Pelican Edition 4 - Memory by UWA Student Guild

B o o l a d a r l u n g | E d i t i o n 4 | Vo l u m e 9 1 | 2 0 2 0 | E s t . 1 9 2 9

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s on Guild Council in 2021, as well as for Guild US open on Monday 3rd August at 10:00am. PIZZA available from our website and from the Guildâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s th Wing, Guild Village). 165 BROADWAY, NEDLANDS 9389 8500

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attend polling booths, are now available on our close of eligibility to 5pmNominations Friday for 31st July. positions on Guild Council in 2021, as well as for Guild

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Representatives to the NUS open on Monday 3rd August at 10:00am. Nomination forms will be available from our website and from the Guildâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Reception (1st Floor, South Wing, Guild Village).

must be received by the Nominations close 12:00pm Friday 14th August. m, Friday 11th September. Polling for Guild Elections will be held on the week starting Monday 14th September.

ed out to approved For students not able to attend polling booths, d ballot must beavailable on our Postal papers Vote applications are now website. Close of rolls & close of eligibility to g Officer, Mary Petrou, register as Postal Voter: 5pm Friday 31st July. eptember 2020. Postal Vote applications must be received by the Returning Officer by 4pm, Friday 11th September. Ballot papers will be mailed out to approved applicants and completed ballot papers must be received by the Returning Officer, Mary Petrou, by 5pm, Thursday 17th September 2020.

our website www.uwastudentguild.com/elections for more information on the position Visit our website www.uwastudentguild.com/elections for more information on the positions able2 and the election orprocess contact elections@guild.uwa.edu.au. availableprocess and the election or contact elections@guild.uwa.edu.au.

CONTENTS EDITION 4 - MEMORY PAGE SEVEN: CAMPUS NEWS ‘Campus Story’ by Sophie Minissale

PAGE TWENTY-EIGHT: DIVERSITY ‘Remembering Gender’ by Elanor Leman and others

PAGES EIGHT AND NINE: CAMPUS NEWS ‘Campus Updates’ by Courtney Withers

PAGE TWENTY-NINE: MUSIC ‘Rediscovering Nick Cave’ by Cleo Robbins

PAGE TEN: LIFESTYLE ‘Shaping Identity Through Our Cultural Roots’ by Francesca De Nuccio

PAGES THIRTY AND THIRTY-ONE: LIFESTYLE ‘Guess the Pelican Team Member!’ curated by Francesca De Nuccio

PAGE ELEVEN: MUSIC ‘A Farewell to Kings: Remembering Neil Peart and Rush’ by Susannah Wong

PAGES THIRTY-TWO AND THIRTY-THREE: FILM ‘Your Account Is Closing, Dear Doctor: The Restitution and Reconciliation of Dr. Isak Borg’ by Lachlan Serventy

PAGES TWELVE AND THIRTEEN: SPORT ‘Terrible Sporting Memories from Less-Than-Terrible People’ by Campbell Williamson and others PAGE FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN: COMEDY ‘Letters to the Editors’ by various Cartoon by Holly Carter-Turner Caption by Zoe Wells PAGES SIXTEEN AND SEVENTEEN: POLITICS ‘Zeitgeists and Zoom Calls: How Should We Remember Coronavirus?’ by Lachlan Hardman PAGES EIGHTEEN AND NINETEEN: ARTS AND DESIGN ‘The Language of the Beast in Art History’ by Amy Neville PAGE TWENTY: LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING ‘not all there’ by Isabelle Yuen ‘blue volts’ by Ellie Fisher PAGE TWENTY-ONE: ART ‘Untitled (Blue Boathouse)’ by Ei Hnin ‘Untitled (Winthrop Hall)’ by Ei Hnin PAGES TWENTY-TWO AND TWENTY-THREE: DIVERSITY ‘Solastalgia, Gender, Apocalypse’ by Sky Edwards PAGE TWENTY-FOUR: ART ‘Untitled’ by Courtney Withers PAGE TWENTY-FIVE: ART ‘Untitled (Birds)’ by Ei Hnin ‘Untitled (Splash)’ by Ei Hnin PAGES TWENTY-SIX AND TWENTY-SEVEN: ARTS AND DESIGN ‘Remembering Lockdown Through Art’ by Abigail MacLeod and others

PAGES THIRTY-FOUR AND THIRTY-FIVE: LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING ‘Memories Spilling Over: Interview with Author Imbi Neeme’ by Elena Perse PAGE THIRTY-SIX: SCIENCE ‘Water Doesn’t Have Memory. But If It Did, It Would Remember That Homeopathy Kinda Sucks’ by Deni Campbell PAGE THIRTY-SEVEN: TECHNOLOGY AND GAMING ‘The Silicon Lottery: From Sand to CPU’ by Caleb Cheng PAGES THIRTY-EIGHT AND THIRTY-NINE: ECONOMICS AND FINANCE ‘Bear Market Rallies: This Time, It’s Different’ by Brian Khoo PAGES FORTY AND FORTY-ONE: LIFESTYLE ‘Shocking Travel Stories!’ curated by Francesca De Nuccio PAGES FORTY-TWO AND FORTY-THREE: ARTS AND DESIGN ‘Un-settling Memories’ by Ralph Thompson PAGE FORTY-FOUR: ECONOMICS AND FINANCE ‘Yield Curve Control – The Future of Monetary Policy?’ by Gabriel Brodie PAGE FORTY-FIVE: LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING ‘Dual Readings: A Reflection on the Effect of Memory When Revisiting a Childhood Favourite’ by Cate Tweedie PAGES FORTY-SIX AND FORTY-SEVEN: FILM ‘On Memento’ by Boa Antahputro

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CONTRIBUTORS EDITION 4 - MEMORY

Abigail MacLeod is missing Formula One so much she's started building her own car out of cereal boxes. Amy Neville is studying Art History and Fine Arts with passions for ethics, books, and sword fighting. Amy Papsergio is starting to believe waking up in the early afternoon counts as waking up early. Boa Antahputro studies philosophy, and likes films and Haruki Murakami. Brian Khoo is glad to watch FC Barcelona at four am again. Brodie Cunnold majored in economics, minored in love. Caleb Cheng canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop thinking about how lights in video games use real electricity. Campbell Williamson? More like Schmampbell Schmilliamson. Cate Tweedie remembers exactly when she met you, and wishes she could forget. In her spare time, Cleo Robins enjoys participating in government surveys and chatting with telemarketers. Courtney Withers thinks seasons eight and nine of The Office are not the same without Michael Scott. Deni Campbell has a feeling sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s about to come into some money. Ei Hnin is still stuck at home. Elanor Leman wants you to ask her about her endocrine system. There's nothing Elena Perse wouldn't do for a good cinnamon bun. Ellenor Sibbon is a travel enthusiast who believes humanities and STEM majors should be equally valued. Despite having an intense passion for history, Ellie Fisher tries not to get mired in the past. Faisal Hamza has almost perfected his Redfoo cosplay. Francesca De Nuccio was too busy writing her amazing articles for this edition that she forgot about her bio. Gabe Brodie thinks Matt Rowell for the Brownlow. Holly Carter-Turner thinks that what happens in Rotto stays in Rotto, along with her dignity and liver. Hugo Hardisty. The comeback kid. Just wants her to come back.

Isabelle Yuen is formally requesting a sane sleep schedule. Please. Jeremy Hansen is the one who knocks. Jessica Carbone thought 2020 was going to be her year. Jonathan Sweeney. Afraid of heights. Keeps falling for it. Lachlan Hardman eats, sleeps, watches TV, and will sometimes write for Pelican Magazine. Lachlan Serventy has absconded to Cuba with Pelican funds. Marcus Ho is a Ho (look at his last name). Max Silbert wishes a curse upon the bloodline of anyone who calls themselves an entrepreneur. Megan Rundle hasn't been on tinder in one month. Morrígan Renee Green thinks of herself as an artist - too bad she's busy not doing that. Nicholas Warrand dreams of being the egg that male penguins protect. Rupert Williamson is the founder of Free David Schwimmer! A non-profit advocating the release of actor David Schwimmer. Sky Edwards is an artist, scientist, left wing activist, and aspiring eldritch monstrosity. Sophie Minissale is planning to print her arts degree onto a blanket so that it can keep her warm at night. In 1972, Susannah Wong was sent to prison by a military court for a crime she didn't commit. Today, still wanted by the government, she survives as a soldier of fortune. Xander Sinclair is thinking, yeah he’s back. Zahina Shah is studying English and Literary studies, and loves to write poetry and fiction. Zoe Wells’ only personality trait is being an arts student, sadly.

SUB - EDITORS ARTS AND DESIGN: Riva-Jean Lander and Abigail Macleod CAMPUS NEWS: Courtney Withers COMEDY (he calls it ‘HUMOUR’): Rupert Williamson DIVERSITY: Elanor Leman ECONOMICS AND FINANCE: Millie Muroi and Brook Lewis FILM: Lachlan Serventy and Amy Papasergio LIFESTYLE: Cameron Carr and Francesca De Nuccio LITERATURE AND CREATIVE WRITING: Elena Perse and Isabelle Yuen MUSIC: Ella Fox-Martens and Susannah Wong POLITICS: Christine Chen SCIENCE: Paris Javid and Deni Campbell SPORTS: Campbell Williamson TECHNOLOGY AND GAMING: Caleb Cheng and Kyle Pauletto 5

MEMORY PRESITORIAL BAYLITORIAL STIRLITORIAL

Hello! The theme “Memory” is rather fitting for this edition. We’re living through a highly memorable event. It’s one of those things that we read about in history books or autobiographies. Maybe one day when we’re old we’ll recount stories to our grandchildren and great grandchildren about staying indoors, Tiger King and toilet paper shortages. Semester One was tough, but you got through it, and that’s pretty impressive. As things (touch wood) head back to normal, there will be things we leave behind, but also changes that we hold onto. Maybe there were parts of the online uni experience you enjoyed – whether that’s Zoom contact hours with your Unit Coordinators, or maybe the online club scene. Let us know what we should retain – email me at president@guild.uwa.edu.au. I would also like to take the opportunity to acknowledge the Black Lives Matter movement taking place across the world. This country was built on genocide and the lie of terra nullius. The structures that upheld the wrongful dispossession of First Nations people are still prevalent today. We will never forget. Best wishes,

Bre Shanahan 107th Guild President

Look at this photograph, every time I do it makes me laugh. Yes Chad Kroeger, this photograph does make me laugh. That even rhymed. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it. Okay, maybe I knew it that time. The photo Mr Kroeger is holding ever-so-lovingly is a thumbnail from that time I had a YouTube channel. I don’t know why I made it if I’m honest, I mean, no one really cares about what a teenager has to say about the world (unless their name is Greta Thunberg). It was a fun time though, and it gave me the skills to help run this magazine properly, so I can’t be too harsh on myself. Having said that, all those videos are rough to look back on, like holy hell I cringe at the topics I tried to cover. If you ever wanted to watch me fail at video-making, type in this link: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ Bayley

This cover looks deceivingly simple. I also thought it would be simple. Two rolls of polaroid film, fifty dollars, and a great deal of frustration later, I finally settled on six photos I was happy with – out of the roughly forty I shot. Turns out, a decades-old camera made so families could experience the joy of instant images – whilst accessible – is not suited to shooting magazine covers. Most of these images don’t really make sense – why is someone holding a handful of figs? Why is a garden hose significant? – but that’s kind of the point. Family photos and memories are weird in that they can mean a lot to a very small group of people, and not anyone else. The last photo might be the exception to that. Does this mean that all the people who experienced corona – in one form or another – are family? Stirling

CAMPUS STORY

BRING A JACKET TO THE PARTY BY SOPHIE MINISSALE

First Year Me: Do you remember it?

Graduate Me: Nope. It becomes really relevant right about now. Things are a bit shit. The Arts grad joke is becoming a little more real but not because of you. Just, don’t forget your worth. And there’s a big worldwide event that kind of put things on hold. And like I said, your history degree becomes really relevant right about now. But it’s fine. It was always going to happen. Nothing is more or less likely to happen today than it was yesterday. A bridge doesn’t just happen because it’s a Tuesday. It happens because it happens, and you cross it when you get to it. What I’m saying is that you’re going to do fine it’ll suck in some ways, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Graduate Me: Not really.

First Year Me: Are you happy you did a degree?

First Year Me: None of it?

Graduate Me: I am. It’s hard. Uni isn’t hard. It’s fine. Just try to write about what you like. I don’t think I’ve become a huge intellectual though. Uni is about uni as much as it isn’t about uni. Like the things I did out of class are in some ways more important than what I did in the tute rooms. Like those people you met at the silent disco on O-Day? They’re still your best mates. The magazine you picked up? You ran it for a year with the girl you met at one of your first writers’ meetings. Just keep doing things.

First Year Me: Hey. Graduate Me: Hey. What are you up to tonight? First Year Me: Going to a party. Graduate Me: It’s your first day! First Year Me: Yeah, I know I’m finally a student! Graduate Me: That’s cute.

Graduate Me: The apartment was really swanky. Also learn the rules to slap cup. Like now. Get your phone out. This girl will try teaching you and you just won’t get it and it’ll terrify you forever. Beat. Graduate Me: So how did you enjoy your first class? First Year Me: I haven’t been to a class yet.

First Year Me: I’m not sure what people are meant to get from this.

Graduate Me: Wait what? Oh, shit I forgot that. Graduate Me: Me neither. It seems a bit indulgent. First Year Me: How cool! First Year Me: Arts grad. Graduate Me: Whatever I say right now will not matter.

Graduate Me: Shut up.

First Year Me: How does it feel? To be done.

First Year Me: Do you have any fun campus stories?

Graduate Me: I don’t want to put a crack in the rosetinted glasses for you.

Graduate Me: Nothing notable, just most days were good.

First Year Me: Too late. I lose them in the gunch bowl.

First Year Me: I have to go.

Graduate Me: Yeah that’ll happen a lot. I mean, you know what? It’s good. It’s really good. It’s not ideal right now but, it is what it is.

Graduate Me: Actually, there was this one time-

First Year Me: What do you mean?

Graduate Me: Wait, I have a story?

Graduate Me: You’ll find out. Just hug your friends tight and keep a hold of your history readings.

First Year Me: I need to go, I don’t want to miss out.

First Year Me: Oh, we didn’t drop history?

First Year Me: I can’t, I need to go-

Graduate Me: Fine. Remember a jacket. I know you won’t, but it makes me feel better I told you.

Pelican is proud to have the highest percentage of asbestos of any UWA publication!

CAMPUS UPDATES

“I THINK THIS YEAR HAS RESEMBLED A POLAROID PICTURE THAT HASN’T DEVELOPED YET.”

BY COURTNEY WITHERS

Ah, the memory of the semester that’s been. For the most part, it’s a memory that I don’t particularly want to hold onto. It’s a memory that’s stuck on my shoe like a band-aid. It’s a cursed photo I find on my phone after a night out. It’s the same feeling of realising I don’t have any episodes of The Office left to watch, and being in limbo until I find something new. Or when you order your favourite dish off a menu, and it comes out looking completely different to how you remembered. 2020 has been a bit like that so far.

REFLECTING ON SEMESTER ONE

CLUBS ON CAMPUS

Not to be completely cheesy, but I think this year has resembled a polaroid picture that hasn’t developed yet. It’s in that weird stage of looking completely unrecognisable and ghost-like, without the full picture showing. The way I see it is that the full, clear, good picture hasn’t yet shown itself to us, and is still coming into focus. The memory is still forming and changing, and so is the situation. But the image still has potential and hope.

A memory of semester one that the university community can be extremely proud of looking back upon is how campus clubs have kept busy during this quarantine period - by creating a positive and uplifting space for creativity and engagement. The Guild SOC group created the ‘Clubs in Quarantine’ Facebook page, giving clubs the opportunity to post about what they have been up to, and encouraging members to stay involved.

It’s been a time of change and adjustment into the ‘new normal’, with various changes made in semester one. These have included online learning; Zoom tutorials; and virtual club events, just to name a few. But that’s the strange thing about difficult memories - they make us stronger; they make us appreciate what we value the most; they challenge us to be better; and they remind us of how far we’ve come.

At the latest Guild Council Meeting, SOC President Jacob Roosendaal announced that events for clubs will be back on for semester two, with some big plans being announced soon.

With semester one of 2020 now complete, and the beginning of semester two on the horizon, it’s a great time to reflect upon what’s been happening on the ‘virtual campus’, and what might be happening on the physical campus very soon. SEMESTER ONE EXAMS UWA students completed their semester one exams by June 20. This time around, things were a bit different, though – we used the online platform Examplify. Students were given the opportunity to test the system in a mock exam, and allowed to opt out of using the system, if faced with unresolved issues. The Guild worked with the University to ensure as little disruption for students as possible. They created ‘oncampus’ exam conditions in line with the Academic Policy, and took into consideration educational impacts, and how they would affect GPAs.

RETURNING TO CAMPUS Of course, the biggest talking point at the moment is whether or not students will be back on campus for semester two. We’ve received multiple emails updating us on the developing situation from ViceChancellor Hollander, and UWA Guild President Bre Shanahan. At the moment, nothing has been set in stone, but the Recovery Management Team (RMT) are aiming to have students back on campus for the start of semester two. As I’m writing this update in June, I really hope you’re reading this in July/August, back on campus with a pint at The Tav — during happy hour, of course. PRICE HIKES Another important update from the last couple of weeks that will affect those wanting to join the UWA community next year is talk of changing university fees. Federal Education Minister Dan Tehan announced the Government’s plans to increase the cost of university fees for next year, with the costs of Arts

UWA doesn’t actually offer a Commerce degree. Everyone who says they study in the Business school is actually a paid actor.

CAMPUS UPDATES

and Humanities degrees increasing by 113%. Although the cost of some degrees will be lowered, courses in the Arts, Commerce, and Law will all be affected by significant increases. This proposed change is something that will greatly affect year twelve students planning to study in these areas next year, and is something that The Guild strongly opposes. JUNE’S GUILD COUNCIL At the latest Guild Council meeting, some important updates were also given. The Guild passed a motion that supported the Black Lives Matter movement in Australia and worldwide.

With COVID-19 restrictions in WA easing, and the likelihood of returning to campus being a real possibility, the Council announced that Guild elections will take place as scheduled — yay! So, start practicing your Kath & Kim speed walk, because the election flyer line outside Reid will be back, baby! Although the memory of semester one wasn’t all peaches and cream, semester two is looking promising for UWA. So keep shaking that polaroid picture - as OutKast says - because the image revealed might be something really amazing this, and the memory might be worth holding onto. - Courtney

The Council also passed a motion which officially condemned the WA State Government for failing international students throughout COVID-19.

Next year, Pelican will be operating solely on Club Penguin.

SHAPING IDENTITY THROUGH OUR CULTURAL ROOTS BY FRANCESCA DE NUCCIO

EMBASSY BALLROOM IN PERTH, 1930. COURTESY OF LOST PERTH.

MY NONNA, ANNA, AND NONNO, EMILIO, ON THEIR WEDDING DAY, 1953. COURTESY OF THE DE NUCCIO AND BORMOLINI FAMILIES.

Not too long ago, I came across an African proverb which stated, “When the root is deep, there is no need to fear the wind.” The theme of memory immediately brings this quote to mind - along with words such ‘cultural roots’ and ‘heritage’.

dance hall where many immigrants’ romances and relationships were established. What makes this story incredible is the fact that they both came from the same province in Northern Italy, literally one village apart (approximately twelve kilometres), but only met for the first time on a Perth dancefloor!

I have never been kept in the dark about my family’s history or my ancestors, which I am very grateful for. However, I wanted to find out more. As three of my grandparents have now passed, and the other lives miles away on a tiny island off the coast of Tuscany, I decided to venture into the super exciting world of Ancestry.com, to try and get the inside scoop on the De Nuccio/Bormolini families. Much to my disappointment, there was not much that I could find during my fourteen-day free trial that I did not already know. Why, you may ask? Because as both sides of my family are Italian, my pasta-loving ancestors apparently preferred to keep all of their records in tiny village churches. One thing that did surprise me, however, was the Australian arrival dates of my Mum’s parents from Italy. I found out that my nonno (grandfather), Emilio Bormolini, arrived in Australia, fresh off the boat in 1937 - and my nonna (grandmother), Anna Bertola, arrived in 1950. The fact that they arrived years apart was interesting to me, as I thought they came together. When I quizzed mum about these dates, she told me a very fascinating story. My nonna and nonno actually met each other in 1951 at the Embassy Ballroom in Perth - a popular

As we move forward in this progressive country, it is essential to remember where we came from, and our cultural roots. Individuals are constantly craving a sense of identity, and distinct traits which allow them to stand out. However, many of us seem to forget that cultural roots are the foundation of uniqueness. Knowing where you came from plays a critical role in shaping our principles. The more we discover about our past, the greater a connection we feel to our ancestors. As we record our own history, we open the opportunity for future generations to connect with us when we are no longer here. As we are living in a time of heightened global tension, it is vitally important to remember that tracing back our lineage (far enough) would illustrate that we all came from the same place. For some reason, however, each collective - whether it be a nation, ethnic group or tribe - adopts a distinct conception of its own roots that tend to ignore this most fundamental idea of human connectedness. Therefore, I challenge you all to dig a little deeper into your heritage and family memories, and you may be surprised by what you find. Never forget that your cultural roots form your identity, and always remember: “La famiglia è la patria del cuore.”

In a 2017 study, regularly reading Pelican was found to correspond with an increased libido in 87% of participants

A FAREWELL TO KINGS: REMEMBERING NEIL PEART & RUSH BY SUSANNAH WONG

“OK, for you, Rush, 2112. Neil Peart, one of the great drummers of all time. Study up.” – Dewey Finn, School of Rock.

2020 has been a year of tremendous loss all round, but for thousands of rock aficionados, none have been quite as affecting as the loss of Rush drummer Neil Peart in January after a three-year battle with brain cancer. As an amateur drummer, it would be remiss of me not to pay tribute to the lasting influence of Neil Peart on rock, Rush, and virtually every drummer since the band burst onto the scene in 1968. His playing style was undeniably cool, and always struck the perfect balance of showy, but never overpowering the music it was meant to support. In his more than fifty-year career, he had made continual effort to improve his skills, long after having achieved success. I’m just one of thousands who were inspired to spend countless hours trying to emulate Peart’s impressive technical playing, and to play drums more creatively. Tributes quickly came in from fans across the world, with tweets from Dave Grohl, Adam Sandler, Jack Black, Brian Wilson and Justin Trudeau, to name but a few. In addition to the hole left in the drumming community, the rock veteran’s passing also ultimately signals the death of Rush. While illnesses from Peart and guitarist Alex Lifeson forced the trio into hiatus since their fortieth anniversary tour in 2015, Peart’s chops and invaluable lyrical contributions eliminate the possibility of simply hiring a replacement drummer, as most bands do. Unlike the vast majority of bands whose vocalists usually pen their own lyrics, neither vocalist/bassist Geddy Lee or guitarist Alex Lifeson had any interest in the lyrical side of things, with the job strangely left to Peart, who signed on as drummer in 1974 after a brief stint abroad. He went on to write almost all of the band’s lyrics, and they became integral to its sound.

While drummers are usually the brunt of dumb drummer jokes (and admittedly sometimes for good reason), Peart’s writings completely all but contradict this stereotype. His lyrics went above and beyond the sex, drugs, and rock and roll of the times, instead exploring philosophy, politics, and individualism. Peart’s penchant for classic literature also seeped into his work. Seminal album opener 2112 is a twentyminute science fiction epic based on the works of objectivist founder Ayn Rand; 1981 track Limelight explores the price of fame through lyrics that paraphrase Shakespeare; and 1977’s Xanadu is based on the 19th century poem Kubla Khan. The first time I heard Rush was in my last year of high school - my teacher sent me to go and buy a music book of their greatest hits transcribed for drums, and told me to learn Anthem, the opening track from Fly By Night – Peart’s debut album with the band. To get a feel of what I was actually supposed to play, I watched a video of a live performance, and was struck. There was something amusing about the now strange juxtaposition of the band’s effeminate 70s haircuts, and the sheer grunt of the music. Whatever it was, I liked it. The vocals were cutting, and the drums like thunder. I spent weeks trying to recreate Peart’s intricate, lightning-fast drum fills, but I was massively underequipped, and underestimating the beast that was Anthem. Three years down the line, I still am. Rush’s fifth studio album was titled A Farewell to Kings, a play on Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, and I felt it was a good fit for this article – never will there be another band with the longevity, philosophy or prog rock stylings of Rush and Neil Peart.

There is a vault underneath Reid Library filled with all accumulated late fees.

TERRIBLE SPORTING MEMORIES FROM LESS-THAN-TERRIBLE PEOPLE BY CAMPBELL WILLIAMSON

We each have our own regrettable - and, unfortunately, not-so-forgettable - sporting memories. Here are a few of our choicest memories, from some of our choice-iest contributors. Enjoy!

CATCH YA NEVER By Faisal Hamza

COX, COUSINS, AND CRYING By Nicholas Warrand

Sport has taught me many things - the importance of half-time oranges; how to shit talk; and knowing when your time has come. 2017 - some random Sunday - a soccer match against some random team. I used to be a loud and confident centre back, but study and anxiety had displaced my mojo.

Imagine this: it’s your seventh birthday at the end of September, and your favourite team - the Eagles - are in the finals. You just received a new guernsey and scarf. All your friends come ‘round for an Eaglesthemed birthday party, with an Eagles themed cake, then we all gather round to watch what’s going to be a decisive victory by the best team in the comp, with Judd, Cousins, Glass, Wirrpanda, Cox - how could they lose?

Reformed as a nomadic substitute, I’d found myself awkwardly filling in for right-wing every now and again. This particular game was unremarkable. I started on the bench, then came on in the first half, and was again benched some twenty minutes later. As I came off, a strange feeling of finality hit me. That was it. That entire chapter in my life of Sunday mornings, passionate parents, blood, sweat and occasionally tears, was over. That time was gone, and we move on.

But it’s 2005 and the Eagles lose by four points and I’m crying in the garden and it sucks.

A SERVE OF QUICHES By Megan Rundle In high school, I played tennis every Sunday morning. Which was great - until people started having absolute ragers on Saturday nights. There was one Saturday where I decided to have one too many Guava Cruisers. I also wanted to fit into these very trendy, tight leather shorts, which meant nothing was lining the stomach. The next morning, I had to wake up at six for morning pennants. It was thirty-six degrees; we were playing the bottom team; and my Nanna came to watch. I was so hungover I could hardly move, let alone serve. I lost 0-6, 0-6 to a girl five years younger than me. It was a god-awful morning, but hey - at least I didn’t throw up on the grass. Sorry Nanna.

Med Science is the Dark Souls of majors, in that you must defeat the lecturers in combat before you can graduate.

ET TU, CAMPBELL? By Max Silbert

SEX, DRUGS, AND SOCIAL NETBALL By Brodie Cunnold

My worst sport memory is predominantly one I can’t remember - the time I got speccy’d by my own teammate.

My worst sporting experience was when my social netball team needed a last-minute fill-in, so I grabbed my friend from The Tav, promised my friends he was ‘hell good’, and stuck him on the court.

It’s the third quarter, and we’re up by a few points. I remember making some sort of snide remark to Max, not me Max, the kid on the other team named Max. Then my memory’s a blank, and I’m on the ground vomiting with my dad standing over me. Campbell the bastard, not the Campbell from this article, my own team member, Campbell, had speccy’d me. He jumped me from behind, and knocked me out cold. I swapped to Rugby next season.

TRUST PINK, FORGET STAINS By Campbell Williamson Once, I decided to have a hit of backyard cricket. I was nudging it around, frustrating the one sixyear-old infielder with my wily defence. Anyway, inevitably, I decided to go for a ‘windy-woof’, and managed to bull’s-eye a wine glass with the tennis ball. It spilled; the rest is history.

He spent the whole game falling over and needing ‘breathers’ to stop him from vomiting. I think the final straw was when the umpire called stepping and he tried to offer her a five-dollar note, and asked if she was “sure about that.” She nearly took it.

GIFT OF THE GAB By Rupert Williamson When I was in year four, I didn’t play footy during school lunch time. Instead, I stood by the point post near the cricket nets and commentated on the action. I never thought to come up with nicknames for the players, but otherwise I think I was a pretty good caller. And by and large my classmates liked it. I didn’t actually start playing footy at lunchtime until Year Five. I think there might have been a transition period where I both played and commentated at the same time, but I could be making that up. Not sure.

In my defence, only some of the wine went on some of this adult’s shirt - nothing a bit of NappiSan couldn’t fix, I assured him. Anyway, he sat there in a silent rage and stared me down. Eventually, he whispered that it was “time to pack it up boys.” I think we stopped soon after that, not sure why.

The music students are witches and they can control the weather.

LETTERS TO THE EDITORS Dear editors,

Dr Mr/Mrs Editor(s)

As we head back onto campus, an opportunity to establish new social norms presents itself. And with these social norms, we part ways with old cobwebs of shame and disenfranchisement. So, with that, I present: Whoosh, but rollerblades. I once saw a man get off the bus, strap on a pair of skates, and zoom off into the distance. I have never felt a rush through my body like I did then. My friends, on the other hand, scoffed. You not only look like the hottest thing on campus, but you get to every class on time. A win for beauty, a win for grades.

In regards to the planned sleep over at Becky’s. Kaylah says she’s in and said her mum can give you a lift but you need to bring your own sleeping bag. The movie choice is TBA but it’s between Open Season, Hoodwinked, or that new Spike Lee joint. Also, I was hoping we could discuss my feelings towards Brian and your comments at the monkey bars. I hope this finds you well.

Sincerely, Kindest regards, Aspiring Skater Chrissy

Dear editors,

Dear Editors,

I’m very disappointed in you.

UWA’s medical experts will say it’s fake, but I have tasted the forbidden liquid and it has cured me. Drinking water from the UWA Reid Library Moat has completely eradicated my case of coronavirus! In just one day, I have been cured, and I am now immune to the virus! Please come to my unrestricted gathering, where we shall all taste this elixir of life, and become vaccinated through our pores! People in power want you to jump over the moat, because they want to keep all the health benefits of soaking inside it for themselves. We must revolt against them! Come one, come all, come bathe with me in the Reid Library Moat for total coronavirus immunity!

Kind regards, Ex-editor Floyd

To anyone who is listening, I am stuck. My comrades have all left me and now I drift the shadowy wasteland of Cameron Hall alone. Ever since the pandemic, when they closed those beefy brown doors indefinitely, I’ve been trapped inside this musky smelling building, living off nothing but the mi goreng packets left by the computer club. If you’re reading this, tell my boyfriend he was punching; tell the Vice President of the SOC committee he’s every girl’s dream; and tell the EMAS President I’m sorry that I used their common room for ‘personal waste’.

Sincerely, Recovered Coronavirus Patient

Sincerely, A dying hack

UWA will be hosting the Dalai Lama this year! Oh wait, no we won’t.

Dear Mr. and Ms. Pelican,

Dear you,

Why are there not more mature age students represented at ‘The Pelican?’ Why must this newspaper exclude Australia’s old people?! There should at least be two.

I hope this message reaches you in good health, “Randal Papadopoulos.” You know converting to Greek Orthodox doesn’t actually allow you to adopt Greek heritage? I digress… Randal, I write to you because we need you back. I know what you went through was rough, but without you, our slam poetry / prop comedy hybrid show was derailed by those Heinz brothers and their degenerate live mockumentary stylings.

Sincerely, Gladys

Dear Chancellor, UWA should expand onto the river and damn the expense. Imagine going to class on the majestic Swan - it would pay for itself!

Bombing is hard; I, too, thought people would love your set solely based on Carol Baskin and fart jokes. But we need you back. What happened to the man I knew that put a ventriloquist, a prop comic, and an entire pantomime troupe in the ICU? I’m with Dan now, we’re going ahead with the improv/stand-up show. If you ever wanted to return to greatness, we’d take you back.

Sincerely, Yours forever, One Excited Pool Noodle M

CONTRIBUTIONS BY CAMPBELL WILLIAMSON, FAISAL HAMZA, HUGO HARDISTY, JEREMY HANSEN, JESSICA CARBONE, JONATHAN SWEENEY AND MAX SILBERT.

IMAGE CREDIT: HOLLY CARTER-TURNER

WHY ARE MY SOCKS IN THE OVEN? CAPTION CREDIT: ZOE WELLS

Pelicans never forget. Pelicans never forgive.

ZEITGEISTS AND ZOOM CALLS: HOW SHOULD WE REMEMBER CORONAVIRUS?

BY LACHLAN HARDMAN

People say that the time we are living through now will be considered a momentous period in history one day. That there will be feature length movies and exhibits in museums; history essay questions; and a twenty-four-part documentary series. That it will be something to tell your grandkids about. Historians have already started to think about the way in which we should remember the Coronavirus pandemic of 2020. Museums in Australia and around the world have put out calls for people to submit photos, journals, and other artefacts to document the crisis, and the impact it has had on our daily lives. Curators say these collections will aim to teach future generations about the pandemic, and how we can learn from it, to be better prepared should it ever happen again. The virus is rapidly being put into the history books as a major epoch-defining moment, alongside events like events the Vietnam War, the Cultural Revolution in China, or 9/11. In April, UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres said COVID-19 was the greatest crisis to face humanity since the Second World War. Yet, at the same time, the last few months haven’t really felt like the beginning of a new age in human history. For many of us in Australia, particularly in WA, the pandemic has been significant – but, thankfully, we’ve escaped the worst of its impacts. Our economy has been damaged, and many are without jobs, but it’s not the kind of socially redefining moment that you might expect from a World War.

Instead - as the restrictions begin to fall away, and we eagerly return to our old way of life - it’s much easier to try and forget the disruption and instability these last few months have caused. We’ll party like it’s 1945 (in America), but after that, it’s preferable to just try and pretend that this whole thing never happened. But how we choose to remember the COVID-19 pandemic is very important. While it is tempting to try and go back to the old normal, we can also use the crisis as a catalyst for radical change. In her 2009 book, A Paradise Built on Hell, American writer and activist Rebecca Solnit discussed how the impacts of major disasters, like hurricanes and floods, can be devastating and costly - but for many, the rupturing of everyday life also opens a window of social possibility. The suspension of norms and order brings communities together, and allows us to call into question our beliefs, create new ones, and live and act in other ways. Disasters - while devastating and tragic - are also often opportunities for positive social transformation. That being said, the disaster of Coronavirus has certainly not been all positive and inspiring. Most of us have been isolated; people have lost their jobs; died; and in some cases, the pandemic has brought out racism, hate, and all the worst human qualities. IT HAS MADE PEOPLE ANGRY AND SELFISH, READY TO BRANDISH KNIVES IN EMPTY SUPERMARKETS AS THEY FIGHT FOR THE LAST PACK OF TOILET PAPER. THESE IMAGES WILL HAVE TO GO INTO THE MUSEUM EXHIBITS, TOO.

Due to budget constraints, Pelican Magazine will be transitioning to a paid monthly subscription model.

WHILE IT IS TEMPTING TO TRY AND GO BACK TO THE OLD NORMAL, WE CAN ALSO USE THE CRISIS AS A CATALYST FOR RADICAL CHANGE.

But the virus has also given us a glimpse into the potential for beneficial and systemic change. In Australia, the pandemic saw a conservative government dedicated to the pursuit of a budget surplus enact the biggest expansion of the welfare state in decades. Childcare was made free; the healthcare system partially nationalised; and the long-awaited telehealth service rolled out almost overnight. Millions of workers started working from home, and found benefits in increased flexibility, and being able to spend more time with their families. Online education systems were shown to be effective and even for students around the country. There were also an overwhelming number of accounts of people who felt less stressed and anxious, as they were no longer forced into the fast-paced demands and pressures of modern life. The pandemic has also allowed us to reflect on the other disasters we’ve been living through before the virus even spread. Arguably, part of the reason there have recently been some of the most sustained waves of protest in history across the United States and around the world is because so many people have been out of work, and now have the opportunity to voice their opinions against the racial injustices they see around them.

economic consumers in an increasingly privatized world that tells us to fear each other, and compete in a ruthless, cut-throat social-Darwinist race to be the biggest cog in an economic machine. An economic machine which is destroying the environment and endangering our planet. The pandemic has allowed us to temporarily distance ourselves, and reflect on some of these systems. More than this, it’s shown us that change - serious, systemic, radical change - is possible, and the structures of life which sometimes feel so inescapable and overbearing can be shrugged off when we really want (or need) them to be. Whether or not it will mark the beginning of a radical new era in human history is yet to be seen. But as we head back to work and university and nights out and travelling, we are also heading further into a century of deepening inequalities, political instability, and a climate crisis which poses an increasing existential threat to humanity. Outside the museum collections of face masks and Zoom calls, it is the memory of this that really matters.

Moreover, these are racial injustices ingrained in an economic and social system built on inequality and discrimination. A system which actively prevents us from building strong notions of community and individual fulfillment; where we are defined as

That one dude who after every single lecture proposes “Tav pint boys?” when it’s 10am is probably not okay. Check up on them.

THE LANGUAGE OF THE BEAST IN ART HISTORY BY AMY NEVILLE

As a child, I remember walking the halls of the British Museum, through the galleries of Ancient Greek and Roman art, the passageways of Asia, the single room of Africa. I felt amongst a wealth of knowledge, an entire world of art and culture contained within these walls. I knew, even then, that so many of these objects were stolen. I grew up both enamoured and hesitantly critical of these encyclopaedic galleries, which claimed to display global knowledge, but were so averse to discussing where these objects were acquired. I felt relief and elation when I began my art history major. In one of my earliest weeks, we discussed the repatriation of the Parthenon Marbles, stolen from Greece by the English Lord Elgin - a hot topic amongst the art history community. Yet, as I learnt, it was a safe topic. It is so easy to feel radical, and part of a progressive movement, to argue that we should return stolen artefacts. Easier still to argue that stealing is wrong. But that is never the point of such discussions. Under the surface lies the ever-present beast of colonial racism, perpetuated through theories of European greatness and evident in the vast and impressive galleries. So many would argue, “yes, of course, stealing is wrong - but can we even trust the Africans to take care of these artefacts? Wouldn’t it be better if everything were nice and safe here, tucked away in some grand academic gallery?”.

It is easy to stay quiet when these arguments rear their ugly head. Some will claim to play Devil’s Advocate when called out; others present their socalled ‘hard truth of the matter.’ These are the same people who will turn a blind eye to the mistreatment of artefacts in these institutions; to the ethical truth of cultural ownership; to the pain of cultures whose ancestors have been taxidermized and put on display as an object, not viewed as a human in life, and certainly not in death. There is no moral high ground here; no false pedestal on which to put oneself, out of the way of the mess left behind by past historians and the ruins of great objects. It is racism, plain and simple. This colonial voice has left its mark across our textbooks and galleries, in our words and in our institutions. How else could you argue that an entire continent is incapable of caring for the object created within it? How else could you say these European institutions are betters suited to the task, when the evidence plainly shows the damage – both to these objects, and the cultures they belong to? We all watched Black Panther, and we laughed and cheered for Killmonger as he repatriated the objects from the curator - blissfully unaware that we are all the curator. We are passively complicit with the beast, as long as we are repeating the words of historians before us, of our teachers and textbooks. As I write this, I consider my role in this conflict – as a white student, in a white classroom, taught by white teachers, debating the ethics of returning

Never accept an invite to ‘go for coffee’ with an old school friend in August.

‘PARTHENON MARBLES AT THE BRITISH MUSUEM’ BY TASOS LEKKAS VIA PIXABAY

African and Asian objects, as if we are relevant to the debate, our voices somehow able to add something, while the irony is so often that we are just talking over the people we really need to listen to. A room of pained smiles and awkward debates as we repeat the safe arguments we have read. “Stealing is wrong. Wouldn’t it be nice if we returned things? Only if they can be trusted, of course, of course…”. Out of the silence, a voice comments (as if deliberately adding to the painful awareness that few of us possess) that “the blacks can’t be trusted to keep their own objects safe,” and “isn’t the Aboriginal ‘Other’ so clever to create an art style of their own?”. They will look around at us, as if we all agree with these same, once-safe phrases of eras long-gone, and yet not gone enough. We avert our gaze, horrified by any association to those who gave the racist beast a voice in our class - yet too scared, too unsure, too conflicted to speak out against them. Many of us, myself included, wanting so desperately to shout, “No, you’re wrong!”, but ashamedly knowing that our ancestors were the wrong-doers.

Now is the time to speak these words. I have spent too long in these white classrooms, watching teachers who ignore or dismiss the comments, the pained expressions of classmates who don’t know what to say, not wanting to be the first to challenge that voice. I remember the first time I did so – I was talked over, that voice repeating the line at me, the teacher watching on passively, never acting to stop it. But we cannot afford to be passively silent any longer. We cannot let the racist voice win. We cannot stay silent for our own comfort. I implore art students, historians, curators, and creators to use the voice you have, the privilege you may have, and fight that racist beast in the classroom, in the gallery, and in the institution. Stealing is wrong, they say - of course - but silence is deadly.

Straight guys holding fish on their profile pics is the key to a lesbian’s heart.

not all there

blue volts

BY ISABELLE YUEN

BY ELLIE FISHER

you have the face of someone

the nights snapped out of sight like a lizard’s eyelid

I’ve seen somewhere before

— Sylvia Plath, ‘The Hanging Man’

the ghost of a misplaced glance I recall, with furrowed reluctance

I might have seen you in the remnants of a dying flame in half-remembered dreams but I can’t be sure

just a choked-up whisper of the way your hair frames my vision

They burned you. They lit you up. He saw them. Ted. He remarked upon them. The tender places. Your temples. The scars. You hid them. Your fringe obscured them. The pain. You veiled it with defiance. With your bold smile. With your vivacity. With your fears. Fears that all would pale to amnesia. Memories. Poetry. Children. Husband. The current built. The volts pent up. Constriction. It was so familiar. You spent your nine lives like someone else’s money. It was a game. The art of not falling. The art of the breakdown. The art of the electric. Your blown glass look. Your upturned hands. Empty. Darkness exhaled. The light bulb died. Like you, Sylvia.

of cold breath on blue lips

your lilting saunter ever so slightly out of place, my eyes unfocused, attention elsewhere your steps veer off suddenly

your puzzle piece fits in my misshapen, mistaken head sliding into place It clicks;

I don’t know this version of our twisted tale; all I know is that you ripped me out the note beside your taut rope I still haven’t scabbed over

I close my eyes for the first time in forever then remember why I no longer sleep.

Percy the Pelican spent eight years in prison for tax evasion.

BLUE BOATHOUSE BY EI HNIN

WINTHROP HALL BY EI HNIN

SOLASTALGIA, GENDER, APOCALYPSE BY SKY EDWARDS

“…I defined “solastalgia” as an emplaced or existential melancholia experienced with the negative transformation (desolation) of a loved home environment… a form of “homesickness” like that experienced with traditionally defined nostalgia, except that the victim has not left their home or home environment.” - Glenn Albrecht Transcript: “Bees and thistles appear to be thriving. Both are mostly unchanged, in stark contrast to the disappearance or teratology of other non-native species. Not enough information to formulate a hypothesis. Possibly related to their interdependence?” Details: Typical U-193 isotopic anomalies. Drawn on a heavily stained envelope, opened flat. Printed text illegible. Dimensions: 204 x 230 mm.

Pencil: “Feels like Bunuru. Long days. Hot. Thirsty. Have not seen rain in many, many days. New purple flowers. Fresh and full of water when all else dries and wilts. I don’t know how. I don’t know if they are plants of the world as it was or if they are Changed.” Ink: [REDACTED] Pencil: “I can’t look too closely in the mirror. It’s always someone different.” Drawing: Possibly a self-portrait in a mirror. This is the only depiction of the artist, except for U-193-x-022 and [REDACTED].

Deep Dream (deepdreamgenerator. com) is an unknowable, artificial mind; a collaborator, a tool, and an explorable, twisted version of this reality. It views photographs and sketches, reimagining them with fascinating and atrocious changes. Its visual creativity balances aphantasia (lack of a “mind’s eye” or visual memory), as did drawing from these Dreams and unaltered photo prints with a lightbox. Archival presentation forms a visual frame narrative and a response to isolation imposed by COVID-19, lending credibility and improving accessibility.

Sky and their work, including U-193-x, are products of place, Whadjuk Noongar land near the Derbal Yaragan. They are also a product of their colonial ancestry, living on stolen land, under forcibly imposed systems including the English language and capitalism. Their art reflects the need for respect and understanding of the land, its ecologies, the Whadjuk Noongar people, and their languages, without speaking for or over Aboriginal experiences. The fictional Artist conceptualises the surviving aspects of the post-human ecology through Noongar place names and seasons, and attempts to understand the non-conceptual, inexplicable Changed reality, while the arbitrary structures imposed by colonialism crumble.

possibility; Deep Dream’s monstrosities especially so for Weird horror art, transcending experience and expectations. Juxtaposing beauty and fascination with horror and disgust is a strength of the Weird; the uncanny and truly new in art elicit nuanced emotions. Those with too much to lose, fear changes, and endings; for a majority living in the banal purgatory of global capitalism and its myriad atrocities, an apocalypse will at least be more interesting. César A. Cruz said “art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”; an interesting, disturbing, alternate reality, without the vast contemporary disparities of this reality, is Weirdly comforting. The entire work of U-193-x can be viewed at https:// archive.org/details/u193x, or:

Sky, similarly, explores these solastalgic coastscapes of their childhood, documenting the balance of ecological degradation and thriving ecological niches through photography, journaling, and salvaging or object collection. The isolation imposed by COVID-19 viciously sharpened the parallel. Beautiful horror and Weird Fiction have long haunted Sky. Collaboration with an artificial intelligence unbound by conceptual thought, human perception, or any school of art is a transformative

COURTNEY WITHERS UNTITLED MEMORY

EI HNIN, UNTITLED

REMEMBERING LOCKDOWN THROUGH ART

UNTITLED BY ABIGAIL MACLEOD

UNTITLED BY NICHOLAS WARRAND

UNTITLED BY ZAHINA SHAH (@LOVELY_LITERATURE7)

REMEMBERING GENDER BY ELANOR LEMAN AND OTHERS

The world is, frankly, a bit shit sometimes. For this issue, I wanted to look for reminders that things can be so good, even amidst the troubles we face in our day to day lives. UWA has been a very formative place for me, as I imagine it has been for you, if you’re reading our student magazine; the university has been a place of self-discovery and personal growth, as well as learning. It is here that I embraced my identity as a trans woman, and so I reached out to the other trans people I know around uni for their memories relating to it, and becoming themselves:

“So, I grew up in a regional town, and didn’t really feel safe being myself there. UWA was where I first met a trans person in real life, and I remember thinking, “wow, this is somewhere I can be comfortable being my true self.””

“I’ve got a memory from college of finding out I was trans by doing drag with college friends. I thought it’d be very cisgender and hilarious of me to be a very cis-het man doing drag. Then, when everyone was referring to me as a woman, and calling me a different name, the fog cleared, and I felt happier than I had ever felt before. I was absolutely trash at the drag show, but it was an important realisation that my prior emptiness inside and crippling sadness could be potentially resolved through gender. Two years later, and I’ve legally changed my name, and I’m a girl full-time, and I’ve literally never been happier - life is wonderful :)”

“At uni I saw a friend after years apart; from their example, I discovered that I could have blue hair and no gender, and my life has never been the same since.”

IMAGE CREDIT: ‘HEART IMAGE’ MORRIGAN RENEE GREEN

“Um ok so like I think the best moments are the ones where, at first, you don’t even realise why they feel so perfect. It’s when you’re fully settled in to a girls’ movie night, or in the middle of an argument on a long car trip, and you realise you’re being counted as one of the girls, without question, thought or effort. It’s another world. also spinny skirt go swoosh.”

“At uni I met people who love me with the body I have; not in spite of it.”

“Being able to introduce myself as a woman, and have people respect that, was incredible. Hearing my name mentioned, being referred to as ‘her’, all while playing board games, is something I will always treasure. Yet my happiest moment of validation was the victory where I beat an opposing player, and was rewarded with a simple “you bitch.””

REDISCOVERING NICK CAVE BY CLEO ROBINS

There’s something about music which you’ve heard before - in your childhood, or sometime in the distant past - which hits you in a profound and affecting way.

Disney extravaganza is unmatched. I feel that I am not alone in my longing for art which is beautifully nostalgic, at the same time as being profound in a current context.

My dad is a big fan of Nick Cave, and ever since I can remember, his gothic refrains have floated through the house, emanating either from a CDspeaker, or recreated in a tributary cover. I have a distinct memory of playing with my Barbies in our main hallway, undressing their little plastic bodies and re-encasing them in pastel chiffon robes, while Red Right Hand blared from the speakers in the living room. For some reason, when I recall the scene, it is significantly darker and gloomier than the spacious, well-lit hallway actually is. I can only assume that the soul of St. Nick has been subsumed into my subconscious, and clouded the recollection.

Perhaps this weird and inhibiting stance on music listening is what influenced my teenage self to fall in love with St. Nick, when I used to write him off as a by-gone figure of my parents’ generation. Perhaps, when I stumbled across him again on Spotify, after all these years, his songs awakened my acoustic memories, and I took to his music so quickly because I was so familiar with it.

Despite placidly dancing with my toys and performing ballet steps to Grinderman, growing older, I began to view Nick and his merry band of Bad Seeds with distaste - or at least, as something rather passé – no doubt due to the fact that my parents religiously attended his Perth concerts, watched all his documentaries, music videos, read all his books, consumed everything Nick that they could possibly get their hands on. And anything that my parents liked was totally not cool.

Or perhaps it is something genetic. A Nick Cave gene which has been passed down from my parents to myself, the effects of which have a delayed onset of late adolescence.

I have very weird music habits. When I have a playlist or a few songs on rotation, I tend to get overly familiar with them very quickly, which leads me on the hunt for new, fresh tunes. However, I am also very lazy when it comes to finding new music; I hate putting new songs in playlists, and detest even more having to listen to a new playlist I’ve created, full of songs I’ve heard once and thought were ‘funky’. I seek something which is new, fresh, edgy, but which is at the same time, something I have heard before. Needless to say, I spend a lot more time scrolling through Spotify than I do listening to music. This kind of wistful yearning is observable throughout numerous genres of popular culture. How many times do we see new reboots of old films; ‘modern’ takes on classic stories; tales ‘updated’ for the contemporary reader or viewer? The cultural appetite for warped fairy tales and

IS NOSTALGIA SOMETHING WE NEED? IS THAT WHY WE KEEP COMING BACK TO OLD IDEAS, IN ORDER TO GROUND OURSELVES IN THE FAMILIAR?

But I haven’t been attentive in assessing the merits of the man himself. Because, after all, the main things which re-attracted me to Nick Cave was his music, aesthetic, and his uncompromising inability to conform to a genre or unified brand. Nick is someone that we need, for better or for worse. He’s someone who’s both unapologetically himself, and a meticulously crafted vampire caricature. There’s nothing consistent about him except inconsistency, and I believe we can all take a leaf from Nick’s bloodstained book. It is a wonderful paradox that my nostalgic music adoration manifests itself as love for an artist who shirks the sentimental throes of memory for a warped vision of the past, present, and future. However fascinating it is to meditate upon the role of memory and nostalgia in defining my music taste, I think the most important thing which has come out of rediscovering and relearning the music of Nick Cave has been a newfound appreciation of how cool my parents are. Next time they want to worship at the altar of St. Nick, I’ll be right there with them. It’s crazy how these things work full circle.

Not gonna lie, I liked going to Zoom tutorials. Never wore pants once.

GUESS THE PELICAN TEAM MEMBER! BY FRANCESCA DE NUCCIO

My mum told me of a time when she got a call from my kindergarten teacher saying that I was “harassing the staff.” When mum asked what I was doing, they replied saying I had taught myself how to tell the time, and was yelling about how naptime started five minutes ago. Needless to say, I was an annoying kid.

When asking my parents what I was like as a baby, the memory it brought up for them was not very pleasant. They told me there was hardly ever a time where I was not screaming or throwing a tantrum. She told me that they went to multiple specialists because my screaming was so annoying and even they could not figure out the issue. It was so bad that my parents actually do not remember what my first word was. No shade, like I’m not even salty about it, but it is quite a monumental thing. Curse my younger attention seeking diva self, look what you made your parents do.

When I asked mum what I was like as a baby, the first thing she said was that I was very happy. Good start. Then she started telling me how much I ate – constantly. She said she would take me to mothers group and the other mums would say “Is that what your baby eats in a day!” and my mum was like “nah sis this is just lunch.” I would also start crying if she did not get the food to my mouth quick enough. That’s par the course really – cannot say I ever changed!

The location of the sunken garden changes every year.

My parents said I was always smiling, always laughing and always watching the fast cars on TV. Special talents included; pulling a hat over my eyes and then running as fast as possible, singing old war-time songs out of tune, and looking like a little baby egg.

When I asked my dad how I was as a baby, he said I was exactly as I am now â&#x20AC;&#x201C; never lost for words. It was always clear I was going to be a communicator. I also never went to sleep, just another night owl.

It took my mum a while to remember any childhood stories or facts about me. What she did say was that I was an extremely fussy child who hated having the colours green and yellow on the same plate. Unfortunately, dinner involving corn and peas was a nightmare for my mum which is probably why that is my most memorable childhood trait.

A. Bayley Horne B. Courtney Withers C. Stirling Kain D. Abigail Macleod E. Amy Papasergio F. Cameron Carr

Bob Hawke never went to UWA, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a myth created by the Tav to get students to drink more on campus.

YOUR ACCOUNT IS CLOSING, DEAR DOCTOR: THE RESTITUTION AND RECONCILIATION OF DR. ISAK BORG BY LACHLAN SERVENTY

One must always maintain one’s connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it. To remain in touch with the past requires a love of memory… - Gaston Bachelard

Wild Strawberries (1957) was made in the midst of one of Ingmar Bergman’s most prolific and acclaimed periods. Starring Victor Sjöstrom - one of Sweden’s most well-known actor-directors in his last role, as well as the usual Bergman stalwarts, such as Bibi Andersson and Gunnar Björnstrand - Wild Strawberries was written in hospital while Bergman was recovering from health issues. The general form of the story is simple. Dr. Isak Borg, near the end of his life and about to be acknowledged with the prestigious title of Doctor Jubilaris, embarks on a journey from his home to Lund University. Accompanied by his daughter-in-law Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), who is on her way home to her husband, and a host of hitchhikers and ghosts of the past, the doctor is forced to reflect and reckon with his life and his memories.

brother, Sigfrid (Per Sjöstrand). Isak would handle that with precisely the same cool, worldly apathy that would mark the rest of his seventy-eight years.

Life means little to the Doctor. At the beginning of the film, he proudly proclaims that he has never entangled himself with relationships. Rather, his work has provided him with all the fulfilment he needs. His wife passed long ago, and his relationship with his only son, Evald (Gunnar Björnstrand), seems to him to be just the right amount of both respectful and distanced. Isak has lived all his life in comfortable, cold apathy.

At Isak’s old summer home, they encounter a trio of young hitchhikers led by Sara. This is not the Sara of Isak’s youth, but a perfect double. The vivacity and passion that the three have leads Isak to contemplate, for the first time, the cost of his apathy.

There is, however, the matter of the nightmares. Every night, upon falling asleep, he finds himself being called to account for various parts of his life – his memories. The focal point of these nightmares is generally a summer he spent with his family at their holiday home. The summer he spent engaged to Sara (Bibi Andersson), his cousin, who, by the end of that summer, would be seduced away by his elder

Throughout the film, these nightmares and visions plague Isak. His journey is punctuated by stops at places from his youth – his childhood summer home, his elderly mother’s home, the place where he discovered his wife’s infidelity. Each one brings forward a call to remembrance. All his life, Isak had pushed any conflict or care to at least arms-length. In a conversation with Marianne, she tells Isak that, despite his warm, professorial facade, she has grown to dislike him. In fact, she has seen in Evald, her husband and Isak’s son, the very same coldness. This, she tells Isak, is why they have separated. She cannot handle the apathy they disguise as principles.

This trio is contrasted by a bickering yet dependent couple, the Almans, whose loveless, barbed, yet desperately symbiotic marriage reminds Isak of his own. Again, his sacrifice of conviction and emotion is reflected back at him, to mock him. In a later vision,

It’s totally fine and encouraged for a single person to take up a meeting room in the libraries.

Isak watches his wife plan her confession of infidelity to him. She knew all along that Isak would never betray any emotion, and would handle it formally, as always. She almost pitied him for this. However, in the midst of these reveries of remembrance, Isak’s last nightmare is the strongest. It is framed as an actual examination of Isak’s life. The invigilator asks Isak what the first duty of a doctor is. Isak cannot remember. The invigilator tells Isak that the first duty of a doctor is “to ask for forgiveness”. Isak is filled with anxiety and remorse. The invigilator then proclaims Isak guilty. “Guilty of guilt”. Isak finally realises the weight of this journey. All of these memories are in service of reconciliation and restitution. Wild Strawberries is a film with a two-fold mission. The first - to attack and expose human apathy. To strip away the excuses even the most intelligent of us have for not caring, for not acting. Isak’s life has been made nothing but worse for his passivity, to the point where all around him tolerate or pity him. However, Bergman’s larger goal is in praise of memory. The despondency of the apathetic is not a fate shared by all. Rather, those who live with memory, true memory, are capable of reconciliation and contentment. For Bergman, true remembrance is an act of reconciliation and restitution. For most of us, to live comfortably is to, like Isak, hold anything uncomfortable as far away from ourselves as possible. For those who do remember well, and who attempt to live in action, memory serves as a resting place. After Isak’s realisation of guilt and

apathy, he begins the process of true remembrance. The preoccupation he once had with the prestige of his Doctor Jubilaris title is replaced with a deep care for Marianne and Evald, and a wish for their reconciliation. The three young hitchhikers no longer remind him of his mortality, but of the grace of life, and the love he had for his Sara long ago. Sara and the other two hitchhikers, having attended Isak’s ceremony, perform a song in honour of Isak outside his window. Afterward, Sara lightheartedly tells Isak that she loves him, and that she wants him to promise that he’ll remember her. As she leaves, Isak says to himself softly, “I’ll remember”.

ISAK HAS MADE HIS GREATEST PROMISE - TO ENJOY AND CARE FOR HIS MEMORIES. Finally, Isak comes to another night - usually a time of regretful and anxious memories. This time, however, when he prepares to sleep, he smiles. His memory of the Sara of his youth, leading him on a search for his mother and father, and of the love he felt then. His summer home is no longer filled with regret. His memory no longer plagues him. It is now a place of rest.

UWA Student Guild announced even more renovations to the ref in late 2020!

MEMORIES SPILLING OVER: INTERVIEW WITH AUTHOR IMBI NEEME BY ELENA PERSE

UWA alum Imbi Neeme’s newly released debut The Spill is the winner of the 2019 Penguin Literary Prize. A story of a fractured family over the years, The Spill explores whether time really can heal all wounds.

There are ice creams in the Pelican office, come by and have some. Seriously, this isn’t a joke, come and ask.

Elena Perse: The Spill is driven by characters that seem like real people you could actually meet on the street. What inspired these characters, and how did they evolve during the writing process? Imbi Neeme: I’m endlessly fascinated by people. I think like all writers, I’ve cannibalised my life to a certain degree. Often, you think of a person as a starting point, but over time, they grow to be their own person – the character becomes quite different. Nicole and Samantha, in their core were always the same, but I just grew to know them better with each draft. I do have a funny story about naming characters though - the most despicable of the males, Darren, was originally named after an exboyfriend of mine and with each draft he became more and more monstrous. I changed his name to Darren when I realised shit! He might read this book and think that’s how I see him! - you always have to be careful. EP: The Spill is set in Western Australia, and has a really strong sense of place throughout. There are references to the well-known, such as Rottnest Island (Wadjemup), and the more subtle, like the Freo Doctor. While you used to live in Perth, The Spill was written in Melbourne – what was behind your choice to set the novel in Perth? IM: When you get to a certain age and you do kind of want to look back a little bit more and I think that was part of the reason for the setting. I guess I really wanted to write about 1980s Perth because I remember it so strongly. I was actually quite disappointed I didn’t get to have one of the characters at UWA, but it never quite worked out! When I sent the novel to one of my beta-readers, they questioned naming a place ‘Dog Swamp’. They thought it was a bit unrealistic and I had to say – no, there actually is a place in Perth called Dog Swamp! There’s lots of tiny in-jokes for my school friends and my uni friends too, like the 96fm sweatshirt that one of the characters is wearing at the barbeque. The guy I sat next to in maths always wore a 96fm sweatshirt and I had to write that in! Ever since it’s gone to print, I’ve still thought of other things I should have mentioned… EP: Throughout The Spill, you mention books Samantha and Nicole have been reading – are there any books that inspired you to write generally, or any that specifically influenced your writing of The Spill? IM: I have to say Flowers in the Attic just because it had such a huge impact on me. It’s also kind of family drama so I guess that could be an influence. When I was at UWA, I was so in love with Jeanette Winterson, and I read all her stuff - she was the kind of writer I wanted to be. I remember when I wrote my first manuscript, someone said something to

me that made me realise I’d written chick lit. I was disappointed, because I was aiming for literary fiction. But at the same time, I think chick lit is a derogatory term for a genre, it’s quite dismissive. So, I had the initial “oh, I’ve written chick lit” but then I thought, there’s nothing wrong with that – maybe more people will read it! EP: What was the most challenging part of writing The Spill? IM: The biggest challenge was the structure – I was very ambitious. The early drafts of the book were a bit shambolic! I had these readers who had no idea where they were in time or space – it was a bit like the mad mouse ride at the Royal Show. I had to really work on that to sew more threads, so it wouldn’t seem so random why you were jumping back in time. Each chapter had to resolve a mystery; whether it was something big, like whether Tina was drunk during the accident, or something smaller like why didn’t Samantha ask Nicole to be a bridesmaid? I had to make sure each chapter worked for the greater picture, not just an indulgence of mine because I felt like writing about the Gobbles party bus (which arguably was the greatest mystery of all – why was it ever a thing?) EP: Now that it’s won an award and been published, what are you most proud of about the novel? IM: I’m proudest of writing the book that I wanted to write. I had a lot of rejections, and because it was high end commercial fiction, I got a lot of feedback from publishers saying they wanted more escapism in their commercial fiction. I didn’t want to write the Hollywood version of stories – I wanted to write close to my own experience. Someone once said write the book that you want to read and I stuck to that, and I got there in the end! EP: How would you describe The Spill in your own words? IM: Well, my elevator pitch has always been “no two people ever experience or remember the same event in the same way… especially if they’re sisters”. I’ve never actually used it in an elevator but one day I will, and it will be very exciting! But when I meet people and they ask what the book’s about, usually I just say it’s about sisters. If you have a sister, you can look forwards to decades of misunderstandings and arguments about what actually happened because you will always remember what happened very differently! You can purchase The Spill at any good bookstore.

The UWA security golf carts are actually free real estate - they’ve been trying to get rid of them for ages!

WATER DOESN’T HAVE MEMORY. BUT IF IT DID, IT WOULD REMEMBER THAT HOMEOPATHY KINDA SUCKS. BY DENI CAMPBELL

Have you ever seen Grease (1978)? In the third musical number, “Hopelessly Devoted to You”, we see a fresh-faced Olivia Newton-John singing to a smouldering, pre-Scientology John Travolta, who miraculously appears in the water of a dirty blow-up paddling pool. This is the first thing I thought about when I heard the phrase “memory of water”. Much to my dismay, the memory of water does not have its origins in the beloved 1 9 7 8 movie musical; rather, it stems from the 1 9 8 8 research of legitimate scientist and cool guy, Jacques Benveniste. In a nutshell, w a t e r memory is a homeopathic theory that suggests water is able to retain the memory of any material - even after it’s been diluted several times over - via an electromagnetic imprint from DNA and other molecules. This is not supported by any current, established scientific theory. One major logical flaw is that water has very likely come into contact with many substances over the Earth’s lifespan, and if it has memory, then patients would be ingesting a lot more than just the intended substances. If you were wondering, homeopathy is the rogue cousin of naturopathy; it involves diluting a chosen substance (usually something you should not be ingesting) repeatedly until they can be given to the patient at the lowest possible dose, i.e. literally just water. The final preparation has about as much substance as the claims behind this practice; that is to say, none. Unfortunately, h o m e o p a t h i c quackery continues to compromise the validity of other ‘naturopathic’ p r a c t i c e s , such as clinical nutrition and therapeutics. This is why water memory was a particularly ridiculous and damaging research endeavour - because it ‘validated’ various aspects of homeopathy that had previously been disregarded. The results from this study published in the scientific journal, Nature, claimed that white blood cells had similar allergic reactions to both the original antibody and a solution that had been diluted to the point that no molecule of the antibody remained. So again, just water.

Although superficially interesting, there are so many aspects of this pseudoscientific discourse that are absolutely wild. Firstly, the article was published with a disclaimer stating that the claims will be investigated further by independent researchers, along with a letter from the editor advising readers to ‘suspend judgement’ until the results could be replicated. It i s honestly perplexing that a purported scientific journal would so hastily publish an article without properly validating any of its c l a i m s or methodology. As it turns out, the independent researchers who were hired to observe those further e x p e r i m e n t s were as questionable as the original hypothesis. The team featured Sir John Maddox, an outspoken homophobe and HIV/AIDS denier, who appeared to value bigotry before science when he claimed that, “...promiscuity of male homosexuals is the most obvious threat to public health,” and that HIV/AIDS is a non- existent condition. Coincidentally, Maddox was also the editor of the very journal the article was published in, and almost certainly had everything to gain from these experiments. Also on the team was Walter Stewart, who was a chemist, a scientific fraud investigator, and yet somehow a cancer research sceptic. The panel was rounded out by none other than James Randi, a famed magician. Despite the fact that these results were repeatedly invalidated by subsequent investigations, Benveniste doubled down on his theory and refused to retract the claims, which ultimately led to his demise in the scientific community. Prior to his passionate ventures into homeopathy, Benveniste was a renowned i m m u n o l o g i s t who did research on the interactions between platelets and histamines. In my opinion, it is a travesty that this theory does not have its origins in the classic 1970s musical blockbuster, Grease, because I am certain that director Randal Kleiser would not have cocked up the research this dramatically if he was in charge. Even if he did give the green light to the flying car scene.

The woman living in the secret asbestos room of the music department can improve your GPA – for a price…

From the latest iPhones, to those expensive birthday cards that sing to you - the ability of technology to surprise, entertain and support continues to expand. Although their only purpose is to add a bit of whimsical fun to a birthday celebration, a singing birthday card is the result of decades of technological development and innovation in microprocessor design. Yet, as semiconductor manufacturers push down to the atomic level to squeeze every drop of performance out of the silicon, the manufacturing processes for technology like CPUs, computer memory, and hard drives remains a surprisingly imprecise process.

A CPU, OR MICROPROCESSOR, ARE THE BRAINS IN EVERY COMPUTER, AND PERHAPS THE SINGLE MOST COMPLEX MANUFACTURED PRODUCT ON EARTH. The CPU market has a notoriously high barrier to entry – only two companies, AMD and Intel, provide nearly all the CPUs in the world, from your smart refrigerator, to your smartphone. The reason for this monopoly is not just because microprocessors have to be built in the “world’s cleanest factories”, but also because the multi-billion dollar research

factory workers. The underlying reason for such stringent measures is the unbelievably tiny scale at which CPUs are manufactured. Current CPUs from Intel operate on the fourteen-nanometer scale, meaning the smallest component in the chip is just seventy silicon atoms wide! Despite the amount of effort that goes into the process, the resulting chips within each wafer varies significantly - which is where it starts to get interesting, from a consumer perspective. Once completed, each chip on the wafer is tested for functionality – the percentage that works is called the “yield”. Although manufacturers are typically secretive about their yield, it’s typically as low as 30% - meaning 70% of CPUs built don’t even work! And the ones that do pass the test will all have varying degrees of failure, meaning decreased or no performance from some parts of the processor – introducing the idea of “binning”. To prevent wastage of the half-working CPUs, manufacturers don’t throw them away – they simply disable the broken parts, and sell them at a lower price as less powerful processors. You may have heard the CPU tiers “i7”, “i5” or “i3” thrown around

THE SILICON LOTTERY: FROM SAND TO CPU BY CALEB CHENG

and development costs and five-year product cycle mean a company starting today would be risking a lot of money for a slim chance of beating the existing players years down the line. Only recently has Apple announced they will be breaking their fifteen-year relationship with Intel to make their own laptop CPUs. To understand what makes the CPU industry so unique, we should look at the manufacturing process. All chips - whether they be standard CPUs, graphics processors (GPU), or RAM - starts off as sand. Yep – the same stuff down at Cottesloe Beach, purified and melted down into discs of ultra-pure silicon known as wafers. Once polished, a very thin layer of a photosensitive chemical is spread across the wafer, after which a precise laser etches out tiny patterns on the surface. It is then washed, etched, and ‘doped’ with other chemicals, to eventually form billions of transistors. The process is so sensitive that the factories’ production areas are slightly pressurized to keep bacteria and dust out of the room, and staff are dressed more like a hazmat response team than

when buying a new laptop or computer. In fact, all tiers of Intel CPUs - from the $3000 i9’s, to the $200 i3’s - were all produced by the same process, but have vastly different performance, purely due to luck. Moreover, there can be significant differences in capability between two of the same model CPU due to the random distribution of manufacturing success. This phenomenon was coined as the ‘Silicon Lottery’ by computer enthusiasts (they exist) who extract extreme performance from their machines in a process called “overclocking”, which involves modifying processors to run hotter and faster, and cooling them back down with liquid nitrogen. This variability in performance applies not just to CPUs, but to memory like RAM and hard drives, and integrated circuits. If you end up buying an Apple laptop with an Apple CPU, you probably won’t notice whether you win or lose the silicon lottery if you’re using your computer like a normal person. But the industry is sure set to get a lot more interesting as a third player finally enters the race.

If you sit at Bob Hawkes desk for over three hours, you’re cursed with an insatiable appetite for goon.

BEAR MARKET RALLIES: THIS TIME, IT’S DIFFERENT BY BRIAN KHOO

Bear markets are known to occur when stock market values dip by 20% or greater. Over time, we have seen many market plunges followed by immediate sharp rises, adding to levels of uncertainty investors face. Such phenomena are known as bear market rallies, and as history has illustrated, it’s easy to be fooled by these reversals in equity values, before ultimately succumbing to bigger losses.

THE BEAR MARKET TRAP – TALE AS OLD AS TIME The notion of irrational exuberance has been expounded by economists such as Alan Greenspan and Nobel Laureate Robert Shiller. Greenspan, a former US Federal Reserve Chairman, warned in 1996 about stock prices being inflated to levels above those suggested by fundamentals. Yet this was followed by the S&P500 doubling in value before the tech crash in 2000. Whilst irrational exuberance has normally been a concept applied to stock market booms, history has also outlined its presence during uncertain times. The 1929 stock market crash was followed by the

worst and longest economic downturn experienced in recent history, where GDP declined by a total of 26.7%, and a quarter of Americans were unemployed at its peak. Yet, after the initial 23% drop in the Dow Jones in October, it went on to recover 50% of those losses over the next five months, signalling that even the most detrimental economic downturn we have come to know didn’t go without a bear market rally. In a more recent scenario in 2007/08, the first 16.7% plunge of the Dow was followed by an 11% recovery in the next 49 days. Once again, over 50% of the initial loss was regained.

From 1 October 2007, the Dow Jones Industrial Index took 111 days to fall 16.67%, before reversing 54.87% of those losses in just 49 days.

It was recently discovered that the crows around UWA are more intelligent than those at Curtin.

IT’S DIFFERENT - UNTIL IT’S NOT Of course, one is never certain of a bear market rally until it ends. Since it fell by more than 30% in March this year, the Dow has retraced more than 90% of its losses, reaching just 2,000 points shy of its 29,551 highs by the second week of June. A 47.9% rise since 23 March places the index well into bull market territory, but the gargantuan gulf between the events of Wall Street and Main Street have many believing that stock markets are not quite out of the woods just yet. At the same time, critics have quickly explained why things are different this time, just as they always do. There is no doubt the timely reaction by the Fed to lower its benchmark interest rate to 0-0.25% in March stopped the rot in share prices, but the main argument for this sharp rally is the belief that the global economy will grow quickly once lockdowns end. The International Monetary Fund predicted global GDP growth of 6.1% in 2021, debunking suggestions of a U-shaped economic recovery. Such beliefs have prompted stock markets not only to display a V-shaped recovery, but more of what Donald Trump would describe as a “rocket ship”.

IDENTIFYING A BEAR MARKET RALLY Despite all this, history has a tendency to repeat itself. Value investors argue that the best thing to do, no matter the situation, is to stick to fundamentals. Even before the crash, the S&P500’s price-to-earnings ratio was already at 23.5, compared to September 2011, when valuations were at their lowest post-GFC (13.5 times). Of course, to someone who believes that the economy would promptly recover to prepandemic levels, the one-month bear market might seem justified.

However, one could question if rebuilding the economy would really be as easy as flicking the switch back on. Despite being one of the first major economies to emerge out of lockdown, China’s Producer Price Index fell by 3.7% in May, on a yearon-year basis, an even bigger decline than the 3.1% contraction reported in April. This comes despite the reopening of more than 90% of its economy. In the FOMC meeting in June, Fed chairman Jerome Powell estimated that the unemployment rate in America would remain at 9.3% even by year’s end. Amidst all this, there is a chance that markets are placing too much faith in a V-shaped recovery, and if reality proves to be more complex, stock markets might just experience another leg down. Warren Buffett, who is no stranger to bear market rallies, has placed his firm, Berkshire Hathaway, into an overall cash position of $137b. His famous saying – “Only buy something that you’d be perfectly happy to hold if the market shut down for 10 years,” – has never been more relevant. Of course, the longer this rally goes on for, the harder it will be to follow his advice, but at the same time, nobody wants to be the one exposed to irrational exuberance. “You only find out who is swimming naked when the tide goes out,” is another one of Buffett’s quirky quotes that seem to repeatedly hold true. Perhaps being patient might be the most sensible thing to do, given high levels of uncertainty in the economy. For now, everything appears fine, but the stark difference between stock markets and the real economy could mean that history might repeat itself, again.

If you say “student exchange” three times in the Reid Library bathroom, a girl will appear and aggressively yell “TAKE ME BACK!”

SHOCKING TRA CURATED BY FRANCESCA DE NUCCIO

Travel can open us up to many new experiences. A thrilling adventure that places you in a foreign place, essentially forcing you out of your comfort zone. Sometimes travelling just doesn’t go to plan; we may be faced with obstacles. However, often, these hurdles become the moments that make your holiday…

SEE YA LATER! BY MARCUS HO

After spending half a day touring and snorkelling around the stunningly beautiful islands of Phuket, my brother and I disembarked on an island which served as a rest stop for tourists. Our tour guide gave us a time by which we needed to return, and with two hours to spare, we wasted no time in exploring the island. We soon found a dessert store which specialised in mango sticky rice; a glorious food staple in Thailand. Just thinking about that dessert makes me drool. With our tummies more than satisfied, we headed back to the jetty to catch our boat. However, our little vessel was nowhere in sight. We looked around, thinking it might have docked somewhere else, but optimism soon turned into anxiety. A friendly local offered to assist, and it didn’t take long before he chuckled, whilst informing us that the boat left ages ago. At that point, we were desperately hoping he was just joking. However, reality quickly set in, and I could see the colour disappear from my brother’s face.

I ran to the nearest convenience store to borrow a telephone, and after speaking with our tour guide, she said she would turn the boat around to pick us up. Ah, the relief. However, she called back a few minutes later to say that, because another passenger had a flight to catch later that evening, they couldn’t turn back. Nevertheless, she arranged for another tour company to get us back home without any extra cost. When we got to the other boat, we were then told we had to pay a ‘fee’ in order to board. Although we were outraged, my brother and I paid with the little money we had in our wallets. We finally arrived back at our hotel, hours later than expected. Much to our delight, our tour guide was waiting for us with all our bags, which we examined to make sure everything was still inside. If you thought the day couldn’t get any worse, the final blow was when my brother realised his wallet was wiped of all his cash. The odds of the police investigating the matter were as slim as me achieving a six-pack. Two years on, my brother and I still look back on that day with fond memories, and realise that these are the sorts of experiences that make life real. We wouldn’t have had it any other way!

There’s a little-known honours year option, where you never attend a tutorial and pretend your coordinator doesn’t exist.

VEL STORIES!

TALL TALES: WHEN THE ANTIQUE TRAVELLER FROM A DISTANT LAND WON’T SHUT UP BY ELLENOR SIBON

Returning home from time abroad is bitter-sweet. The sadness of saying goodbye to freedom and new friends is mingled with the relief of no longer sleeping in a dingy room with six strangers. There’s the warm glow of anticipation when the Perth skyline becomes visible through the plane window, and the peace and certainty of home when you step out of the airport and breathe in the smell of eucalyptus trees. There’s the teary-eyed joy of hugging your family for the first time in months, and the sinking realisation that Australia has not changed when you order coffee from the grumpy lady behind the counter. From the moment I set foot in the house upon my return from Europe, my parents besieged me with requests for tales from my favourite places, the best food, the most interesting people. After recovering from initial discomfort, I began to enjoy telling my stories. I did not anticipate how quickly the novelty of hearing them would wear off. Unwittingly, I became that irritating person who manages to slide an anecdote of, “When I was in Europe…” into every conversation.

Travel is a luxury few people have the time or money to afford. While I was soul searching in Europe, my friends were studying and working. They cannot relate to my experiences, and thus don’t really care about the time I bought three huge scoops of gelato for a measly two euros at midnight on a street corner in Rome - because they weren’t there. They’re not fussed that I once got stranded at a dodgy train station at 2am in a hostile European city, and spent an hour sobbing hysterically on the phone to my mother on the other side of the world. They don’t really want to hear about how I trekked through kneedeep mud in Scotland with an overly enthusiastic Chinese lady who made me lead because she was afraid of highland cows. Telling stories is a way of keeping memories alive. At home, back to routine, it’s easy to feel disconnected, disillusioned, and as if nothing has changed. This is not true, because travel changes a person. Sometimes you just need to be reminded of the adventure, the love, the loneliness, the joy, and the awe you felt to remember the person you became on the road. I have learnt to seek out fellow travellers to reminisce with, rather than dumping them on my well-meaning but disinterested, less-travelled friends. If you catch me in conversation with my lips pressed together going slightly blue, know that I am not choking - I am merely trying to spare you a particularly long-winded anecdote. Chances are that it involves tequila, a band of shirtless Italians, and a Danish choir.

Matilda Bay is actually named after a mournful lesbian who drowned there in 1972 after dropping her packet of smokes.

UN-SETTLING MEMORIES BY RALPH THOMPSON

CW: MURDER OF INDIGENOUS PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA, RAPE. On Sunday, 10 June, 1838, at least twenty-eight Wirrayaraay women, children, and elderly men were massacred at Myall Creek Station, in an unprovoked and premeditated attack. Riding into the station on horseback in the late afternoon, “…with muskets, swords, and pistols,” eleven stockmen made straight for the Wirrayaraay. Bound with leather rope, an eye-witness recalled that the group “…moan[ed] the same as a mother and children would cry” as they were led off to their terrible fate. Charles Kilmeister - a convict stockman assigned to the station, who reportedly had amicable relations with the Wirrayaraay, often “…dancing, laughing, joking, and playing” with them - joined the group of murderers, and ignored cries for help as he bound the victims’ hands together. Two or three little children, unable to walk, were “carried on their [mothers’] backs in possum skins.” Toddlers who were not tied up merely followed their mothers “crying,” as hutkeeper George Anderson recalled, “…till they got out of my hearing.” Once out of Anderson’s hearing, however, the scene only turned more macabre. Yet, as for much frontier violence, no eye-witness accounts exist. All that is known is that two gunshots were heard some fifteen minutes after the group were seen disappearing over the hill. Two days later, Mr Hobbs, the station’s superintendent, returned to Myall Creek to discover the Wirrayaraay missing. Just half a mile from the hut, “…directed by the hovering of eagles, hawks, and other birds of prey in the air,” Hobbs “…discovered the mangled and half-burnt remains of at least twenty-eight [people].” One younger woman had been spared from the slaughter, only to be raped by the murderers. Within days, she had suffered a similar fate to the rest of her family. The slaughter of Indigenous peoples at Myall Creek was unusual for its time. But it was not unusual in terms of the number of Indigenous peoples killed, nor in the premeditated and wanton nature of its violence. The Myall Creek massacre was unusual in

that it was the first - and to this day only - time that non-Indigenous people were tried and convicted for the slaughter of Indigenous peoples. The trial of the Myall Creek massacrists created a furore in the colony, with many turning to the press to vent their outrage. The newly established Sydney Herald expressed the popular perspective that Indigenous people occupied “…the very lowest scale of human degradation,” describing them alternately as “…filthy, brutal cannibals,” “ferocious savages,” “… creatures of impulse, swayed by wild passions,” and “…addicted to the most unnatural crimes, infanticides, blood-thirsty, and treacherous in the extreme.” Eschewing confrontation with the sombre reality of the violent expropriation of land attending the ‘settlement’ of Australia, popular discourses around Indigenous peoples’ defence of their land appropriated civilisation and savagery discourses to cast Indigenous people as belonging to primordial prehistory, inevitably disappearing before the advent of civilisation. Indeed, one New South Wales Parliamentarian, adopting these discourses, explained away the violent de-peopling of the Australian continent by instead suggesting Indigenous peoples, “…like leaves in autumn, uniformly disappear[ed] before the progress of European colonisation.” It is from within this wellspring of thick complex history – a story of brutality and state-culpability, a story of legal failings and legal vindications, a story of poisonous rhetoric and poisonous practice – that a new story of humanity was birthed some onehundred and sixty years later. In the era of Australian Reconciliation, the violence of the massacre and the memories of this site were being revived. In October 1998, at the suggestion of Sue Blacklock - a descendant of one of the massacre survivors - the local Uniting Church held a conference on Reconciliation. At this meeting, it was decided that a permanent memorial should be made. Over the next two years, a committee was formed, a memorial envisioned, funding found, and on 10 June, 2000 – one-hundred and sixty-two years after the massacre – the memorial was officially opened “…in an act of reconciliation and in an acknowledgement of the truth of our shared history.” Existing as more than just

Oscar the Grouch used to be Oscar the Happy before the Arts fee hikes.

a memorial, a commemorative ceremony performed annually around the anniversary of the massacre has become an event of spiritual resonance. In the original memorial ceremony, descendants of the Myall Creek massacrists declared themselves to be “…descendants, and represent[atives of], all those who carried out murder and mayhem on the slopes below.” Then Sue Blacklock, and her brother Lyall Munro - the great-grandchildren of John Munro who, as a child, escaped the massacre - similarly identified themselves: “We are descendants of those who survived the massacres.” Acknowledging these multivalent pasts, the group then come together to say: “We acknowledge this our shared history; We seek reconciliation between our peoples, and healing of the wounds of the past.” In the program, it was written “as the four embrace,” and the “All” of the audience recite: This is the history of every one of us; We are all heirs and survivors, beneficiaries and victims Of its injustices and misunderstandings. We too want reconciliation and healing. This performance produced Rothberg’s ‘malleable discursive space’, and allowed for dialogical exchange in the composition of self and group identity. These roles and lines have been repeated more or less verbatim, over the nineteen years of the ceremony’s performance, with young descendants of both the victims and perpetrators coming to continue this ‘invented tradition.’ Political scientist Lisa Schirch has referred to such performances as “peacebuilding dramas.” These dramas involve “…ritual and symbolic acts that engage the senses, passions and emotions to create a “unique social space” that involve co-operative images and activities”. In the case of the Myall Creek Memorial, an array of symbols, its location in time and place, and the structure of its ceremony in bringing Indigenous and non-Indigenous people together make it a powerful performance of reconciliation. Such was the power of this performance, that on that wintery day in 2000, Lyall Munro declared to those gathered there: “…for generations this has been a place of cruelty and pain – a ‘no go’ zone – for my people, but today we are able to return to this place, for now it has been reclaimed as a place for healing and peace.” Drawing on cultural symbols from the JudeoChristian tradition and local Indigenous cultures, the Myall Creek Memorial forms a new relationship of sharing based on hybridity and cultural respect.

Penelope Edmonds argues that some performances of reconciliation are more “radical” or “decolonising” than others, because of the way they “…critically draw on the past and engage it using local and deep cultural repertoires that position Indigenous history and memory at the centre.” This critical engagement is everywhere in the Myall Creek Memorial. Marrying Indigenous practices and symbols - such as a smoking ceremony, and indigenous dance - with symbols of the Judeo-Christian tradition - such as the lighting of candles, and collective prayer - the ceremony points to a new postcolonial sociality celebrating both cultures, and providing syncretic rituals for this new identity. In ways that echo Eric Hobsbawm’s seminal Invention of Tradition, the memorial committee created new symbols and traditions stretching into the longue durée of Indigenous and Judeo-Christian cultures, in the imagination of a new cultural identity. Revived in these ceremonies, the memorial exists as a lieu de mémoire – a site of memory – where entanglements of time and space produce a place of present past in a living land. Elucidating the concept of lieux de mémoire, seminal memory studies scholar Pierre Nora draws a distinction between ‘institutionalised’ lieux, “imposing and […] imposed,” and a second form: “places of refuge, sanctuaries of spontaneous devotion and silent pilgrimage, where one finds the living heart of memory.” With the erection of the memorial, the site became a place of community memory, a place for silent consideration, a place of intergenerational and intercultural connection. In this way, the Myall Creek Memorial evokes complex memories of violence and struggle between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples. It reforms national foundational narratives away from simplified stories of settler maturation in the land to stories of violent dispossession. Un-settling the ‘space’ of the Australian nation embedded in narratives of a peaceable frontier, the memorial provides new foundations for new relationships between Indigenous and non-Indigenous people based on an understanding of the ‘true’ historical foundations of the nation. Within memory, we find the scenes that story our lives and inform our identities. Yet for its part, memory is intensely unreliable – called upon in partisan ways to form a constructed future. What we choose to remember, and the ways we communicate these memories, will shape the futures we hold together. Perhaps most profoundly, memories manifest in place. The stories of certain sites connect with us and recall within us pride and pain, shame and longing. Together, we must find ways to connect memory to place in ways that direct us towards a more equitable future. For in memory we find our identity and destiny, both.

You can totally make the walk from College to the Business school in ten minutes.

DUAL READINGS: A REFLECTION ON THE EFFECT OF MEMORY WHEN REVISITING A CHILDHOOD FAVOURITE BY CATE TWEEDIE

It started when I realised that I couldn’t remember most of the plot of The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass - the second and third books in Phillip Pullman’s modern classic trilogy, His Dark Materials. Despite this, the series remains close to my heart; The Amber Spyglass was the first book that ever made me cry. To reconcile this lapse in memory, I bought a threein-one collection from my local bookstore, and set about remembering what I’d loved so much in the first place. It was only after I’d finished the entire trilogy that I realised that it had been thirteen whole years since I’d read it. That was back in 2007; conveniently before the movie based on the first book, The Northern Lights, came out. Even though The Golden Compass wasn’t the best of movies, its visuals created a strong and memorable impression of the first book. I was nine years old when I first read these books; a few years younger than the story’s protagonists. Reading the books for the first time, I can remember seeing them as so mature and grown up, but now that I’m ten years older than these heroes, twelve years old seems incredibly young. I very clearly remember looking up to Lyra and Will as daring and put together. Now, I view them as young kids, doing their best, tiny and innocent in a huge world. Something I’ve found whilst re-reading books, especially ones I read as a child, is they seem a lot shorter and faster paced the second time around. Sections that seemed long and arduous end up being only a chapter or two. I wonder if this is due to memory: scenes and locations that were iconic and memorable in the first reading are now heavy with the weight of expectations. The image of the final scene in the books, the bench in Oxford, now occupies two states in my brain. I can’t help but remember the intense feeling of sadness and loss from my first reading. However, with age and experience, I find myself now picturing it in an entirely different way, though a lot of the emotions were still the same. The grief I felt still remains, as

does the profound feeling of depth that comes with finishing something of such intensity. It is interesting to note that while a few aspects of the books slipped my mind between readings, there were a few things really made an impression. I can remember exactly where I was when I read it, and the colours invoked, as well as a few very specific details. Even though it would be useful to remember plot points, my nostalgic memory embraced associated images and softened edges. IT’S A LITTLE UNCANNY TO REALISE THAT I READ THE SAME PASSAGES ONLY A FEW METERS APART, BUT SO DISTANT IN TIME AND UNDERSTANDING. I’ve lived in the same room since 2006, and thus this memory, as well as many others, are connected through the lens of location. Coincidentally, this is concurrent with themes in His Dark Materials, of distance and journey, especially between innocence and adulthood. I cherish the opportunity to have read and interpreted this work again with a different headspace. From my last years of childhood, to being an adult at peace with herself and her understanding of the world, it means a lot.

You’re actually not allowed to bring outside food on campus. Time to buy a $12 salad from Quobba Gnarning!

YIELD CURVE CONTROL – THE FUTURE OF MONETARY POLICY? BY GABRIEL BRODIE

Coronavirus has ushered many changes to the way we interact and consume - yet one of the most polarising divergences from ‘pre-corona life’ is the intense pressure on governments and central banks to support floundering markets. This was evident in the Australian Government’s decision to unleash a record $259 billion in economic support, totalling roughly 13.3% of our annual GDP. The speed and size of this fiscal response was partly due to the inflexibility of the RBA to directly inject liquidity into the economy (via the cash rate). On 19 March, Australia’s cash rate was plunged to 0.25%. Not only was this dangerously low, but, as has been implied by RBA Governor Philip Lowe, any future decreases would not noticeably benefit the economy. This becomes problematic if our economy faces future shocks, as its stabilisation will rest solely on the shoulders of the incumbent government, meaning the taxpayer will ultimately bear the burden. Yet it was another announcement from the RBA on 19 March that flagged a revolution for the future of monetary policy: Philip Lowe’s decision to commence Yield Curve Control (YCC) on Australian bonds, which is a colossal and rarely-chosen policy decision. The Bank of Japan acted similarly in 2016, when YCC was implemented to shield their negative cash rate (-0.1% as of June 2020). This shift away from conventional Quantitative Easing (QE) methods to inject liquidity into the economy has created a global shift. THE INFAMOUS YIELD CURVE If you followed the 2019 financial news, you would have heard discussions surrounding the terrifying yield curve inversion. But what exactly is a yield curve? And what does it have to do with monetary policy? A yield curve demonstrates the bond market, plotting the relationship between bond interest rates (yields), versus their time to maturity. A yield is an expectation of investor return at the time of purchase, and thus dictates its price. The two concepts are inversely related - when yields increase, the bond price decreases, and vice versa. There are three possible yield curve shapes. A ‘normal curve’ occurs during times of economic certainty and expansion, as investors expect bond investments to have future higher returns due to

economic stability and relative growth. A ‘flat curve’ indicates economic slowdown, as future uncertainty decreases return expectations of longer-term investments, bringing them in line with short term yields. An ‘inverted curve’ occurs when expectations of future bond returns are less than those in the short term, highlighting investor uncertainty on long term investments. This is caused by the perceived risk of recession, and the expectation that the central bank will lower the cash rate. TARGETS, TARGETS, TARGETS Yield Curve Control involves a central bank controlling the yield curve by targeting a set yield rate for government bonds over the long-term. This both influences and stabilises the market price. In Australia’s case, the RBA has targeted a 0.25% yield for three-year government bonds. YCC aids our economy in two ways. Firstly, it stabilises investor expectations by reducing the large fluctuations seen on 3Y bonds, caused by uncertainty. Secondly, it directly injects liquidity into the economy through bond purchases, providing a bridge between the shortfall of demand seen in the open market during a recession. This differs to Quantitative Easing measures, as YCC is concerned with bond cost instead of bond quantity. For example, under QE measures, the RBA announces it will purchase $10 billion in treasury bonds, driving up bond prices, and thus leading to lower yields - as the two are inversely related. Under YCC, the RBA announces instead it will buy bonds at the price set by a 0.25% yield. This target materialises as the market price, meaning the RBA will only need to purchase bonds to maintain the rate when fluctuations occur. YCC provides a considerably clearer message to the economy about future rates, drastically reducing uncertainty, and thus lowering the amount of intervention required by the RBA when compared to QE. With sovereign debt skyrocketing around the world, cash rates falling to near negatives and unprecedented money printing through QE, Western economies will certainly have to reassess how they plan to manage future crises post COVID-19. Given the relative advantages over QE, YCC will hopefully play a pivotal role in this.

You just had to search up what Quobba Gnarning was.

ON MEMENTO BY BOA ANTAHPUTRO

I think this should be a good place to end. Wait - I think I forgot something. I’ve forgotten it. It’s happened again. I think I should remember a little bit. Something about film. And memory. Film, like novels, can bend time. They don’t have to follow A then B then C then D. It may very well make sense to present a story as B, C, D, A.

I had in finally understanding the story. I think I’ve already said this, I’m not sure, but Nolan brilliantly places the viewer in the same subjective, confused state as the amnesiac Leonard. He bases much of his life on the memory of his wife’s death, but Leonard’s initial retelling of this memory becomes increasingly obscure. However, he continues to believe in his memory as truth. It’s all he has.

Famous films where time is presented in a non-linear way include Pulp Fiction (1994), or Dunkirk (2017), or Memento (that’s a good one), or Annie Hall (1977). Although perhaps not the way we objectively experience life, it is the way we subjectively remember it. We like to think back as humans. We’re very nostalgic. We cherish great memories so much that we lose other ones which perhaps paint a clearer picture.

Like Leonard, much of what I – we – base our belief on is memory. Like Leonard, we objectively live moving forward into the future, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. But within our subjective minds, we can inhabit times of our lives when it was much better. Much happier. It doesn’t matter whether the recalled memories are true or not, or even continue to be true going into the future. Like Leonard, all that matters is that it was and is true to him.

MEMORIES THAT SHOW US BLUNTLY THAT IT WAS NOT ALL BLACK AND WHITE - IT WAS COLOURED, AND UGLY, AND NOT AS COMFORTABLE AS WE THOUGHT IT WAS.

We depend so much on our memories to be happy to know, to live. Like he states at the end of the film, we have to believe “…the world doesn’t just disappear when you close your eyes.” He has to be certain of this fact. When that ‘fact’ is broken, when the reality of that memory is revealed and its special status is lost, that’s when Leonard hurts. That’s when most of us hurt. When we realise the sweetness of memory fails to imitate the bitterness of reality. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter for Leonard. He ignores this. Leonard ignores… Leonard. Lenny. Lenny? Who’s Lenny. What doesn’t matter?

The good old days were not so good. And uh I remember once I watched a film called Memento. As I’ve said it’s a good one. But I can’t seem to remember why I started to write this. Focus. You were writing something about memory. For Pelican. Memory edition. Focus. What words pop in your head? Pelican. Memory. Uh. Mentos? No. Memento. Memento by Nolan. Memento by Nolan and memory and Pelican. Ok. What I remember about that film is how untrustworthy memory is. How much I trusted Leonard at first, and what he tells me he remembers about his wife’s death - how it happened; who did it; who he is. And how each time a new memory starts, it challenges the conclusions I made on the previous memory that was shown to me. Each sequence fills in the blank, while paradoxically subverting the comfort I thought

I’m writing about something… something called Memento. What about Memento? It’s a film, I think. Oh right, Memento by Christopher Nolan. Nolan brilliantly places viewers within Leonard’s amnesiac perspective by unconventionally telling the story backwards, beginning with the chronologically penultimate event of the story, and progressively showing the events which leads to that conclusion. Scenes are shown in pairs of coloured and black and white scenes. The former increasingly goes further into the past, beginning each scene with an image we are unfamiliar with and ending with something we have already seen, so that we are informed of the scenes’ chronological order, and helping us piece

A savage possum has lived in the Dolphin Theatre for almost a decade now and can be heard screaming at night.

the events of the story together. The latter black and white scenes conventionally move forward in time, granting us clarity into Leonard’s character and motivations. By having the arrow of time flipped, we, as Nolan himself states, are denied “… the same information that the protagonist is denied.” We experience the same discomfort as Leonard, in having to constantly start and restart a new set of memories, which we can only make sense of partially in relation to other information granted to us. Now I have no idea if other films do this very same thing. Perhaps. I don’t remember. In fact, I don’t remember a lot of the films I watch, but this one is… special, in the way it explores how blurry memory is. I don’t remember half the films… I don’t remember. I don’t... Memento (2000), directed by Christopher Nolan, centers around Leonard Shelby (Guy Pearce); a man who suffers from anterograde amnesia, a mental disorder which prevents the formation of new memories after the event causing the amnesia. For Leonard, this event is the death of his wife, and everything from that point on, he remembers solely through self-made ‘reminders’: tattoos on his body, polaroids, or notes written on anything. THE FILM CONCERNS ITSELF PRIMARILY WITH EXPLORING THE RELATIONSHIP OF OUR VERY SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE OF MEMORY WITH THE SO CALLED OBJECTIVE TRUTH, AND HOW WE CENTER MUCH OF OUR LIFE’S HAPPINESS IN BELIEVING THAT THEY COINCIDE TRUTHFULLY; however, much to Leonard and our annoyance, they rarely do so, or as the protagonist himself states, “… memories are just an interpretation, not a record”. Additionally, . . . uh. Additionally…um. What was I writing about?

A vampire lives in the Murdoch lecture theatre.

ISSUE FIVE

ODYSSEY

UNTITLED BY ASTON CLARKE (@MISFITTING_ILLUSTRATIONS)

SUBMISSIONS DUE BY THE 29TH OF JULY E-MAIL PELICAN@GUILD.UWA.EDU.AU FOR MORE INFORMATION