there are few feminists, or LGBTI or ethnocultural activists. Leftypol eschews identity politics (or, as they refer to it, 'idpol') as it is incompatible with a class struggle, the source of such inequality stems from

capitalism and those who espouse identity politics tend to be seen as economically liberal. At this point, I was sure I had stumbled onto some sort of official messaging board for the Socialist Alternative.

It is clear that leftypol does not represent the mainstream left, and they seem aware on that fact that they are an ‘alt-left’. Few on the forum support gun control and even fewer support the Democrats (in fact, supporting the Democrats is a bannable offence). These few points, in addition to their hatred for 'social justice warriors' and idpol, are about the only similarities the alt-left draws to the alt-right – they both pride themselves on being politically incorrect.

At this point I could bring up the horseshoe theory , a concept that the far left and far right closely resemble each other, though I am not going to rely on such a baseless theory because these tend to be the exceptions to the rule (plus, I'm not a hack).

In fact, due to the proximity of leftypol to pol, the high frequency of arguments has lead to leftypol users developing their own lexicon for denigrating the alt-right, or, as they refer to them, the 'aut-right' ('aut' standing in for 'autistic'). When I enquired about this term I was met with excuses – that 'it's just banter', plus, as 'there is nothing wrong with being autistic', as if I was the one being ableist. Silly me.

They referred to members of pol as polyps, perhaps a more apt description. They also frequently spoke of 'bourgies', which is short for bourgeoisie. 'Porkies' were discussed with an associated image of a pig in a top-hat to refer to the bourgeoisie or bourgeois ideology.

'Classcuck' is used to describe one who betrays their own class due to lack of awareness. 'Anarkiddies' is a portmanteau of anarchist and kid that points to a perceived lack of experience and over-idealism of anarchists, and 'spooks' – a term coined by German philosopher Max Stirner – refers to concepts such as property rights and borders, ideas that have no basis in nature yet are fundamental and underlie much of political and economic philosophy.

And then there's Žižek. If you've seen, or subscribed to, any number of Facebook pages dedicated to the Slovenian, Marxist professor, you have leftypol to thank.

For the most part the alt-left simply resembles a left of yesteryear – radical, Marxist and slightly homophobic – a left that time forgot.

And, despite the near constant arguments between the various factions, the discussions are, for the most part, level and reasonable.

There is certainly a sense of disappointment and anger – at both centre-left parties such as the Democrats and UK Labour, and the resurgence of right-wing parties such as UKIP, Marine Le Pen's Front National and the Republicans. However, as is constantly pointed out, they'll always have Rojava.

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SOLDIERS IN PETTICOATS WORDS BY ELLEN MULLER ARTWORK BY LISA LINTON

'F

rom Kensington to Billingsgate One hears the restless cries!

From ev'ry corner of the land: "Womankind, arise!"

Political equality and equal rights with men!

Take heart! For Missus Pankhurst has been clapped in irons again!'

'Sister Suffragette', from Mary Poppins When I watched Mary Poppins as a child, these lyrics went completely over my head. But when I rediscovered it a few weeks ago, I was delighted to see such a radical reference to the suffragette movement in a classic children’s film. I immediately took to Google, determined to extend my knowledge of the brave women who made up this movement.

Britain’s suffragette movement lasted roughly from the establishment of the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) in 1903, until the onset of World War I caused a cessation in 1914.

What distinguished ‘suffragettes’ from the earlier ‘suffragists’ was a shift towards more militant tactics such as stone throwing and arson. The WSPU’s slogan, 'Deeds, Not Words,' stressed a frustration with the lack of progress that peaceful protests and negotiation had achieved.

In 1917, voting rights were eventually granted to married women and those over the age of 30, and by 1928 all people over the age of 21 could vote in Britain.

These are just five of the strong women who fought tirelessly and proudly for female suffrage during this period.

Annie Kenney (1879-1953) “The law may be stronger than I am, but if I may not change the wicked law that holds in bondage the smitten womanhood of this country, I will at least die in the attempt to change it.”

Kenney was the only working class woman in the higher ranks of the WSPU. She wrote these powerful words during one of her 13 prison sentences, in response to a statement made by her sentencing magistrate: “These women must understand that the law is stronger than they are.”

A close friend to Christabel Pankhurst, the women together orchestrated the WSPU’s first militant act. On 13 October 1905 they interrupted a Liberal Party meeting by asking then Home Secretary, Winston Churchill, “If you are elected will you do your best to make women’s suffrage a government measure?” After receiving no response they unfolded a banner reading “Votes for Women,” and were thrown out.

Emmeline Pankhurst (1858 – 1928) “We are here not because we are law-breakers; we are here in our effort to become law makers.”

Emmeline Pankhurst founded the WSPU as a forty-five year old widow and single mother. As a leader, she organized mass rallies and inspired civil disobedience through powerful speeches such as ‘Freedom or Death’. In 1913, she was arrested 12 times and like thousands of other suffragettes, endured force feedings in custody while on hunger strike protesting her right to be classified as a political prisoner. Her daughters, Sylvia, Christabel and Adela were also important figures in the cause of female suffrage, however, Sylvia and Adela eventually left the WSPU as they were concerned with the growing level of violence.

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Sophia Duleep Singh (1876-1948) “Taxation without representation is a tyranny. I am unable to pay money to the state, as I am not allowed to exercise any control over its expenditure.”

Daughter of an exiled Punjabi maharajah and goddaughter of Queen Victoria, Singh joined the WSPU in 1909 and would regularly sell a suffragette newspaper outside Hampton Court Palace. In particular, she was involved with the Women’s Tax Resistance League – as a political statement she refused to pay taxes, which led her to court twice.

Edith Garrud (1872 – 1971) "Woman is exposed to many perils nowadays, because so many who call themselves men are not worthy of that exalted title, and it is her duty to learn how to defend herself."

David Bowie could have been referring to Garrud in ‘Suffragette City’ when he sang, “this mellow-thighed chick just put my spine out of place”. Measuring at roughly 150cm, Garrud taught suffragettes how to defend themselves from police brutality with jiujitsu – or ‘suffrajitsu'. Garrud also arranged a protective force called ‘The Bodyguard’ to ensure the safety of suffragette leaders.

Emily Davison (1872 – 1913) “There is not a single question in this country which touches men that does not also touch women."

Davison died four days after she walked onto the track at Epsom Downs and was trampled by the king’s horse. Her death gained widespread publicity for the fight for women’s suffrage, which the newspapers largely ignored beforehand. Her famous death, however, often overshadows the commitment she showed during her life to the advancement of women. She was involved in numerous militant stunts, was arrested nine times and endured police brutality and numerous force-feedings while being held in custody. During Davison’s final prison sentence, which lasted six months, she suffered serious head trauma after throwing herself down a staircase attempting to avoid being force fed.

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DEAR KEVIN WORDS BY TILLI FRANKS ARTWORK BY AMELIA SAWARD

D

CONTENT WARNINGS: SELF HARM, HOMOPHOBIA IN RELIGIOUS INSITUTIONS

ear Kevin, I was six when I first entered your church. We’d never gone regularly back in England, but we’d been invited by someone’s mum from school and it was – without irony – my mother’s saving grace. We suddenly had a new family, my mum stopped crying with homesickness every night and I liked having a Father who loved me unconditionally. I grew up in your church; nativity plays, Sunday school, congregation barbecues, running barefoot through long grass and church camps, pitching tents and bathing in natural streams. I remember, more than anything, a lot of joy and a feeling of belonging – something I’ve spent a long time searching for since.

What I remember more than all of that, is the night when I knew I couldn’t keep my faith anymore. I was fourteen and awkward, barely fitting in at a new high school. A childhood friend had invited me along to the Youth Group meeting on a Thursday night.

It was also the night of my first kiss.

A first kiss can be important to a lot of people. For some people, it’s the start of adulthood, the cementing of a relationship or a first love. For me, it was a desperate attempt to purge the anxiety that seemed to clog my veins; to know that the times I’d spent online in LGBT chatrooms searching for someone to relate to, or the thoughts I’d had about girls in my class, were just curiosity, a phase. I didn’t get what I wanted. I didn’t get fireworks, I got the backstreets behind the local Burger King, saliva around most of my face and an incredible emptiness.

That night, in the Youth Group meeting, we spoke about homosexuality. The Youth Group leader stressed that while we should treat everyone equally, that that ‘lifestyle’ was a sin.

“I have gay friends,” I remember him saying, “but they’re still sinners.”

I remember the shame I felt that spread red across my knuckles as I clenched them in my lap.

“Aren’t we all sinners?” someone asked.

“Yes, but to go to Heaven we must ask for forgiveness. You cannot continually live a sin, never repent, and still be accepted in the Kingdom of God,” he answered.

I used to make deals with Him; ‘I’ll never kiss a girl again, I’ll never think about a girl again, I’ll never go near that girl again.’

Not long after, I told my mother I could not go to church anymore, because I did not believe in God. The truth was though, I never stopped believing. I still found myself talking to some omnipresent figure every night. I used to make deals with Him; ‘I’ll never kiss a girl again, I’ll never think about a girl again, I’ll never go near that girl again.’ If I pay my penance, God will forgive me for thinking these thoughts.

I did a lot of bargaining to suppress my attraction to women. It was a cycle of self-destruction and punishment, if I drink as much of this vodka as I can, at least I won’t feel guilty for kissing a girl, because I won’t remember it. If I don't let myself eat for two days, maybe I’ll learn some self-control. If I can make this boy love me, maybe I’ll feel normal – but I never did. I kept slipping up, finding excuses as to why I kept kissing and messing around with girls.

One night I slept over at a girl friend’s house. We were being touchy-feely, never quite crossing the boundary of kissing, but I felt an attraction that I’d never felt before. The next morning, I woke up with so much guilt at what had happened. I went home and tried to scrub my skin raw, but I still felt dirty. Embarrassed. So I – not for the first time by any means – broke my shaving razor into pieces and tried to let the shame out another way. I prayed that night, Kevin, for forgiveness. God forgives sinners if they repent, right?

When I was eighteen, I kissed a girl sober for the first time. I came out as bisexual, and learnt to accept myself. Two years later, I would reassess my sexuality and discover I was a lesbian. I would like to note here that both of my identities were valid, and my selfdiscovery is not intended to erase the identity of bisexual people.

There’s enough of that going around already.

Your job is to preach acceptance, to celebrate love wherever it occurs, but you cut me off from my religion in a way that cannot be reversed.

Last Easter, I went to church with my mum. It’s still important to her, and I will never begrudge her that, because in the three years since I came out I’ve managed to find peace with my own faith. But after the service, I noticed the petitions you and the old Vicar, Philip, had placed there for people to sign: protesting against the inclusion of LGBT people in leadership positions in the community, as well as against allowing them to marry in religious ceremonies.

Can you imagine what it’s like to feel that rejection and isolation from a community that had so much to do with shaping my childhood, who watched me grow up? I broke down in the car, and my mother hasn’t been back to your church since. I may be stronger now than I was when I was fourteen, but I want you to know that it still gets me.

It still gets me when it's dark and I’m lying in bed trying to sleep. When I was fifteen and recovering from the aftermath of the Christchurch earthquake, only to have it blamed on ‘the gays’ by prominent religious figures. And maybe you think you’re not part of that, because you’re not picketing at funerals or likening us to Nazis.

But you’re no different because with your prejudice, you validate homophobic and transphobic acts, because you contribute to the discourse which perpetuates that. You’ve still made me live years in shame of who I am.

I know I’m not alone in this. I know there are many LGBT youth and young adults who have faced the same situation from their religious institutions, whether they are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or any other religion. I know now that being gay and religious is not a mutually exclusive decision. Your job is to preach acceptance, to celebrate love wherever it occurs, but you cut me off from my religion in a way that cannot be reversed. I hope you consider my story, and realise there are millions more like it. I hope you realise the damage you have done to a young, gay woman, who was searching for some kind of belonging. Only now, seven years on, have I finally managed to find that within the LGBT community.

Absolutely no regards, Tilli.

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PLASTIC POOP WORDS BY MARKOS HASIOTIS ARTWORK BY JAMES GOH

T

WARNING: THIS ARTICLE MAY CAUSE MILD CHILDHOOD-RUINING

here’s no denying that the Baby Born dolls were a childhood gem for us ‘90s kids. Maybe you or your sister had one at some point.

Or you can remember hearing the jingle during Cheez TV ad breaks. Perhaps you even have memories of seeing a fellow kid at Toyworld screaming for their parent to buy one.

Whatever the case, when the modern world gets too negative to handle, Baby Born is one of those nostalgic memories we still keep tucked away in our minds for something pleasant to think about – filed somewhere in between Pokémon and fairy bread. However, one benefit of living in the modern internet age is that we’re in a position to discover all the interesting bits of information about Baby Borns we never knew back then.

This article will be doing just that, delving deep into the Baby Born and answering questions we didn’t realise we have always wanted to know about them. Specifically, what their food is made of and how they poop.

First of all, the food.

Despite being presented as ‘porridge,’ a quick look at the ingredients on the back of the satchel reveals that this powder is very different from the porridge that was served up to you in the morning before school.

The ingredients listed are: Maltodextrin – A food additive which is used as a preservative and thickener. It can also cause dangerous spikes in blood sugar.

Modified starch Sugar Acidifier or ascorbic acid – A chemical which causes food to dissolve in water so well that it’s also often used with heroin and crack cocaine.

Not exactly Uncle Toby’s!

Although this ‘porridge’ isn’t intended to be eaten by humans, it is safe for human consumption. For the sake of thoroughness, I did try some of it and the best way I can describe the taste is that it’s like very mild Whizz Fizz.

As former attentive mothers and fathers to your Baby Borns, you may remember that the ‘porridge’ powder is mixed with water and dissolves into a goop which you would then spoon-feed to your little one (using a bowl and spoon which was sold separately for $19.95).

But now comes some disappointing news for your inner child.

The Baby Born’s ability to digest the food and poop it out as if by magic is inaccurate.

First of all, you’ll notice that the instructions on the food are to add enough water so that it is always thin and runny so that it can easily slide down a tube that goes from the mouth all the way to a tank at the bottom. You then actually have to push and hold the baby’s belly button to make the poop come out. It’s a manual, there is no awesome mechanism that makes the baby somehow know it’s time to go when you put her on the potty. Also, the poop is just the porridge you fed into her mouth coming out the other end, it was never digested and transformed into some weird other goop.

Like most things in childhood, a little bit of research reveals the magic and wonderful, as being basic and boring and more than a little heartbreaking. While we’re at it – Mickey Mouse at Disneyland is a man in a suit, the wizards in Hogwarts were muggle actors and all the animals you loved in ‘90s movies are dead now.

The harsh truth is, Baby Born was not a ‘real’ baby that did human-like functions by itself, but an overpriced receptacle for chemical-laden slop which we ourselves had to pump out of her.

But of course, that would have sounded terrible in the ad (it wouldn’t be as terrible as the commercial for the Baby Wee Wee doll, but it’d still be pretty bad).

Welcome to adulthood in the modern world. Innocence sometimes dies here.

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COMMENTARY

WHEN NIXON WENT TO CHINA WORDS BY SAM O'CONNOR ARTWORK BY LAUREN HUNTER

A

n unpopular president, struggling with corruption allegations and a foreign policy agenda based around the appearance of unpredictability. No, it’s not 2017. It’s 1972. Richard Nixon is President of the United States. He and his National Security Advisor, Henry Kissinger, are about to undertake an initiative that will change the balance of the Cold War. The saying “only Nixon could go to China” has passed into popular usage in American politics and society. Mr. Spock quotes it as “an old Vulcan proverb” in Star Trek VI. Only a notorious antiCommunist like Nixon could go to China, because if anyone else did so, they would be seen as being soft on Communism. Opening up ties to 'Red China,' as American anti-Communists called it, was unthinkable. China was a Communist adversary, whose troops had fought against Americans in the Korean War. However, the People’s Republic of China was also far from friendly with the Soviet Union.

At the time, the United States recognised the Kuomintang government of Taiwan (which called itself the Republic of China) as the legitimate government of China, rather than the People’s Republic of China.

Publicly, Kissinger was said to be in London meeting with the British Prime Minister. The British Embassy successfully created a fictional account of Kissinger’s supposed London trip from 9 July to 11 July 1971 to serve as a believable alibi. In an age when news operated very differently, such secrets could be kept.

Reaching out to China had multiple benefits for Nixon and the US. Aside from extending a hand of diplomacy to the world’s most populous country, this also was a strategy prompted by the need for an end to the Vietnam War. Nixon had told the American people in 1968 he had a secret plan to end the war, but as of 1972 had not achieved this. By reaching out to China, Nixon and Kissinger aimed to pressure North Vietnam to come to the negotiating table.

Kissinger’s visit was just one part of a wider policy of warming US-China relations prior to Nixon’s visit. Restrictions on Americans visiting mainland China were removed and the American and Chinese table tennis teams visited each other’s countries in a practice nicknamed 'ping pong diplomacy'. The announcement of Nixon’s trip to China, only a few days after Kissinger’s secret Beijing mission, stunned the nation. The reaction from press and the general public alike was one of shock. The anti-Communist firebrand of the 1950s had now become an advocate for diplomacy and strengthening bilateral relations with an ideological adversary.

However, the initial shock of this news was gradually replaced by praise, and Nixon’s approval ratings enjoyed a bounce in what, after all, was an election year.

It must be noted, however, that Nixon was not the first prominent Westerner to visit Communist China. That honour belongs to Australia’s very own Gough Whitlam, who visited Beijing in 1971 as Opposition Leader. Whitlam visited again in late 1972 after his election as Prime Minister, and also formally recognised the People’s Republic as the rightful government of China. Incidentally, for all their mutual interest in reaching out to Beijing, Nixon and Whitlam loathed one another. Whitlam’s opposition to the Vietnam War and his public condemnation of the US bombing of Cambodia enraged the President.

As he and Kissinger had promised, Nixon landed in Beijing in February 1972, the first American president to do so. He, his wife Pat and his advisers toured the Great Wall, while also visiting Shanghai and Hangzhou. The US publicly declared it would remove troops from Taiwan, albeit maintaining relations with the government of Taiwan (which would continue until 1979). Nixon called it “the week that changed the world”. The visit became so enshrined in the popular imagination that it later inspired an American opera, titled Nixon in China, dramatising the proceedings of the visit. (Nixon is played by a baritone, while Mao is a tenor and Kissinger a bass.)

Nixon’s historical legacy is complicated, to say the least.

His name has now become a by-word for scandal courtesy of Watergate, which is reflected in his portrayal in popular culture (the appearance of Nixon’s head as a Futurama character being the most prominent example of this). However, Nixon’s most lasting legacy is arguably the creation of what would become normal relations between the world’s largest economy and the world’s most populous country. The US maintains an official 'One China' policy, no longer recognising the government in Taiwan. This, incidentally, is why Donald Trump’s phone call with Taiwan’s President in December proved so controversial. Previously, no American president or president-elect had spoken to a Taiwanese leader directly since the US cut ties in 1979. It's hard to imagine Donald Trump managing any diplomatic feat on the level of Nixon in 1972.

But, then again, only Nixon could go to China.

The American and Chinese table tennis teams visited each other’s countries in a practice nicknamed 'ping pong diplomacy'.

Richard Nixon, even by the standards of '50s America, was noted for his militant public opposition to Communism. He had made his name initially in 1948 as a member of the House UnAmerican Activities Committee, pursuing State Department official Alger Hiss over allegations that Hiss was a Soviet spy. Nixon’s rise continued when he was elected as a Senator for California in 1950 in a remarkably nasty campaign, breaking many unwritten rules of political decorum along the way (sound familiar?). Two years later, Dwight Eisenhower chose then-Senator Nixon as his Vice President because of his public image as an anti-Communist, at a time when America was gripped by the Red Scare. Infamous Senator Joseph McCarthy held televised hearings where he berated government officials for supposed Communist sympathies, and numerous Hollywood actors faced similar accusations. However, when Nixon ran for the presidency himself in 1960 as Eisenhower’s successor, he lost to John F. Kennedy in one of the closest elections in American history. It’s fair to say he also wasn’t helped by the fact that Eisenhower, in a scene worthy of HBO’s Veep, quipped, “give me a week and I’ll think of something” when asked at a press conference to name a major contribution that Nixon had made to his administration.

After years in the political wilderness, Nixon returned in 1968, winning the presidency in what was quite possibly the most dramatic year in American post-war history (although 2017 might just top that if it continues at this pace). Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were both assassinated, and the Vietnam War continued to divide a nation. Nixon’s message of law and order appealed to a “silent majority” of Americans, which ultimately won him a bitter and tight election victory (ring any bells?).

In office, Nixon focused more on foreign policy, dismissing domestic policy considerations as amounting to “building outhouses in Peoria” (Peoria is a city in Illinois that serves as a byword for ordinary suburban America – think a particularly dreary outer suburb of Melbourne). The administration gradually laid the groundwork for US-China relations through secret channels, culminating in Henry Kissinger’s secret trip to Beijing in July 1971.

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COMMENTARY COMMENTARY

ON THE ORIGIN OF STRANGENESS COLUMN BY TESSA MARSHALL ARTWORK BY EDIE BUSH

I

THE PERKS OF BEING A FAINTING GOAT

f you’ve ever looked up funny animals on YouTube, chances are you’ve come across ‘fainting goats’. Seemingly, they’re just normal goats – yet when startled, they topple over with their legs outstretched, like plastic toys that have been knocked over. It’s a cuteness overload and the most popular videos on the subject usually involve entire herds collapsing simultaneously like a row of dominoes, all in response to something as innocuous as a tractor beeping.

These goats form a domestic breed known officially as myotonic goats. Interestingly the term ‘fainting goat’ is inaccurate – they don’t lose consciousness when they fall. Instead, the issue is that their muscles don’t relax properly.

Do you remember the last time you got a fright? Maybe there was a jump-scare in a horror movie, or you tripped, or someone from the Socialist Alternative stall tried to start a conversation with you. Remember how all your They often keel over in muscles tensed momentarily? Imagine being stuck in that rigid state for 10 to 15 seconds. This is anticipation when their happens to myotonic goats. Due to a genetic owner brings out breakfast, what mutation that affects ion channels in their muscles, or during mating season in relaxation takes longer than it should. When these the lead-up to sex. goats tense up, their muscles lock for so long that they lose their balance and topple over.

Even a positive emotion can trigger this reaction. They often keel over in anticipation when their owner brings out breakfast, or during mating season in the lead-up to sex. (Luckily, their mates don’t seem to mind – maybe to them it’s a form of foreplay.)

In humans, a genetic disease called myotonia congenita causes similar symptoms and understandably, it is considered a disease to be treated. Roughly one in ten thousand people in Scandinavia suffer from this condition, and are treated with medication to prevent muscles seizing. Everyone acknowledges that it is not pleasant to be rendered immobile every time you experience significant emotions, and there is a scientific body working on a permanent cure.

However, the same courtesy is not extended to goats. Bizarrely, myotonia in goats is prized, rather than considered a weakness. The US has numerous organisations dedicated to preserving the breed, including the American Fainting Goat Organisation, whose website proudly claims that it is, “preserving the historically correct goats the way God made them”. In Tennessee an annual festival called ‘Goats, Music and More’ is even held in their honour.

But why is myotonia a prized trait in goats (beyond their potential to become YouTube stars)? After all, collapsing like a corset-clad When a predator attacks, Victorian noblewoman isn’t a brilliant way to escape a hungry coyote. The answer is that this it targets the goat that has gives them advantages as a domestic animal. fallen over in fear, allowing Without domestication, this trait would have the rest of the herd to escape. disappeared long ago.

Myotonic goats are good-natured and docile and make pleasant – and always entertaining – pets. But farmers also have other, more practical reasons for favouring the breed. The first is that they rarely escape, as they collapse before getting very far. In the past, they have also been used as decoys to accompany a normal herd – when a predator attacks, it targets the goat that has fallen over in fear, allowing the rest of the herd to escape. Luckily, this has fallen out of practice.

Most importantly, myotonic goats are the species’ best bodybuilders. Because of the constant muscle tensing, their muscle-to-bone ratio is far higher than that of other breeds, and they carry very little fat. This gives them a higher meat yield, and those who have tasted it say that in comparison to other goat meat it is more tender. So farmers earn more profit per goat – no gym time required.

Although ethical concerns have been raised about deliberately breeding myotonic goats, animal rights organisations such as PETA and the Humane Society of the United States do not hold an official stance on the practice. Breeders are quick to assure anyone concerned that the episodes are painless and that the goats are well cared for. Either way, with up to 5,000 of them in existence worldwide, fainting goat enthusiasts won’t let the breed disappear anytime soon. And that’s to the benefit of every procrastinating university student – they’ll always be on YouTube for your entertainment.

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SAMUEL CONDON

"H

i, I'm Samuel Condon, I'm a student at the University of Melbourne studying Master of Art Curatorship.

Some of you may have seen me around campus this past few years but probably a lot of you don't know who I am.

I'm an artist, a painter, I paint all sorts of things in my art studio/gallery at St. Collins Lane (260 Collins street).

I'm writing to you today to share with you some pictures of paintings I've been working on this past few months.

You may notice that there is a particular historic Colonial Australia theme woven into these works, I can't really explain why I'm painting them, something inside of me needed to reflect on our history, to come to terms with what has happened here in the past, to try and understand my role as a White Australian artist.

I'd like to invite all of you to come visit me at my studio, have a cup of tea and chat to me about Australia and what you think it means to be Australian.

All the best Samuel"

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instagram.com/samuelcondon

COMMENTARY

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COMMENTARY

IN MEMORIAM WORDS BY STEPHANIE ZHANG ARTWORK BY WINNIE JIAO

F

EXPLORING FUNERAL PRACTICES AROUND THE WORLD

or a while, I believed in the Viking funeral myth, the one where they supposedly take the deceased and lay their body on a ship, set it sail and then the tribes shoot flaming arrows at the ship as it sails off into the distance., shooting their arrows with incredible, nay, unbelievable accuracy. It’s a rather romantic notion, but a false one, only popularised by the film, The 13th Warrior, in 1999. Admittedly, I have never seen the film, but nevertheless, Hollywood has a tendency to spread incorrect details about just about anything across the world.

In reality, Viking funerals were much more conventional. In the tenth century, sea-going vessels were, understandably, much too valuable for such an elaborate send-off. Instead, most corpses were either cremated or buried in nothing more than shallow graves, called tumuli. These tumuli were then piled with stones, grave offerings and other items of significance to the dead person’s life or family. What The 13th Warrior did get correct was the significance of fire in Norse customs. The most important element of their send-offs was the open-air cremation. These funeral pyres were the physical element of the belief that the winds that caught the burning fibre would carry the fallen’s soul to heaven.

Amongst the Manchu people of China, the xunsui or congxun meant a widow would ritually commit suicide after her husband died.

A much wilder, more extreme funeral practice involving fire came from Hindu communities from as early as 400 BC, called the sati. In the sati, a widow sacrifices herself on her husband’s pyre as an act of peerless piety. The term 'sati' originally referred to just the woman and originated from the Hindu goddess Sati, who had self-immolated because she was unable to bear her father Daksha’s humiliation to her husband Shiva. Despite its origins seeming to be exclusive to the Hindu religion, similar practices have been found in other cultures.

Amongst the Manchu people of China, the xunsui or congxun meant a widow would ritually commit suicide after her husband died. There are a number of theories as to why and how this practice came to be. One of the predominant theories states that during Muslim invasions of India, such an act of self-immolation became a means to preserve the honour of women whose husbands had been killed. It was deemed a selfless act and was believed to purge the widow of all her sins, thereby releasing her from the cycle of birth and rebirth and ensuring salvation for her dead husband and the seven generations that would follow. As expected, the sati is no longer legal. However, similar practices of self immolation have been employed as a means of protest. In Korea, Buddhist nuns have used self-immolation as a form of protest, and during the Vietnam War, a woman named Thich Nu Thanh Quang publicly burnt herself to death in front of the Dieu De Pagoda as a protest against the war.

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Depending on your perspective, fire can seem like a less morbid send-off when compared to the Zoroastrian tradition of the Tower of Silence. Zoroastrianism is the ancient pre-Islamic religion that dominated Persia. It had both monotheistic and dualistic features and very likely influenced the later development of Judaism and Christianity. In the Tower of Silence tradition, bodies are essentially placed in massive structures, where scavenger animals can ‘cleanse’ them of the corpse demons believed to have colonised the body upon death. Death was seen as the temporary triumph of evil over good, and this was done to preclude pollution of sacred earth or fire. These tower structures were first documented in the early ninth century, and consist of an almost flat roof, divided into three rings. These towers were enormous – some 20 metres in height and 50 metre in diameter. Bodies of men were arranged around the outer ring, women in the second and children in the innermost. They were exposed to the sun and to scavenging birds and bodies could be disposed of within an hour. Bones became bleached over up to a year, and were eventually collected in an ossuary pit at the centre, where they disintegrated, and anything else that remained was eventually washed out to sea. The mixture of bodies is especially notable – Zoroastrians believed that after death every division of class and wealth will disappear and all deceased would be treated equally. Giving one’s own body to the birds is also considered the Zoroastrian’s final act of charity. When compared to other cultures like the Chinese or Egyptians, who built giant monumental tombs for important figures, this says a lot about Zoroastrian values.

Indian Parsi communities have also run into an unexpected problem – the lack of vultures.

In modern times, the usage of these massive tower structures has fallen slowly out of practice. Legislature in places like Iran has outlawed ritual exposure. Unsurprisingly, urban growth also meant that many of these ancient towers have ended up within city regions. Apart from the rather macabre image of corpses being eaten on the top of a tower close to the local park or highway, Indian Parsi communities have also run into an unexpected problem – the lack of vultures. Due to the rapid urban expansion, vulture numbers have been in decline and communities are discussing alternative methods, such as breeding vultures in captivity or even using large mirrors to accelerate decomposition.

Humans have always been fascinated by death and the customs and funeral traditions and customs of many different cultures reflects this. Perhaps the study of death can reveal more about certain cultures or people more than the study of anything else – just think of the Egyptian pyramids or the collections of famous last words out there on the Internet. Freud once said, “The goal of all life is death”. So if we’re all headed towards that same destination, one question remains – what will the people around you do with your body when it becomes cold and hard?

COMMENTARY

SHARI’A AND ME WORDS BY LUCY WILLIAMS ARTWORK BY SARAH LEONG

W

hen Senator Jacqui Lambie said on Q&A, “Anyone that supports Shari’a Law should be deported,” there were cheers from her Australian audience. But how many people understand how Muslims see Shari’a and how they practice it? As a non-Muslim majoring in Islamic Studies, I have seen through the lives of my practicing friends and through the interpretations of many Islamic Law scholars that depictions of Shari’a as some sinister threat to Western civilization are largely unfounded. Shari’a actually means ‘path to God’ and comprises a series of principles deemed necessary for an ethical existence.

Mariam Veizadeh, lawyer and social commentator, told me, "Whether it's praying or avoiding alcohol, I practice Shari’a daily." Yet Islam continues to be seen as monolithic, with the fundamentalist Saudi brand Wahhabism as its only legitimate interpretation. As these dangerous misrepresentations of Islam and Shari’a continue to rear their ugly heads, it’s becoming more important than ever for Muslims and non-Muslims alike to challenge these preconceptions.

The likes of Pauline Hanson and Jacqui Lambie would have us believe that Muslim Australians, who make up a mere 2.5 per cent of the Australian population, want to enforce Shari’a nationally. This mindset ignores that abiding by Australian law is part of Shari’a.

While in certain Western countries Shari’a courts have been implemented, particularly for family law, there is not widespread support for this from Australian Muslims. Sherene Hassan, former Vice-President of the Islamic Council of Victoria, explains that in her eight years as an Australian Muslim leader, not one person ever brought up the desire for Shari’a Law or any parallel legal system. Professor Adis Duderija highlights that other religious communities, such as certain Orthodox Jewish and Christian groups, have been able to incorporate elements of their religious laws into Western legal systems – however, the attention remains very specifically on Islam.

Hassan explains the wider public’s “hysterical response” is largely due to the abhorrent abuses of human rights carried out in the name Shari’a, viewed by most Muslims as a “departure from Islamic teachings”. She explains penal punishments are a “tiny aspect” of Shari’a with some punishments carried out today not existing in the Quran. She further argues that the Prophet stated that penal punishments should be avoided as much as possible.

Hassan outlines the true objectives of Shari’a as “preservation and protection of five things – a person’s life, their religion, their family, intellect and their property and wealth”.

So how is Shari’a practiced currently in Australia?

Zulfiye, Entrepreneur, Designer and Blogger Islam is a religion and a way of life. There are some countries where only elements of Shari’a are implemented, such as the punishments and this can result in injustices occurring that actually go against what Shari’a stands for – justice and the peace of society.

Shari’a sets guidelines for how to eat, pray and live; it’s a code of conduct by which to live my life. I focus mainly on things that affect me personally like fasting, praying and giving charity, and also things that affect other people, such as the way I treat others, dealing honestly with people and being a trustworthy person.

Sherene, Former Vice-President of Islamic Council Victoria and Director of the Board at the Victorian Islamic Museum Abiding by Shari’a for me is largely personal. I pray five times a day, eat halal food and I cover when I leave the home. I try to be the best person I can be by always striving to have integrity in everything I do. I never lie or cheat and treat everyone how I would like to be treated. Like the Prophet Muhammad stated: “None of you have faith unless you love for others what you love for yourself."

I try not to lose my temper and I follow the Quranic directive when I face abuse, "repel evil with good and you will turn an enemy into a friend” (41:34). I respect and have compassion for all of God's creations and try to never judge a fellow human being. Other people may not need religion to encourage them to be good people and that's their prerogative, no-one should be forced to practice religion.

The Quran says there is no compulsion in religion (2:256), so I don't force my beliefs on others. For me there is no conflict between being an observant Muslim and a proud Australian citizen.

Hasan, Engineer and Mathematics Tutor I was born in a Muslim family, and I feel blessed in a way that my parents taught me Shari’a in its true essence. Shari’a defines a complete code of conduct. This code ensures no one hurts anyone physically, mentally or verbally. It also extends to the fact that no one can force anybody to act in a particular way or adopt a certain lifestyle. It is very unfortunate to see how Shari’a gets portrayed by wrongdoers who claim themselves to be followers of it. To compensate, I consider it my responsibility to set good examples, give a very peaceful sense of Shari’a to the people around me and if I hurt someone’s feelings, I ensure that I apologise.

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COMMENTARY Adis, Professor of Islamic Studies and Gender Studies As a believing Muslim and scholar of the Islamic tradition I consider Shari’a to be an integral part of my faith. It is important to highlight that Shari’a, as a concept, has been and continues to be subject to different interpretations. It is part of a broader Islamic cosmology which considers God as the benevolent Source of all life, a Guide and the Most Just Judge who provides various ‘signs’ (e.g. nature/creation, human reason) and ‘reminders’ (messengers and revelations) to humanity to live an ethically and morally purposeful life. In its legalistic dimension, Shari’a is a particular methodology one adopts in searching for Divine Will through revealed or nonrevealed sources of knowledge, to live an ethically and morally purposeful life. The outcome of this intellectual exercise is always a human construction thus ontologically distinct from Shari’a.

Mahvash, Blogger and Commerce Graduate Shari’a law, to me, is there to guide us and help us make better decisions. However, at the end of the day I take personal responsibility for my own actions and how I decide to practice my religion. For example, at corporate work events I am always asked the same questions, especially if I’m standing near the bar – “So you’re not allowed to drink, right?” And although the simple answer is “no, I’m not,” because Shari’a law states not to, I always go the extra step to explain that, yes, my religion says not to, however I also make a personal choice because my religion empowers me to do that. My parents have never and will never enforce anything on me. If anything they are also learning new things about our religion every day.

Foad, Masters in Electrical Engineering Shari’a, it’s a word that terrifies most people in the West because of the barbaric acts of some ‘Muslim’ countries in the name of Islam.

And although you can’t find any justification for such acts in the Quran, you do find verses that emphasise service to humanity as true righteousness and this is the Shari’a that I follow and practice.

One such verse that epitomises what the Shari’a teaches a Muslim is: “It is not righteousness that you turn your faces to the East or the West, but truly righteous is he who believes in Allah and the Last Day and the angels and the Book and the Prophets, and spends his money for love of Him, on the kindred and the orphans and the needy and the wayfarer and those who ask for charity, and for ransoming the captives; and who observes Prayer and pays the Zakat; and those who fulfil their promise when they have made one...” (2:178). As an Ahmadi Muslim, I believe that the only way to live by is “Love for All, Hatred for None” and this is exactly what the Quran and acts of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) teach us.

So do your own research before you believe everything the critics say. Yes, you will find some Muslims who are anti-democracy, but you will find more who hold firmly to the Islamic concepts of consultation (Shura) and the idea of a contract (Aqd) between a community and their governing body. You will find patriarchal interpretations, as you would in any religion or ideology, but you will also see the strong history of the Muslim Feminist movement – or the many Muslims, from scholars to everyday people, who have spoken out against forced marriages and honour killings. You will find some who use the religion to support their violence, but you will find many more who stand with The Prophet, who said “All people are equal like the teeth of a comb. There is no merit of an Arab over a non-Arab, nor of a white over a black nor of a male over a female.”

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HERE / THERE

ARTWORK BY KHAIRUL-BARIYA KHAN

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CREATIVE

A LIST OF LIFE FACTS THAT I LEARNT CONTENT WARNING: TERMINAL ILLNESS, SEXUAL ASSAULT, MENTIONS OF RAPE WORDS BY ESTHER KUOK MAY YAN ARTWORK BY KYAW MIN HTIN 1. Presidents Ford and Reagan both had Golden Retrievers as pets. This puts me in the same category as them, minus the fact that I am not a president.

2. Two out of five young women (aged 18 – 30) who physically meet up with someone they met online will experience crimes such as sexual harassment, sexual assault, date rape and murder.

3. I did not tell my mother that I would be meeting X (who I met online) and I don’t intend to.

4. Golden Retrievers make great secret keepers. This is due to the fact that they do not speak human language.

5. I regretted not telling my mother that I met up with X. 6. My mother turned sixty-five on 25 March. Breast cancer is the most common cancer for women in Australia and it is most prevalent in the 65 – 69 age group.

7. Golden Retrievers make great therapy dogs. They also behave well at funerals.

8. Golden Retrievers can get cancer. The Golden Retriever Club of Victoria (GRCV) identified cancer as the cause of death in 61.4 per cent of their dogs.

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CREATIVE

MY NEW FRIEND

WORDS BY TAMARA REICHMAN ARTWORK BY SARAH FANG-NING LIN Today it poured and I drove through the rain and when I got home I dripped and shook and sobbed and ate microwave potatoes and tomato sauce and Mum turned on the news and we watched the rain.

Today my new friend picked me up and I paid someone to put a hole through my nose and in that moment of pain I closed my eyes and felt so alive and she dropped me home and I ate some steamed cauliflower and said I love you to Mum too many times.

Today I bought silver hoop earrings to be like my new friend even though I’m not sure I want to be like her at least I want to be like some of her maybe the part that moves to another country and hosts poetry readings maybe the part that does speed and nannies beautiful children who tug on her silver hoop earrings.

She keeps introducing me to twenty-somethings who aren’t yet twenty they fold their legs and play Mac Demarco and roll a cigarette and they speak about work with their cement skin and glass eyes and I knelt and wrote Leonard Cohen lyrics on her sharehouse wall and I asked her about her loneliness and she didn’t ask about mine.

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Tonight I sat in the corner with my new friend between the couch and the wall, curled into her charisma and I was watching her words too closely and stumbled and the wood grazed my leg and I noticed how her grace makes me so clumsy.

Tonight she was playing the guitar and all I wanted to do was sing but I didn’t want to speak over her music and she was too preoccupied she’s always too preoccupied and then she went to bed and I drove home.

ARTWORK BY

REBECCA PIDGEON

"I

am never without a sketchbook. I am constantly drawing and sometimes the drawings are left in the sketchbook, other times they develop into more indepth ideas and detailed images.

The majority of these drawings are from my sketchbook. They are studies and experiments and thoughts. They are unfinished musings that inspire me to understand myself and the things around me.

My more detailed and final works are about the human form and its relationship with nature. I am inspired by the theory that we are all made of stardust and that is where the majority of my more finished pieces stem from."

instagram.com/rebeccapidgeonart facebook.com/rebeccapidgeonart rebeccapidgeonart.com

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CREATIVE

NO SUCH THING AS AN EAGLEHAWK WORDS BY ALAINA DEAN ARTWORK BY VERONICA FERNANDO

S

olomon Delaware Daley was born wide-eyed and completely silent. The midwife looked at him, shook him slightly and then looked at his mother, who had fainted with a sheen of sweat across her forehead. Trepidation swelled in the midwife’s throat as she gazed at the soundless child. She cut the cord, placed the slimy child on the chest of his mother and collected her things. She marched out of the little tin house at the bottom of the hill and almost collided with Will Daley, the town’s farrier and father of the child.

“How is she? How’s the baby?”

The midwife looked at the handsome farrier. The skin-andbones dog at his heel whined. “You should marry that girl, before anything else happens to the baby on account of your sinful actions.”

“What’s happened?”

The midwife spat in the dirt. “It didn’t make a sound when it slipped out of her. Unnatural, that is. And it’s got eyes like an eaglehawk!”

As Will Daley watched the squat midwife scurry up the hill to the town he called after her. “There is no such thing as an eaglehawk!”

But when Will Daley entered his little house and gazed down at his son, the eyes that stared back at him did have a bird-like quality, although he wouldn’t describe them as that of an eagle or a hawk.

Maybe a kingfisher. Or tawny frogmouth. He went to pick up his newborn son and gently brushed the cheek of his son’s mother, Trinity Delaware, daughter of the Honourable Bruce Delaware and disgrace of the town. He wrapped the child in one of his shirts and

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placed him in a basket of washing. The child blinked up at him, and despite the unnerving sight of its round eyes he smiled down at it before turning back to Trinity Delaware and the blood soaked sheets.

“Trinity dear? Trinity?”

He had one knee on the edge of the bed, his hands either side of her shoulders, the mattress sagging under the weight of both of them. Her face was speckled with sweat and her lips were tinged purple. The sheets around her were drenched dark red. His panicked brain tried to reason how such a large volume of blood had come out of such a slight girl.

“Trinity?”

She stirred. The dog sat at the foot of the bed and whined.

Trinity Delaware murmured something.

“Trinity? Dear?”

“Get the dog out of the house. I don’t want it near the baby.”

When Will Daley returned from tying the dog up, Trinity Delaware was sitting up, but her face was transparent. He could see the lacework of blue veins across her cheeks. She looked at him with wide eyes and said, “Let’s call him Solomon.”

“Solomon? Solomon, like from the Bible?”

By way of answer Trinity Delaware slumped forward, dead against his chest.

It was a number of moments before Will Daley realised that the squalling noise coming from behind him was the sound of his son crying. It was a number of hours before he had washed the baby and dressed it in a cardigan Trinity Delaware had knitted in the second trimester of her pregnancy, and began the trek up the hill. It took a

COMMENTARY

number of minutes for the Honourable Bruce Delaware to answer the knock on his front door, but it only took a few seconds for him to comprehend what had happened at the bottom of the hill as he took in the sight of the handsome farrier cradling the mewling child. He swung the door shut in Will Daley’s face.

As Will Daley walked away he could hear the howls of the Honourable Bruce Delaware and the hysterical shrieks of Mrs Bruce Delaware echo through the town.

As she had bore a child out of wedlock, the priest deemed it unfit to bury Trinity Delaware on consecrated ground, and the Honourable Bruce Delaware meekly agreed. His wife started to protest, but the Honourable Bruce Delaware held a lace handkerchief to her mouth.

“There, there, hush now.”

The midwife had visited them that morning to express her condolences. They’d spoken over a plate of warm scones. “She was right as rain when I left, right as rain.”

The Honourable Bruce Delaware had thanked her and his wife had nodded.

“That child had the strangest eyes I ever saw. All black and beady. Like an eaglehawk,” the midwife had said.

The townspeople stood at the top of the hill and watched the farrier bury Trinity Delaware under the pepper tree beside his house.

They all wore black, but didn't dare to venture down the hill to stand beside him. The priest had offered a strip of grass beside the cemetery’s fence, but Will Daley had refused. He knew full well that if buried there, her gravestone would become the target of drunks,

stumbling out of the pub to relieve themselves.

The town watched as Will Daley covered the mound with flat grey rocks he had lugged from the creek. Mrs Bruce Delaware’s thin bony hands shook. The Honourable Bruce Delaware held himself stoutly and stared into the middle distance, the burial a mere blur in his peripheral. The crowd began to disperse as the farrier, the baby with bird eyes and the skinny-as-a-stick dog disappeared inside the house.

A rumbling made them all turn back around. Will Daley’s pale blue ute was idling beside the house. They watched as he crossed the verandah three times. Once to collect a suitcase, which he tied to the roof of the ute, a second time to collect his son, who was dozing in a milk crate, and a third time to lock the front door and whistle at his dog. Then he slid into the driver’s seat, wrestled the old vehicle into gear, and drove up the hill. He did not slow down as he approached the congregation standing in the middle of the road. The townspeople scattered. They watched the farrier pass by, his face expressionless. Mrs Bruce Delaware let out a shriek. “He’s stealing my grandson!”

“Good riddance,” the midwife muttered.

The Honourable Bruce Delaware huffed and puffed, but nothing could be done. The farrier had taken his son and left town.

In a few years, the town had forgotten the scandal of the farrier, Trinity Delaware and their bird-eyed baby. No one except the midwife had seen the child, so the story quickly fell to myth. Only the children in the school yard ever mentioned Eaglehawk Ethan, the kid born with feathers and a razor-sharp beak. The town had a

47

much more serious issue to concern itself with. Two seasons after the farrier had locked his door and left, the harvest was destroyed by mice. And the next. And the next. Until every year the town awaited the arrival of the vermin with bated breath and heavy stomachs. The mice would come in throngs. The ground would heave with them.

They chewed through car seats and nested in sofas. They fell out of cereal boxes and into bowls of milk. One year, they knocked down a silo. The townspeople watched in awe as it crashed down the hill and landed with a thump in the dry creek bed.

They tried catching them in traps. They baited them. They built thicker silos. They hired exterminators. But still the mice came and destroyed their grain. The Honourable Bruce Delaware tried to rally the town, but the townspeople shrugged and stared back at him with tired eyes.

Their tired eyes didn’t notice the stranger at the back of the crowd. They didn’t notice the powder blue ute chug through the town. They didn’t notice the smoke puffing gently out of the chimney of the little tin house at the bottom of the hill which had sat empty for twenty years.

The week slid by until suddenly it was Sunday. The townspeople sat stiff-backed in the church. A mouse crawled across the lectern as the priest delivered his sermon. He dismissed the congregation with a shaky sign of the cross.

As they left the church, the woman watched mice scurry over their shoes and the men crumpled their hats in their hands.

The children turned their faces to the sky and screamed. Huge dark birds swooped down. The men batted at the birds with their crumpled hats. The women clutched children to their bosoms and

cowered. The congregation ran for their cars, and amidst the flurry of feathers and the screeching of the birds they failed to realise that the birds weren’t interested in plucking out their eyeballs.

That afternoon, the ring of telephones echoed through the town and the switchboard operator struggled to choose a conversation to listen in on. One question hung in the air. Where did the birds come from? A few of the children examined their Birds of Australia books and attempted to identify the enormous creatures. Outside their houses, the birds continued to snatch mice and drop them onto the tin rooftops like hailstones.

As the sun edged towards the horizon, the children of the town donned bike helmets and saucepans and sprinted down the main street to buy lollies. The elderly midwife who had pulled them all into the world stood gossiping with the shopkeeper.

“They’ll have all the mice out of here in a week,” she wheezed.

The store owner nodded and began shoveling lollies into paper bags for the children. The eldest child, whose helmet buckle was so tight it pinched the skin under his throat, said, “I wonder what sort of birds they are.”

“No doubt about it, those are eaglehawks,” the Midwife said.

A freckled girl shook her head. “There’s no such thing as an eaglehawk.”

“They are eaglehawks, actually.” No one had noticed the tall stranger standing at the back of the shop.

The children turned and gaped. The shopkeeper’s hand froze mid-shovel. The children mouthed “Eaglehawk Ethan,” while the midwife whispered, “Solomon Delaware Daley?”

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CREATIVE

Solomon Delaware Daley examined the group of people in front of him with incredibly round eyes. He picked up a newspaper and a bottle of milk. The children edged away from him. The midwife staggered.

Solomon Delaware Daley paid the storeowner and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, which he left on the counter. He left the store as silently as he had entered.

The shopkeeper picked up the piece of paper. It had been torn out of an updated edition of Birds of Australia.

Eaglehawk (aquila accipiter)

The eaglehawk was developed by Solomon Delaware Daley. It is believed to be a cross between the Wedge-tailed Eagle, the Crested Hawk and the Collared Sparrowhawk, however Solomon Delaware Daley refuses to reveal the details of its breed.

Unlike other birds of prey, the eaglehawk hunts in large groups.

They are fiercely loyal to Solomon Delaware Daley and reportedly follow him from town to town.

Very little is known about Solomon Delaware Daley, except that he is a talented bird handler and has exceptional eyes.

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CREATIVE

CREATIVE

COLUMN BY DANIELLE SCRIMSHAW ARTWORK BY SAM NELSON

I

PART 3: FLOWER POWER

was floating in the bay on a warm autumn’s night, being carried by the waves and caressed by the wind. It would have been more relaxing if George hadn’t been heckling me about my Tinder match.

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

“Why not?”

“You have no idea who this person is – she could be, like, a cannibal. Maybe she survives on Tinder matches.”

That would sound ridiculous in the pre-apocalyptic world, where people lived off smashed avocado and Boost Juice, but cannibalism was becoming more and more popular.

“At least it’s organic.”

George rolled his eyes. “Fine.” With that, he turned and began to swim back to shore. I brooded for a moment before following him.

It was George’s idea to bathe at the beach. I wouldn’t have done it, especially at night, from fear of sharks – mutant or otherwise – but there were really few options. We were running low on dry shampoo, and we couldn’t waste clean (or, as clean as we could get) water on washing.

We knew something was up the moment we got out of the water. Our clothes weren’t where we expected them to be, and after some scouring we realised that they weren’t on the beach at all.

George shivered. “I think some asshole took our clothes.”

Before I could reply there was some sort of battle cry and a horde of figures came running down the plains. They took advantage of our confusion and circled us, pointing sharpened sticks at our flesh.

“What –?” I began, but was silenced with a jab to my hip. It was the kids from YOMG. I groaned and crossed my arms over my chest.

A girl – the leader, I think, because she was wearing this stupid flower crown – stepped into the circle and smirked at us.

After a few moments I said, “So, are you going to tell us the point of this or just wait until we die of hypothermia?”

“Good for us if you did,” shot back Flower Crown. “At least you’d stop taking our resources.”

“Savage,” George muttered behind me.

I scoffed. “Is that what this is about? I took a box of tampons.

You’re all children.”

Flower Crown glared at me. “I got my period when I was nine years old.” Some of the boys in the circle screwed up their faces.

One muttered, “Gross.”

I sighed. “Look, that’s really unfortunate for you, and you probably have a lot of built up rage because of it, but can you please tell your preteen minions to stop pointing their sticks at us?”

Another kid jabbed me and I winced. I know how this sounds – it was like the Empire being defeated by a bunch of fucking ewoks.

“You’re going to repay us with your resources,” declared Flower Crown. “All of them.”

We didn’t have that much stuff to begin with, but I wasn’t desperate enough to give everything we had to some stupid kids with branches. “Yeah, nah, that’s not going to happen.”

George glanced between me and Flower Crown, apparently more apprehensive. “What are you going to do if we don’t?” he asked.

Flower Crown was obviously uncomfortable with creative threats. She fidgeted on the spot for a while before coming out with, “…We’ll kill you.”

I doubted it, but George muttered, “Fuck, Ro. They’re going to eat us.”

I sighed. “Fine, follow me.”

The kids all stepped aside as I walked through, George hurrying along behind me.

I waited until we had left the beach, and were walking in my comfort zone: the streets, blessed with shelter and ruins. By that point the YOMG kids had begun to relax, the sticks dropping as they talked amongst each other. All the while George stared at me, knowing something was up. Once we reached Main Street, I made my move.

Kicking a child from behind and stealing her weapon/branch probably isn’t one of my proudest moments, but it did give me enough time to trip some of the others and bolt.

“I am getting – really – sick –” George paused to gasp for breath “– of running – away – from – twelvies.”

I pushed George into a gaping hole in the window of one of the ruined stores, and we crouched down behind the front counter.

A few moments later we heard the YOMG kids, loud and confused and disorganised, rush past the front of the building.

I waited a few minutes to make sure it was safe, then turned to George and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t go back to Mum yet,” I whispered. “Stay here for a couple of hours, find something to cover yourself with and stay warm. Just don’t lead them to our train.”

“What are you –” “I’ll be back soon, maybe a couple of days. I just – I’ve got to know –” His eyes widened, finally catching on. “You’re going to find the Tinder girl, aren’t you? Roella – ” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, not looking him in the eye. I caught sight of some cloth, resembling robes or some weird costume, and snatched it up. I pulled this around me and stood up, ignoring George’s protests as I tip-toed out of the store, and back into the night.

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HORROR FILMS WORDS BY ALEXANDER BAKY TRAN ARTWORK BY EWAN CLARKE-MCINTYRE Too young to understand Too old to be impressed But stop fucking talking Or I’ll call insecurity to escort you With your dumb brain Still intact Baggage for the beggar I am begging you Don’t be a cunt

Naked brains in public cinema Rows of raunchy fingers Picking inside Nostrils Buckets Trousers Up skirt Up tight Share the popcorn “Don’t be a cunt”

Silence is swift and expensively Full of faeces When lights flicker on “I want a refund” Directors of doom and their wannabe movies Credits of a cast with none credible Black screen Incredible White writing “FIN”

Silent judgement Eyes watering Coca-Cola Bored and pissed and restless Waiting release Preview the juiciest scum on the screen Project your sarcasm Where you please Just please Tame yourself “Don’t be a cunt”

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ARTWORK BY ESTHER LE COUTEUR

CREATIVE

I THINK THE STARS ARE SCREAMING WORDS BY SARAH PETERS ARTWORK BY CAROLYN HUANE

I think the stars are screaming honey. They’re melting into lemon drops you dissolve on the edge of your tongue.

I want more than that.

Can’t we string them in a row down caverns? (Let us glow.)

You do not see me, as more than somewhere to hang your keys when you hold her hand and whisper little loves.

I could tear each fingernail from their home, (carry these hands with you) so that you know how my words feel when I scream them, alone.

I am not much more, than a freckle on your thumb (play with me, and press me right).

But if there’s nothing in the sky, were our atoms meant to join?

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ARTWORK BY LAUREN HUNTER

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CITY OF BLUE WORDS BY RAVEN EYLANDER ARTWORK BY ILSA HARUN

I remember thinking: snow clouds a book, and a wing arrive in the night the texture of carpet thick wool falls from the sky covers my eyes where I long to dwell where you have been every morning peripheral shape blurring the slow melt into the shape of new ritual a different side of night equinoctial distances crossing the tracks to and fro in search of the America of the Americas talking in sweet tongues with oil telling of love in a time of abundance to someone more even Queen of days what raised your American hands from where the blue sat drawing circles when you are invisible, sorceress drawing energy in blue waves up to your tower the clouds and the birds float by a saturated scene flocking together to block out the sun in its sunken tapestry I remember thinking: blindness I remember thinking I could have come up so clean from the ocean of calm that birthed me

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CREATIVE

FRUIT GATHERING WORDS BY RAVEN EYLANDER ARTWORK BY CORNELIUS DARRELL

If I was a hunter and you were the moon what a woman is what a mad thing Cannot carve yourself out October pumpkin overripe Flesh falling tendrils of synapses crawling slowly syrup sticks stings, surrendering concepts space, time – I give it all the umbilical extension cords remain extending ourselves in infinite lines, somewhere the relation of yours to mine That year I cut lavender and made tea, walk me further in that direction, take me further out to sea drown with me (I am a child who has already swum too far) Hunt and cook for me Springtime withholds warmth sure as I'll be on streets squandering sun Folly, folly love always gathering fruit

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W

hen I think screen entertainment, a few images are automatically conjured in my head. Images of underdog characters; of transnational travelling; of trials and tribulations and images of an all-uniting sea of urine. If at least two of these images are remotely similar to a fever-dream you may or may not have once had, then Schubert Dreaming Down the Tacuari is the film for you. However, if you can’t match these up with your subconscious, then I guess you can fuck off?

The protagonist is a Swedish plumber with a passion for Uruguayan sporting history – she is subsequently nicknamed ‘Schubert’ after Schubert Gambetta, the under-appreciated soccer player. This plumber, Schubert, travels to Uruguay to plumb the FUCK out of their pipes in a bid to salvage its subpar waste infrastructure. At the same time, she aspires to document her experiences in a book she will call 'The Poo Fart Bum-Bum Diaries'. When she arrives though, the job proves more difficult than first perceived. She finds she is allergic to Uruguayan cuisine, has difficulty adjusting to the climate and a hot case of excitable bladder. Eventually, it is these bladder woes that kill Schubert. Whilst she is plumbing a particularly decrepit house, the floor gives way and she lands in a large pipe that has exploded open.

Schubert proceeds to drown in her own wee.

On the surface, this may seem like the cosy exploits of a humble plumber. For those who think reeeaaaally deeply though, it will come across as a metaphorical propaganda film all about the overlooked issue of pesticides used on sheep and the dangers of foregoing such processes. Whatever your reading of the film, every audience member is bound to love it! I’m looking at you, arthouse crowds! Just imagine Titanic but without the boat or the love story or the problematic class commentary. Brilliant. When I think screen entertainment, I think Schubert Dreaming Down the Tacuari.

COLUMN BY LINUS TOLLIDAY ARTWORK DARUS NOEL HOWARD

2

1

PRINCE You said it, Fyodor!

INT. SCHUBERT’S APARTMENT - MORNING SCHUBERT is sitting at a desk writing.

SCHUBERT I should write all my experiences down. In poem form! I mean, all great art was created in adversity...

Schubert’s imagination takes over and a number of artists from history, including VIRGINIA WOOLF, PRINCE, BUSTER KEATON, BERLIOZ, FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY and REMBRANDT, enter the room.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK steps out from the shadows.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK Well, my greatest work was done with the least studio support and in the most stressful periods of my life...

BERLIOZ You call that trash ‘art’?

BUSTER KEATON Mr ‘I-Can-Only-Make-Horror-Movies’!

VIRGINIA WOOLF I came from wealth and had support for my writing all my life!

ALFRED HITCHCOCK I only ever made two horror movies in a career spanning over 50 films!

PRINCE My parents were musicians and encouraged my art!

BUSTER KEATON I was brilliant for years and as soon as hard times hit, my career flopped!

FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY Вы никогда не поймете мою работу!

Hitchcock cowers and Schubert snaps back into reality.

FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY Я испытал много трудностей!

3

4

SCHUBERT Where was I? Oh yes, that’s it. There once was a plumber from Sweden... Who spoke English for box office reasons...

The artists from earlier all take turns singing, entering the scene one by one with microphones and performing to the camera.

The ground moans. Schubert peaks into the bathroom across the way and sees the toilet shaking.

SCHUBERT What the – ?

A crack strikes the toilet down the centre, and the floorboards open up like a mouth to hell. As the chasm widens, a loud fart screeches through the house and forcefully flings Schubert from her chair to the ground.

The floor opens up closer to Schubert.

SCHUBERT No! No! I have too much work to do! Who will save the Uruguayan waste infrastructure if not I? Schubert tumbles into the fissure, screaming. She makes a splash upon entry.

Cat Stevens’s “Father and Son” starts playing over the top of Schubert drowning in her own urine.

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VIRGINIA WOOLF It’s not time to make a change...

PRINCE Just relax and take it easy...

BUSTER KEATON You’re still young, that’s your fault...

FYODOR DOSTOYEVKSY Здесь столько всего нужно знать...

They hold hands and continue singing as Schubert screams and gurgles.

FADE OUT

CREATIVE

GOLDFISH WORDS BY BETHANY SLAUGHTER ARTWORK BY CHARLOTTE BIRD-WEBER

While Vic and I often caught each other’s eye during the day, we only spoke when I went to get the mail, or fetch the newspaper each morning.

He often watched the sunrise from his verandah while puffing on a low-tar cigarette, or stood outside while his baking was in the oven and very street has one. A brick house surrounded by overgrown the kitchen was overheated and stuffy. Sometimes he’d be waiting with grass. It is the eyesore of the street. It used to be 'one of them', a sample of whatever he was cooking up that day. When our lemon tree there are architectural hints of its past life among those other bloomed, I plucked a bag of misshapen fruit and left it on Vic’s doorstep. beautiful houses that adorn the street. Chipped Victorian awnings.

The next day, several individually packed snap lock bags sat on his little Blistered paint on winding pillars. Dead flowers lie forgotten like brick wall. ‘Take a Slice’ said the little sign hanging from the letterbox, popped balloons in sun-cracked pots. Dirt is scattered over the pathway. written in a child’s scrawl. I took two, but as I landed on our welcome mat, There are empty bottles littering the straw-like grass, blown out of a lemon cake was already waiting there. I took the cake into my study a lidless recycling bin. The beige concrete driveway is empty, but a and sat down to type proposals to clients. Vic was chopping apples, and rusty car is parked on the grass, one tyre missing. Kids carrying their gave me a cheeky wave. One of his daughters sat on the bench in her Cadbury chocolate fundraisers don’t bother to ring the duct-taped pyjamas, licking the bowl of some undoubtedly delicious creation. The doorbell. A stout brick fence guards the property. other ran in circles around the kitchen while Vic tried to keep her away I was the one person who saw the life beyond this house’s tired from the stovetop where a pot of porridge was steaming. I waved back, façade. From my desk, peering into the house next door, it was and took a nibble of his lemon slice. I sat still and small, watching and impossible to miss the flashes of frantic life that streaked past my absorbing the energy of the lively house next door while the tangy taste windowpane. lingered in my mouth. The whistle of the kettle. The small, thin whizz of The smell of fresh curries, egg risotto with prawns and Saturday water boiling on the stovetop. I was convinced I could feel the soft buzz night barbeques wafted through the fence between our homes. My of their fridge underneath my fingers. favourite part of the working day was when I locked myself in my During one Sunday breakfast, Grant charged into the room with a square box of a study. I would open the window of my home office, and chainsaw, grinning madly. peer into Vic’s kitchen next door. He was unemployed, so he spent his “The hedges?” I asked. days baking for homeless shelters. His wife, like my husband Grant and “The hedges” he declared.

I, worked in marketing. Vic often joked that we should have dinner, but For months, Grant had been itching to redevelop the garden, to his wife never seemed to be home. The only people I ever saw in his the point where he was sleep talking about the hedges. “Those bloody kitchen were his gorgeous twin daughters, or at least they looked like hedges,” he kept murmuring. Grant wanted to cut down all the hedges twins from where I sat. They bounded into the kitchen where Vic waited and plant some blossom trees instead to add colour to our plain with biscuits or slices or sometimes, to their dismay, fruit salad. backyard. I suspected he was also searching for nostalgia. He’d had Our grey bungalow looked tidy and pretty in comparison to their a blossom tree as a kid; he buried his pet fish underneath it. And the home, lined with lush hedges against a cream lattice fence. Our front hedges were just the first step. He planned to downsize the shed because yard was neatly trimmed and emerald green, with a pond no one we didn’t own ‘stuff ’. Grant especially wanted a pool, with deep blue tiles cleaned; yet it remained the same peacock shade. Our cars were tucked and lights. He’d suggested new fences, because he was concerned about into the carport like racehorses in their gates. My sunlit bedroomour neighbours being able to see into our yard. I said no. turned-study faced the only point where our hedges stopped, providing Grant skipped towards the fridge, pulling out a vanilla Up & Go with a view through the latticework into the unkempt house next door. giddy delight. “It’ll probably be a two day job, I reckon, with my, uh, skill Grant had preferred his home office to face the hedges and Max’s white level.” He grinned, sucking his straw down to the dregs. mansion on the other side. “I don’t think I could focus if I was facing “Ask Vic if he’s got a stepladder. Ours is too shaky.” that house. It’s too lively,” he once said, using my words. What he meant “And you’d know that how?” Grant laughed, ruffling my bed hair as was, “it’s too full.”

E

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he left the kitchen. He’d forgotten that I had unpacked the Christmas tree from the attic myself the past three years. I tapped my teaspoon against my bowl, like Vic’s children did, making music. It echoed around the hollow, white kitchen, filling the space with mistimed notes and beats and pauses.

The newspaper arrived late that day. Max, our other next-door neighbour, shuffled out at the same moment that I went to check after it for a third time. The remains of Vic’s cigarette butt smoked faintly on his verandah. Grant was hauling a stepladder he borrowed from across the road. Max frowned, nervously tucking his greying fringe behind his ears.

“Grant, are you cutting the hedges?”

“Yup,” Grant beamed. I grinned.

“Have you got, er, council approval?” Max queried, tugging the drawstrings of his tracksuit.

“Three, maybe four months ago? It’s been in the pipeline a while,” Grant said, raising his eyebrows. “I told you about it at the New Year’s Day barbeque, remember? I’ve got the morning off finally, and enough is enough. Can’t keep putting it off. I’m sick of saying ‘Next time, next month …” The pause.

“Mmm, yeah, see, I just didn’t think they’d, err, approve it. My property, y’know, the fence is pretty bare. Not much privacy … for me, eh,” Max chewed, with nothing apparent in his mouth.

“Not much privacy for us either,” Grant replied.

“You haven’t got anything to hide, have you?” I said slyly.

Max half-smiled awkwardly. Grant pushed him jokingly on the shoulder.

“C’mon Max, we’re redeveloping our garden. It won’t be bare for long, and we won’t be out there much until it’s full of life,” Grant promised. Another pause.

Unconvinced, Max scurried back into his three-storey house, his own newspaper forgotten in his driveway.

“You’d think a man whose windows look directly into our bedroom wouldn’t complain about privacy,” Grant muttered irritably, looking up at Max’s postmodern home. It looked like a neat stack of glossy white boxes, blending seamlessly into the street.

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“Hedges,” I reminded him.

“Hedges,” he nodded, keenly.

On Monday, Grant seemed equally bitter with the prospect of work as he was at how little he had accomplished. He was still dressed for gardening, as though wearing the clothes might magically empty his work schedule. Since the sun came up, his phone had been ringing non-stop. He spoke with a low, monotonous voice to each customer who called, leaving a trail of pine needles as he paced around the house. The room smelled like a Christmas tree.

“Good morning Mr. Marketing,” I teased.

Grant groaned, trying to make his coffee while balancing his mobile on his shoulder and looking wistfully out to the garden. As he retreated miserably to his home office, I followed the trail outside. Grant had only gotten halfway through clearing the hedges on the left side. An uncut row of hedge remained on the right, making the yard lopsided. The fresh Christmas smell remained, although it was punctured by the scent of salty pork. I pushed through the branches on the right side, and peered into Vic’s yard. Vic turned around to the rustling sound as his sausages sizzled on the barbeque. I waved. He plucked a piece of meat from the grooves of the barbeque, and broke into a slow jog across his backyard, dodging bright rubber balls on the lawn. He dangled a bite size piece through the lattice. I took it and blew him a kiss. He laughed, and returned to his sausages, gently turning them over until every inch was cooked. I turned around to face my empty, uneven garden, and wondered if we could fit a trampoline in the back corner. Grant’s tools lay scattered on the lawn, waiting. I picked up a handsaw, stepped up to one of the hedges on the left, and sawed off a twig. It sliced neatly off the mother branch. I tried a larger one, as thick as three fingers. It made a clop as it hit the mulch below. One by one, I picked away at stray branches until a small fort of kindling built up around my feet. One scratched my leg.

Three stubborn boughs refused to leave the tree. The hedges looked like chicken skewers – thin at the top and the bottom with all the meaty branches in between.

“Hey, easy there.” Grant strode briskly from the deck, his phone still plastered to his ear. His spare hand stretched out to me, like I was a child to coax away from a platform. I grinned, and hauled myself to the top rung of the stepladder. It wobbled slightly.

CREATIVE “Don’t go up that high, you’re not as tall as me,” Grant warned, holding the base. I sneered, but it did feel more secure. His eyesight was in line with my waist. I chewed through the wood, branch by branch. Grant kept one hand on the ladder and his phone in the other. Slowly, the lattice diamonds came into focus. I could see Max’s pink-stone patio. His lawn was more sap coloured than ours, like he only put the sprinklers on once a month.

“Anything interesting?” Grant joked, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“He has a fire orchid.” I deadpanned. “Some bushes, a shed and, no, sorry, a cubby house-” “What colour?”

“The orchid or the cubby house?”

He tutted. “Cubby house.”

“It looks like a pumpkin. It’s a bit much, I think blue would look better in ours.” A beat.

Then I saw her: a face in the scratched plastic window of the cubby house. I fell, my head knocking on a brick.

“Mel, oh crap. I should have caught you!”

“Call triple zero,” I screamed.

“Yes, yes, an ambulance-” “NO, THE POLICE.” “No, hon-” “She needs help!”

“Wha-“ “She’s in the cubby house. I saw her face.”

“Crap. No, love, she’s not there.”

“Melanie?” I heard Vic’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“She fell,” Grant said curtly.

“Help her,” I wailed. Grant accidentally dialed too many zeros, cursed again. I heard footsteps. “She’s in the cubby house!”

“What is she talking about?” Vic’s figure loomed above.

“She saw her in the cubby house,” Grant mumbled tiredly, the dial tone humming in his ear.

Vic played with the stepladder, checking it was safe before he climbed, curious. I pulled myself up, swatting Grant’s arm away. “Look, she’s there. SHE’S THERE.” Grant pulled me down gently, nursing my head. A voice crackled on his end of the phone. Vic yelped from atop the ladder. There was a slight stench of burnt pork sausage.

The police were irritated, and left our house in a bad mood. The paramedics bandaged me up, but they seemed keen to get away from the woman sobbing about a girl in the window. I should have realised she wasn’t blinking. Most children blink. I leant on Vic’s bony but sturdy shoulder while Grant screamed at Max, who was recoiled uncomfortably against his fence.

“It’s embarrassing, Max. Absolutely embarrassing-“ “You had no right to look into my yard” Max yelped hurriedly, like he had been mustering up all his courage to say that one sentence. “I told you I wasn’t comfortable with you cutting the hedges. And letting Melanie do it when she’s clearly unstable-“ Grant grabbed him by the collar. “She’s unstable? Max, it looked like there was a real person in there. You terrified her.”

“If it bothers you, I’ll turn her away from the window. But I like her there. She sparkles in the sunlight.”

Grant seemed unsure whether to feel pitying or disturbed, but he let go of Max, and with a tight hug, guided me back into our house. Vic’s

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kids were sat on their verandah. They smiled at me, and upon closer inspection, I realised that they weren’t twins after all.

Vic isn’t here to greet me as I pick up the newspaper today. Grant is working in his study; his car is parked in our new sandstone driveway.

Giselle is waiting in the kitchen. I brush the autumn debris off the plastic newspaper sleeve, and flip to the fifth page. The awkward photo of Max with his arms clasped protectively around his cardboard cutout of Bella Swan is just as disturbingly hilarious as when Vic texted it to me this morning. The way she ‘sparkles in the sunlight’ isn’t quite captured by the photographer. 'NOT JUST FOR TEENS', the headline proclaims.

It goes on to talk about Max’s “generously sized Twilight memorabilia collection creatively arranged in a backyard cubby house.” Apparently he will host tours soon. There’s a throwaway line about the nosy neighbours who brought attention to Max’s “extraordinary” collection when they rudely looked over his fence. Grant spat on Max’s mailbox before we left.

Our new house is in a dead end street shaped like a soup spoon, lined with jacaranda trees. A great find on such short notice. A patchwork stone wall obscures our front yard. If we have any next-door neighbours with vampire-themed hoarding fetishes, we don’t know yet. To the left is a sleek rectangular house. On the right is a bright kindergarten with a rose garden and toys sprinkled like hundreds and thousands over the grass. Some of the flowers closest to the pathway have been trampled.

Our house looks like a stump in comparison, a cosy bungalow with a front yard full of mismatched greenery that is dwarfed by other trees in the street. Though it’s not quite an eyesore, there is something out of place about our new home. Grant welcomed the change; he is eager to find space for his pool, or at least a trampoline.

I open my laptop on the dining table. Between the slits of our shared log fence, I can see into the kindergarten next door, where the kids paint with their thumbs and eat playdough and sing nursery rhymes.

Papers and files are tidily tucked into my filing cabinets, which are neatly disguised in television cupboards. Giselle lives in the centre of the dining table. She swims haphazardly around her home, finding and forgetting space as she desires. Sometimes I lean my head alongside the bowl as she shimmies through the water. Sometimes I hold a pen up to the glass, just to watch her ignore it. No matter how closely I observe her, I never quite know where she is looking. Sometimes it feels like I am in the fishbowl, while she is swimming beyond the surface, blowing bubbles in the air and shining when her scales catch the sunlight.

63

64

ARTWORK BY ELOYSE MCCALL

CREATIVE

FROGMOUTH Alighted on Eucalypt, the evening breeze Ruffles his feathers And tussles the rusting wind chime.

Crooked beak, bushy brow.

Erudite eyes, now lidded, Whose piercing gaze latches To all who scamper in the night.

Father and daughter, Barefoot on yellowing grass, Squint in the waning light.

Father tends tomatoes intermittently, Awaiting the beast’s imminent arousal.

Rosy dusk extends her fingers across the horizon, Flower petals snuggle into buds for the night.

And still the pair remains, Despite wafting aromas from kitchen windows.

Daughter, nestled amongst nasturtiums, Observes lines and curves Of mottled feathers and curled claws, Aching to commit them to paper.

Yet patience wanes as mosquitoes descend.

Closer, closer She creeps, she croons: Hoot...hoot...

A discordant reveille.

A flicker of amber: two wide, round eyes.

Now toey, he extends a mottled wing – Languid, leisured Like a sail to ride the currents Of the balmy evening breeze.

Father and Daughter, Captivated by majesty, Chatter and fluster beneath.

He peruses the pair With one eye:

WORDS BY TESSA CAMPISI ARTWORK BY ELENA PIAKIS 66

Pale and fleshy – strange creatures.

He pays them no mind And lifts his wings, Eliciting gasps from below.

Claws depart from Eucalypt, and he alights.

Soars.

Flies But a foot And nestles into leaves of a neighbouring branch.

ARTWORK BY NELLIE SEALE 67

CHROMA RED ARTWORK BY HAMISH CLARK CURATED AND DESIGNED BY ILSA HARUN

"T

hese photos were taken during a University course taught on site in Nanjing, Shanghai and Beijing. In Chinese culture, red is often associated with good luck and joy, and is the dominant colour of New Year decorations. The Chinese government has made liberal use of the colour red, and in recent years it has taken on meanings of power as well."

Each edition of Farrago will include a photoset of a different colour.

Check out the next edition’s colour on the content list tab of facebook.com/Farragomagazine.

Submit your photos through farragomedia2017@gmail.com.

68

A HO-HUM'S RANT WORDS BY LAETITIA LOUISE DJAJA ARTWORK BY AMANI NASARUDIN

A FAINTLY TALENTED AMATEUR'S PERCEPTIONS OF FITTING INTO AN ARTISTIC COMMUNITY Despise flaunted, when they look into the eyes of beings with dull-coloured locks department store bought clothing tattoo-less, single piercing.

It’s the lack thereof, crisp notebooks without scratches neither embossed from pressure sketches or slashes regardless in cursive or print.

“Dispose of them!”

Voices without grunge tears without hatred lips without berry stains necks without blotches.

It’s the lack thereof!

Dearth of expression, grumbling flat from a mellow voice, seen strange for a faith in old truth not innovation of the youth.

For underneath virgin hair reeks innocence, a baggage to any art connotative absence.

If your hair doesn’t volumise attitude (yes, the hair, the hair, the hair!) breath doesn’t billow unfiltered cigarettes temperament rebuffs fitful solitude wrists undecorated with muse or bracelets, then perhaps you’re not fervid enough – not for the aesthetic nor for the craft.

They say, “What’s to express, when their souls bleed emptiness, not from suffering and loneliness, but the lack thereof.”

It’s the lack thereof, lack of pride and presence identity grounded in bygones fearing the eccentric avant-garde and the likes.

69

FOR AND AGAINST VODKA CRUISERS

ARTWORK BY MINAHIL MUNIR HAMDANI

I

FOR BY ASHLEIGH BARRACLOUGH

f euphoria were a beverage, it would undoubtedly be the Vodka Cruiser.

The luscious, fruity notes of everyone’s favourite drink literally taste like that time in Year 11 when you got absolutely plastered in some guy’s yard while his parents were sleeping inside.

So if you’re feeling fed up with the responsibilities of adult life, grab a Cruiser and enter a nostalgic trip into your teenage years, when life was simple and your biggest problem was which flavour to drink first.

So if guava’s not your jam, or if you think pineapple’s frankly just a bit gross, don't worry because there are not one, not two, but eight flavours of Vodka Cruiser!

Assignments and exams getting you down? Need to bring alcohol into class to numb the pain of studying Marxism? Try the Vodka Cruiser Mudshake range! It both looks AND tastes like choccy milk, so simply pour some into a water bottle and no one will question your choice of drink.

And if your tutor does discover your alcoholic tendencies, simply offer them a sip of your Vodka Cruiser and watch both of your problems fade away.

The haters will try to tell you that Cruisers can’t get you drunk, but that’s where they’re wrong. While these bad boys are only one standard drink each, they’re so easy to drink that before you know it you’ll have downed a six-pack by 10p.m.

N

I found myself crouched over the toilet vomiting up a tidal wave of fluorescent red liquid (if you’re reading this, sorry Mum).

I for one can assure you that Cruisers once got me so wasted that I found myself crouched over the toilet vomiting up a tidal wave of fluorescent red liquid (if you’re reading this, sorry Mum).

Also, colourful vomit is FAR more fun than normal vomit.

If I haven’t yet convinced you that Vodka Cruisers are the bee’s knees, I think I know why. You’re a large, manly, male whose mates believe that drinking Cruisers is akin to forsaking your masculinity.

Fear not, I have a solution.

Pull out your pack of Cruisers at a party and watch the girls flock to you, desperate to get their hands on one of your delicious beverages. Your friends were laughing before, but now you’re the manliest of the men, masculinity intact.

Maybe Vodka Cruisers are a gift sent from the gods, or maybe they’re just a highly palatable alcoholic beverage. What I’m certain of is that I’ve never seen a sad person holding a Cruiser.

70

AGAINST BY GAJAN THIYAGARAJAH

uclear fission gave us the atomic bomb. Genetic modification gave us crops that'll eventually result in babies being born with two heads.

But when Isaac Newton developed the theory of a visible spectrum of light, not even in his most terrible nightmare would he have conceived of the absolute bastardisation of this concept that is the Vodka Cruiser. It's the ultimate exercise in capitalism, as whoever invented these liquid incarnations of an LSD trip decided it's appropriate to sell alcoholic beverages ranging from 'Mudshake Chocolate' brown to bright pink guava and sky-blue blueberry (I don't even want to know how they're turning these things into these colours).

I'm also fairly certain they're responsible for the concept and phrase 'white girl wasted'.

'Cruisers' are the very definition of a gateway drug. Given their not entirely disagreeable taste, the result of a minimal concentration of actual vodka and a metric tonne of artificial flavours and emulsifiers (I actually have no idea what the fuck emulsifiers are but I'm sure they're guilty of something), they're the favourite drink of sixteen year olds around the nation who haven't yet acclimated to the more bitter taste of beer, spirits and, god forbid, even the weakest of ciders. I'm also fairly certain they're responsible for the concept and phrase 'white girl wasted'.

Vodka Cruisers enable inexperienced patrons to achieve sweet, sweet inebriation without offending their as of yet innocent sensibilities, before eventually moving on to harder and more sinister substances such as moonshine and marijowana.

There are two problems here.

1. The amount of this abominable beverage the average pubescent human being needs to consume to approach a drunken state has severe implications for bladder relief, resulting in inflated bathroom lines at the house party, nightclub or festival of your choice; 2. In the event of indigestion, what goes in must come out, and the image of brightly rainbow coloured projectile vomit is not one that's easily scrubbed from one's retinas (which, ironically, belong to the same body part which poor Newton must so romantically have imagined delighting in the rhapsody of colours availed to us by refracted light).

"Hey!" said Johnny to his pals, "Let's go have a good time by getting trashed on a minimum 3L of fluids which resemble the watercolour we used to fingerpaint with in kindergarten and contain enough sugar to trigger early onset type 2 diabetes" is not something that has been said, ever. We must put an end to the distribution and consumption of Vodka Cruisers for the good of humanity – or at least before aliens come to Earth, because that's not a legacy I want to spread.

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UMSU and the Media OďŹƒce is located in the city of Melbourne, situated at the heart of Wurundjeri land.

A key member of the Kulin Nations, we pass our respects on to the Wurundjeri elders, both past and present and acknowledge the land we are on was never ceded.