We share these stories from the stolen lands of the Wurundjeri and Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation. Sovereignty was never ceded. The team at Farrago pay our respects to the Traditional Owners and Elders past and present, who have and continue to be the first storytellers on this land. It is the responsibility of all writers, readers and students to consider the colonial ideologies that remain upheld and unquestioned in so-called Australia, and to resist these structures through education. This always was, and always will be Aboriginal land, and we encourage all readers of Farrago to nurture an of the Indigenous from the and places you call home. We share theseunderstanding stories from the stolen lands ofhistories the Wurundjeri Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation. Sovereignty was never ceded. The team at Farrago pay our respects to the Traditional Owners and Elders past and present, who have and continue to be the first storytellers on this land. It is the responsibility of all writers, readers and students to consider the colonial ideologies that remain upheld and unquestioned in so-called Australia, and to resist these structures through education. This always was, and always will be Aboriginal land, and we encourage all readers of Farrago to nurture an understanding of the Indigenous histories from the places you call home.
ARTIST STATEMENT
My practice is multi-disciplinary, oscillating between sculptures and paintings, the figurative and the abstract. Currently I am materially interested in steel, and the processes of welding, constructing and arranging my work in space. Serialised media, such as comic strips and speculative fiction continue to provide a source for my art and research, particularly how gender, conflict and societal collapse is canonised represented. More of my and workarts can project be foundby onFarrago instagram Above Water isand a joint literary anthology Magazine, UMSU Creative Arts & Southbank. Through its multimodal workshop @imii_art.
program and exhibition, it seeks to encourage student engagement in the arts and provide Imogen a spaceLang for emerging artists and writers to develop their craft. This year, its theme is crisis. Cover Story Artist
visual art
FARRAGO ARCHIVES open for pitches & submissions
photography scripts
Cartoon sourced from Vol. 6, no. 19, 1950
diaries/logs ekphrasis prose creative essays fiction music lyrics performances installations
Instagram: @abovewateranthology “So, what are you planning to do once youEmail: finish your degree?” abovewater@farragomagazine.com
Winning caption submitted by James Muller, Bachelor of Arts (Honours) (History)
Cartoon sourced from Vol. 27, no. 2, 1951.
Farrago is (UMSU) the publication of the University of Melbourne Student Farrago is the publication of the University of Melbourne Student Union and published by the General Secretary. Union (UMSU) and published by theplease General Secretary. The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of UMSU. To raise an issue with the Union, contact the The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of UMSU. To President and General Secretary at president@union.unimelb.edu.au and secretary@union.unimelb.edu.au respectively. raise an issue with the Union, please contact the President and at president@union.unimelb.edu.au and This magazine is printed on recycled paper by Kosdown Printing.General Please Secretary keep, share, repurpose or recycle after reading. secretary@union.unimelb.edu.au respectively.
“the ladies sure love a man who can cook.
This magazine is printed on recycled paper by Kosdown Printing.
2 4
Editorial Op-Ed
“Stay Ignorant.” Is That What I Should Tell The People That I Love? Elizabeth Pardallis
6 8 10 12
UMSU Office Bearer Reports Improving State-Wide Police Responses To Family Violence Calls Taylah Xuereb Ramsay Centre Donation In Limbo after UniMelb Academic Board Vote Declan Chan Thousands Of Students Take To The Streets to Protest the Rise of One Nation
Amelie Martin
14 16 18 19 20 21 22
Australia Diversifies Defence Web as US Becomes Unstable Zeinab Jishi Ally
Who Owns Pine Gap?
Alexandra Nevill & Finley Monaghan-Mc Grath
Observations in Vietnam
Josefine Enke
Feature Photography
Nurhildayati
Night Stars
David Wu
The Moon Still Looks The Monyq San Tropez Same Houston, We Have A Problem: The USA Is Colonizing Space.
Mia
26
Jane Schoenbrun, not-sohyper-pop, and the dream of a post-transition Ivy Kaye world
28 30
On Cosmic Hope and Moon Joy: Looking For Hope Among the Stars Janice Hui On knowledge, breakups and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick
Saria Ratnam
32
Count the Workers, Not Just the Debt
34 36 38 40 42
Poverty Grindset
Megan Sapardanis
en(light)ened
Maxwell
Derric Wong
58
Sophia Chu
62
3000 Years Old and Still Speaking To Us Why Ancient Greece Refuses to Die
Mia Barlow
Feature Artwork
Deepal Rajendra
Feature Artwork
Kelly Shang
Eating Bananas at the State Library of Victoria and Other Thoughts
Maria Quartel
44
La Bola Negra is not a perfect Gay Period Drama—which is what we Grace Dwyer need
46 48
R.F. Kuang Samples Yet ANother Genre in Taipei Story Amali Deane
50
Visiting BODY WORLDS: The Anatomy of Happiness
Ariana Grande’s Oblique Confessions
Fergus Sinnott
Junae Won
52
The Belair Lip Bombs Are Taking It On The Road
54
Holly Hebe on Heartbreak and the Trap of Fated Love
Lachie Carroll
Jolie Mikkelsen
56 57
where are we heading to?
Jeven Wang
Extasia Flowers in Dean
April Katrine Schroeter
64 65 66 67 68 69 69 70
Feature Photography
Jeven Wang
Supernova
71 72 74 75 76
CONTENTS
Photography by Felicity Bayne (Tromsø, Norway)
Our Next Total Solar Eclipse in Melbourne is at Least 174 Years Away... So Let’s Revisit the 1976 One
Ben Shaw
Beth And The Bear
Lilian Anjeli
Esoteric Visions
Jacaranda Liu
Editing A Reel of Film: For Alex Revyakina Mother
Growing
Ella Brown
Marrow
Paridhi Chhajed
To Tackle The Sun
Hannah Louey & Batrisyia Md Khairil
Waiting Room
James Alexander
Catasterism
Julian Kong
Peter Pan Was Right
Helani Munidasa
Comics
Jessica Chaaban
Mr Takahashi’s 2-Week Ninja Course for Avoiding Photobombing on Campus Eric Xie
78
Puzzles
Seb Phillips, Mahema Singh, Dante Duell & Honey Raut
On Per aspera ad astra, the Metaverse and digital afterlife.
T
here is a belief held by many Christian sects that Earth and the things of this world are temporary; Heaven is our final destination. However, to view Earth as a waiting room before true existence commences creates substantial problems for those of us who see Earth as a place of reality, of life. Furthermore, those of us who think about the continuation of life on Earth after our time on it has passed. The human impacts on the environment are the greatest example. Who cares if Earth becomes as hot as Hell, if we will all find refuge in Heaven amongst the stars? While our Western society heralds secularism as a complete success, there is an undeniable hangover of this belief that seeps into the minds of the powerful. To the elite class, the new Heaven may not exist in the arms of an old man in the sky, but in an online space —the Metaverse. In chasing this afterlife, the further destruction of the Earth is inevitable: data centres, AI’s water footprint, cobalt mining, the decomposition of social solidarity between peoples. Is Heaven really worth it? The billionaire class seem to think so, with a sort of self-imposed inevitable doomsday clock guiding their so-called innovation and pursuit of digital Heaven. For if the digital afterlife awaits those who control what destroys the Earth, what is stopping them from burning it to the ground?
Sabine
I
n 1967 Command Pilot Gus Grissom, Senior Pilot Ed White, and Pilot Roger B. Chaffee died in a cockpit fire in Apollo 1. On the memorial plaque that honours the Astronauts “Ad astra per aspera” is inscribed. The motto is also commonly used by military air forces as Wikipedia informs me. Though I am sure that the stars were in fact the goal for the three astronauts, I struggle with accepting that their death is a worthy hardship to face. In the military context, the idea is further questioned. Are the hardships in question code for death? Death of whom? And with a goal as abstract and unattainable as the stars, to what lengths will such hardships be tolerated? Without going into the obvious contemporary context at length (with the richest men on earth in a current battle for the stars at our expense), I struggle with such a motto existing peacefully in popular culture. What defines hardship and who decided that the stars were the goal? Does that not show an implicit ingratitude for our planet? How can we expect care for its survival to be the priority when the goal exists beyond it? I have no answers, though beginning with gratitude and writing alternative stories won’t hurt.
Maria
editorials 2
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F
elicity first pitched per aspera ad astra— through hardships to the stars to me on a cold winter morning, just weeks after joining the editorial team. All intial thoughts obviously turned towards space and scientific innovation—things I have always had a passion for. However, when I really started to think further, investigating what this concept really meant to me, I realised that the space between us as people was far more integral to this theme. As we, as students, push through the long depths of Semester Two, we value space more than anything. Space to learn, space to grow, space to explore—completely away from our studies and the burden of so-called ʻsuccess’.. As you read through this fifth edition, I implore you to consider what space means to you. Are you a STEM student enthralled with art? How can you find the art in the subjects you are undertaking? Consider the hardships you have overcome, and how these have changed you and the way you interact with the world. Most importantly, I hope you are able to learn about what space means to you through Farrago.
Ruby
I
get this tingling in my tummy when a discordant chord resolves in just the right way. The same sort of feeling as when I read about remarkable acts: the organised donation of blood by lesbians during the AIDS crisis, the Australians who showed up in the Tham Luang cave rescue, our March for Humanity for Palestine last year, or the thousands of door knockers who worked to help Mamdani win. It’s hope, I think. This sensation that stirs in my gut and thrums through my veins, the thrill that settles in my spine. A paresthesia spurred by storytelling. Per aspera ad astra, through hardships to the stars. A belief in our future beyond the challenges we face. You might already know what you want your future to hold, or you might have no idea, but something everyone should know is what will carry you there. For me, it’s being inspired by the stories that surround me. The proof that humanity is still capable of good. That there is someone out there, always, on some level, doing something for good. Do not let hope become a fantasy. Listen for the music. Find what will take you to the stars.
Felicity
VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
3
“Stay Ignorant.” OP-ED
Is that what I should tell the people that I love? Op-Ed by Elizabeth Pardallis
A
few months ago, I found out that a data centre was set to be built right outside my street in South Morang. For the 21 days after that, I posted a video on TikTok almost every day, alarming people of the unregulated rush of data centres in the pipelines for Australia and the two of those in South Morang that practically no one in the area knew about at the time. I got a lot of supportive comments and a lot of opposing ones too. “You’re using a data centre right now to post this.” — True! “You don’t know what you’re talking about, get a job.” — I actually have three jobs… “Data centres are great for jobs, I can’t wait to work there.” — Wishing you the best in your career endeavours. Within my first few days of making videos, I began to formulate my official opinion on the matter that, “If data centres are going to be built, they should be built right.” Because, even though I no longer use Spotify or Safari, so much of the world sees artificial intelligence as a necessity, regardless of or in ignorance of its detriment. As an artist and as an Office Bearer of the Southbank Department at UMSU, overlooking students of the Victorian College of the Arts, the Melbourne Conservatorium of Music and the Melbourne School of Design, it would be amiss of me to not mention generative artificial intelligence and the stolen art that models it. Generative AI has perpetuated the lack of cultural value in art trades and changed the way people use art forms to express themselves. Really, fully human-made art could never actually be replicated by unsentimental machines that don’t feel the breadth 4
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of emotions that we do. Artificial intelligence is replacing jobs across the board. I suppose you could rebut this with events such as the Industrial Revolution, but you would be missing the fact that the Industrial Revolution didn’t just take away jobs, it replaced them with new trades—something that AI isn’t doing due to its major shrinking of workforces in the drive to increase profits at the cost of quality. In an economy where, according to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, unemployment is on the rise, it’s confusing and concerning that the government would support a major threat to the workforce. Whilst data centres are seen as something that support the economy and its workers, it’s actually pretty counterintuitive. Data centres lower property values and bump up utility prices. For example, in the United States, households affected by the data centre boom have seen an increase of 25-30 per cent in their electricity bills and at the moment, in Victoria, most data centres are being built in suburbs where the working class reside, in the West and the Outer North; communities that are already the most susceptible to the cost of living crisis. But let’s say that data centres are built instead in the ʻmiddle of nowhere’—these industrial projects could take away prime land from farmers and be detrimental to cattle; reducing the quality and quantity of our food. Allegedly, farmers in America have been reporting unusual stillborn deaths and a reduction of body weight in their cattle. According to Meat & Livestock Australia, the Australian red meat industry, in 2023-24, turned over $77.1 billion. But it goes beyond the economic success of the industry, it’s the fact that humans can’t eat or
breathe data. And then there’s the concern of most people: how do data centres harm our environment? Data centres need to run 24/7. Many of them have back-up diesel generators which need to be tested regularly. According to Sean Brown, impact assessor and a West Footscray resident who’s neighbouring NextDC’s M3 Melbourne Data Centre, this testing produces unhealthy levels of emissions. This kind of air pollution is not only detrimental to human health but also, according to the Centre for AI, Trust and Governance at the University of Sydney, to bees; even small shifts in the climate can have major consequences to the species. Furthermore, American beekeepers near data centres are allegedly reporting fewer bees and weaker colonies with a growing concern that these hyper scale electrical infrastructures are disrupting the Earth’s magnetic field which bees rely on for navigation. Data centres are incredibly power and water intensive. They are expected to consume 11 per cent of the state’s energy by 2030 and 10-15 per cent of the country’s electricity by 2050, which is challenging with our current infrastructure. So, who’s footing the bill for the upgrades and maintenance? And if there are supply issues, who will be taking priority of resources? Additionally, whilst some data centres are moving away from evaporative cooling systems (which are the water intensive part), the fast-tracking of these projects means that we’re getting the first version of data centres without trusted and researched regulations and decommission plans, instead of the later, more efficient and well-regulated versions. And, I’ll add
OP-ED
it in here, in case you didn’t know, the Victorian Labor government is looking to privatise our water, meaning more expensive bills for lower quality water. How is this happening? Surely there are processes in place to regulate massive projects like this, even if this level of a data centre rush is unprecedented in Australia. Well, whilst there are some companies going through the slow process of local councils and abiding by their strict rules for industrial projects, it seems as though most of them are being fast-tracked through the Minister for Planning’s Development Facilitation Program—a program founded by the Hon. Sonya Kilkenny in late 2024, advertised to fast-track housing and renewable energy projects regardless of local opposition… The first part sounds nice, but the second part reveals the systemic mistrust between local and state/federal levels of government (vertical fiscal imbalance as explained by my Australian Politics lecturer). Information on the program stresses that this fast-tracking does not mean regulations will be bypassed but, when it comes to data centres, there is not specific enough regulation. The government has been suggesting that data centres should be bringing their own power to the grid, preferably sustainable, renewable energy, but there are no guarantees. I mean, the government also requires that I touch on when I take public transport and yet the ʻmyki inspector alert space’ Facebook group exists. The Labor Party, just like the Liberals and One Nation, are funded by big corporations that pay to make their will possible — as seen recently with the weak gambling reform. But the people in Parliament and those parties don’t know what it’s like in the City of Whittlesea. They would never have to know what it would be like to live a road over from a data centre. Data centres are being built in Australia because we are politically stable, we have the space and we lack the regulation—generous in opportunity to turn a profit. If we are in such high demand, why
shouldn’t the government leverage that to the benefit of the people housing these things? Mandating sustainable energy. Creating spaces to cultivate education. Funding the community in the way that we need it most. If these companies are asking so much of us, why can’t we ask back just as much? That would make a data centre that I’d be proud to live next to. A utopian idea that, if said out loud, my TikTok comment section would have me being laughed at. Shouting my ideas and criticisms alone, to a void. I’ve given you reason after reason. Statistic after statistic —sources included.
I’ve been pleading with my audience to listen and be concerned. Finding ways to serve their perspective, sometimes even more than my own. But why can’t I just be mad? I’m mad that the people in charge of our country are using my community and communities such as my own to fuel their worlds. And they barely even hide it anymore. Ministerial permit: PA2402997, in action since 2024, ʻPublic notice’, the one box unticked, my voice: unheard. Politicians—public servants—are supposed to be working for us… Who is
their ʻus’? Because it’s not my ʻus’. It’s not my yiayia’s rich, healthy garden that she tends to; a simple pastime, alone since my pappou died. And it’s not for my parents who are continuing their parents’ legacy, who left their families, travelling to Australia where the discrimination of migrants is ongoing, for a better life—under-educated and susceptible to misinformation. And it’s not for my younger cousins, the future generations of Australians, kids in an unsupported public education system, whose money is instead going to already well-funded private schools, brains underdeveloped like never before by unregulated technological use. The kind of demographic pushed into trades to build said data centres instead of careers that require higher education reserved for those whose parents can afford it. Why can’t I just be mad about that? Instead of having to try to convince everyone to open their eyes and mouths and close their wallets to corruption and use their vote to make a change. But in bringing this to the attention of those around me, the people that I love and care about, whose eyes are on me, whose mouths fuel me with words of support to keep advocating for our overlooked community, whose wallets are already straining under the pressure, who have been told that their votes don’t matter; I’m asking them to suffer the weight of knowledge that I do. Knowledge that keeps me awake at night, exasperated breaths, on the edge of crying when I’m alone with it. Walking slower than ever before, appreciating everything around me while it’s still as good as it’ll ever be in my lifetime. Leaving behind music because the revolution requires more focus and organised group action than you’ve ever taken in your life; all of our eyes, mouths, wallets and votes.
“Stay ignorant.” Is that what you want me to tell you? For petitions and further information on local data centres, visit Elizabeth’s site at https://linktr.ee/evesarkives VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
5
UNIVERSITY OF MELBOURNE STUDENT UNION
UMSU Office Bearer Reports Updates from the purple names on campus...
President
Lushomo (Lushy) Chingaya
Hey! I’ve been focused on student safety through the Safer Communities Project. Southbank students have had the chance to enter a competition to win some sweet prizes and everyone is invited to submit a postcard for the postcard project! I’ve worked with students and university stakeholders to strengthen conversations around safety, and respectful spaces across our campuses. The project has created opportunities for students to share their experiences and shape practical solutions that make campus feel safer! So huge yes to empowering the lived experience! Now, let’s talk racism (please watch the podcast on insta)! In response to the proposed Ramsay Centre scholarship, I’ve worked alongside students and the UMSU People of Colour Department to ensure that student voices, are heard in decisions that affect our university experience. Keep talking, keep calling out and REPORT RACISM. And of course, shameless plug but follow @umsu_president to keep up with me! Deuces!
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Clubs & Societies
Alex Gwynn & Seamus Donellan
In August, we held our annual Clubs and Societies Awards Night! We recognised the efforts of our incredible club executives who run the student-led events which make our campus life so vibrant. We also recognised the endless dedication the C&S Committee and staff put into ensuring students hold safe, well resourced events for you! if you have thought about joining a club committee, keep an eye on the UMSU website club events calendar to see if any clubs you are passionate about are holding their AGMs this semester, so you can have the chance to run for their committee!
Welfare
Tsun Ying (Cynthia) Wong & Alexander Hams
Hope everyone’s semester is going well! Here at UMSU Welfare, we are continuing our work from Semester 1, running Union Mart and Welfare Brunch every week. This semester, a new location for Union Mart has dropped. In collaboration with the University of Melbourne Medical Student’s Society, Union Mart has landed in the Northern Hospital, providing free food support to medical students on full time placement. The Welfare Department is about showing up to students where they are needed most, so having support service located right where students are makes a real difference!
UNIVERSITY OF MELBOURNE STUDENT UNION
Disabilities Maehula Datta
Hello everyone, We are almost half way of semester 2 and the university has been buzzing. - We have been doing our weekly collectives which are running as usual and smoothly. . - Our O-week stall was a success, and the disabilities committee has helped a lot with it. - New Disabilities merch is here! - Disabilities survival guide has a finished draft, and designing has been ongoing by comms and design team. - Planning for hidden disabilities event has been started - also looking at revamping the space a little as well. Hope everyone is enjoying university!
Southbank
Elizabeth Pardallis, Caleb Jarcevic, Charlotte Dickinson & Tirion Luff-White
What’s happening on Southbank? More than ever before. Breakfasts and barbecues, collaborations and community-building. But, amongst all of that, it’s never sat right with us that there are portions of our community who don’t even know who UMSU are just because of where their buildings are situated. So, in place of collectives, we’ve been hosting pop-ups; those buildings that have never before seen an event of ours have now been christened with pizza and cinnamon scrolls but most importantly, with a fresh and ongoing sense of community. To continue keeping up-to-date with us, and our pop-ups, follow @umsu_southbank on Instagram!
More UMSU... Council Meetings
https://umsu.unimelb.edu.au/about/ studentscouncil
Council Minutes
https://umsu.unimelb.edu.au/about/ studentscouncil/council-minutes
Farrago Live Reportage @farragomagazine on Twitter
Ida Bar!
Level 1, Building 168
General Secretary, Activities, Creative Arts, Education, International, Burnley, Environment, People of Colour, Queer, & Women’s Departments were all invited to submit statements, but failed to do so before the due date. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
7
NEWS
Improving State-Wide Police Responses to Family Violence Calls Words by Taylah Xuereb
A
s the femicide crisis in Australia continues, more activists and politicians are calling on the Victorian government to take further action. Currently, Legalise Cannabis Party MP for the South-Eastern Metropolitan Region, Rachel Payne, is calling on the Labor government to make the Alexis Family Violence Response Model (Alexis-FVRM) a state-wide initiative. Alexis-FVRM is a type of response model that functions by having specialist family violence practitioners operate within police family violence units. In action, this would see these practitioners accompanying police units when responding to domestic violence calls. The Victorian government has piloted this initiative since 2014, which is currently present within five Victorian police units. Payne is calling for all 29 units to operate within this model. This expansion would cost the government $10 million annually. “When you see $100 million invested into the [F1] Grand Prix [every year], when you see how much money is invested into horse racing, in 8
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comparison to how much is invested into prevention of family violence, then we’re really dealing with a major issue here of government not prioritising something that impacts the whole community,” Payne told Farrago. Specialist family violence practitioners provide immediate support during these incidents, but also offer an avenue for all parties involved to access additional services that they may need after the immediate emergency response call. “Police are there as the frontline responses. They only respond to the issue around violence. They don’t then provide that follow-up or holistic support around what’s needed,” Payne said. Moreover, this program, supported by the Salvation Army, aids police responses by ensuring officers act appropriately and proportionately. A specialist family practitioner can help police identify nuanced issues that are brought about by domestic violence calls like handling coercive control and navigating misidentification.
NEWS
Recent Success of Alexis-FVRM
As found by the 2025 Legislative Assembly Legal and Social Issues Committee, reforming misidentification should be a key focus in the government’s approach to domestic violence. Misidentification happens when the victim-survivor is misidentified as the family member exercising violence, which occurs within 10-12 per cent of Victoria Police Family Violence Reports, as stated by the Committee. This nuanced response ensures all parties involved: children, victimsurvivors, and perpetrators, get the assistance they need to prevent the continuation of these deadly cycles of family violence. Alexis-FVRM was first piloted in the Bayside area of Melbourne, which saw an 85 per cent reduction in family violence recidivism for AlexisFVRM clients during the start of the program’s implementation. In 2020, a follow-up investigation was conducted to analyse if previous perpetrators had used violence against others outside of the pilot catchment zones. It was concluded that 51 per cent of Alexis-FVRM respondents had no further police callouts recorded in Victoria. Due to this success, the model was introduced to more police units in the South-East of Melbourne. Last October, the Allan Labor Government announced a $1.5 million investment
into the program, leading to its implementation in two additional police units. Alexis-FVRM is now present in Caroline Springs, Ballarat, Prahran, Bayside, Morwell and Wonthaggi. “Victoria Police plays a critical role in responding to family violencehaving specialist workers embedded alongside officers means better support for victim-survivors from the very first call,” the then-Police Minister Anthony Carbines said at the time of this expansion. Farrago reached out to Victoria Police but were told they do not facilitate student requests.
Distrust in Law Enforcement
Family violence specialist workers, as a part of Alexis-FVRM, would have a direct connection to the communities they’re representing, including LGBTQIA+, Indigenous, and culturally and linguistically diverse communities. When victim-survivors involved in family violence calls are connected to their community, they are more likely to feel comfortable with the family violence specialists who are representative of said community. “Through that connection and that trust is when there’s more often than not disclosures around incidents of family violence, and seeking support around that,” Payne said. This comfortability is crucial given the widespread distrust in law enforcement, particularly among
women and migrant communities. As stated by the International Journal of Research and Policy, those experiencing discrimination in Australia have approximately 65 per cent lower odds of reporting higher trust in the police. Moreover, this trust can be further tarnished when women experience or witness secondary victimisation, at times through “dismissive or insensitive police responses to gender-based crimes”, as stated by the journal. Secondary victimisation is when the victim of a crime experiences additional harm due to treatment at the hands of others and institutions. “Where people who are experiencing family violence have good engagement with social services... Those young people and children have a better trajectory and are less likely to end up [within] other services such as corrections or youth services,” Giselle Bailey, a pivotal contributor to the design of AlexisFVRM stated in an interview with 774 ABC Radio Melbourne. A state-wide implementation of Alexis-FVRM could see domestic violence perpetrators re-offending less, aiding both victim-survivors and offenders. “[There should be] more concentration on perpetrator behaviours to reduce those repeat offences and get those people linked into support, so they’re less likely to continue that violent behaviour,” Bailey said. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
9
NEWS
Ramsay Centre Donation in Limbo after UniMelb Academic Board Vote Words by Declan Chan
A
$35 million donation from the Ramsay Centre for Western Civilisation is on hold following the University’s academic board vote against the scholarship scheme. The University has already received the money, after clearing the University Council’s gift procedures before the vote. The Academic Board, which adjudicates the rules and conditions of scholarships, voted 39 to 37 against the proposal on 30 July. The Board is the University’s chief academic body. Its membership spans all nine faculties and includes every salaried professor, deans, heads of schools and departments, and professorial fellows. The Chancellor, Vice-Chancellor, deputy and pro vice-chancellors are also members. Students hold a small number of seats, including the presidents of UMSU and the GSA. Under the University of Melbourne Statute, the Board is responsible to the Council for quality assurance in academic activities. Its powers include setting policy and monitoring selection 10
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requirements for prizes, scholarships and other forms of academic recognition. The Board voted against the proposal after receiving a fourpage explanation of the checks and balances, including that the scholarship selection panel would include one Ramsay Centre representative.
The University’s Position
Farrago was informed that philanthropic donations undergo rigorous assessment before proceeding. A spokesperson said the University has acknowledged the donation and that the specific scholarship arrangements were being progressed through standard governance processes. Interim Vice-Chancellor Professor Glyn Davis said the donation would “make a transformative difference to the lives of our students”. The University’s Gift Committee approved acceptance of the donation
in October 2025, nine months before the partnership was announced publicly. The spokesperson said the separation of duties, between the University Council and Gift Committee, and the Academic Board is common practice to manage risks and academic standards. Melbourne Law School professor and NTEU’s Victorian Assistant Secretary Joo-Cheong Tham said the Academic Board should have been consulted before the money was accepted, not after. He said the current process gave the impression of a “fait accompli”. NTEU branch president David Gonzalez said the initial discussions about the partnership took place behind closed doors. “Programs that give external organisations privileged influence or access to our students deserve transparent consultation with the people who will ultimately be responsible for delivering them,” Gonzalez said. Closed-door gift negotiation
NEWS
is common across Australian universities. The Universities Australia Code of Practice provides that donors can expect their details to be treated confidentially, and the University’s Gift Policy directs staff to notify University Advancement of any approach about a potential gift before it is accepted.
A Divided Board
History professor Zoe Laidlaw, who voted against the proposal, said the “promotion of ʻWestern Civilisation’ excludes and denigrates other cultures, whether intentionally or not”. She said proceeding would undermine the University’s capacity to live up to its commitments to antiracism and address the harm caused by its colonial past. “Philanthropy ... is not neutral,” she told The Age. Pro Vice-Chancellor Sara Wills, who voted for the proposal, said rigorous processes surrounded the scholarship and it did not compromise academic freedom. “We should accept that we live in a world where there are views that are different from us [that] we may not agree with,” she said. UMSU has described the Academic Board’s vote as a rejection of the Ramsay Centre partnership and a “victory” for academic independence. “It sends a clear message that academic independence cannot be compromised,” said UMSU president Lushy Chinganya. The scholarship included $32,000 per year over two years to 30 students annually, across five intakes starting 2027. It would provide $6,500 in support to study abroad, an international summer school, an annual regional leadership program and a community service program. Students majoring in History, Philosophy, Art History, Classics, Ancient World Studies, or English and Theatre Studies would be eligible. Despite this, academic freedom has been a central objection at many of the institutions the Ramsay Centre has approached. The Australian National University withdrew from negotiations in 2018. Then Vice-Chancellor Brian Schmidt said the Centre’s continued demands
for control over the program were inconsistent with the University’s academic autonomy. Schmidt said the Centre had been unwilling to accept ANU’s draft curriculum, had refused the University’s preferred degree name and wanted a joint management committee whose representatives could sit in on classes and conduct “health checks” on courses and teachers. The University of Sydney entered talks in 2018 but never reached an agreement. An open letter that year drew about 200 staff signatures. A second letter in 2019, responding to a revised proposal from then ViceChancellor Michael Spence, said the plan had been developed without consultation with the disciplines concerned or reference to the University’s Academic Board. The University of Wollongong signed in December 2018 and the University of Queensland in August 2019. Both agreements established dedicated Western Civilisation degrees. Under the Queensland arrangement, the Centre funded ten full-time academic positions, and a Ramsay representative was entitled to sit on hiring committees. The University of Melbourne has said all elements of the program would be administered and delivered by the university and that no new degrees or majors would be developed. The donation funds nine new positions in the Faculty of Arts: a program director, two senior lecturers, three lecturers, a program manager and a program coordinator. The University’s July announcement did not mention the staffing. The Ramsay Centre’s own announcement said the Centre would fund staffing to support the program, without specifying the roles. It also has said that Ramsay representatives will sit on the scholarship selection panel, rather than on academic hiring committees. The University’s Student Awards Policy requires that University members must outnumber external members on a selection panel, which the proposal abides by. “Our concerns have largely been ... the problem of fixed-term funding by
a politicised private foundation,” said Andrew Bonnell, history professor, and then president of Queensland’s NTEU branch. “[It] means that essentially they can pull the funding if they think it’s not serving their political and ideological interests,” he said. “Even though the [University of Queensland] insists they’re maintaining independence, they’re still allowing an outside body to essentially purchase seats on selection committees,” Bonnell said. Wollongong renewed its partnership through to 2031. The Centre also partners with Australian Catholic University.
Who’s Behind the Money?
The Ramsay Centre for Western Civilisation was founded in 2017 through an endowment from the late Australian healthcare businessman Paul Ramsay. Its chairman, Allan Myers, was Chancellor at University of Melbourne between 2017 and 2022. The Ramsay Centre’s website states Myers was appointed as non-executive director in 2021, while he was incumbent Chancellor. He later became its chairman in 2024, succeeding former prime minister John Howard. Former prime minister Tony Abbott also sits on the Centre’s board. Its founding board also included former Labor leader Kim Beazley. The University said there were no discussions with the Ramsay Centre about the scholarship before December 2022. A sub-committee of the Board will consider the proposal, which could lead to a further vote. The full Board has scheduled a meeting for 10 September. Professor Carolyn Evans is due to begin as Vice-Chancellor this October, succeeding interim Vice-Chancellor Glyn Davis, who announced the original agreement. If the sub-committee has not reported by 10 September, the Board’s next opportunity to vote again may not come until after Evans has started.
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Thousands of Students Take to the Streets to Protest the Rise of One Nation Words by Amelie Martin Photography by Josefine Enke
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housands of high school and university students left class on 13 August to protest Pauline Hanson’s party, One Nation. Students gathered in front of the State Library, joining a nationwide protest organised by the National Union of Students and the High School Anti-Capitalists. Students mobilised in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Canberra, Adelaide, Perth, Wollongong and Newcastle, carrying posters and banners which highlighted their opposition to Hanson’s policies. In Melbourne, students listened to speeches in front of the Library for about an hour before marching around the block and returning to the library for final speeches. Many high school students were enthusiastic to talk about their role in this protest. A Year 7 student from Footscray High School stated, “[We’re] protesting against the racist.” “I want my friends to feel safe … she’s going to make abortion illegal, she’s going to attack Muslims and Asians.” Said a Year 8 student from Fitzroy High School, accompanied by a group of friends. “I want to defend my rights as a human.” A student from Albert Park College cited similar concerns. Some Year 10 and 11 students from Sandringham College said, “She’s a white supremacist, I’m done with all that.” These attitudes were reflected in a series of chants that echoed through the crowd: “Racist, sexist, anti-queer, One Nation’s not welcome here” and “migrants are welcome, racists are not.” While many suggest that children are being unfairly politicised by adults, the protesters expressed enthusiasm for a chance to share their political views. Some RMIT students, standing beside the march, expressed, “It feels really empowering, it’s so cool, but it’s also dystopian in the fact that we have to do this.” Sandringham College students said that they were proud “to know that we have a sense of unity within this community, and that we can make a change”.
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When asked about criticisms of youth protests, Sandringham students said, “I think it’s a lot of crap.” The protest was generally peaceful with students complimenting each other’s signs and laughing; however, a One Nation supporter was seen yelling at some students and escorted away from the protest by five police officers. It is not known exactly what his complaints were, however, police repeatedly told him, “you’re creating a public nuisance at a lawful protest.” In response to the protests, Pauline Hanson posted on social media, “Schools should teach young Australians how to think, not what to think.” However, according to protesters, many schools were not encouraging them to attend the protest. Some Year 7 students at Footscray High School stated that while some students put up posters, they were taken down by the principal. Farrago reached out to Footscray High School for comment but has not received a response to these claims. At the University of Melbourne, posters were taken down during the protest. Farrago has been informed that University security did not remove any posters. Some graffiti related to the protest was covered by security due to a violation of University policy. Victorian Premier Ben Carroll encouraged students to stay home, stating, “You want to change the world, stay at school … focus on what you’re learning in the classroom.” Some students attribute their values to their parents, with one student from Ballarat stating, “My mum has been super supportive, she’s been posting all over her Instagram encouraging it. She’s also a very political person and she’s raised me the same way and that’s why I care a lot.” An older man watching the march on Elizabeth Street said that he was enjoying watching and attempting to spot his granddaughter in the crowd. Professor Benjamin Moffitt, Senior Lecturer in Politics and International Relations at Monash University suggested that the blame for this protest lies with Hanson herself, the Coalition and Gina Rinehart, rather
than schools. A timely intersection between the collapse of the Coalition in the polls and the backing of Australia’s richest woman has created an environment for Hanson to attract support. “Gina Rinehart has started throwing her money behind the party, so that’s obviously allowed them to pump up their advertising, attract more attention and professionalise to some extent. Having one of Australia’s richest people behind you certainly helps things.” The shift towards right-wing populism is not just an Australian phenomenon. The Republicans in the US, the National Rally in France, the AfD in Germany and the FPÖ in Austria are just some examples of this trend on the global stage. However, unlike many other parties, One Nation is experiencing this popularity for the first time, as Hanson has existed on the fringe of politics since she got expelled from the Liberal Party in 1996 for her maiden speech to Parliament, stating, “I believe we are in danger of being swamped by Asians.” Since then, she has appeared on commercial programs, such as Channel 10 and 7, which Professor Moffitt suggests has softened her image and distracted from the extremity of her political beliefs. “I would put it as bluntly as this. I think it’s fair to say that if Pauline Hanson hadn’t had her reputation rehabilitated by commercial television, between Dancing with the Stars, Celebrity Apprentice and Sunrise appearances throughout the 2010s, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He said. Now, experts suggest that the media holds responsibility to ensure that candidates such as Hanson are adequately fact checked and held to account for any bigoted remarks that she may make. As students look to the future and interested parties anticipate their next move, it is clear that they are excited to continue to share their voice and participate in Australia’s democracy in the only way that most of them can. There is expected to be another rally on 17 September 2026.
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Australia Diversifies Defence Web as US Becomes Unstable Ally Words by Zeinab Jishi
Is Australia moving away from its role as America’s “deputy sheriff” in the AsiaPacific?
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n 24 March 2026, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese and Defence Minister Richard Marles began their diplomatic “world tour”, signing a security and defence partnership with the European Union. Under the partnership, Australia and the European Union will deepen their cooperation in combating global threats and online radicalisation, amongst other concerns. This follows a similar move in midJune, where Australia signed their largest defence export deal in the country’s history—selling $2.5 billion worth of advanced radar technology to Canada. Albanese said this deal “mark[ed] a significant milestone in Australian defence trade”. Meanwhile, in a joint press conference with Marles, Canada’s Secretary of State Stephen Fuhr emphasised the importance of building strong partnerships with Australia as the “world adjusts to its new strategic and economic realities”. Since then, Australia has continued to expand its defence web, but instead has turned its attention to its backyard, prioritising engagement with its neighbours in the Asia-Pacific region. In late June, Albanese and Vanuatu Prime Minister Jotham Napat signed the Nakamal Agreement, which prevents foreign military bases from being built on the Island. After some domestic resistance in Vanuatu, the final deal required consultation with Australia for foreign participation in critical infrastructure which crucially must be “free from militarisation, any form of foreign interference or unauthorised access”. 14
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Despite the changes to the deal which weakened Australia’s veto power on its infrastructure projects, it establishes Australia as Vanuatu’s primary security partner. “What this does do is to provide certainty for Australia that there will be no foreign military base,” Albanese told reporters, adding that the agreement would “protect our collective and individual security and our sovereignty”. This follows a similar act in July last year, when Australia and Papua New Guinea signed the historic Pukpuk Treaty, Papua New Guinea’s first formal military alliance with any nation, and Australia’s first new military alliance in over 70 years. Under the treaty, which came into effect on 8 July, Australia and Papua New Guinea are bound to come to each other’s defence in the event of an attack, while the two nations will also pursue increased military cooperation and integration. Notably, the treaty established provisions which allow for up to 10,000 Papua New Guineans to serve in the Australian Defence Force (ADF), with recruitment expected to begin in 2027. Moreover, in early July, India and Australia committed to strengthening ties across trade and technology, as well as existing defence pledges—such as the Comprehensive Strategic Partnership, which was established in 2020. The countries have agreed to facilitate greater aircraft deployment in each other’s territories along with increased military exchange programs and joint military training and exercises. Australia has been progressively combining security cooperation with development assistance and climate change resilience, reflecting Australia’s recognition that these factors are essential in maintaining the country’s influence in the Asia-Pacific region.
Threats from China
The partnership with India came days after China conducted a missile test in the Pacific which Albanese described as a “provocative act” that “destabilise[s] the region”. China and Vanuatu have also signed separate economic agreements which provide loans to finance Chinese contractors to build infrastructure there, as well as construct roads and buildings across the South Pacific as part of China’s Belt and Road Initiative. The two countries have also established policing ties in 2023, with Beijing donating drones, patrol boats and vehicles to the island nation’s police force. It is clear that the motivating factor behind Australia’s series of agreements with Pacific Island states is to curb China’s influence in the region, as well as address economic and security concerns which have arisen from the war in Iran. China has expressed concern over Australia’s agreement with Vanuatu, arguing it was being targeted by Canberra. “We hope that cooperation between relevant countries and Pacific Island countries will contribute to the development and stability of the island region, not target any third party or be used as a tool for geopolitical rivalry,” said Guo Jiakun, a spokesperson for China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs. According to the ADF, their defence strategy is focused on deterrence, self-reliance and building stronger international partnerships. “[The 2026 National Defence Strategy] builds on the foundations laid in the 2024 strategy. It is not a departure in direction, but a strengthening of resolve with an increased focus on self-reliance,” Marles said. Building resilience at home
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has become a central strategy of Australia’s foreign policy. “Our focus will be on investing in a defence industrial base that produces and sustains critical capabilities for the Australian Defence Force, that reduces vulnerability to supply chain shocks and over-reliance on concentrated sources of foreign supply,” Minister for Defence Industry Pat Conroy said.
Dealing with an Unstable Ally and Shifting Priorities
The relatively recent emphasis on self-reliance as part of Australia’s defence strategy comes with growing distrust in reliance on the US, as Canberra faces an unpredictable administration in Washington, and a growing gap in national security priorities. In 2026, the Lowy Institute found that 68 per cent of Australians do not trust the US to act responsibly—a number that has been increasing since US President Donald Trump’s return to office in 2024, and the lowest recorded confidence in the US since 2006. Similarly, the Australian Institute found that 66 per cent of Australians want a review of AUKUS—the trilateral security partnership between Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States, which aims to provide Australia with nuclear-powered attack submarines. Less than half of respondents expressed support for the military pact, with just 49 per cent of Australians feeling that the agreement would make Australia safer. “The AUKUS submarine deal would undermine Australia’s ability to make independent decisions about the future of our own security … The AUKUS deal would tie Australia ever closer to an increasingly volatile and unpredictable United States,” said Emma Shortis, Director of the International and Security Affairs program at The Australian Institute. Concurrently, distrust in China has been falling down to 72 per cent, with the gap between the distrust towards China and the US falling to just four per cent among Australians. Exemplified by the $2.5 trillion wipe
out from the US stock market on 2 April following Trump’s global “Liberation Day” tariffs, questions have been rising about whether Australia can afford to lean heavily on the US as a security partner. Trump’s “America First” positioning, through the US’ enactment of harsh tariffs against allies, economic onshoring, and its withdrawals from key international bodies, has signalled to allies that they are no longer a priority to the White House. In particular, Trump’s comments on Canada becoming America’s 51st state, his threats to invade Greenland, and his promise to withhold protection for European allies that don’t pay for defence spending, have all generated significant concerns for defence analysts. “These actions have led many to question whether Australia has become too dependent on its major ally and if we need to emphasise a more self-reliant defence posture. However, this is much easier said than done.” David Andrews, a Senior Policy Advisor at ANU National Security College wrote. However, Sam Roggeveen, the director of the international security program at the Lowy Institute, argues that Australia must continue to think independently about its security regardless of who is in charge in the US. “The harsh truth for Australia and for other allies in the region is that the Americans aren’t going to do the heavy lifting for us, and want us to do it ourselves,” he said.
Placing Down the Sheriff’s Hat
In the 2000s, as focus began to shift away from the peacekeeping interventions to one shaped by counter-terrorism operations, the US and Australia were in alignment when it came to defence goals and strategy. Following the September 11 attacks, Australian Prime Minister John Howard invoked the ANZUS Treaty for the first and only time in the country’s history, joining US President George W. Bush’s “war on terror”. Australia deployed Australian forces to Afghanistan and contributed
2,000 troops to invade Iraq to overthrow the regime of dictator Saddam Hussein, recentering Australia’s relationship with the US as core to its foreign policy. In 2003, then US President George W. Bush gave Australia the nickname of US’ “deputy sheriff” in the AsiaPacific. 25 years later, Australia is now more preoccupied with its own region and emanating threats from China. In order for Australia to achieve its own defence goals while accommodating to America’s increasing pull towards deglobalisation, Peter Dean, director of foreign policy and defence at the United States Studies Centre at the University of Sydney, suggests that Australia would need to massively increase its defence spending. “If you look at the mismatch between the scale of our territory and the scale of our ability to defend it—it’s one of the most glaring mismatches in the world,” he said. He argued that the US, through its partnerships with South Korea, Australia, Japan and other states, can balance China’s power and influence. However, there is no “ready-made state” that could place this. However, Roggeveen contended that Australia must accept that its alliance with the US will become less important over time. “With that in mind, we have to look geographically much closer to home,” he says. Ultimately, defence priorities will continue to shift farther away from the US’ aims, and distrust in the US due to an unstable administration will only continue to rise. However, the legacy of a longstanding relationship will continue to impact Australia’s ability to assert its independence. With the lack of a clear replacement, whether or not Australia will be able to distance itself from the US is yet to be seen. What is certain, however, is that as the volatility of global affairs escalates, that Australia will continue to turn its focus towards its backyard, reshaping its foreign policy around the AsiaPacific region.
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Who Owns Pine Gap? Video by Alexandra Nevill and Finley Monaghan-Mc Grath
Felicity Hayes: Watch the news and you see everything. Bombing up the places, where young people, old people live. So how is that happening? Is it coming through Pine Gap? That’s what I’m thinking, you know. And it’s making us sad. Especially coming from us Arrernte people’s country. Abby Martin: We know it’s providing the intelligence for the Gaza genocide as we speak and for the targeting in Iran and across the Middle East. And every single base is a story of expansion, because once the US military sets up shop, they don’t leave. They expand. Alexandra Nevill: In July 2026, we travelled to Alice Springs. As the Hayes family, the traditional custodians of Kuyunba [Pine Gap], called for their land to be returned. Felicity Hayes: In Arrernte we say Pine Gap is the white man’s name. But ours is Kuyunba. Kuyunba is our country. Alexandra Nevill: The Joint US Australian Defence Facility is one of the United States’ most strategically important military bases. Behind the tightly surveilled fences sit multiple sacred sites. Some inaccessible for decades. Felicity Hayes: They used to take my grandpa to see the sacred site at Kuyunba. I don’t think he knew they were going to build something there. You know in those days, our old people didn’t really talk English proper. I think they must have took advantage of him. We never got compensated or anything. And right now we are living at White Gate camp. Alexandra Nevill: Is the reason that everyone is living at White Gate, because they were displaced from there land that Pine Gap now sits on? 16
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Felicity Hayes: Yeah, and we are just about three or four kilometres out of Alice Springs. Which is where the crow flies. We are still in tin sheds and there is no water or power. The power and the running water goes up to the gun club. From there on there’s nothing. Alexandra Nevill: Is the location of White Gate also really significant for your family? Felicity Hayes: Yeah, there’s a lot of sacred sites out that way as well. And like trying to get government to help, nothing is ever done. They go out there and have a look and then they say, “We’ll do something about it.” As soon as they get on the road, they’re all forgotten. I just want people to come and have a look and see what they think about White Gate. See it with your own eyes, and have a look. And see what I mean. How my family is still living there today. Alexandra Nevill: Can you tell me a little about yourself and where we are? John Wallace: I’m John Wallace, I’m president of White Gate. And my friend here is Rod Moss. He’s my best mate. Rod Moss: It helps that we both barrack for Collingwood. John Wallace: He usually comes out here every morning. When we ring [him] up, he comes around. We got no ambulances that come out here. But he usually comes out. Rod Moss: But it could be hospital, it could be shopping, you name it. Whatever human needs are, we just do it. But in 1985 I was here, before John was here. In 1985 the Federal Minister for Aboriginal Affairs came, promising houses. And they walk out that gate and they forget. As [Felicity] says,
it doesn’t seem to matter at all. They come, they say, “Oh we went, we visited.” This is still regarded as Crown Land. There was a lawyer, and he was trying to get a double lease arrangement. Between Crown Land and special lease. He’d done it in Arnhem Land. I don’t know what happened to that. Well, obviously nothing happened. John Wallace: Look at my little tin shed. There is broken rains coming through. Rod Moss: Summer is incredibly hot. Winter is incredibly cold. John Wallace: In the mornings, it’s cold. Frost. You know, you got a heater back home. Warm with a hot shower. I’ve got nothing here. Rod Moss: His shed is not in a good place for him. He wants to be near that ironwood, on top of the hill. Because that tree is really special for his wife. They’ve got a story with that tree. John Wallace: Not me, for my wife. Story for her to tell. Rod Moss: There are other trees here that are very important. Can’t knock them down. John Wallace: Dreamtime you know. Alexandra Nevill: And that’s why it is important that you do stay here? You could, theoretically, have housing elsewhere, but it’s important about having housing here? Rod Moss: That’s right. The stories are here.
For the full video visit our website farragomagazine.com
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Observations in Vietnam Photography by Josefine Enke
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Photography by Nurhildayati VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Walking through the city at night, the lights and signs become our stars. They divide our attention, but they also guide us through the unfamiliar. The city lights illuminate our memories of each place, of the warm and the cold.
Photography by David Wu
Night Stars
As someone whose name is inspired by the moon, whenever I look up, I feel like I am looking at a kindred soul, a soul who is a silent witness to every version of me. As a person who has evolved so much over time, in a world that changes so rapidly, it is reassuring to look up and see something that still looks the same all these years.
The Moon Still Looks The Same by Monyq San Tropez VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Houston, We Have a Problem:
Words by Mia
“There will be no art, no literature, no science. When we are omnipotent, we shall have no more need of science.” – George Orwell, 1984 Back in September 2025, then acting NASA Administrator Sean Duffy claimed the United States had a “manifest destiny to the stars”. Manifest destiny, for those not familiar, refers to the colonial and white supremacist belief that has its origins in the mid-19th century. This term is laden with racist, imperialist connotations. The nationalist narratives surrounding space travel are not new, but have, in recent years, been dragged out once again as Cold War anxiety meets a dramatic global swing towards the far-right. This language being dragged up again in 2025 is a clear indicator of the resurgence of the kind of romantic narratives of US history this administration has been employing as a mechanism of control. When Trump made clear in his first term that space is to be considered “the final frontier”, he reignited a decades-long tradition of disguising space research behind American charisma, pride and entitlement. The difficulty with these nationalist narratives is that, in their assumption of unity, dissent remains rife. Amidst all the “to infinity and beyond” and “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”, there’s a chorus of people asking “why should I care?”. Just days before the Artemis II launch, Israel had announced a one-sided death penalty against Palestinians, and America hadn’t said boo. Police continued to brutalise and terrorise individuals whose only crime was protesting a genocidal war criminal. Amidst global instability, a host of humanitarian crises occurring on domestic and foreign soils, the language of “we rise together, back to the moon” feels misplaced. We 22
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may be travelling together back to the moon, but some of us are sitting shotgun and some of us are being dragged along the pavement by our ankles, screaming to deaf ears that we want to be cut loose.
“How is an Indigenous child on a reserve in North America supposed to connect with space exploration if the language is the same language that led to the genocide of his people?” – Natalie Treviño These nationalist narratives serve two goals – the first, to endorse an “America first” mentality that means people predisposed to national pride support American imperialism transcending the Kármán line to infiltrate the stars. Interestingly, whilst historically support for space programs has been associated with higher levels of education and liberalism, there is a wave of conservatives and evangelicals actively supporting space programs. Colonial language of space strongly resonates with these decentralised religious units, transforming an epistemic quest for knowledge into a political bargaining chip. The second, for those who don’t like being grouped in with the former, these narratives sow retaliatory questions “why do I give a fuck? What does space even matter? What even is the point?”. This is dangerous in its own way. In 2026, space, and who has control of it, really, really, really matters. The difference between the space program in the 1960s and now is that, whilst global tensions remain high, space infrastructure has become completely and totally necessary to sustain life as we know it. Our reliance on cell connectivity, GPS, SATCOM usage in natural disaster response, climate monitoring and atmospheric research satellites has rendered us vulnerable to political coercion as global monopolies fight for space
dominance. Much of the arguments defending space travel are treated almost as if we’re discussing humanity’s quest for purpose. The ISS sits at an orbit of only 450km above sea level. On the cosmic level, we may as well be holding hands with the astronauts. So what is it about existing above and below the Kármán line that inspires these grandiose claims of humanity’s quest for truth, knowledge and purpose. Truthfully, it’s because that’s the bit that’s the only bit that’s useful and accessible to us. So when we refer to “space”, we’re not really referring to the awe-inspiring wonders of the cosmos. We’re referring to the bit between ~300km to 35000km above sea level. And also, maybe the Moon. And Mars. But I’ll get to that. The lower altitudes of this orbit (approximately 300 to 1000km) are referred to as Low-Earth Orbit, and this is where 88% of all satellites fly. Within LEO, SpaceX operates about 60% of all active satellites, and their Starlink network provides internet to over 10 million customers worldwide, including most major mobile network providers globally. The politicisation of LEO extends beyond who simply reaps the profit of operating those satellites. SpaceX seemingly has the ability shut down entire regional networks, plunging entire communities and perhaps countries into a communications blackout. And there’s precedent for this. In 2022, Reuters reported that Musk ordered Starlink engineers to shut down coverage in areas Ukraine was attempting to reclaim from Russia. Ukrainian troops and civilians were plunged into a communications blackout. Surveillance drones operating over operationally key areas of Russia lost connection, and long-range artillery units were unable to fire. Musk has denied the claims. Instances such as these are
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The USA is Colonising Space. a
salient reminder of the critical dangers of space monopolies, particularly private enterprise monopolies. At the time of writing, 63% of operational satellites in orbit belong to the United States. Not to mention that the USA completely owns and operates the Global Positioning System (GPS), which can be deactivated at any point in time for particular regions (and has been). So, when Trump had an awkward interstellar phone call with the four astronauts aboard the Orion capsule, emphasising how happy he was to “allow other countries like Canada” to enjoy space as well, the implication was clear. Other countries can go to space, on America’s terms. The US does not just own space. They dominate it. Just days ago, NASA released plans to establish a permanent lunar base. It’s pretty understandable that people are raising eyebrows at Trump’s apparent sudden love for the stars when these plans are coming out of a quite staunch “anti-science” administration. In fact, in early 2025, the White House proposed a 24% budget cut to
NASA. And just days before the Artemis II mission lifted off from Cape Canaveral, Trump unveiled another show of support for his love of science – a request for NASA’s 2027 budget to be cut by 23%. What’s more, the President’s request for the division of funding to NASA includes slashing the money allocated to “science” (Earth science, planetary science etc.) in half. So, the question is, why would a man who has slashed 7400 research grants, terminated over 25,000 scientists and requested historic budget cuts to cancer research, planetary and earth observation science, and R&D funding in the renewables sector, care so much about an epistemic exploration of the stars? Well, because he doesn’t. In order to understand Trump’s ardent support for this moon
base, it’s critical to know the slimy underbelly of space history that is often swept aside, in favour of shiny pictures of the Mercury 7. Space has always been a battlefield for feats of strength and lethal dickswinging. It is without a doubt that space travel as we know it today would not exist if it weren’t for the development of the V2 rocket by the Nazis. Once the war had ended, Operation Paperclip enabled the
USA to employ a number of Nazi party scientists to develop their space program, the most notable being Wernher von Braun. In the late 50s and early 60s, the USA and the USSR carried out a series of nuclear tests in space. The most notable of these was “Starfish Prime”, a 1.4 megaton bomb that was detonated by the US at roughly the altitude that the ISS orbits (400km). Electromagnetic pulse effects were felt as far away as Hawaii. Detonated by the USSR in 1962, Nuclear Test 184 induced electrical damage in Kazakhstan, resulting in a fire in a power plant. Following these tests, the Limited Test Ban Treaty was signed by the USA, the USSR and the UK. This treaty effectively put an end to underwater, underground and highaltitude nuclear tests. Whilst some diplomacy governs what actions may and may not be undertaken in LEO, those restrictions are comparatively much looser on the Moon. The Moon, like LEO, has been a contentious point of military prowess. In the late 1950s, before plans for humans to land on the moon had even been publicly announced, Project A119 was in the works. The US was developing plans to detonate a nuclear bomb on the surface of the moon as a show of American supremacy. The program was ultimately cancelled, but this project remains an acrid reminder of military propensity to see the Moon as colonisable real estate. A web search with the query “why are we going back to the moon?” returns a lot of answers that broadly fall into one of two categories. The first speaks to humanity’s propensity to explore and investigate the unknown. In this sense, advocates for the return to the moon consider lunar exploration a sort of birth-right. They can’t fathom the possibility VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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that we could just… let something be. The second answer is almost the inverse of that response. Rather than seeing the moon as a celestial wonder, this argument conceives of the moon almost as an extension to the Earth. The existentialist magic of space travel has been sacrificed in the name of ubiquity, and in its place remains the urge to conquer the bloody commies. Most answers that align with this school of thought espouse something to the effect of “there are lots of resources on the moon that can be useful”. Most commonly cited are Helium-3, certain rare earth minerals and critically, ice that can be separated into constituent parts, and used as rocket fuel. The natural extension to these reasons is to ask “but WHY do we care about those resources? What ends justify the means?”, and the answer is always different, depending on who you ask. Some cite the importance of using the moon as a Martian gateway, an interstellar service station. Some say certain valuable resources which are (marginally) more abundant on the moon can be brought back to Earth. Some say we can establish a more permanent lunar base to conduct scientific research about the moon and beyond. It is this claim I am most sceptical of, considering the substantial budget cuts other areas of scientific research have faced. Regardless of the motivations for returning to the moon, one thing is clear. Whoever is first to establish human support infrastructure on the moon will have the first pick of location–which includes things like manageable temperatures, proximity to resources, and scientifically significant areas. That is, whilst we may not currently clearly know why we are returning to the moon, we do know that the people who get back there first will be the ones to decide. With these extensive examples of militarisation in mind, it becomes clear to see that these nationalist narratives don’t only serve as a political tool of false unification; they also seek to obfuscate the militant and colonial reasons for 24
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returning to the stars. “Sciencewashing” space, if you will. It indentures the idea of national progress and pride being associated with technological progress, further shifting power into the hands of tech oligarchs. In these rousing speeches and press releases blatant use of colonial language (“frontier”, “conquer”, “conquest”), they highlight how modern efforts to pursue space juxtapose Indigenous understandings of the stars. For cultures that practice oral tradition, the stars are a wealth of information on weather, seasonal change and memory. While Indigenous cultures globally understand the stars as a spiritual guide, the keepers of creation stories, and a guide to the land, modern understandings see the stars as nothing more than an endless, inky pot of oil to extract from. In the context of Aboriginal Australians, Dr Duane Hamacher discusses light pollution as an ongoing form of cultural genocide, eroding Aboriginal’s ability to engage with a deeply necessary part of their cultural, scientific and linguistic understandings.
“Given that Indigenous cultures in places like Australia maintain close and essential connections with the stars, the very foundation of Indigenous cosmology, knowledge systems, social structure, and the library of oral traditions is being actively destroyed through encroaching light pollution.” – Dr Hamacher. It’s sad to say, but the era of sending people to space purely for the purposes of scientific discovery is well and truly gone, if it ever existed at all. The motivations of state and private actors sit squarely in the realm of what will yield both profit and power. They lie in stark opposition to mine and many of my peers motivations for wanting to study and work in space, our career ambition fuelled by remnants of a child-like wonder for the cosmos. Artists’ renditions of galaxies tumbling in kaleidoscopic colour, images of bubble-headed
astronauts bouncing around the outside of a spaceship with Earth serenely sitting in the backdrop. Studies of astronomy and space are as ancient as language, but equally, so is humanity’s propensity to capitalise on vulnerable people’s fragility. As someone aspiring to work in the space industry, I can’t help but feel I’m trying to get a job with a cosmic property developer. As a tyrannical administration continue to push narratives of unity and progress at all costs, it is tempting to disengage with the narratives. To condemn space travel as useless and juvenile. But space has never been as important as it is right now. To turn your attention away from these efforts is to enable billionaires unprecedented control over your cell coverage, your images, your data. It allows a select few to dictate who has access to these now critical infrastructures and in what ways the most marginalised communities will and will not be allowed to interface with them.
“Everything is written twice– on the ground, and in the sky.” – Mowaljarlai and Malnic
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VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Jane Schoenbrun,
not-so-hyper-pop,
and the dream of
T
ransitioning, obviously, is a constant process. I’m going to be on hormones for presumably my entire life, and it’s not as if your changes stop the second you reach one year—I’ve had friends joke that the essence of transitioning is getting hotter every day—but I’m at a point where I’m settled into my body, I’m used to the sound of my own name, I’m comfortable in my identity and the way I express it to others. Whilst I’m always going to be transitioning, it’s clear to me that, in some ways, I have already transitioned. I’ve been thinking a lot recently about this distinction, especially in the context of writing about my own queerness and my own experience as a trans woman. Especially with the music I write and (supposedly, I’m working on it) perform, I’m concerned with how I think about transness—I’m scared that so much of what I write revolves exclusively around it, but I worry that to not address it would be to cut out a part of myself. It’s hard trying to draw out the mythical personal voice that innately exists within all of us without wondering if my own is a gimmick, an identity marker in place of an identity. And I can’t help but project these feelings onto the art that I consume.
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A good part of this, I believe, comes from the labelling of any media made by trans people as trans media. Take the hyperpop genre, for example, a music scene defined by its vocal shifting, experimentation and noisy deconstruction of what pop music actually means, and long associated with the trans community. A Pitchfork article on “hyperpoptimism” identifies the genre’s “cathartic breakbeats” and “pitched-up vocal aesthetic” as allowing trans people to come to terms with their identity (and semi-jokingly notes that “some artists have called the [genre] label a slur”). It’s easy to hear the genre name and immediately think of the trans artists, including the late SOPHIE, who have made it what it is. What happens, then, when a prolific trans musician moves away from the experimental explosion of sound that is hyperpop, and instead decides to expand their range of influences, to explore genres of music less inherently associated with their identity? I am, of course, thinking about April Harper Grey, AKA underscores, and her stunning 2026 album U (that I have previously expressed my adoration for!). As opposed to previous release Wallsocket, an album much more intrinsically tied to trans identity, U
feels concerned, more than anything, with the idea of the popstar, expanding its field of influence to the mastery of pop music in all of its forms: EDM, dubstep, 2000s Imogen Heap-esque synthpop tracks, the mythical pop ballad. It feels reductive to label it as simply hyperpop, almost as more of the same—Sputnikmusic’s review of U describes it as “hyper pop with a capitol ʻP’,” NME labels it as “zeitgeisty hyperpop for an overstimulated, isolated generation,” and Spectrum Pulse uses the album to facilitate a wider discussion about music “for the girls,” and more specifically, “for the dolls.” Whilst there is, undeniably, always going to be a level of identityrelated influence that comes with making art (who would have thought that your personal voice is influenced by who you are as a person?) it feels as if people are quick to label work by transgender artists as, first and foremost, transgender art. Whilst these are thoughts that I have sat with for quite some time, they’ve been set off by another, even more recent, piece of media, Jane Schoenbrun’s stunning new film Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. A love letter to shitty horror and the bundle of complicated
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a post-transition
world
emotions that come from it, the film follows Kris (Hannah Einbinder), a breakthrough director who is tasked with rebooting the fictional Camp Miasma franchise, a series of problematic 1980s slashers. Unable to fully explain what about the franchise she finds so compelling, Kris becomes infatuated with recluse actress Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson), the star of the original Miasma film, and the two of them begin to fall down a spiral of obsession, desire, and delightfully dramatic fake blood. Kris is introduced in a position not unlike my own. Having been out as queer for two years, settled into her filmmaking career and a(n ultimately unfulfilling) relationship, we are introduced to her in a kind of slump that, if anything, seems entirely unrelated to her status of in-or-outof-the-closet-ness. Her academic fixation on the horror of the 80s belies a deeper sense of repression, as beneath the “flesh and fluids” of the titular film franchise lies a more personal feeling of desire that Kris is unable to truly express. Through this creative process (and her increasingly intimate relationship with Billy), however, she is able to re-examine her own queer identity in an environment decidedly without labels, without the academic pressure of being an indie filmmaker, and reach into a part of herself that goes beyond just the title of queerness. It’s an incredible watch, affecting me in a way that no movie has in quite some time, possibly since Schoenbrun’s previous film, the quintessential trans experience of 2024’s I Saw the TV Glow. I was half expecting to come out of Miasma with
the same takeaway—“wow, I need to transition MORE”—and instead was met with something that surprisingly resonated even more with me: a trans filmmaker, making a movie that is decidedly not just about being trans, but about the kinds of feelings that I’m now better equipped to explore now that the initial phase of my transition is complete. It’s not that Camp Miasma isn’t about transness whatsoever. Jack Haven plays the fictional series’ iconic villain Little Death, a bullied transgender teen, transformed into a menacing monster with an air vent for a face and a massive spear, who emerges from a nearby lake to hunt the people unfortunate enough to stay at the titular camp. The topic is handled with a refreshing level of fun, taking the trans-coded serial killer trope from films like Silence of the Lambs and turning it into a cathartic bloodbath of transphobia-induced anger—but it’s only an aspect of the film’s overall message: that even the most mediocre, potentially problematic media can still reveal something about ourselves, and that we have to be open to the ways that media affects us, shapes us, brings out the parts of us that we’ve pushed down. In this way, Schoenbrun presents a narrative not necessarily centred around trans identity, one which doesn’t fall into a coming out story, but rather one in which the characters are queer, their queerness does influence them, but their troubles appear to them only after they have settled into their identity. Kris’s problem isn’t that she can’t accept her sexuality, but that she needs to do something with it. She’s
Words by Ivy Kaye
a character who’s gotten past these initial stages and is now allowed to think about sex and desire and shame in a way not many queer characters are allowed to, much in the same way that I, in my own developing sense of stability in my identity, am able to experience joy and heartbreak and pride and peace in a way that I couldn’t have dreamed of even two years ago. I can, the further away I get from the conventional coming out narrative, begin to envision a life for myself that doesn’t simply hinge upon the “what if” of being a woman. I am endlessly grateful to live in a world where art like I Saw the TV Glow and Wallsocket exists—they absolutely changed my world at a time when I sorely needed them‚ showing a kind of comfort in the familiar hum of the television, or in the bombastic affirmation that “girls, like us, are rotten to the core.” Those who are currently going through the terrifying process of coming to terms with themselves, finding for the first time the words and labels to describe their innermost feelings, absolutely need something like I Saw the TV Glow, a confronting mirror to really, truly look inwards with, but I’m so excited that as they settle into themselves, they have these other incredible works of art to grow and change alongside. Yes, the label of trans art seems inescapable, for better or for worse, but it’s clear that there exists a world of creative possibility that exists alongside it. You don’t stop existing as a trans artist, the transition process is never really done, but there’s incredible beauty in becoming a transitioned artist. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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On Cosmic Hope and Moon Joy:
Looking for Among the Stars
Words by Janice Hui
I
first began to read Andy Weir’s science fiction novel Project Hail Mary in early 2024 when I was lining up for a concert outside the Forum. Over the course of seven hours, I consumed at least two 7/11 slurpees, made awkward eye contacts with the tourists on Hozier Lane and watched fans around me exchange bracelets and 28
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do each other’s makeup. Sitting there, surrounded by ordinary people going about their extraordinary lives while immersing myself in Weir’s story of a lone astronaut trying to save planet earth, I thought to myself: if the world was to end today, there is something worth saving here. Fast forward to 2026—the film adaptation of Project Hail Mary was released in theatres on 19 March,
starring Ryan Gosling and directed by renowned filmmaking duo Phil Lord and Christopher Miller. The film has since received international acclaim and became a cultural phenomenon, successfully capturing the hearts of critics and cinephiles alike. In the weeks and months following the film’s debut, it was impossible to go online or have a conversation without it being referenced in some way. I
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was also guilty of participating in the Project Hail Mary frenzy myself, having seen the film three times (twice in IMAX!) in cinemas within a month. So, what about the movie made it so successful? The short answer is that Project Hail Mary is a film that makes us feel good. In a review for the Los Angeles Times, Amy Nicholson wrote that “While Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey inspired the iPad, Lord and Miller want to inspire a better version of us.” Following science-teacherturned-astronaut Ryland Grace (Gosling) in his mission to solve the mystery of the unexpected dimming of the sun that will soon threaten all life forms on Earth, Project Hail Mary delivers a heartwarming story that celebrates the beauty of humanity and unexpected connections. During Grace’s lonely journey in space, he meets Rocky, an alien with the same mission to save his own planet from the sun dying. Rocky’s character and his relationship with Grace was definitely the highlight of the film, his humorous and endearing personality was paired with the moving evolution of their friendship as they joined forces to save the stars. Typically, alien encounters are framed as points of tension and danger in sci-fi fiction, and Project Hail Mary briefly plays into this trope in Rocky’s introduction as Grace approaches their first meeting with equal caution and paranoia. However, the audience’s expectations were inverted when Rocky is revealed to be a friendly ally seeking connection instead of posing as an extraterrestrial threat. Rather than being a film about humanity’s battle with external monsters and aliens, it becomes an uplifting story about love and survival in the face of an unforgiving universe. Project Hail Mary’s story of hope and resilience against the backdrop of the vastness of space finds itself in the emerging subgenre of “cosmic hope”. As an inversion of “cosmic horror”, which provokes feelings of existentialism and dread as humanity confronts the reality of a universe much larger than itself, cosmic hope offers a much more optimistic perspective by framing human existence as a part of the
incomprehensible and expansive universe of which we already belong. Cosmic hope rejects the paranoia prominent in Lovecraftian cosmic horror, focusing instead on the sense of awe inspired by the beauty and possibilities of the universe and realising that we too play a small part in it. Project Hail Mary captures this feeling effectively in its most memorable and visually impressive scene, where Grace, suspended alone outside his spacecraft, takes a moment to marvel at the magnificent view of the stars surrounding him. As the grandiosity of the soundtrack kicked in, audience members in the cinema gasped in awe as we were given a moment to simply bask in the wonder of the universe before returning to the exhilarating space mission in the film. The online multimedia fiction series 17776 is another example of cosmic hope that also deals with finding reverence for humanity in the vast and limitless universe. 17776, also known as What Football Will Look Like in the Future, was created by sports journalist Jon Bois and published on the sports blogging platform SBS Nation in 2017. Set in the year 17776, the series follows three sentient space probes who observe and commentate on the lives of humans down on earth from space. We learn that “On April 7th, 2026, people stopped being born. On the same day, people stopped dying, and people stopped aging” and have since concocted creative and unorthodox ways of playing American football to occupy their infinite and neverending lifespan after resolving all social problems. Like Project Hail Mary, Bois’ work evokes a strong appreciation for humanity despite the unfathomable circumstances it finds itself in. 17776 gives a rather affectionate and generous outlook on humanity through the narration of the space probes, who, though drifting slowly away from Earth, still look upon humanity and their passion for football fondly. In our reality, on 7 April, 2026, the world watched as NASA’s Artemis II mission completed a six-hour flyby of the Moon after achieving the historic feat of travelling farther from
Earth than any human before. The Artemis II mission attracted global attention, as many became moved by the extraordinary journey of the astronauts, particularly when they announced the naming of a lunar impact crater, “a bright spot on the Moon”, Carroll, after Commander Reid Wiseman’s late wife. NASA named the collective effervescence “Moon joy”, defining it as “the feeling of intense happiness and excitement that only comes from a mission to the moon”. Everyone was so excited by the mission and its breakthroughs, it felt like being a part of something bigger than ourselves. On the same day, US President Donald Trump publicly threatened the Iranian regime, declaring that “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again.” Astronomer and writer Carl Sagan once said, “For me, the most ironic token of [the first human moon landing] is the plaque signed by President Richard M. Nixon that Apollo 11 took to the moon. It reads: ʻWe came in peace for all Mankind.’ As the United States was dropping 7 ½ megatons of conventional explosives on small nations in Southeast Asia, we congratulated ourselves on our humanity. We would harm no one on a lifeless rock.” It seems that history is repeating itself again. As we rejoiced in the so-called “Moon joy” and cheered for the Artemis II crew’s safe landing on Earth in 2026, the US continued to threaten whole civilisations and wage war in the Middle East. In many ways, the genre of cosmic hope can be characterised as a form of escapism. It reassures us that the universe is not out to get us, and we are comforted by the beauty of the universe and our small part in it. However, confronted with the suffering and turmoil down here on Earth, it is difficult to reconcile the utopian celebration of humanity with the reality of our earthly troubles. There are no eldritch monsters, only our own destructive greed. Still, I appreciate how cosmic hope inspires us to look for beauty in our precious existence on this pale blue dot. Even in the midst of despair here on our planet, hope can still be found somewhere among the stars. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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On knowledge, breakups and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick Words by Saria Ratnam “I just have trouble getting interested in [the conspiracy theory that the US government engineered HIV]. I mean, even suppose we were sure of every element of a conspiracy: that the lives of Africans and African Americans are worthless in the eyes of the United States; that gay men and drug users are held cheap where they aren’t actively hated; that the military deliberately researches ways to kill noncombatants whom it sees as enemies; that people in power look calmly on the likelihood of catastrophic environmental and population changes. Supposing we were ever so sure of all those things—what would we know then that we don’t already know ?”
Y
ou’re reading literary critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s essay Paranoid Reading or Reparative Reading: Or, You’re So Paranoid You Probably Think This Essay is About You; it begins by recounting a conversation that took place during the 80s between the activist scholar Cindy Patton and Sedgwick about whether the US government had engineered HIV. You finish reading the section of the essay that recounts Patton’s response and stop reading for a while. Later, you go back and reread that sentence. And then do it again. It’s one of those rare moments where you feel in awe of someone’s genius, their way of seeing things. You had never considered the possibility that the act of revealing something might not actually be very important, might not really provide any new information. Although Sedgwick’s initial example is a drastic, large-scale societal one, she soon downshifts to the personal, considering her own terminal cancer diagnosis, her friends dying of AIDS, and the limited power that knowledge possesses in these scenarios. Through these thought patterns, Sedgwick claims to move away from what she describes as the “rather fixated question Is a particular piece of knowledge true, and how can we know?” to the questions of “what does knowledge do—the pursuit of it, the having and exposing of it.” Sedgwick’s subsequent realisation is 30
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that knowledge is not a categorical imperative; to put this simply, she argues that our current culture places too much emphasis on knowledge, and assumes that if people know about something, they’ll act on it. But what if knowledge isn’t the answer? What if there are circumstances where knowledge doesn’t really matter? *** You had known for a while that your relationship wasn’t working but you didn’t know why. You didn’t know why you cried all the time. You didn’t know why you’d see him and feel a wrongness in your gut, a sadness without explanation that seemed to surge even more on days that were, on paper, especially perfect. You didn’t want to end things because you didn’t know what the problem was. Also because you loved him. You couldn’t identify any flaws in the way that either of you behaved, couldn’t find any toxic patterns. It had reached a point, though, where things were more bad than good. You didn’t know where that line had been crossed but it had, and he knew it too. He brought it up because you were never going to. And you said I feel like if we could just find the problem then we could solve it and everything would be great. He said he felt the same, but that you’d spent months now trying to figure out what the issue was, and you couldn’t keep waiting in this state of unhappiness in the hope that you would.
You broke up. And a few days later you woke up with the feeling that overnight, all the pieces had fit together, without you even trying to solve the puzzle. You could see in your mind’s eye, with astounding clarity, one central problem that had been at the core of your relationship: that you wanted to share more of your life with him than he did with you. You wanted your lives to overlap like concentric circles; more time together, more emotional vulnerability. He didn’t. Now you could see this core issue, and from it, strings unravelling out to every bad day, every argument, every tear. A giant, messy, all-encompassing web with this rift at the centre. You had found the problem. And yet you did not text him and tell him that you had. I feel like if we could just find the problem then we could solve it and everything would be great. And yet you knew that even if you had acquired this knowledge before you’d broken up—which you probably wouldn’t have, because you realise now that hindsight is a bitch, that space (and not just a break, the kind of space that comes from knowing that it is truly over) is what makes you realise things—even if you had acquired this knowledge before you’d broken up, it wouldn’t have solved things. Because the problem that you now saw before you was a fundamental difference in your respective visions of what a relationship should look like. And trying to compromise on something
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as significant as that—trying to be happy with a relationship which doesn’t reflect, in a major way, the ideal relationship you’ve imagined for yourself, the relationship that you want for yourself—would not have made either of you happy. And okay, maybe if you’d realised this and told him, with the full knowledge available to both of you, you might have had a level-headed, fully aware conversation about it, and agreed that you were willing to compromise on this, that you were willing to try to find a way to make it work. But the reality is that you didn’t realise this while you were together. And one of the hardest things you’ve had to realise as an adult is that sometimes things are not reversible; not every mistake can be fixed with an apology. It’s possible that once you have the knowledge you needed at an earlier time, it can be too late to use it. As Eve Sedgwick says, at a later point in her essay, that to live life in a way that isn’t paranoid means “that it is also possible for [you] to entertain such profoundly painful, profoundly relieving, ethically crucial possibilities as that the past, in turn, could have happened differently from the way it actually did.” Maybe things could have happened differently. Or maybe they couldn’t have. The reality is that there was a fundamental difference which may or may not have been possible to overcome. You might have eventually been able to see the problem if you’d stayed together, but you probably wouldn’t have; you might not have addressed it even if you had realised what it was. Crucially, though, he did not want to wait and find out. Another
person might have had the patience and fortitude to wait for you to figure out the problem together. He didn’t. And that’s okay. You can’t make someone want something that they don’t want. *** You knew that texting him to tell him you’d found the problem and asking him to try again wasn’t the right decision before you read the Sedgwick essay. On some level you had felt, intuited, Sedgwick’s point; that knowing something doesn’t mean that you can act on it. But feelings are slippery, and in
the weeks afterwards you want him back and wonder if you could still fix it now. If the space that delivered you this realisation might have also delivered you both tools that you didn’t have before, tools to fix things. That maybe what you needed was a break, not a breakup, and that’s what you’ve had now. Maybe you could try again. In those moments you try to return to Sedgwick. Knowledge is not a categorical imperative. You try to
remind yourself that the problem you found is a fundamental difference in what the two of you want from a partner. That this would have caused problems until the end of your lives. You force yourself to imagine conversations decades later, where the two of you are still discussing, compromising, rationalising— conversations where you try to logically reach a solution to something that’s too deep and too entangled in feelings to have a logical solution. You know that if you tried to come up with one, you would have agreed to it and told yourself it made sense, that this was the best way. And the sadness in your gut, that deep and inexplicable sense of something not being quite right, would have followed you until the end of your life. You try to rely on Sedgwick’s sobering logic, on her crystal-clear rationality, her methodical devaluation of knowledge which puts into such rational words what you had felt once you discovered the problem. Sedgwick’s arguments explain the sense of clarity and peace and closure that you felt when you found the issue and realised it was unsolvable. But it’s a hard thing to accept, that there is knowledge that can’t be acted on—that you can become fully aware of the reason why a relationship wasn’t working, and still not be able to fix it. And besides, knowing the bad parts weren’t fixable doesn’t erase the good ones. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept that the past, in turn, could have happened differently from the way it actually did. You still miss him. You wonder if you always will.
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Words by Megan Sapardanis
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COUNT THE WORKERS, NOT JUST THE DEBT
Who really pays when a company fails? Another store goes into voluntary administration. Another headline assesses how much debt is owed to creditors and how many stores’ doors close. But these numbers hide the people behind them. Hundreds of retail workers, including students and longterm employees, are left negotiating how they’ll survive the loss of their income. As more Australian retailers struggle to survive, we need to stop treating workers as collateral damage. Since graduating high school, my days have been spent unpacking boxes, helping customers and sharing laughs with my fellow Betts coworkers. Many of us are university students, parents, long-time loyal employees and juggling multiple jobs—something that has become a necessity in Australia’s cost of living crisis. My retail job wasn’t extra spending money, my wage was what I needed to live every day. “Betts is going into voluntary administration” sounded like corporate jargon, but it carried the heavy and simple truth that I no longer had a job. My friends no longer had a job. Quickly we all started calculating how far our savings could stretch us while looking for new income streams in the everso-depressing and barren job market. What was truly chilling was that, after this bomb was dropped, there 32
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was complete silence. We were left unanswered and ignored. In particular, there were blurring lines about whether employees facing termination who had accumulated entitlements and long-service leave would be paid out. Many of my coworkers had worked hard for 15-20 years at Betts and withholding this pay seemed to be their send-off gift. While there are existing mechanisms to claim unpaid leave and entitlements through the Fair Work Ombudsman under the governmental safety net scheme, Fair Entitlements Guarantee, they are very time-consuming processes. Also, once a company is bankrupt or liquidated, you can kiss your hard-earned benefits goodbye. This factor was not helped by the subsequent media reports. Reports told the community that “Betts…will shut more than half its stores”, and will “heavily discount 120,000 pairs of shoes and accessories”, as they were emboldened by the captivating headline: “The 134-year-old brand’s downfall with at least $28m debts”. All of the articles began to sound interchangeable, with identical statistics and facts. Thus, the picture was painted, except it was not complete. Stores are closing, discounts will ensue, debt is abundant; but they say almost
nothing about the people. The people who opened and closed those stores every morning and evening, served customers, built friendships and relied on those pay cheques. Why aren’t we noticing the 243 workers? My perspective may be selfish as I am a part of the 179 casual retail employees at Betts facing unemployment. As the unfortunate reality of the economy rears its ugly head and businesses continue to fail, retail workers are visibly treated without any dignity or consideration. Our public conversation about corporate collapse is inadequate. This narrative is misleading and desensitises individuals to the devastation of job loss, especially when it is completely out of your own agency. This is not a hate piece on how Betts navigated voluntary administration; it is to understand how Australia talks about retail collapse. Real people and their means of support are being reduced to financial figure;, however this issue goes far beyond just Betts. Australia’s retail sector is struggling, as cheaper, alternative, international companies work to crush national brands. Brick-and-mortar stores dwindle as rent rises and consumers favour online shopping, if they can find the money to spend as household
Photo by Yew Wey Lim
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budgets tighten. There has been a wave of Australian retailers entering voluntary administration and shutting their doors, including Lincraft, Glue Store and Mosaic Brands, which comprises labels such as Millers and Noni B. I worked casually for Betts, a common employment option, though an unsteady one. Unsteady in the sense that I am not owed anything in situations like these. We are so discardable, which adds tremendous anxiety in an economic world with soaring cost of living pressures. However, this effect is cyclical as the closing of brick-and-mortar stores only decreases the jobs that are available. Young Australians are dependent on retail employment, with more than 500,000 retail workers being under the age of 24. Companies will continue to fail, that is an inevitable part of any economy which Australia is unfortunately not
immune to. But people who have kept those businesses running should not disappear from the story the moment the doors close. Don’t we owe workers far more respect and decency than that? When reading how business collapses are discussed in the media, it is no wonder there is a lack of government protection, as well as a complete insensitivity from people in the community towards employees. Simply, there should be greater security for employees. This comprises stronger redundancy protections, something to be provided by the Fair Work Ombudsman. Critically, these protections can also start with better communication and notice from companies to their workers. At Betts, we received no notice that the company was entering voluntary administration and many employees at stores with immediate closures received no warning that their jobs were essentially disappearing
overnight. Staff members deserve timely and honest communication encompassing regular updates throughout the administration process, so we are not left relying on information from the evening news or rumours spread through the work grapevine. The paramount shift does not lie in the laws or how companies navigate this difficult period, but it is in how we think. Corporate collapses should be measured not only by financial losses but by their human impact. This starts with workers being treated as key stakeholders rather than as an afterthought. Humans are the most important machines behind businesses, but these manufactured accounts mean we are continuously reduced. If headlines can count every dollar lost, they can also make room for the people whose livelihoods disappeared with them.
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Poverty Grindset
Words by Maxwell Content Warning: Discussions of poverty, classism and colonialism; references to racism, addiction, homelessness and theft.
D
When you have everything but believe you have nothing. Haunted by the spectre of scarcity. Taking free things even when they are useless. Hoarding, hoarding, hoarding.
espite being very privileged, I do occasionally feel poverty gripping at my shoulders. It’s a fairly unrealistic possibility: my father’s work as a surgeon, barring any mishaps sent from above, is not as volatile as some other professions. All the same, I worry about the possibility of it sneaking up on me, that debilitating and dehumanising condition the rich tend to valorise as circumstances which build character. I’ve seen it manifest in people from all walks of life, though primarily those who come from ex-colonies such as my native Singapore. It’s a bizarre thing to have one’s behaviour dictated by a logic so pervasive and sinister as that of poverty. Not even the state of precarity, but its possibility. Collectively we are frightened of having nothing, being worthless and dying out on the streets. Poverty is treated as disgusting as a disease, justified as the result of a lack of individual effort or sheer grit on the part of the homeless, addicted, workaholics and immigrants. A term I find fascinating is that of “social calculus”, where any decision made by the individual on an everyday basis consists of a million different operations, variables, emotions, all weighed against each other. A decision is made once the analysis of effort, personal satisfaction, and impact is assessed, done in a fraction of a second. In a world where numbers are essential to measuring human value, where financial stability can be obtained by blind faith in an ethic of individual hard work, social calculus must become second nature. What does poverty mentality look like? It’s going to a buffet and stuffing your face with the meat, because it’s the most expensive item. Taking as many cans of free soft drinks because 34
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someone else might snatch them and then you’ll miss out, regardless of whether or not you’ll actually drink those drinks. It’s thinking about whether you have money to spend on a bit of food despite the fact you’re hungry. There’s a decent chunk in your bank account, but there’s no way you’re paying $25 for a carbonara—it just isn’t worth that much. From Marx to David Graeber to Caitlin Zaloom, there is a fascination amongst anthropologists and social theorists regarding the ways people make decisions to survive. A person is measured in terms of value and capital: We speak of human capital, social capital. What values does this relationship bring me, we ask. What’s the tradeoff between one school or another, this job or another? What are the risks? Can I afford to spend this much money? Where can this activity take me? What sort of value do my friends provide? And on and on and on. Poverty mentality becomes important because it is a means to material accumulation. Marx says original accumulation is grounded in violence and exploitation to obtain profit. This was achieved by the expropriation and dispossession of the masses. Furthering the mode of accumulation requires finding more people to oppress and exploit: typically those who are poorer, “inferior”, “uncivilised”, “barbaric”. Under neoliberal capitalism, the self becomes a project, shouldering the sole burden for their status in life, historical baggage be damned. Survival is a struggle to produce goods so the rich can thrive. Poverty is inevitably tied with racial struggles: a dependence on the poor’s desperation to see the sun rise another day. This desperation seeps into the soil of culture, giving rise to fruit bitter with anxiety, worry,
and uncertainty. Even the privileged are affected: They believe only through consistent growth can scarcity be alleviated. Ecological and social struggles are unimportant: only insofar as profit increases can the lives and well-being of those in the Global South be justified. Poverty mentality occurs in a world teeming with the death-force of institutional violence. It is action rooted in fear. We are motivated by a world of affluence, and understand that without struggle we lose not only material comforts but our right to survive. Constant work and hustle are the collective individual expression, a declaration to everyone that your life has as much meaning as the next guy’s. Access to clean air, food, water, and an environment free from violence should not be reserved for the rich. Everyone deserves it. In a world where there is so much, it’s incredibly silly to let people starve. What’s my solution? I don’t have one. Although Coles and Woolies have been quite chummy with Palantir lately—unrelated, but it would be interesting to see a bunch of people cleaning out and distributing staples, vegetables and water to impoverished neighbourhoods. Perhaps they could enter en masse, grabbing everything and peacefully making their way out. Or maybe someone could use one of those heavy-duty tapes or superglue to plaster over the cameras used to collect consumer data. An incredibly compelling hypothetical experiment. The bottom line is fear of obsolescence on the part of those afflicted with poverty mentality. We can be free from fear if we change the way we think about who’s really harmed in the world we live in today.
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Art by Sabine Pentecost VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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en(light)ened Photography by Derric Wong
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Art by Kelly Shang
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Eating Bananas at the State Library of Victoria and Other Thoughts Words by Maria Quartel
I
was waiting for my sister at the State Library when I found myself in the Victoria Gallery. A large video projection built on what looks like comically large packing boxes draped with white cloth faces me and asks, “What should the library remember?”, followed by video testimonies from the public. I walk through the sparse glass cabinets, and round reading table, still taking in the dark and moody space when I hear: “The library should remember my friend, who is a little Turkish guy, who cracks it when he gets told off for eating his banana in the main hall. This happens every time we study there.” I migrate towards the beanbags on the floor in front of the projector and listen to the other testimonies. The banana won’t leave my mind. I think of all the times I have carefully hidden snacks in my bag waiting for the right moment to pull them out when security isn’t watching. To think that a couple of seats away from me there may have been members of our society brave enough to eat a banana unashamedly and then talk back to security when confronted with such an offence, restored a certain hope in my fellow Melbournians. I make a mental note to eat my bananas without hiding next time. We should all practice rule breaking and confronting authority more in our daily lives. The 25-minute-long video installation is only one part of the library’s new exhibition titled, ʻYou have a new memory’. With the projector placed in the centre of the room, the surrounding space is filled with sparse glass display cases with objects and artworks referenced in the video installation, along with others that simply sit empty, draped in the same white cloth as the screen. Amongst them there is a reading table, with photo books that replicate the video, frame by frame, with the audio transcribed. The space feels simple and intentional. The gallery’s energy focusses on the objects and their existence within the life of the library’s collection, and all the institutional practices that shape it. ʻYou have a new memory’ is uniquely self-referential in ways other institutions struggle to achieve or do not have the bravery to attempt. The premise of the show conflates the idea of the library with the public
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it represents in a way that gives agency to the visitor, rather than telling them what they are or are not. Throughout the video, the narrators talk through the history of collection methods that the library has engaged in, considering the social context that shaped the affordances the space has had for item acquisition. The objects speak to important cultural events, and to intimate family moments, placing each category as equal to the next. The carefully selected artefacts in the display cases encourage connections to be made by the visitor between objects that perhaps the institution has not considered and holds space for these thoughts to be taken seriously. At the back of the exhibition, one of the only works outside of the display cases is a photograph by Hayley Millar-Baker. ʻUntitled (So he mixed arsenic with half the flour and a raging thirst was created)’ has a hypnotic quality that draws you in. The piece is a striking photograph that beyond its visual qualities requires attention and care to take in its details. Amongst family photographs, political banners, and other artefacts that highlight individual efforts in the creation of Australia, the artwork frames the violent histories of colonisation as a critical foreground to understand the evolution of the nation since. It is interesting to consider this exhibition in a time where tech companies are destroying books and the library itself is struggling to retain its collection. I leave wondering if this exhibition is an in-house protest of such decisions, or rather pre-emptive PR for backlash on the future of the objects it must get deaccession from its collection. Regardless, I did not interpret the collection as the premise of the exhibition, rather the way it poses the institution as a vehicle for connection with the city, its history, and contemporary functions. ʻYou have a new memory’ is a careful consideration of the varying interpretations and functions the library has, and the agency of the visitor to engage with the space as a democratic right and responsibility. Whether we choose to eat our bananas proudly or not, the library will remain with open arms to its public, permitting us to grow alongside it.
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Festival Hit, Cannes Favourite and Best International Picture Prediction
is not a perfect Gay Period Drama—which is what we need.
words by grace dwyer
I
should set the scene. It’s a freezing Friday night, it’s been a lovely long day, my tram was late, my outfit is silly. I rush down Flinders Street, overwhelmed. When I enter the Forum, the chaos of the CBD turns into a low chatter as volunteers helpfully point me in the right direction. I’m used to the stately wall adornments and blue lighting as a backdrop for concerts, so seeing movie-goers mill around quietly and fidget in their seats is like seeing the venue after hours. I stumble over an older gentleman and an unexpected classmate from last semester and begin to people watch.
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Melbourne International Film Festival is wonderful for watching the film lovers around Melbourne congregate. There’s an eclectic mix showing up for tonight’s screening of La Bola Negra (The Black Ball), probably helped by the buzz the film received at Cannes, where Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi received Best Director and just missed out on the Palme D’Or. “Patrons on their phones may be asked to leave the theatre.” No notetaking for me tonight. I slide my phone into my bag under my chair and settle in.
— Before I begin the review in earnest, there’s just a few more things you should know about me. I am gay and came out a few years ago. I also lived in Spain growing up—Granada, to be specific. As such, I know a bit about Spanish history and culture. I was aware that parts of my identity were about to be reflected back at me, but I had no idea of the extent to which Calvo, Ambrossi and screenwriter Alberto Conejero would pry me open. There is a staunch progressivism in a lot of contemporary Spanish art and culture (my Spanish primary
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school held a protest like no other), often directly confronting centuries of colonisation and a dictatorial fascist period that only ended in the 1970s. La Bola Negra is no exception. It’s a transhistorical epic in the vein of last year’s equally celebrated Brazilian film O Agente Secreto (The Secret Agent). The film’s screenplay jumps between three storylines, two of which are adaptations: Federico García Lorca’s unfinished 1936 play La Bola Negra and Conejero’s 2013 play La piedra oscura (The Dark Stone), which itself connects to Lorca’s work. The third storyline brings them together when a gay academic finds the titular play, an invaluable and unbelievable cultural queer artefact, in his late grandfather’s possession. But this brief overview doesn’t do justice to the film. Like many festivalforeign-arthouse pieces of cinema, the machinations of the plot are secondary to Calvo and Ambrossi’s mastery of imagery and emotion. They’re never afraid to let a scene settle, nor do they move away from lingering discomfort, often letting a beautifully composed tableau speak for itself. The passage of time is conveyed in the background like a Nationalist painting filled out in the hallways of the wartime hospital. The imagery and emotion are strongest in the 1937 storyline, in which Spanish musician Guitarricadelafuente plays Sebastián, a young Nationalist recruit who is tasked to guard an injured Republic soldier. There are some classic, subtly devastating performances—what we’ve come to expect from a queer period drama—and the chemistry between Guitarricadelafuente, in an unbelievable debut, and Miguel Bernaudau is gorgeous. The film makes best use of its stunt casting here too: Penélope Cruz chews the scenery with plenty of heart to the extent that a Best Supporting Actress nomination would not surprise me. In the 1932 storyline, we are introduced to Carlos (Milo Quifes), a gentle young man blackballed from Granada’s casino on account of his rumoured socialist affiliations and homosexuality—this is the plot of Lorca’s unpublished play, though this connection is not spelled out until
later. There’s a unique theatricality in Gris Jordana’s cinematography that gives the Granada scenes this kind of elevated vividness. It’s so gorgeously steeped in Andalusian history and culture that I was grinning in the cinema. The way Jordana moves the camera during a flamenco scene in a downtown bar, for example—hypnotic. While these two storylines are beautiful and moving, they’re not anything I haven’t seen before. I often find that the gay period drama, even if directed by queer creatives, has a tendency to aestheticise and romanticise queer persecution. And I understand why this happens: gorgeous visuals of gorgeous men (it’s usually men) enjoying their clandestine romances is entertaining, cathartic and often a recipe for critical success. But there is a reason these texts are overwhelmingly tragedies. To hide yourself away from the world, ever, even in relatively progressive urban Australia in the 2020s, actually sucks. It’s anxiety-inducing, stifling and embarrassing. I had the unfortunately hilarious experience of being clocked as gay years before I came out and still tried to keep myself in the glass closet. So, it rings hollow when I watch beautifully innocent gay characters like Sebastián, who struggles to shoot a gun and just wants to be a theatre musician, or Carlos, whose foppish hair and small frame would be all over Tumblr. My heart breaks for them, of course, but my heart has broken for so many other tragic gay boys. For this reason, I especially love the third timeline: in 2017, Alberto (Carlos González) struggles with a less melodramatic, but messier, life. He has an abusive relationship with his mother (the compelling Lola Dueñas), who in turn was treated badly by her father, Sebastián. In his more accepting society, Alberto’s queer identity is less fraught and more quietly uncomfortable. It’s the disappointing conversation with his mother, it’s the choice to keep his private life separate from his work, it’s the surprise he feels when told that his grandfather would be proud of him. In turn, it’s a reminder that the life Sebastián was forced into hurt not only himself, but his descendants.
There are some pacing and timeline issues that hold La Bola Negra back from being an all-timer for me. The frustrating tendency to over-explain certain themes and plot points begins to chip at the film’s emotional resonance, and a couple of additional flashbacks involving the actual Frederico García Lorca (Alberto Cortés) talking about the importance of his play does little for me but pad the runtime. (For context, Lorca is essentially Spain’s modern Shakespeare. Leonard Cohen named his daughter after this guy.) While the cultural gravitas around Lorca, who was gay and assassinated during the Spanish Civil War is relevant, I don’t need to see him to understand this. There’s also our second stunt cast: Glenn Close as an American Lorca scholar Isabelle Durand. It’s impressive that Close learned Spanish for the film, and while her presence is nowhere near as show-stopping as Cruz’s, it’s cool to see a bona fide American movie star refuting centre stage and truly supporting the talented Spanish actors. Despite these nitpicks, La Bola Negra captures so much beauty and melancholy so well that certain frames from the film will stick with me for a long time. Sebastián breaking down while he tries to play the trumpet to calm himself, loaded onto a truck with Nationalists. Alberto folding into his boyfriend’s arms as the weight of his family history sinks in. I can’t explain why I cried when Carlos, bewildered, starts to falter as he hikes through the snow and skiers rush past him, but I remember how the lost look on his freezing face made me tear up. La Bola Negra is coming to Netflix in December, but if you have the chance, go and see these beautiful images and layered storylines unfold on the big screen. It’s worth it. — The movie’s over now. I take my phone out from beneath my seat and stare at my screen. What do I write about what I just watched? To be more precise and pretentious: what do I write about what I just experienced? My girlfriend texts me, “How was movie??” My notes app is still blank. “A lot” I reply. “Very beautiful.” VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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r.f. kuang samples yet another genre in
Taipei Story words by amali deane
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art by ruby weir-alarcon
After an absurd journey to hell in her 2025 novel Katabasis, award-winning author R.F. Kuang is ready to take a break from the fantastical and get up close and personal; but she’s not done with the travelling. This story certainly feels the closest to home for her amongst her slew of bestselling novels. She seemingly picks up a new pen and new genre each book, and Taipei Story is no exception, with its bildungsroman edge. Instead of focussing on the individualistic coming-of-age narrative, this novel extends itself to traverse the complexity of intergenerational histories and national identity. Set in the diasporic community of Taipei, a city that wears its politically tumultuous history on its sleeve, Taipei Story is an emotional ride; a discovery of culture, language, and family. It follows Lily Chen’s experience in a sweaty summer Mandarin-intensive program as she attempts to connect with her Chinese heritage whilst, ironically, declining to visit mainland China—where her family is from. This resistance stems from a relatable perfectionist desire to learn Chinese “well enough” to speak fluently to her grandparents and understand their pasts, particularly her grandfather’s (aka Gonggong). Navigating the city with growing confidence, Lily is thrown off-kilter by friendship dramas, her continued difficulty in reconciling with her own diasporic identity and her grandfather’s death. Most of this novel’s charm is contained in three elements: its dialogue, Lily’s odyssey through increasingly difficult classes, and little moments of culture shock. Lily’s narrative voice is often humorous
as well, providing an internal layer of judgement to her character where she might have otherwise felt quiet and unassuming. Her relationships with both her friends and her teachers are amusing, but some interactions fall short amongst the large group of fleeting minor characters, leaving some scenes feeling flat. In particular, a faint romantic attraction that turns sour deviates from the meaningful elements of her other relationships. Whilst this soured affiliation does place Lily on the outer, catalysing her climactic spiral into loneliness, the time spent building the possible romance was not worth it when the two characters didn’t have exciting chemistry. However, the mixture of formality and intimacy that distinguishes her relationship with her language instructors is an engaging dynamic. This depiction is significant given it is a dynamic that often goes unexplored in literature. I imagine Teacher Sun will be a particular favourite of many readers, given her curt yet well-meaning manner. Who wouldn’t want a teacher that lets you know “you have always sounded like an idiot. It is considerable progress that you can now hear it”? The elements of language explanation and translation were eye-opening as an English speaker, especially the chengyus that occur throughout the novel. Chengyus, Chinese idioms, often require an extended knowledge of history. A waiter topping up broth for Lily’s group of friends is referred to as “like the Song emperor Taizong,” since Taizong “sent charcoal on a snowy day to his people in their time of need.” These
explanations provided great context throughout the novel. The nature of the narrative is quite episodic, often told through mini day-to-day interactions, interesting language and cultural content Lily learned, or travels around Taiwan. Given this fragmentation, I felt a stronger affinity with certain scenes than others. Where I found the scenes of Lily experiencing the orchestra lacking, the depth of her Taiwanese politics class was thoroughly engaging. Yet, this is what will make the narrative at least partially enjoyable for anyone, since Kuang covers an eclectic range of topics as Lily immerses herself in Taiwanese culture. As an R.F. Kuang fan, the art of comparison is bound to hold any new novel to a high standard. Although Taipei Story did not contain the passionate, multi-faceted protagonist of her debut series The Poppy War, or the captivating layers of Katabasis, it remains a well-researched, comforting, and immersive novel. Whether or not you’ve been to Taipei, struggled with the legacy of a language both familiar and foreign, and taken a life-changing summer intensive course, there is an atmosphere of relatability and warmth. Perhaps this is because it doesn’t take itself too seriously. As Kuang herself said in a Substack post titled “TAIPEI STORY and laughing at yourself”, “if we took ourselves less seriously, we might respect others more—and we might find goodwill where we expected hostility.” If there is one main takeaway from Lily Chen’s whirlwind experience, it’s to be unabashedly curious, or you might miss an opportunity to learn and to connect to those around you.
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ariana REVIEWS & CULTURE
grande’s words by fergus sinnott On her eighth studio album, Ariana Grande promised a turn towards ʻferal’ self-expression—but the album itself is more opaque than ever. It would be an understatement to say that Ariana Grande’s had a busy few years. She’s fresh off the back of starring in two projects, Wicked and Wicked: For Good, and promoting them with a global press tour; she released her seventh studio album Eternal Sunshine in 2024, which she embarked on a tour for at the beginning of this year. She’s also appeared in several episodes of Saturday Night Live and is set to star in Focker-in-Law, the fourth instalment in the Fockers film series, later in 2026. The release of her eighth studio album in the midst of all this is somewhat surprising, particularly after Grande had previously expressed 48
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her intention to step back from music to focus on other creative pursuits. petal’s album rollout was relatively circumspect, with the sole lead single ʻhate that i made you love me’, which despite debuting atop the Billboard Hot 100, seems relatively anaemic in retrospect when compared with other tracks. The album itself sees her again joining forces with her long-time collaborator Max Martin and new recruit Ilya Salmanzadeh, both of whom she worked with on Eternal Sunshine. Unequivocally, the strongest dimension of the album is its production. The lyrics themselves and what they speak to more broadly, however, are murky. ʻhate that i made you love me’ is acerbic in its critique of Grande’s fanbase (“is it really my fault you all gave me a heart of your
own accord?” she asks rhetorically on the bridge). The accompanying music video, which Grande stars in alongside actor Justin Long, superimposes the narrative of a fraught relationship over the song itself, but it’s clear that what Grande is really at odds with here is her audience. The title of the track highlights the themes that Grande has carried over from Eternal Sunshine to petal. It seems that Grande is in a dual state: rallying against the glare of the spotlight despite continuing to bask in it. Her complicated relationship with fame is perhaps most clearly expressed on the track ʻlike i do’, where she moves from cool unassailability (“all that shit-talk keeps me well-fed”) to a vulnerable declaration disguised as an assertion of power and agency (“you need me like I you / ʻcause no-one
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fucks you like I do”). There’s a difficult line that today’s pop stars have to walk in order to establish and maintain relevance, a line that’s become more tenuous in just a few short years. In a post-Brat pop culture landscape, the primary commodity is authenticity rather than calculated self-mythology, unadulterated accessibility rather than discretion. It’s interesting to watch—or rather, listen to—how Grande tries to interface with this herself on petal, and ultimately ends up revealing more about how guarded she really is. That’s not to say at all that she has no right to her privacy and boundaries, nor that pop’s current emphasis on the diametric opposite is better. Notwithstanding the speculation that has continued to abound about Grande’s health on social media in recent months, as well as her recent decision to step back from the public
eye following the conclusion of her current tour, it seems that the wounds Grande opened up about on Eternal Sunshine are still rather fresh on petal. But where Eternal Sunshine was largely well-received and ultimately career-repairing, petal’s glimmers of more biting critiques and above-thefray positioning don’t seem nearly as coherent, and thus aren’t as effective. Grande’s interfacing with fame on this album calls to mind the adage that the loudest person in the room may indeed be the most insecure. Naturally, it also begs the question whether someone truly secure in themselves would need to repeatedly declare themselves as such. It’s difficult to figure out what Grande’s thesis statement really is on this project, or what we as an audience might be left with once the iridescent synths and Grande’s shimmering vocals fade away. “Come
slip into something real,” Grande beckons on ʻnever get over you’, a lyric that—perhaps unintentionally— seems to emphasise the levels and layers of projection, performance and authenticity that she isn’t done contending with just yet. Narratively, it’s a shame that the album doesn’t really assert itself within her discography, because it features some of Grande’s most impeccable vocals and sonic versatility thus far. It’s a shame, too, that it seems like the album cycle has been stifled by rampant online discourse and speculation. But if nothing else, petal feels like a transitional work for Grande musically, a kind of metamorphosis even as she treads familiar territory. And it still holds its own as a solid project from one of the most accomplished artists of our time— even if at the same time it remains difficult to decrypt.
oblique
confessions VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Visiting BODY WORLDS: The Anatomy of Happiness
AM I A FREAK?
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hat’s the question that loomed in my mind as I asked my roommate whether she was interested in accompanying me to this exhibition. Having toured over 175 cities across the globe, Body Worlds presents real, preserved human specimens, from individual organs to full bodies that can only be seen in anatomy books. The evident popularity of Body Worlds suggests that people’s interest in physically seeing human anatomy isn’t abnormal, but it would be a lie to say that it isn’t, at the very least, taboo. It made sense for her to respond that she’d “think about it.” The full title of the Melbourne run of the exhibit is BODY WORLDS: The Anatomy of Happiness—a friendlier, more universal approach to attracting an otherwise hyper-specific audience. Maybe this was what convinced my roommate to eventually hop on the 86 tram with me. A Thursday afternoon at the District Docklands feels like entering an abandoned shopping mall. We ascended to the level with walls taped over with posters advertising the event, where we spent more time than we would have liked trying to locate the entrance. After finding the correct side of the building, we swiftly entered a space projecting an animation explaining the importance of happiness. Perhaps purposefully, the underwhelming and forcefully educational nature of the video lowered my expectations, only to then exceed them as we moved to a hallway that stunned us with a plastinated
nervous system, from the brain to the strings that rooted down to the feet of the human body. I couldn’t help but think of its resemblance to the de-boned fish I had the other day. My questions of whether I was a freak returned with a vengeance. Many of the descriptions accompanying the specimens consisted of scientific information that I would have appreciated during high school psychology (what is the CNS, what is the PNS, what does the cerebellum do, why is the amygdala important, etc.). Occasionally, there would be additional descriptions that took the liberty of getting more personal by asking questions that made me feel like I was at the GP. Yes, I know I should start cardio. Yes, I’m still single. Is social smoking considered smoking regularly? I skimmed them out of slight denial and an overpowering urge to check out a full body specimen. To those who experience vicarious pain, staring at a skin-stripped collection of exposed muscle, nerves and fat might, in an extreme case, hospitalise you. For me, vicarious pain was an incomprehensible subject that played out every time I was on my computer, and my mother would groan at me playing YouTube videos posted by the Institute of Human Anatomy. As for real life, I would mostly feel apathy toward my grandfather who would often repeat sentences that felt endless and illogical. I found difficulty sympathising with his dementia, partly because it exhibited itself through frustrating bursts of anger. Ironically,
WORDS BY JUNAE WON
in my unenthusiastic pursuit of investigating happiness, I felt a sorrow foreign to me while staring at a brain just about the size of my fist; shrivelled, loosely wound and on the verge of unravelling into a thin sheet. Its deeply hollowed canyons looked almost infinite. I felt almost acrophobic staring into its void-like rivers. The second I saw the organ that orchestrated his repetition, confusion and anger, I found myself immobile yet changed. I started picturing my grandpa’s repeated outcries as echoes that bounced back from the hollowed walls of the chasms inside his head. The questions on happiness on the exhibition placards that I previously directed at myself had instead become moments of reflection on his expressions of regret in his life that were shared at unexpected family gatherings. There was ample space to reflect on these awkward thoughts on the swings close to the end of the exhibit, although they were placed directly in front of a preserved human specimen doing acrobatics on a balance beam. So what if I’m a freak. My detachment to the subject of death and my interest in preserved bodies brought me closer to the living people in my life. Body Worlds is a deeply personal experience that can impact different people through the physical visibility of human conditions that remind people of the relevant matters in their lives. If you also question some aspects of your humanity, I urge you to explore the exhibition.
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There’s a Whole World Beyond the Inner North... THE
Are Taking It On The Road words by lachie carroll
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elbourne is well-regarded for its time-tested live music institutions. Anyone vaguely initiated in our local music scene has seen an act perform at venues like The Night Cat, The Tote, The Old Bar, Bar Open, The Curtin, Howler, and so on and so forth. Most performers feel accustomed to these spaces, and that’s entirely understandable. It’s an “if-it-ain’tbroke-don’t-fix-it” mentality, and these spaces are some of the most vital cultural hubs in our city. For The Belair Lip Bombs, however, their sights are set on something different. 52
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I’ve accidentally seen the Frankston-borne Lip Bombs something like seven times in the last year, from their sets at February’s Laneway and A Gathering for Gaza to a more recent solo show at The Corner. In the past month, however, the band have been trying something different, and taking their indie-rock stylings to stages that haven’t been graced before. First at a solo set from frontwoman Maisie Everett in a Fitzroy office space then as a full unit at the Anglesea Memorial Hall a couple weeks later, these musicians are
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proving that their talent can’t be pinned down. The aforementioned Fitzroy office usually houses Cohort Records, the Melbourne-based music label behind acts like Juice Webster and Darcie Haven. Lately, they’ve been converting their space into an intimate gig venue, bringing together locals with their favourite acts in an almost too-intimate setting. This series of performances are dubbed “Open Office”, and they’re some of the most exciting music events happening in Melbourne at the minute. With free entry and free drinks for all attendees, the economic viability of these events for organisers is mindboggling, but nonetheless incredibly welcome. Arriving to Cohort’s space for the first time was somewhat disorienting, past an unassuming doorway and various sparse corners was a larger, open room with exposed brick walls and a charming stage setup. Various local musicians lined the walls and co-habituated among the expected number of Lip Bombs fans, who didn’t hesitate to accept the too-good-tobe-true invitation of free beer. Everett casually walked on stage about fifteen minutes after the show’s advertised start time, having spent time lingering among the crowd and greeting her supporters. Accompanied by cheers from her onlooking bandmates, Everett began her set performing slowed-down acoustic renditions of some of the Lip Bomb’s bigger tunes. These versions of the songs worked to enhance their meaning, and also indicated just how connected Everett feels to her lyrics. When the numbers are being performed with the full rock outfit, their lyrics can get lost in the haze of the soundscape, but Everett and her piano reminded attendees that the band’s strengths don’t end with their instrumentation. This subversive performance made it evident just how substantial the artistry involved in the work of the Lip Bombs is, as Everett glided over what were, upon hearing them in this context, some quite introspective and melancholic lyrics. It’s a testament to her strength as a vocalist and lyricist that these songs took on such a different life at Cohort
Open Office, assigning another layer of complexity to the Lip Bombs’ collective musicianship. Following a few familiar tunes, Everett introduced a couple of new solo songs, which she said were arranged specifically for the Open Office gig. These individual works were similar to the Lip Bombs’ material, but continued the evening’s trend of complex interiority and thoughtful acoustic melodies. Accompanied by a friend on saxophone, Everett performed a couple of numbers involving themes of heartbreak, self-image and wanting to return to a time and relationship that is no longer attainable. Everett’s work with the Lip Bombs, and now with this solo endeavour, have proved she is an essential arm of Melbourne’s music landscape, and Cohort’s Open Office was the perfect setting to cement her place in our city’s sonic legacy. Only a couple weeks later came The Belair Lip Bomb’s gig at Anglesea Memorial Hall, organised by volunteerrun music initiative The Sound Doctor. The organisation is committed to bringing quality live music outside of Melbourne, and gracing the residents of the Surf Coast with the same audio treatment that those living in our urban centres receive so often. I took the trip down to Anglesea with the same friend who attended the Open Office with me, alongside my boyfriend and another one of my close friends—none of whom knew each other before the weekend. The four of us piled into the Memorial Hall just as it was starting to fill up, and had a quick scan of the venue. After getting ushered in, concertgoers were welcomed into the evening by a beaded curtain, which leads into the main hall. There was of course no barricade between the stage and the audience, encouraging connection between performers and onlookers. Just like Open Office, Everett and her bandmates were also floating around the venue, seemingly accompanied by an entourage of associates wherever they find themselves. Past the stage was another room with a full bar and a merch stand—which was notably blocked off during the music. This initiative, while possibly inconvenient
for anyone looking for a second wine during the gig, was quite refreshing, as it ensured that focus was maintained on performance. For those satisfied by beer alone, there was still a smaller can-only bar in the back of the main hall which remained open all night long. In a lot of ways, the Lip Bombs’ Anglesea set was no different from the other times I’ve seen them— energetic, rousing and ear-ringing. This time around, however, there was an increased degree of comprehension, as a consequence of Everett’s earlier solo set. It was much easier to combine to euphoric sonic experience of their songs with their meaning, providing a rare live music experience where lyrics are equally comprehensible as what surrounds them. The setting of the Memorial Hall also lent to the unique nature of this set, The Sound Doctor had sold just the right amount of tickets where the space felt lively and full but not crowded and squishy. A Memorial Hall filled with a healthy mix of Melburnian Lip Bombs fans and Anglesea residents gratefully embraced this one-of-a-kind evening, where the band blurred the line between stage and floor to generate a truly collective listening experience. As my eclectic group of companions and I trundled back towards the Great Ocean Road Resort, the value of how the Lip Bombs were diversifying their performance venues became incredibly evident. By throwing out the rulebook on how artists are supposed to present themselves to their audience, the band has enabled a heightened level of connection between music and listener. The combination of Everett’s recontextualisation of the band’s biggest songs followed by the intimate setting of their Anglesea performance provided me, someone perhaps overly familiar with their previous outings, an entirely new perspective on their music. The Lip Bombs are carving new frontiers for our local scene, encouraged by organisations like Cohort Records and The Sound Doctor to create unforgettable experiences and incept an entirely unique and active mode of listening.
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Holly Hebe on
Heartbreak and the Trap of Fated Love WORDS BY JOLIE MIKKELSEN Emerging from the Melbourne music scene, Holly Hebe is slowly solidifying herself as a new pop icon. Recently touring with similar forces Holly Humberstone and Aleksiah, and set to open for Humberstone once more in 2027, Hebe’s most recent EP Mood Ring scored its place at No.1 on the ARIA Australian Albums chart, the singers’ first appearance on the charts. The 23-year-old curates a blend of dreamy synth and piano in her most honest work to date, her vulnerability admirable in the EP’s raw and mystical being that conveys the melancholy of holding on to lost love while also growing into oneself. Mood Ring is almost haunting in its witchy undertones, as Hebe explores themes of getting lost in signs of love being 54
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cosmic and fated, a beautiful scene that lingers throughout the project. “It’s kind of weird because you do sit with the songs for a long time, you hold them in and they’re very much a part of you,” the singer notes on how it felt to finally release her EP. “I think releasing them feels like I can release them; release them all for me and the emotion and all the things that they represent which is kind of nice as well.” Despite grappling with holding in this heartbreak for an extended period of time, Hebe almost dazes in a happy memory while she recalls how she can perform these songs through a “refreshed lens”. “You go into this songwriting warp where you’re sitting inside the feelings and the songs come from that real,
epicentre of emotion. And then being weird able to play them live definitely transports me a little bit back to the emotion that I was sitting in when I was writing that. [But] I’m now singing from them [through], hopefully, mostly healed scars, rather than the freshness of it,” she explains. “[And] I’ve definitely changed as a person; in the process of writing these songs… even from a technique perspective like my production. So, I think just by the nature of that, it is kind of a transformative experience.” What’s most captivating in her sonic examination of heartbreak and growing up is the haunting and dreamy combination of Hebe’s lyricism and indie-pop production. The romanticised heartbreak and inability to move on
REVIEWS & CULTURE
ART BY RUBY WEIR-ALARCON
seems to emphasise the bitterness that lingers within Mood Ring. On her aesthetic and sound, Holly elaborates how “it’s come from my own music influences and studying. I did a lot of work with abstract art music when I was studying music. And I really, at the same time was like, ʻwhoa, this is a whole new world to music that I never probably would’ve delved into that much.’” “[I also] write a lot from just sitting at the piano [and] it’s very meditative for me. It’s that slightly more dreamy way of playing and release and meditation and things like that. It’s very much an outlet for me, and it then feels really natural to make that sort of my style of my production.” What separates Hebe from many emerging artists is the admirable creativity of her own production, a hypnotic talent that has not only amassed thousands of views on social media, but reflects a true depth of rawness and passion within her art. “I want to keep leaning into the experimentation. And now, I’m getting a little more confidence with actually calling myself more of a producer—I don’t know why that’s so hard for me, but I think that something I’m working on is my confidence with that,” the singer laughs, seemingly finding it hard to actually call herself that. “When I was younger, I loved composing, and I wanted to be a film scorer. So, I think that’s kind of carried through a lot of my production.” Hebe articulates herself in a captivating manner that seems to personify the dreaminess of her production, watching as she elaborates on her soulful and passionate process within production.
“I also think about colour a lot when I play the piano and write and produce. I think it helps me picture and visualise the production.” She notes how the piano is her “ground zero”. “That is where I’m absolutely in my happiest form, and then that probably is the best place for me to feel most equipped to work through difficult emotions. And then you end up feeling so much more connected to the music because it comes from such a raw place. Like a real place.” Though bitterness is evident throughout the EP’s seven tracks, believing in fated love, which Holly stresses is “a trap”, is painted with a brush of willingness to hold out for hope. In the titular opening track ʻMood Ring’, Hebe is found “doomed to search for meaning in all that you do”, obsessing over superstitious and spiritual symbols such as “black cats [and] your name on a numberplate”, that almost make the listener believe the universe is guiding the singer’s love life. Holly laughs with wide eyes, however. “It’s worth [romanticising] for the plot. But I don’t think it’s worth an emotional backlash.” She shakes her head. “I’m definitely one to really romanticise things and believe in the signs. There’s a lyric in [ʻMood Ring’], ʻsaw your name on a numberplate’— and I genuinely saw this person’s name once and I thought, ʻit’s a sign, it’s a sign’.” She expresses how these signs are what brought together the concept of ʻMood Ring’—a desperate search of how and what to feel. “I was like, ʻoh a mood ring’, because you just look at your ring and you must be feeling ʻblah blah blah’. I’ve kind of
built that around the song, and then once it kind of hit me, it felt really right to then build out the concept for the EP from that. And then having all the songs [correlate to] a colour and then representing like a bit of an emotional mood ring of my past year. It’s nice to go back through and be like, “oh, I was feeling this when I was writing this.” “It all kind of met in the middle and the mood ring concept felt like it sort of married everything together.” After taking The Mood Ring EP Tour across and Australia and down to New Zealand, which Holly notes in awe has been “[incredibly] cool”, “fulfilling” and “a belly of laughter”, the singer is recently set to open once more for English pop sensation Holly Humberstone next February, another incredible feat. “Whilst I hope people can’t relate to the situations that resulted in these songs, it’s sometimes really helpful when you’re listening to something that is reflecting your experience, and then you can put words and feelings around something that you’ve been holding in,” she notes on performing live. “I want people to come and be able to let out a big sigh of relief. I just want it really festive, and so far [touring has] been so much fun.” Listening to the singers’ songwriting process and articulation of what founded Mood Ring brought more layers of depth and rawness to the project that not only exhibited Hebe’s skill, but also gave way for resonation with audiences and her music. Mood Ring is a bold testimony of Hebe’s admirable and distinguishable talent, a statement that is sure to see Hebe entrance audiences across the world. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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where are we heading to? Words and Photography by Jeven Wang
We are simply passing through here and there, looking as we go. Not knowing what the next stop might bring, we keep moving forward. We look for a moment, and then we leave. Do we need to stay here for long? Would the view in front of us ever make you want to stay? Some places we only pass through, while some moments remain with us. We seem to be constantly searching for the next destination, without ever being quite sure where we want to go. Where are we heading to? Where are we, after all?
Extasia by April Katrine Schroeter
Flowers in Dean by April Katrine Schroeter
FROM THE ARCHIVES
Throughout history, mankind has shown insatiable curiosity about the universe beyond planet Earth. We observe celestial movements to understand and predict earthly phenomena such as seasons and tides, and in turn these new discoveries reshape our worldview. A 1939 Farrago article sponsored by the Physics Club wrote that Babylonian priests “taken out of curiosity” had long been “[observing] the heavens” to identify patterns in celestial movements. By the sixth century BCE, their detailed records of “the rising and setting of various heavenly bodies” enabled them to “calculate in advance the relative positions of the sun and the moon, and so predict eclipses”. These astronomical observations were then used to foretell future events in human
affairs, feeding into the practice of astrology in which Babylonians were so deeply invested. Thousands of years later, although the significance attributed to eclipses had changed over the centuries, their ability to capture human curiosity and attention remains. On the evening of 23 October 1976, the University of Melbourne experienced its first ever total solar eclipse, plunging the city into darkness for approximately 2 minutes and 37 seconds. The last time a major city experienced a total eclipse was 1966 in Lima, Peru. Such spectacular event naturally sparked excitement among UniMelb’s students and even earning one full page in
Volume 54 no. 23 of the 1976 Farrago. For those of us who were yet to be born when the last total eclipse occurred, Rus Littleson’s 1976 article offered an informative explanation of the phenomenon. Although we get a total solar eclipse somewhere on Earth roughly every 18 months, it only recurs at the same given place only once every 375 years or so. Quoting from CSIRO, Littleson described totality as “the moon first covers the sun completely”, then “sunlight pouring through the valleys on the moon’s surface”, creating what are called Bailey’s Beads around its edge. During totality, the Moon’s dark disc is set against the Sun’s rosy chromosphere and surrounded by its corona forming a thin, fuzzy ring of light, while the sky darkens enough to make animals mistake the eclipse for
Our Next Total Solar Eclipse in Melbourne Is at Least 174 Years Away… So Let’s Revisit the 1976 One Words by Sophia Chu Photography by Ruby Weir-Alarcon
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
night, causing birds to stop singing and prepare to roost. However, the very phenomenon that captivates observers also evokes fear. The eclipse’s sudden darkness and otherworldly appearance remind us of how limited our understanding is and how small we are, as if a speck of dust against the vastness of the universe. Across cultures, the unexplainable and uncontrollable have often inspired wonder alongside anxiety. According to colonial accounts, many Aboriginal groups, including the Kurnai of southeastern Victoria, perceived solar eclipses as ominous events, interpreting them as signs of impending calamity, death, disease and black magic. For Melbournians in 1976, the eclipse was no exception to this enduring sense of unease. According to Littleson, the Victorian Government “set up a coordinating committee to tackle the education problem”, with a major objective of “[informing] businessmen and shopkeepers of security problems” during the less than three minutes of blackness. Special police patrols were organised, while prior announcements were put out warning that radio communications were expected to be disrupted. Despite these efforts, fear was still fuelled by misinformation as some people worried that they might go blind if they looked at the eclipse, while news reports advised parents to lock their children indoors, golfers to finish their round early and to watch the eclipse on television. Peter Hayes made a similar observation in his article for Farrago’s science forum, following the partial solar eclipse occurred in Melbourne in 1983. He pointed to a recurring societal phenomenon at
every solar eclipse where the media attempts to discourage people from observing it. Reflecting on Melbourne’s 1976 eclipse seven years later, Hayes noted that many people were unaware that viewing the Sun directly during totality was perfectly safe. As Hayes put it, they had been “robbed by misinformation of an unforgettable experience.” He added that the same pattern appeared during the 1983 partial eclipse, when a newspaper praised people in Perth for remaining indoors as “doing the right thing!” Such advice reinforced the misconception that an eclipse posed some unique and invisible danger. Hayes mockingly attributed the palpable fear in the atmosphere to the belief that “the Earth [was] showered with some form of ʻeclipse-radiation’”. A total eclipse is not all frightening and unsettling, it can also come with a tad of whimsy. The Farrago editors of 1976 cared deeply about their reader’s eyes when viewing the exceptional phenomenon. At the bottom of the eclipse page, they offered a “financially (and possibly even scientifically) safe way to see the eclipse”, where “all you need is a pair of glasses, scissors and some glue.” The editors kindly printed a pair of pitch-black sunnies surrounded with dotted lines ready for readers to cut out and place over glasses when viewing the eclipse. Their safety device came with an extra warning: “N.B. For best results, do not go near traffic or quarries while wearing eclipse viewer.” How very considerate of them! Beside the DIY eclipse glasses was an equally cheeky coupon promising readers more ways to get the most out of the following Saturday’s eclipse. In exchange for their name, address and savings bank account number, readers could request a booklet on enjoying the eclipse, along with information on ordering a white cane and a “saw the eclipse ʻ76” badge with matching tie-pin. And if you thought the Farrago humour on the eclipse ended there, you would be seriously underestimating the students of 1976. That year, in an article titled “Sun out but not down”, Farrago reported the arrival of a “new semi-political campus organisation” called the Friends of
the Sun, supposedly on the verge of affiliation with the Union Council. In an exclusive interview, its president, Marty Merz, declared their opposition to eclipses on the grounds that “they are ecologically unsound and have caused devastation in the animal kingdom.” The group planned to stage a demonstration the day before the eclipse, calling on students to boycott the eclipse. Protesters would assemble at Concrete Lawn at noon before marching to City Square via the Bureau of Meteorology, carrying anti-eclipse slogans like “Piss Off Moon!”, “Make Photosynthesis Not War” and “The Sun is Out But Not Down”. What I love the most about the article is how Merz also added that they had “had messages of solidarity from the Sunshine City Council by virtue of their name alone”—I was losing it when I read this, and by that point, I was sold. With that, on one Saturday evening in 1976, the Moon officially found itself on the wrong side of student politics. Solar Eclipses are rare occurrences for most of us, and it is this rarity that makes them so enigmatic and breathtaking. It will be a long wait before the Parkville campus once again falls under the path of a total solar eclipse, as it did in 1976. But don’t be too sad just yet, according to SBS, Australia’s next total solar eclipse is on 22 July 2028 and will pass through Western Australia, Northern Territory, Queensland and New South Wales. Closer to home, Victoria is set to experience its next total solar eclipse on 26 December 2038, and regional towns like Echuca and Shepparton will be lucky enough to sit within the path of totality as it crosses the New South Wales–Victoria border. To those who don’t want to miss out, put these dates in your calendar! I know I have.
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
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3,000 Years Old and Still Speaking to Us
Why Ancient Greek Refuses TO DIE WORDS BY MIA BARLOW PHOTOGRAPHY BY FELICITY BAYNE
“In literature you may relish the story-telling of Homer, still one of the best in the world, the delicacy of Sappho’s poetry, the majesty of Aeschylus, the anecdotes of Herodotus: then the pith of Thucydides, the pure prose of Plato, the racy zest and jest of Aristophanes and in them all the sanity and down-toearth straightforwardness one would expect to appeal to our time.” - A. Wesson. Farrago Magazine 1950.
If the last time you engaged in an Ancient Greek story was high school English Medea or Antigone, maybe it’s time to take an Ancient deep dive. When recently scrolling through the endless past editions of Farrago, as we archivists do, I found a perfectly timed article titled “Why Study Ancient Greek” published in Farrago on the 10th of May 1950. With Christopher Nolan’s 62
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The Odyssey releasing just last month and myself being a student of Ancient Greek, this seemed like the perfect article to bring to edition five “per aspera ad astra” (through hardship to the stars). Classical languages have a reputation of being “dead” or “useless”, however, recent years have shown a rise in the popularity of Ancient Greek classes, suggesting the language is not dead at all but thriving.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
Ancient Greek has been taught at the University of Melbourne since its foundation and continues to be loved by all kinds of students. If you’re anything like me and the other Ancient Greek students who saw Nolan’s Odyssey, there are certainly many critiques to be made about Nolan’s ʻliberties’. However, the reimagined epic is certainly an incredible display of filmmaking innovation. Its Hollywood budget also has the power to engage audiences with Ancient Greece who may otherwise never have encountered it. Many other pop culture media have also attempted the same. From Hercules (1997) to Percy Jackson (2005/2023), God of War (2005), and of course the highly underrated (and wrongfully axed) Netflix series Kaos (2024). Despite its questionable accuracy, the show merges Greek myths of many famous figures such as Eurydice and the Minotaur as well as playfully modernises the house of the gods as a dysfunctional family. Aside from my shameless plug, Ancient Greece has been a fundamental aspect of storytelling for centuries, not to mention Greece being the birthplace of Theatre itself! “After all, classical Greek, despite its weird-looking writing, is a cousin only three times removed from our own mother tongue,” A. Wesson wrote in Farrago in 1950. Perhaps one of the most interesting things about Ancient Greek is that we encounter it every day without even realising. Take “κρίσις”, for example. The Ancient Greek word meaning choice or decision was the root for the English word “crisis”. A crisis at its core is an intersection of choices. Even the colloquial term ʻmidlife-crisis’ carries its original meaning, referring to someone who is unsure of their choices or even overwhelmed by them. Many words follow this pattern in Greek, highlighting the true meanings of English words. Together with Latin, French, Italian and Spanish, Greek is a fundamental pillar of the English language. Perhaps the most useful, and in my opinion the most fascinating, part of learning Ancient Greek is translation. I like to compare translation, especially in Ancient languages, to puzzles. If you
enjoy Wordle, sudoku, crosswords, anagrams or even true crime, translating Ancient Greek might be for you. You are constantly reordering words, searching for synonyms and hidden meanings. Translation is not just about recognising words but reformulating meanings in another language. However, that’s precisely the problem with reading Ancient Greek texts in translation. Melbourne University Classics and Archaeology Society (MUCLASS)’s co-president Marigold goes as far to say that English translations are only “interpretations” of original Ancient Greek texts, not the ancients themselves. This ambiguity leads to many liberties and disparities in published translations. Recently, in Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey, she controversially translates πολύτροπος (Polytropos) as “a complicated man” in reference to Odysseus. Wilson’s translation of πολύτροπος rings true to her simplistic and non-archaic mission to create a more modern accessible English translation. Traditionally the phrase directly meaning “many forms” or “many faces” is translated with increased depth. Daniel Mendelsohn’s 2025 translation reflects this through translating πολύτροπος as “a man of twists and turns”. What might seem like a small change has a distinct difference. While “a complicated man” might come across as more psychological and moral, it misses the elusive element of Odysseus’ cunning, craftiness and adaptive nature. From even such a small example, you can imagine how context can be changed in an entire book. At some point in our university lives, we will be or have been required to read Plato, Aristotle or any of the other classical Greek thinkers that established knowledge as we know it. As Marigold clearly stated, these English translations are just the tip of the iceberg. Often English cannot even express the lyricism, and nuanced depth of Ancient Greek words. I hope I have convinced you about how thriving, and not dead, Ancient Greek really is. So you might be asking: How can I engage with this newfound
love of Ancient Greece that I have encountered in the last minute of reading this article? I have collated some ideas of how you can immerse yourself in the wonders of Ancient Greece. 1: Read the Odyssey or another fabulous Ancient Greek text! Lobe Classical Library is a free online source to read classical texts AND you can even read the English alongside the original Greek! 2: Do Ancient Greek as a breadth or even more ;) 3: Melbourne University has a long history with the Ancient Greek language stretching all the way back to the foundation of the University. Weekly events and activities are hosted by the Classics and Archaeology Society for everyone, no matter what your major. If you’d love to learn more about the classics world inside and outside the University, this is for you! 4: If theatre is more your thing, at Open Day students of Ancient Greek 2 are performing an excerpt from Aristophanes’ The Frogs. Complete with replica costumes provided by The Hellenic Museum, masks and even some of the original Ancient Greek! 5: Visit the Hellenic Museum! With rotating exhibits traveling all the way from Greece the museum displays a vast collection of Greek history from vases and statues to armor. 6: Finally, watch The Odyssey or another Greek-inspired pop culture media. The Ancient Greeks placed high importance on leisure time for cultural pursuits. If Aristotle was alive today he’d urge you to explore passions outside of your major, let yourself go down that rabbit hole. Maybe that rabbit hole could be Ancient Greece! As A. Wesson puts it, the ancients “had a grasp on the whole problem of living, a sweep and breadth of outlook which is sadly needed in our age of specialists.” VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Photography by Jeven Wang
SuperNova The
ship was four light-years away from Earth when you received the message from command. It stated that scientists on Earth figured out how to make Exonite in industrial quantities, so you no longer needed to fly off into deep space to find another planet to mine it from. Your mission to the exoplanet Gliese 887 was thus terminated. Reggie was enraged. He spluttered about his cut of the profits, then about the sacrifices he’d made, spending four years in space with you fuckers, and all for nothing. You reckon Tom was feeling the same way, but he didn’t let on. Anything beats the ego-blow of agreeing with Reggie. That night, all three of you had the privacy curtains fully drawn around your bunks, but you could still hear the other two rolling around under the linen. The news from command pissed you off, but it didn’t affect you like Reggie and Tom. They were both in it for the money—Tom because he wanted it, and Reggie because he needed it. But that was never your motivation. You just wanted to see the stars. You’d only ever seen them in photos. Hardly anyone alive remembers them, but the few people from the golden space age remember them as beautiful. In some sense, you’d already got what you came for. The next morning, you and Reggie silently ate nutri-jam on toast in the rec room, sitting as far away from each other as the small space allowed. Reggie finished his breakfast before you did, and, for lack of anything better to do, started complaining. God, you’d heard it all before. He misses his kids, Tom is getting on his nerves, the food here sucks, blah blah blah. Reggie could fuck right off. Though he was right about the food. Before launch, all three of you—still friends at that time—predicted something like aeroplane food. Aeroplane food would taste like fucking caviar right now. You just nodded along in silence as Reggie continued to run his mouth. You weren’t really there—you were thinking about snapping off the metal handle of the captain’s chair and breaking Reggie’s shins with it. You learn how to zone out like that when you’re stuck with the same three people, every day, for years. You learn how to keep your crewmates calm. It’s survival. You’d seen how Tom and Reggie get when they’re angry, as if they’re physically pulsing, every heartbeat hot and visible and capable of tipping them over the edge.
w o r ds by Ben
Sh a w
art by ca i tl i n ru yi s im
CREATIVE
Tom was downstairs, looking through the viewing window at the stars. You and Tom didn’t see eye to eye on everything, but you both agreed that stars are beautiful. The only thing that rivals them, according to the few people who’d ever seen one, is a supernova. When a star is unable to fight off its own gravity, it dies, imploding then rebounding outwards into a cacophony of colour and light.This, they said, was the most beautiful thing in the universe. Reggie finally finished his tantrums and acquiesced to the orders from command to reroute the ship back to Earth. That’s when Tom, who had been watching on with laser focus, started yelling at Reggie, screaming that we can still be rich, we can sabotage their machines, we will find new crystals! Reggie continued the reroute in silence, patiently waiting for Tom’s hoarsening voice to fail. But he waited too long. You saw it coming. The lunge forward, hands wrapped around his throat. You chose not to intervene—Reggie had it coming. He couldn’t put up much of a struggle. Tom was the ship’s mechanic. He had big arms and strong hands. Reggie only programmed the computers. Now that Reggie was dead, Tom started threatening you, demanding you terminate the fucking reroute, or else. You were okay with going back to Earth, but you didn’t want to be strangled, either, so you got to work. Of course, you lacked Reggie’s skillset with the ship. He had the best knowledge of the spacecraft’s programming. So, you took your time. You had to. It was your last line of defence. Eventually, sleep-deprived and sick of watching you tinker with code you understood only slightly better than him, Tom retired to bed. You really didn’t want to die, and you’d seen what Tom was willing to do. Lucky for you, Tom didn’t hear the metal snap as you bent the arm off the chair. You repeat to yourself that, really, your hand was forced. That it was self-defence. You don’t like recalling the details. But you’d never seen so much blood before, especially not in zero G. His head just shattered, and red exploded out in all directions. It was like a supernova in slow-mo. It will forever flash across your eyelids when you close your eyes. You’ve seen one now, a supernova, the death of a star. You’re still floating in a sea of slowly dying stars. You’ve seen one now, in red. And you know that they were right. It was the most beautiful thing in the universe. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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CREATIVE
chapter 5
Words by Lilian Anjeli Design by Marc Lebon
Words by Lilian Anjeli Design by Marc Lebon
O
utside, the sky was black and brimming; it was the kind of infectiously tense night that inspired a ghost story in children, and a lonely drink in men. One such man, who had a name but didn’t care to share it, read his book in a dim corner. His position made Beth his designated attendant, which was fine with her. He was polite enough, handsome for his good hair and had the endearing habit, Beth noticed, of mouthing words as he read them. When he wanted service, he looked across the room, straightened his back and sort of swayed, like a peering meerkat. Four times Beth travelled to him to replace a dastardly empty pint, and a fifth to take his dinner order of a chicken parmigiana, coleslaw, some chips and another pint. Also in the pub were Adam, who was focused on some laptop-based admin, Sadie, behind the bar and Sadie’s boyfriend, opposite her. He was supposedly there to pick her up, but tonight, like most nights, he would drink too much, and Sadie would end up driving them both home. The only other customers were a small group having after-work drinks and an uncomfortable first date. The only other staff were the chef, Norman, and the dishie. Patron and staff alike felt the weight of the air this night. Living in it was like swimming through treacle. There was minimal chatter, then a crack, then a bolt, then the sky broke open and an ocean fell onto the tin roof of the Sovereign Hotel. The ordeal must have been too stressful for the local power grid because moments after the pub was plunged into darkness. No one spoke. Beth couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or shut. She may well have been asleep for all she knew. She had been bringing the reader his meal but, in the darkness, she stood perfectly still and felt infinity. She would have stayed there forever, but the lights soon flickered back on.
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~ Beth arrived at her table and performed her usual lines—I hope you enjoy your meal—Is there anything else I can get for you, sir? She was sent away on a salt-fetching mission. She grabbed pepper too for good measure and hurried back. She first noticed that his book had fallen to the ground. She leaned down to pick it up for him. She was hit with her customer’s limp hand. Her gaze drifted up his arm until she found his entire body slumped forward, his face in his meal. Excuse me, sir—Are you alright, sir? She was anxious to wake him before Adam saw, as he was very shrill when it came to RSA violations. Sir, please—She shook his shoulders—Sir, wake up. He didn’t. She checked his pulse. The man was dead. Beth’s vision failed. Everything faded. Then there was the darkness again. ~ Sometime later—maybe moments, maybe hours—Beth came to and was surprised to discover that she was upright and in the middle of a hushed conversation. Poison—Beth said to the female half of the first date. She looked intangibly familiar, an acquaintance’s sister perhaps. They both stood over the cold, stiff reader, from whose agape mouth foamy and strangely purple saliva leaked. From the parmi?!—The lady part-exclaimed, part-inquired. He had died grasping his fork, whereon a bitten piece of chicken remained pierced. Beth gently tried to pry the silverware from him. He was strong for a dead man, but she managed to wiggle it free without losing the piece of meat. No allergic reaction could have killed this quickly—Beth thought out loud—He was dead before he could salt his meal. She inspected the meat closely; it was finely dusted with something that could have easily been parmesan. Beth suspected it was anything but.
Yes, I believe this man has been poisoned—she told the assembled pubgoers and staff. You know—Adam said—No one has arrived or left the venue since the storm began—Beth interrupted his line of thought here—And assuming that the chicken wasn’t tampered with prior to its delivery this morning, which seems most likely since no one else who ate a parma tonight is dead. Oh my god— cried Sadie. Her boyfriend groaned. Two after-work-drinkers hugged each other desperately. Another crack, another rumble. Either the building or she was swaying; Beth couldn’t tell. Her voice was strong and resonant, though, when she announced—The killer must be one of us! ~ Then there was darkness again. Beth floated about in glorious, infinite black fog. And she would have stayed forever if it weren’t for the damned light. Beth shivered and tried to turn away, but she couldn’t. She was too weak to swim against the current that forced her towards the violent light. ~ Beth was running a parm, coleslaw and some chips. She must have been moving, because her body reached its destination somehow. She said her lines and felt like she had swallowed a stone. It was a heavy and guilty feeling, and she knew something was very wrong. She turned away and it became clear to her that someone was going to die. An ache told her so. She lurched forward; she was beyond logic or any semblance of civility. This was life and death, so she pulled the Parmigiana toward her and with her hands stiff and curled like claws she dug into the chicken. It was hot but not enough to burn her while she tore the poultry apart. Her customer looked on aghast. Beth smiled because she was sure she was saving a life. She felt glad to tear the flesh apart.
CREATIVE
Esoteric Visions
Words and art by Jacaranda Liu
This Blessed and Accursed Revelation: the true incarnation of God— The Spirit, the Devil, the Abyss conjoined spinning in perfect synchronisation, above where lush lands rushing rivers beechen greens collapsed to reveal their true forms. A white coast crumbled into the waves of Oblivion. Here, I saw God— an immense statue with three heads surging into the grey sky. Left was the Spirit face, thrumming and humming with rays of a thousand suns, gold-spun colours revealed and unrevealed to the eye.
Right was the Devil, rotting and cracking face rumbling with the fires and pestilence of the world.
Middle was the dark mass of the cosmos— an infinity of stars—
Three pairs of smiling wily lips unmoving unspeaking, eyes unblinking, and the world was a hush except the rushing of waves constant flowing ticking clock
fires burning in endless space
the dark fires flicking and sizzling stars and supernovae fizzing God-Statue indifferent to my existence looking on with marble eyes— A voice spoke from not God-Statue’s many lips, but all the elements on their being and every corner of limbo. Fires stars waters sunlight whispering. I heard and parsed these strange words: “The end of one world is not the true end. The gateway to Heaven is through the toils of purgatory.
I am the mud underfoot, the lotus that took root and bloomed in that mud. I am the death that befalls the lotus;
The blade, fired and hammered. I am the fire and the hammer. I am the blade glinting in your hand.
Read the rest at farragomagazine.com
I am all the stones of the world. I am the mountain, and the boulder that you must roll up that mountain.
the sparkling glass that holds the water and cuts through flesh, made from mountains milled and battered into sand;
The human, my amalgamation of coarse soil and the deaths of many species before them. VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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Design by Bettina Unson 68
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Growing
CREATIVE
Tears fall hardest when fattened with well-kept sorrow. Like how clouds rain when they’re heavily greyed, like how petals fall when they’re long browned. Clouds are caressed and pushed gently to dispersion by warm summer winds. Petals nurture the earth, adding their faded colours; a growing richness for new seedlings. Tears can be wiped away once sorrow is broken free, and the heart is unclenched. The past falls away further, and further, and further, until it’s gone.
Art by Eliska Elliott
marrow
Words by Ella Brown
Words by Paridhi Chhajed
has something ever been so deeply embedded in your bones that to get it out, you’d have to crawl out of your own skin? and even skinless, bare and unbecoming, you’d still feel the echo of it, low and humming. for it is not on the surface, easy to shrug. no, it has soaked into the marrow like a stain on a rug. i believe distance cannot be seen as a cure. some things aren’t meant to be waited out, endured. truthfully, how do you outwalk your own skeleton, how do you leave behind the very thing you’re built upon? so, you carry it. you climb. the weight remains the same, you just grow over time. let the air grow thin, and thinner still, let something in you harden against your will. become reformed, become changed, not to get it out, but to become rearranged into something that catches light instead of shade, into the kind of dark where stars are made, until your marrow learns to gleam, like constellations stitched beneath the skin.
Art by Dante Duell VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
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CREATIVE
e e l l k k c c a a T T T Too tthhee SSuunn
Words by Hannah Louey and Batrisyia Md Khairil
I sat with Icarus sometime between the 1,812th and 1,857th iteration of the loop. He was faced away from me, with his head turned towards the Sun. A painter had dusted his wings in the lightest shade of gold, and his hair was a glowing halo. A lush carpet of grass lay under us, as green as it had ever been and ever would be. I wished that I could have had this moment for just a second longer. Icarus had been stuck, as it were. Displaced in time. A prophecy coming into fruition, doomed to endlessly cycle through flying and falling. This time would be no different. He was sitting here with me for now, but I could only hold his attention for a mere moment before his gaze turned back towards the rolling waves. In these moments, he seemed so close and yet so far from me. His eyes would cloud over, and his head would tilt to the side like he was listening to a secret only him and fate understood. He knew, of course, what his fate was. It whispered to him in low tones, and he always listened to its calls instead of mine. “Where do you go?” What do you mean? “Just a second ago you were… not here. I can tell. As if your mind flies to some other place but your body stays.” “What is it out there? What is so alluring you cannot even sit with me right now?” He turned towards me with a smile that burned brighter than the Sun. His wings fluttered, alive for a split second before settling. I knew I was not going to like his answer. I wish I could take you with me. Up there, the world becomes irrelevant. I can feel the wind rush over me like the birds do. Strong but also gentle like a mother’s touch. I am born anew in the clouds. As I soar higher and higher, I watch this ball of light grow and grow. You reach out like your fingertips can just graze the Sun. For a split second you can dare to reach for something greater than everything. “But there is always the fall. That is a certainty. Surely, the feeling of the Sun cannot feel that good. This cannot be worth what follows!” And then the wind roars in your ears as your shoulders are wrenched back from a combination of inertia and fate. The feathers and wax come free and dance finer than any maiden I’ve seen. The winds embrace me at speeds only possible from such great heights. There is freedom in flying, the same way there is freedom in falling. -----When the sun was at its highest peak, Icarus would always leave my side. As he stood, for a second, I wondered if he might look back at me. But every time, without even a whisper, he would be in the air. His wings beat faster and faster as he hurtled towards the sun at an incredible speed. This was always the best part. When the sun hit his skin just so and it looked like he was glowing from within. The Earth watched, jealous of the pull of the sky. Gravity did not seem to bind him to walk the Earth like the rest of us. Icarus always reached his highest point with his arms fully extended out. Grasping desperately, he laughed as the rays spilled out from his fingers. With one final flap of his wings, he let himself go lax. The fall was not immediate. In a moment, he will be hurtling into the sea. In a moment, inertia will contort his bones into impossible shapes. In a moment, Icarus’ body breaking the sound barrier will be drowned out by my screams towards a cruel God. But in that one, he remained suspended in the air. In that moment, Icarus embraced the Sun like a child welcoming a mother home. 70
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VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE 71
Catasterism Written by Julian Kong
CW: grief, family conflict, reference to the 1986 Challenger disaster L-32 hours and counting My sister called yesterday. At 8 am, like the chipper early bird she always was—I would never wake up this early—but I had answered all the same. I had felt every pause in her words placed delicately between us, something pretty to light up the uncomfortable space. She had called me in a tentative voice. Hey, she said, will we see you at dinner tomorrow? What for? I asked innocently. A beat. I could tell she was biting her lip in annoyance. Before my flight. You did remember, right? Oh, right. The dinner that will inevitably solidify our distance for good. Don’t be like that. I’ve missed you. In an emotional or just a physical sense? Don’t. Truth be told, I didn’t think I wanted to see her anymore. I didn’t want to see her success. I didn’t want to see her happy, in spite of me. I didn’t want to see her leave me behind. My fingers ran over some clay I was moulding yesterday. I had taken a small slab of it while I was on the phone with her; at least if I couldn’t swallow my unease, I could let the clay take the emotional beating. I remember the sinking pit in my stomach when I looked down to see what my shaking hands had made, the slightly lumpy form of a cheerful dog beaming back up at me. It reminded me of the dog my sister still had, the one she’d gotten when we were in high school, whom she used to have to drag away from sniffing every suspicious item on the street. The guileless appraisal in the clay dog’s eyes and head tilt pulled questions like strings on my chest that I couldn’t answer. We named the dog Challenger—in good humour because she really did challenge my sister, a new dog owner. But it was fitting that the dog, and the space shuttle disaster after which she was named, elicited the same despair in me. My fingertips left impressions on the clay’s malleable surface, yet to harden into a definitive form. I hadn’t thought about (or wouldn’t think about) either Challenger in years.
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In classical myth, when the lovers of gods died, the gods would deify them, in a way—immortalising them into stars and constellations so that everyone could look up and see the same beauty in the celestial as the god did in the mortal. They called it catasterism: placed amongst the stars. I thought this statuette was the closest thing I had to that. Sure, I’ll come, I had found myself saying, although I couldn’t help adding, but only for the dog. L-9 hours and counting You’re never going to let me go, are you? I would have laughed, but she would not have seen the conflicted, strangled look on my face in the darkened kitchen. Haven’t I? No. Her voice was like ice to the rush of blood in my ears. No, I would say coming back here signals the opposite of that, actually. We were standing in a sort of face-off, me and her, stalemated by the counter between us. I would not have guessed that the propensity for a late-night drink ran in the family, but after this encounter I might. My restless hand found its way to a small object in my pocket. The statuette. I completed it before I came to the house. I had forgotten about it—well, tried to. The twinge of guilt that accompanied this recollection gave me pause. The trinket wasn’t much by any means, just a smaller version of what I had been sculpting when she called me. I’d given the little clay dog a circlet with inlaid stars, made from a hodgepodge collection of craft sequins and gems. Now it looked like she either had been promoted to royalty or was cartoonishly dizzy, but my questionable artistic choice was not why I was still holding onto it.
It held a piece of her, my sister, my best friend in childhood, my worst enemy in the height of teenage insecurity and competitive sibling comparison. I couldn’t even bear to look at it, only to feel its amateur ridges and finishing varnish with a clammy hand and wish it never existed. I didn’t want to let it go. It would have been easier living without it. It would be harder living without it. Would I see it again, would it be changed, would it be as if I never knew it?
L-40 minutes and holding
The anguish of her departure was perhaps not in the farewell: it was sending her into the unknown, knowing she might not come back the same, or indeed at all.
L-10 minutes and holding
Let me go. Please.
L-8 minutes and holding
It was a hard thing, loving someone enough to let them go.
L-7 minutes and holding
As I walked around the kitchen counter and held my sister in our first genuine hug in years, I said, not now. Not yet. L-4 hours and counting A much lighter tone than last night. Bright and early today. Yeah, yeah, I grinned back. 3 am on a weekend, and I didn’t even break a sweat hauling myself downstairs. I was improving—or, rather, I did what needed to be done to see my sister out. But I amazed myself nonetheless, with the things I did out of love. I still elbowed her away from the suitcase I carried to the car, though. Just to show I wasn’t too sentimental yet. I also worked up the courage to slip my little work of art and my feelings through the bag’s zipper; bubble-wrapped and sheltered to astronomical levels of care and hidden enough that she wouldn’t realise until she was well on her way. You didn’t have to come. I just shrugged, hopping into the backseat of the car and patting the space next to me. You don’t have to leave, either. We were both stubborn like that. L-50 minutes and holding I had been watching the clock on the wall tick down. Time was at a standstill…
button…
CREATIVE
…and I was at the controls, waiting to press the
L-20 minutes and holding forever.
…to change the course of her journey and our lives
L-9 minutes and holding
L-6 minutes and holding T-5 minutes and counting I hadn’t slept since we said goodbye. In a silly way I felt like if I fell asleep, I’d be leaving her alone, without the comfort of my thoughts to accompany her on her way… well, my thoughts, and the dog’s. Challenger was also sitting with me on the bed, in front of the window with the curtain drawn back, watching the sky and the stars for a blinking light. When we got to the airport, my sister placed a very serious hand on my shoulder. I want you to know something. It’s really important. Okay. You can’t forget it. … What is it? Challenger is yours while I’m gone. If Mum feeds her, she’ll be like a balloon when I get back. Now I had my own fragment of my sister with me. Not as impressive as a fashioned constellation, but Challenger would suffice for the present. In the last few minutes, I thought about the plane’s take-off. I hoped it was smooth—even though a smooth take-off didn’t mean a flight without turbulence. You could never predict what would happen, only watch in horror as you realised it was always fated. Watching recordings of the Challenger shuttle launch felt like that, knowing it would break apart mid-flight. Seeing the awe on children’s faces all over the world, imagining it could be their teacher on that space shuttle, as it hurtled up, and up, up into the air, until it was a tiny speck amongst the clouds… T+1 minute and counting … and we saw a flickering red light amongst the stars through our window. It could have been the wing of any plane, but I like to believe we watched my sister’s plane that morning, just before the sun rose for the day. I wondered if Challenger had looked like that as it took off, tunnelling into a tiny fire in the atmosphere, becoming just another star in the sky. 73 VOL. 102 EDITION FIVE
CREATIVE
Peter Pan was Words by Helani Munidasa
IV
III
Sunlight lulled the moon as she sang the stars to sleep tucked under silk clouds.
Cradled in white, they dance slow with night dressed in stars— some spill on their wrists.
V
Right The sun burns their skin deep into the core, leaving nothing but ember.
VI Peter Pan was right:
we drift away from the stars as we grow up—scarred.
II
On evergreen skies sun-kissed stars smile up at them, and oh, how they blushed!
I Lost boys on a boat sail across a sea of stars; home awaits, blessed souls.
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Design by Erin Ibrahim
SATIRE
Comics by Jessica Chaaban
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SATIRE
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SATIRE
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PUZZLES 1
2 4
3
5
Puzzle by Seb Phillips
6 7
8 9
10
11 12 13
14
15
16 17
CRYPTIC CROSSWORD ANSWERS DOWN — 1.Hinge 2.UMSU 3.Breadth 4.Ida Bar 5.Dookie 8.Lawn 9.Crepe 10.Professor 12.Canvas 14.OKTA ACROSS — 3.Bailleiu 6.Spot 7.WAM 9. Crumpler 11.Canteen 13.Fodder 15.Exam 16.Farrago 17.Prosh
Crossword Puzzle by Mahema Singh
DOWN 1. Song based domestic abuse that fans have been seen proposing to 4. Song by a Swedish girl who collaborated with a British girl 5. Artist who won the latest Grammy award 2 for Album of the Year ACROSS 2. Band that starts its concerts with "Yearning is encouraged" 3. Malcolm Todd may have lost this piece of jewellery in her bedroom 5 6. Global girl group formed in 2024 7. An adult male who acts immature and 7 irresponsible 8. Spider-Man: Brand New Day soundtrack song title 9. Song about an unborn child between two bandmates 10. Olivia Rodrigo hopes people will play this song of hers at their weddings 9
BONUS! What's the theme?
CROSSWORD ANSWERS: 1. CHERRY WINE 2.THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 3.EARRINGS 4. STATESIDE 5. BAD BUNNY 7. MANCHILD 8.LOSER 9. SIENNA 10. HONEYBEE. THEME: MUSIC
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Cryptic Crossword DOWN 1. Awkwardly texted 'neigh' helps lead to months long situationship (5) 2. United students' museum trip exhibited stolen artifacts (4) 3. Abnormal subject requires students to list breads with a lisp (7) 4. Rabid mess pours student another drink (3,3) 5. Defiance starts as cookie crumbles on agriculture campus (6) 8. Law upturns southern student relaxation spot (4) 9. Creep spills a bit of filling out of delicious pancake (5) 10. Not a bad confessor, actually an expert? (9) 12. Artist's friend can cling to vast losses (6) 14. Mediocre teacher’s assistant requires verification (4) ACROSS 3. Bali scrambles to collect lithium alongside European Union, said to support student learning (8) 6. We're wasting seconds! Support needed for finance bros (4) 7. Wham! losing their first-class honours is indicative of university performance (3) 9. Messenger stuck behind disastrous plume, with car swapping fuel for something restricted (8) 11. Can those between 12 and 20 eat here? (7) 13. Edges of flower incorporate odd radio broadcast (6) 15. Old partner shows on morning of worst period (4) 16. Student Issue publicly announces fairer go for journalists (7) 17. Terribly kept secret starts presenting ridiculous occasional safety hazards (5) 1
3
4
6
8
10
PUZZLES
S K Y D O U R F E U C H O I W O R E E X P U X W O R S D I H N P S T A T V P C T U K P O E T K I E U D N E A R E A E Q H X G V R W E X C R G C A R P E D I E M O P U E P H I T S M A N F B I A R A C O W R D E P N Y A D N R L O X L G I F V O F S E S E M A U V P N N B E E D A E U D W W O R T H G L R Y S K Y A F O N O Z P E O U A L P R O K R E X P L O S I O N D P S L L Q P L O O G O Z S C L A Y P E R S E R I D L E Y E R W Z O I W O R F T H A I J U O I N N O V A T I O N C S K R
C E P Z R O A S I Y D E I W S B O I T R S O K D Y L A O Q P U T R S G O T H S A U P R N E S G R W L A
Wordplay Ladder Puzzle by Honey Raut
Only after calm can you reach the pinnacle
Perseverance Innovation Choice Explosion Ideas Gift Determined Future Look Depth Expanse
Stars Poeisis Carpediem Skyward Surreal Work Worth Worldly Sky Prosper
Puzzle by Dante Duell
Wordsearch
pu zz les
APEX
Bit of patient energy over frustrated noise Shed skin and start with good
Disturbed...?
Given a touch of divinity, grounds becomes holy.
Lose some hope, but gain some resilience
ACHES The way to the stars is never straightforward. Begin with ACHES and ascend up one step at a time. Each clue conceals a transformation: letters may be lost, gained, exchanged or thrown into disorder.
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WORDPLAY LADDER ANSWERS: ACHE -> ACRES -> SACRED -> SCARED -> GRACE -> PEACE
Sub-Editing Managers
Photo and Video Managers
Emily MacFarlane & Alex Revyakina
Wil Simmonds & Ashley Syers
@farratography
Creative Managers
Helani Munidasa, Pip Murphy-Hoyle & Khush Shah
News Managers
Syakira Setiananda, Pryce Starkey, Taylah Xuereb, Zeinab Jishi & Finley Monaghan-Mc Grath
Art & Design Managers
Archives Managers
Erin Ibrahim & Aroma Imran
@farravisuals
Tom Weir-Alarcon, Janice Hui & James Muller
Reviews Managers Lachie Carroll, Hayley Yeow & Junae Won
Features Managers
Saria Ratnam, Fergus Sinnott & Vasudha Chanana
Radio Fodder Managers
Tom Weir-Alarcon, Sophie Gehling, Maddie Barrett & Elissa Kaluka
@radiofodder
thank you
Special Thanks
Elizabeth Pardallis The Southbank UMSU Team Kosdown
Cover Story
Imogen Lang
Sub-Editors
Saria Ratnam, Fergus Sinnott, Grace Dwyer, Phoebe Irish, Zeinab Jishi, Zoe Hibbard, Ella Brown, Eloise Licciardello, Ben Shaw, Paridhi Chhajed, Wafa Dhirani, Amali Deane, Syakira Setiananda, Pip Murphy-Hoyle, Sabine Pentecost, Finley Monaghan-Mc Grath, Taylah Xuereb, Pryce Starkey, Bianca Lockwood, Casper Epstein, Hayley Yeow, Lachie Carroll & Kaya McGloin Art by Maria Quartel 80
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Proofreaders
Andi Misa & Paridhi Chhajed
Above Water
CRISIS
a literary anthology
W
e share these stories from the stolen lands of the Wurundjeri and Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation. Sovereignty was never ceded. The team at Farrago pay our respects to the Traditional Owners and Elders past and present, who have and continue to be the first storytellers on this land. It is the responsibility of all writers, readers and students to consider the colonial ideologies that remain upheld and unquestioned in so-called Australia, and to resist these structures through education. This always was, and always will be Aboriginal land, and we encourage all readers of Farrago to nurture an understanding of the Indigenous histories from the places you call home.
per aspera ad astra