Woroni Edition Two 2020

anu student magazine vol 70 issue 2 2020

WO RO NI

24 Madame Armpit Hair Phillis Zeng 5 The ANUSA Explainers: An Introduction Isobel Lavers

26 I Got An IUD And This Is What Happened Josie Ganko

6 The ANUSA Explainers: The Executive Isobel Lavers 7 The ANUSA Explainers The General Representatives and College Representatives Grace Sixsmith 8 This Month On Campus 9 Radio Schedule 10 Artwork by Izaak Bink

12 The Politicians Can't Hear You Nicole Yu 13 A Novel Strain of Bigotry Nicole Yu 14 Can We Please Stop Being So Obsessed With Virginity Anonymous

43 Are Clothes Necessary To A Decent Life?

Bella Vacaflores 44 Rave Reflections Sophie Richardson

29 Bitter Reflections Kaia Parlevliet 30 Carmel Dominic Page 32 There's A Bonsai On My Windowsill Indy Shead 34 When People Smile At Each Other At Traffic Lights Jerome Arrow 36 Brown Swan Phoebe Lupton 38 Reflections Anonymous 40 Desire Of A Truant Morning Mocka Wacka 41 I See You Mokgadi

17 Fat Bodies Are None of Your Business Sophia Childs 18 Superstitions Anonymous 20 Love Languages Anonymous 22 Time to Divest Unisuper Kieran Browne

46 Making Art Galleries An Inclusive Sensory Space Juliette Brown 49 No Pay? No Way! A Play With A Punch Tara Finlay 48 A Tale Of Two Families In Bong JoonHo's Parasite Adam Gottschalk 50 Sex Education Is The Best Teen Drama I've Ever Seen Phoebe Lupton

53 Learning From Viruses Aditi Dubey 54 Sex And Security Samantha Wong 56 Risky Business Elliott Merchant 58 The Whole Ugly Circus George Owens 62 The Spread Of Medical Misinformation Isabel Richards 64 What Is Love Zack Cunich

23 Browsing Through Kambri Rachel Chopping

COVER ARTWORK: GEORGIE KAMVISSIS

DIVIDER PAGE ARTWORK: EMILY O'NEIL

Hello, and welcome to Edition Two of Woroni for 2020!

At the time of writing this, the COVID-19 pandemic has reached Australia, and Woroni has had to seriously think about where to go from here. It’s a scary time for us all, but we’re here for you. What I love about Woroni is that it gives people the opportunity to express themselves freely and openly. We serve as a platform for you to vent your frustrations, talk about the things you love and engage in a little bit of much-needed escapism. We want to be a beacon of light in the midst of these dark times, and no pandemic is going to stop us!

So, without further ado, here is our very special ‘Sex’ edition! I hope you have fun reading it, and I hope you learn something along the way too. xoxo Phoebe, Content Editor at Woroni

NEWS

// 7

THE ANUSA EXPLAINERS: AN INTRODUcTION AUTHOR // ISOBEL LAVERS The goings-on of ANUSA, and student politics on campus remain widely misunderstood and ignored

by ANU students. The fault here does not lie with these ordinary students. The intricacies of ANUSA are overtly complicated and bureaucratic – which anyone who has attended an ANUSA meeting can confirm.

So, we at Woroni News present to you: The ANUSA Explainers We hope this helps you feel less lost when someone starts yelling at you about the most recent motion passed at SRC 3.

ANUSA ANUSA (or ANU Students’ Association) is, ‘the peak representative body for all undergraduate students and ANU College students at ANU.’ They advocate for the interests of students directly to the university.

This includes promoting student welfare, as well as coordinating social events like O-Week.

With such a broad role in ANU, ANUSA is split into several individual groups which handle different aspects of student life. These include the Executive, College Representatives, General Representatives, and Department Officers.

Importantly, if you are an undergraduate student at ANU, you’re a member of ANUSA. Meetings Generally speaking, most students have a brief understanding of who ANUSA is. What is less understood, however, is how decisions are made and what goes on in ANUSA meetings.

There are two distinct types of public meetings that ANUSA holds of significant interest to students: SRCs and General Meetings. The key difference between these is that any ANUSA member (i.e. any undergraduate student at the ANU) can vote on motions in a General Meeting. SRCs are the most common, occurring roughly once a month during the university year. While open to the whole student body, only members of the SRC (those representatives mentioned above) can vote on motions presented in the meeting.

The SRC meetings themselves are divided into two ‘acts’ if you will, and follows an agenda posted by the General Secretary five working days before the meeting takes place. Firstly, executive and department reports are given. These reports provide an overview on the members’ activities over the last few weeks and are often taken as read, meaning that the report is not given at the SRC and is simply left on the agenda to be read by any interested parties at their leisure. At this time, the questions can be directly asked to the member giving the report.

Following this, motions are debated and voted on.

These motions are moved and seconded by different representatives, and changes may be made to the motion any time during the meeting. These amendments can be ‘friendly’ (accepted by the mover) or may otherwise have to be debated. Throughout this process, the meeting is led (‘chaired’) by the General Secretary who attempts to keep the meeting both orderly and on schedule. However, the chair may be passed for several reasons – often when the Secretary themselves is involved in a motion.

General meetings follow a broadly similar structure; being led by the General Secretary and including reports and motions to be voted on. There are three types of these meetings: an Ordinary General Meeting (OGM), the Annual General Meeting (AGM), and Special General Meetings (SGM). At least one OGM must be held in each teaching period, except in the same period as an AGM. As suggested in its name, an AGM is held once a year: ‘convened by the General Secretary within six months after the end of each Financial Year.’ Unlike other General Meetings, AGMs must include a financial review. SGMs can be called any time during the following a petition ‘of the Association’ or a ‘simple majority of the SRC.’ In any of these meetings, an individual can be ‘named’ at the discretion of the Secretary. If someone is named three times they have to leave, and the meeting cannot continue until they do so.

8 // NEWS

THE ANUSA EXPLAINERS: THE EXECUTIVE AUTHOR // ISOBEL LAVERS The ANUSA Executive are, in many ways, the ones running the show. The Executive communicate directly with the university, while other representatives may not be able to do so as easily. Most of the big events and policy changes are directly influenced.

Due to this, the ANUSA Executive are expected to work long hours, and are paid stipends to reflect this. The President, who has perhaps the most demanding role, earns $44 500. The Vice President earns a maximum of 70 per cent of the President’s stipend, ($31 595) and the rest of the Executive are paid a stipend of a maximum of 40 per cent of the President’s ($17 000).

President The President’s ‘primary task is to ensure the undergraduate student voice is heard’ across the university. This means that they sit on the University Council – along with beloved Vice-Chancellor Brian Schmidt among others – and many other ANU Committees.

Traditionally, the President has also fulfilled the role of Undergraduate Student Representative on the Council, although that is not constitutionally required. Resultantly, they are – with the Vice President – one of the key figures in student advocacy. They are also the official spokesperson of ANUSA and communicate policy changes to the students and media organisations.

Due to their role in running and organising meetings, the General Secretary is perhaps one of the most recognisable members of the Executive. The General Secretary further ‘looks after and interprets the Constitution,’ and ensures the smooth workings of ANUSA’s internal administration. Notably, both the 2020 and 2019 Presidents were the General Secretaries the year previous.

The current General Secretary is Taylor Heslington.

Treasurer First and foremost, the treasurer oversees the ‘financial affairs of the Association.’ Beyond this, they ensure that money is being spent appropriately, and keep track of funds coming in and out. The Treasurer is a member of the Student Clubs Council.

The current Treasurer is Maddy Wang.

Education Officer The Education Officer primarily handles ‘the Higher Education policy of the Association.’ They often work in tandem with National Union of Students (NUS) and organise educational campaigns.

The current Education Officer is Skanda Panditharatne.

The current President is Lachy Day.

Social Officer

Vice President

The Social Officer has, arguably, one of the most exciting roles in the Executive. Students at the ANU can thank this Officer for social events such as O-Week and Bush Week.

If the President is a spokesperson for ANUSA, then the Vice is in charge of backstage coordination and communication. While ‘their focus is on internal education matters,’ the role is otherwise very similar to the President’s.

The current Vice is Madhumitha Janagaraja.

General Secretary

The current Social Officer is Sophie Jaggar.

Like all other representatives, the Executive are voted in annually in the term three. They are in office from December 1 till November 30 the following year.

ARTWORK: ELIZA WILLIAMS // 9

The General Representatives and College Representatives AUTHOR // GRACE SIXSMITH College Representatives Each Academic College at the ANU has two College Representatives to liaise between the students and the College. They work with the College to ensure that students’ issues with their courses and degrees are met. They also sit on the SRC. The College Reps are required to give reports at each College Representative Council meeting about the issues that students have raised with them and how they are working to resolve them. They organise events for students in their College and help out with other ANUSA events and initiatives. The college reps also sit on the College Education Committee of their College.

The current college reps are College of Arts & Social Sciences: Samuel Lee & James Eveille College of Asia & the Pacific: Millie Wang & Spencer Cornish College of Engineering and Computer Sciences: Sophie Burgess Joint College of Sciences: Yasmin Potts & Sai Campbell College of Law: Georgina Price & Max Claessens College of Business & Economics: David Harvey & Jye Beardow

General Representatives Along with College reps, there are 14 General Representatives or ‘Gen Reps’ who also sit on the SRC. The Gen Reps’ main role is to liaise between the student body and the SRC, discussing the priorities that students have and how the rest of the Association should address these issues. The Gen Reps are also responsible for keeping the executive accountable, and ensuring that ANUSA remains visible on campus.

The current Gen Reps are: Lachie Ballard, Aryanne Camnischi, Nicholas Carlton, Nicholas Crowley, Cahill Di Donato, Jacob Ellis, Katherine Evans, Will Fletcher, Tom Garratt, Louis Gordon, Vincent Li, Ben Theakston, Ben Wicks and Ben Yates.

ANU is a busy place! There’s always something going on, whether it be a play, musical, sports event or trivia night. Who said that Canberra was boring? Here are some of the events on campus that are happening over the next few months: British India March 27 ANU Trivia An all-year-round treat, ANU Trivia is held every Tuesday night at Badger and Co.

Australian band British India will be performing in Kambri at 8pm.

ANU Global Programs Fair 2020 April 3 ANU Women’s Football Club Launch March 27 The ANU Women’s Football Club will be holding an event to celebrate the beginning of the sporting season at The Hellenic in Civic.

ANU/Canberra Times Meet The Author – Andrew Wear March 26 Author of Solved!: How Other Countries Have Cracked the World’s Biggest Problems and We Can Too Andrew Wear will be in conversation with Andrew Leigh MP at Harry Hartog from 5.30pm to 7pm.

The ANU Global Programs Fair is an opportunity to find out about exchange opportunities and meet international partner universities. This year, the fair will be held at the Marie Reay Teaching Centre from 11am until 3pm.

Trixie and Katya Live Canberra June 21 Drag duo Trixie and Katya will be performing at Llewellyn Hall at 8pm.

Ninth Oceanic Conference on International Studies June 29 and July 1 OCIS is an annual Australiasian international affairs conference, bringing together scholars from all over the world. In 2020, OCIS will be held in the Hedley Bull Building.

// 11

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12 // ARTWORK: IZAAK BINK

CAMPUS

14 // CAMPUS | POLITICS

ARTWORK: ABIGAIL BORDER

the politicians can't hear you AUTHOR // NICHOLAS WARD

On Tuesday 4 February 2020 over 1,000 Australians marched around Parliament House to protest climate change in near-complete silence.

I have some bad news for those protesters: the politicians can’t hear you.

A condition of approval of this march was that the protesters leave behind their signs and refrain from chanting. Because God forbid the politicians hear the people.

Don’t feel bad though. Silent or not, they genuinely cannot hear you. Because the dark, undemocratic secret of New Parliament House is that the structure is virtually soundproof. Chant as loud as you want, bring megaphones and a thousand of your closest friends.

They still won’t hear you.

At the height of the protests on February 4, as 1,000 people engaged in a call and response with their inflamed speakers, the entry to parliament was silent.

The coughing of the several dozen police and trickling of the fountain was more audible than the protesters chanting barely 100 metres away.

It is almost surreal how well the architecture dulls and removes the anger of the people from the air. If one could not see the pennants of protest flying, it would seem like any other day.

By comparison, the protesters' calls ring clear all the way down at Old Parliament House. The echoes from the walls of that colonial mansion rang clear as a bell so that one could follow every word of the speakers and every call of the protesters from half a kilometre away.

Long gone are the days where Bob Hawke would hang out the windows of Old Parliament House waving at the people. When the Prime Minister’s office was less than 100 metres from the protest lines, and politicians were forced to see the anger and complaints of the people going to and from work, whether they wanted to or not.

Today the Ministers’ offices are set near the dead centre of the vast complex. Well back from the roads, ensconced in their fortified hill, surrounded by offices of the unimportant staffers. Where no errant sound of discontent can possibly reach them.

Its four fortified entrances where MPs come and go from are likewise a no protest zone on the off chance they are forced to see something they don’t want to.

Tuesday 4 February 2020 marked the first protest to encircle Parliament House. And it was only approved on the condition that protesters carry no signs and refrain from chanting.

It’s no wonder people feel like the politicians aren’t listening anymore. Because they physically can’t. The next time ScoMo talks about the Canberra bubble, he might consider bothering to listen to the people, instead of walking away as soon as he has the chance.

ARTWORK : ABIGAIL BORDER // 15

a novel strain of bigotry AUTHOR // NICOLE YU

CONTENT WARNING: Racism, Drugs I would like to preface this piece by stating that I do not, never have and never will sell caps. What gave rise to this misunderstanding is beyond my comprehension. I have considered that it may have been my boots, which were jacquard and funky, like serotonin, or maybe it was my bleach-blonde tips which made me look reckless but not overtly meth-y. At any rate, getting asked for drugs on the pavement between the Wolf cesspool and the Smiths smoke haze is hardly an accomplishment.

It’s the Friday night of O-Week. I am dressed in what I wore to work, with the exception of my lanyard (more on that later). I have shopping in hand, and I’m on my way home with my roommate to get wine drunk and watch Netflix.

Walking the other way is a gaggle, nay, a murder, of audacious O-Weekers in their Smiths-finest: pink linens, cuffed jeans, copious corduroy. They are white, indubitably. The patriarch approaches: he wants caps.

I know this, because he asks me: “Do you sell caps?”

I respond, “No, I’m sorry.” Why am I sorry? He shoots back, not missing a beat: “Well you have coronavirus anyway.” *** First of all, I understand that lacing up Doc Martens every day and struggling through an Arts degree can be all-consuming, I really do. But considering the World Health Organisation (WHO) has made it pretty fucking clear that the novel coronavirus strain currently circulating is called Covid-19, I would have liked to expect a student at Australia's best research university to be a little more switched-on. Unless old-mate in the skinny jeans was purporting to diagnose me with one of four strains responsible for the common cold, he really missed the mark on this one.

Second of all, if anyone is going to be diagnosing someone with a disease, it’s going to be me. I’m a biology student, Department of Health employee, and, yes, you guessed it, Chinese. *** Having grown up in Hong Kong, I’ve seen my fair share of epidemics. Over the Lunar New Year, I saw the streets once again quieten but for the odd do-

mestic helper scuttling about with trolleys full of rice and/or toilet paper. Meanwhile, the ‘ex-pats’ drank in their beer gardens in Central with their respiratory droplets flying a muck. For a few weeks, every visible Asian person is dutifully wearing a mask. Every Caucasian is dutifully not.

I was in Hong Kong boarding my flight home to Australia when the loudspeakers announced the travel ban. I had to explain to the elderly couple beside me that they had to stay in the city while the rest of the family returned to Brisbane because 「 您是中國 人」 (you are Chinese). The grandparents, along with around 50 other Chinese passport-holders left the flight, with their ‘coronavirus’ trailing unquestioningly behind.

Let’s think about that for a second. I was seated on the flight for an hour before every Mainlander was evicted. Most people weren’t travelling alone. They had been celebrating the New Year with their families. Moreover, there was, at the time this travel ban was announced, an open land border between China and Hong Kong. When Australian biosecurity officers entered the plane to distribute surgical masks, they walked past hundreds of Chinese-Australians already wearing them before having to explain to a young white Australian family that they should consider putting them on despite the fact that ‘they itch’.

I wasn’t able to formulate a response before my accuser walked away, laughing. I’m not sure what I would have said anyway. Somehow, “I haven’t been to Mainland China in years,” or “I signed up for the National Covid-19 task force at work the day it opened” seemed simultaneously inadequate and also none-of-his-business. My accuser was so ready to profile me that I can comfortably say that he’s never had to queue for hours to collect surgical masks so his parents could go to work, or had his primary school graduation cancelled because of bird flu, or seen his swine-flu-stricken brother carried away on a stretcher. The list goes on.

My accuser has the privilege of being able to walk around his own country without being labelled a vector of disease. He has never experienced the need for constant vigilance to protect his friends and family. There may be an insurmountable language barrier between myself and him, so I won’t address him. I will, however, say to everyone stuck in China: 「 加油」.

16 // CAMPUS | RELATIONSHIPS

can we please stop being so obsessed with virginity?

AUTHOR // ANONYMOUS

CONTENT WARNING: Sex, Allusions to Sexual Assault

I started university without having ever had ‘sex’. I’d done plenty of other things, with plenty of different people, but because I hadn’t had one particular appendage inserted into my vagina, I was branded a VIRGIN upon my arrival at college in first year. And it stayed that way for a few years.

I was never someone who was avoiding sex. I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the concept and I had no religious reasons to abstain or anything of that nature. It just didn’t happen for a long time.

And through all this, I felt an overwhelming amount of pressure. Sex became this unattainable thing I was missing out on. I didn’t even want it because I thought it would feel good or be fun, I just wanted to get my first time out of the way. And this was a real problem.

I felt it infiltrating my life in unexpected ways. I hated dating, because if it came to having sex, I’d have to tell them it was my first time, and that would be embarrassing, and they might not want to sleep with a virgin. And this mentality meant I would usually find a reason to call things off after one or two dates because I was so afraid of that conversation. This problem made me think anonymous sex was the only way

I would lose it, but even that never seemed to work out. Whether it was a missing condom, whiskey dick or vomit, it felt like some divine power kept intervening to stop me having sex. Then I considered the answer to my virginity could be sleeping with a male friend I didn’t have feelings for, only to be told by two separate friends that they “didn’t want the responsibility of taking my virginity,” as if it was some sort of burden I’d be bestowing on them. They were fine with giving and receiving oral sex though (fuck them).

My virginity became my dirty little secret. I would regularly lie to people about having had sex, because when I was honest it would elicit shocked responses.

And as much as I love my best friends who did know about my virginity, they inadvertently pressured me too. They’d try to set me up with people I wasn’t that into in the hopes they’d be the one I’d have sex with.

We’d talk in depth about why I had never had sex and how and when I would.

As the years went on, the more I felt these anxieties.

It was as if the older I got, the more embarrassing my virginity was.

ARTWORK : MADDY BROWN // 17

I remember being obsessed with the age at which I would have sex. At first I was determined to lose my virginity at 16, because I thought that would be a cool age at which to lose it. I almost did in fact, but as my childhood friend reached for a condom, I chickened out. Then came 17, 18, 19, and with each year, I thought I HAD to lose it before I got any older. Then finally, soon after turning 20, I first had penetrative ‘P in V’ sex under very dodgy, very unglamorous, and fairly unsafe circumstances. I won’t say I regret it, but it was certainly a decision made out of desperation, and with very little thought. I said yes to things I didn’t really want to do because I was so desperate to have sex that night, after so many times of coming so close and then it not working out. I just wanted to get it over with.

Even years on, now that I have had plenty of great sex, I will often lie about the age at which I lost my virginity. Why would I feel compelled to do that? Why are we so obsessed with something so trivial? We all know that the notion of virginity meaning ‘penis in vagina penetrative sex’ is completely irrelevant considering non-heterosexual sex, as well as the fact that even amongst straight people there are so many different ways to have sex. We also know that traditionally the idea of chastity and abstinence was key to a woman’s worth, and that women were once considered impure if they had pre-marital sex. While these damaging ideas are no better than the current standards, I can’t help but think we’ve swung completely the opposite way, where there is something wrong with someone who HASN’T had sex by a certain age.

And this is all coming from the perspective of a woman. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for men who get branded as virgins, seeing how closely many men attach sex to their masculinity.

Despite all of this, I’ll admit that at times, I have joined in on the jokes. On some level it feels nice to be part of the club, that I’ll find myself brashly talking about sex, or joking about people who chose to wait till marriage. I now participate in the same forces that led me to have sex for all the wrong reasons. I know I’m not the first person to say this, but I really hope that we can get to a place where ‘virgin’ isn’t seen as an insult, or even better where virginity isn’t a concept or concern at all. As long as there is informed consent, why should anything you have or haven’t done before be relevant?

Finally, two messages: To people who, whether consciously or unconsciously, contribute to the toxic social norms surrounding virginity, please consider that your jokes and asides can have real and long-lasting effects on people. And building up your own self-esteem by mocking virgins only makes you look a bit pathetic.

And to people who related at all to the experiences I shared here, please try and drown out the noise as much as you can. Even though it might feel like it will never happen (I’ve been there), respectful safe sex is worth the wait, and you shouldn’t have sex for any other reason but because YOU want to.

ARTWORK : ELIZA WILLIAMS // 19

fat bodies are none of your business AUTHOR // SOPHIA CHILDS

CONTENT WARNING: Fatphobia, Discrimination Body weight has long been a *hot topic*. With the popularity of BMI, mainstream media beauty ideals and a hyper-obsession with health, body weight has become associated with measuring how unhealthy or healthy we are. However, as radical as it may seem, fatness does not actually indicate health (shock horror!).

As an absolutely unqualified individual, these are my personal observations on how we can stop disguising our fatphobia as ‘concerns for health’ and actually be productive.

People are consistently guilty of using body weight as a sole indicator for how healthy an individual is.

There are so many facets that influence our wellbeing – mental, emotional and physical health – yet we focus the blame on individuals who have differences we can physically see. This is not productive. Seeing fatness and automatically assuming unhealthiness is unfair, discriminatory and fatphobic. People of all shapes and sizes may have health issues. Hypothetically, I may have an hourglass figure and a small body (thanks to genetics) but I may eat fatty red meat regularly and smoke leading to a higher risk of heart disease and other health issues. I may be thin but unable to walk up a hill without puffing, but my fat counterpart could hike without any issues. What I’m trying to say is your body's ability, capabilities and health has no direct correlation to how many kilograms you weigh.

Unsolicited advice across the board is unhelpful. So what is? How can we be productive when discussing health? The most important thing, in my once again unprofessional opinion, is to avoid blame. Blaming people for how their body looks or functions is unhelpful for multiple reasons. A lot of health issues are not the fault of the person. New Zealand Massey University researcher Cat Pausé writes that the stigma fat people live under and the poor care they receive from their doctors are large factors for unhealthiness. The stress that comes with being discriminated against can cause chronic health problems such as, wait for it… high blood pressure, inflammation of the body and increased levels of cortisol! The very things fat-shamers seem so concerned about. Even the BMI, often quoted as a beneficial tool for determining whether someone is over or underweight, is a flawed tool that does not indicate healthiness. Factors such as activeness, eating habits and sleeping habits are all better indicators of a person's overall health. Even so what is considered exercise, healthy food and good sleep changes from person to person, so it’s important to remain subjective!

Yes, fatphobia is harmful and the practice of commenting on people’s weight is counterproductive to encouraging healthy living. So what is productive? It’s okay to wish good health on friends and family but how do we avoid shaming?

Firstly, stop looking at fat as permission to comment on health. Someone’s health is none of your business, and your perception of unhealthiness is unhelpful.

Secondly, talk about your own health! If you want to be having discussions about health, then start by talking about yourself. Open a dialogue with all your family and friends so they feel comfortable talking about their own health.

Thirdly, do your own research and see representations of fat people to break your stereotypes surrounding what it means to be fat. All shapes and sizes need the tools to take care of themselves and do what is best for them. What is important or healthy for one person is not the same for someone else, despite the belief in a ‘one-size fits all’ model surrounding health. Try not to be judgmental, listen to the people around you and re-examine your own ideas surrounding health.

Fat shaming is one of countless normalities that needs to be re-examined. We need to hold ourselves accountable before continuing a cycle of exclusion, guilt and shame. We all need to understand that everyone is entitled to a happy life regardless of our perception of their healthiness. After all, it’s none of your business.

20 // CAMPUS | MULTILINGUAL

Приметы AUTHOR // ANONYMOUS Я не считаю себя слишком суеверным человеком. Я не думаю, что разбитое зеркало может принести семилетнее невезение, не шарахаюсь от черных кошек и не опасаюсь пятницы 13-го. Но тем не менее, есть некоторые приметы и суеверия, которые являются частью моего характера. Например:

• Я никогда никому ничего не передают через порог.

• Я никогда не свищу в доме, чтобы не «высвистеть» деньги.

• Перед поездкой я всегда помню «присесть на дорожку» .

• Если я скажу что-то плохое, я машинально постучу по дереву и сплюну, чтобы не накаркать…

Я не хочу сказать, что эти суеверия и приметы диктуют мою жизнь и если я не буду их тщательно соблюдать ничего страшного не произойдёт. И я знаю что в наше время в них мало смысла, но они всё равно доставляют мне уют. Они просто маленькая часть повседневной жизни, результат воздействия моей семьи и моей Русской культуры.

И вместо того чтобы считать эти вещи нерациональными, неважными или просто глупыми, я воспринимаю их как признак традиции и семьи. Это признаки влияния близких людей в нашей жизни - членов семьи, друзей и одноклассников. Это автоматическая реакция, которая выражает тот факт, что мы состоим из тех людей которые вокруг нас, их любовь к нам живёт в наших манерах и действиях. Некоторые традиции не требуют пафоса чтобы выразить свою важность и, на мой взгляд, такие традиции гораздо важнее.

Каждый раз когда я машинально постучу по дереву или присяду на дорожку мне это доставляет немножко радости. Такие действия мне напоминают про мою Русскую культуру, про моих предков и родственников, которые продолжают жить в моём сердце через эти маленькие традиции и суеверия. Жизнь состоит из мелочей и эти маленькие традиции выражают тот факт что мы никогда на самом деле не одни, что всегда есть кто-то или что-то, что нас поддержит - даже если мы не осознаем этого в данный момент.

В эти трудные времена потерь, невзгод, стихийных бедствий и несчастий давайте найдем утешение и силу в этих маленьких традициях, которые продолжают жить несмотря ни на что. Как сообщество, мы можем найти поддержку друг в друге, мы можем выжить - даже если это просто благодаря мелочам.

ARTWORK : SIAN WILLIAMS // 21

superstitions AUTHOR // ANONYMOUS I don’t consider myself a very superstitious person.

I don’t consider broken mirrors seven years of bad luck, and I don’t avoid black cats or fear Friday the 13th. Yet there are certain habits that have been ingrained into me nonetheless:

• I never pass an object to anyone else over a doorway.

•

I never whistle inside a building.

• I always sit down and reflect for a moment before leaving the house and commencing a long trip.

• Whenever I accidentally say something that I don’t wish to happen, I knock on wood.

That is not to say that I consider these superstitions to be the beginning and the end of everything. I know there is little rhyme or reason to these small superstitions nowadays, but nonetheless they are a comfort.

They are a habitual part of my everyday life, a comforting byproduct of my family and Russian culture.

Instead of considering these things irrational, irrelevant, or downright stupid, I consider them to be a mark of tradition, of family. They are signs of the impact that those closest to me have on my life, be that my family, friends or classmates. They are a knee-jerk reaction that embodies the fact that we are an amalgamation of those around us, that we carry the love that they hold for us in our own movements and man-

nerisms. Some traditions do not require pomp and circumstance to express their importance, and in my opinion, such traditions are infinitely more special.

Every time I reflexively knock on wood after speaking of undesirable things, or sit down for a moment to reflect before commencing a trip, it makes me smile.

It makes me think of my Russian heritage and culture, of my ancestors and relatives that continue to live on through these small traditions and mannerisms of mine. They demonstrate that we are never truly alone, that there will always be someone or something there to provide support — even if we don’t realise it in the moment.

In these times of hardship and loss, of natural disasters and trials and tribulations that have been brought toward us, let us find solace in these small traditions that live on despite everything. As a community, we can find support in each other, we can survive — even if it is just through the help of the little things.

22 // CAMPUS | INTERNATIONAL

Love languages AUTHOR // ANONYMOUS

CONTENT WARNING: Brief Mentions of Depression and Mental Health

ARTWORK : ELIZA WILLIAMS // 23 When I was little, my parents were routinely away from home for work. My brother was abroad in boarding school, and most of my time was spent at home with my nanny, Yulis. We were privately educated, lived in spacious homes, and were provided with pretty much anything we wanted. My parents talked about their willingness to fund the family’s comfortable lifestyle as an obligation. At the dinner table, they frequently talked about “wanting the best for us” which was why they “worked hard to put us through an international school.” Mum casually buying my brother the latest video game console, or the latest designer kid clothes was just part of regular family living expenses.

Giving us a high standard of living and material items was my parents’ method of showing that they cared.

Back then, I didn’t think too much about Mum and Dad working hard to provide for all of this. In Hong Kong, all my friends at school were decked out in the latest designer gear, it was normal and expected.

My classmates had Gucci backpacks in Grade 4, and Burberry bucket hats were the norm. My parents were travelling so much that I had a closer bond to Yulis, who became my primary caregiver.

After migrating to Australia with my family when I was 11, I spent my formative years surrounded by peers who had a strong emotional connection with their families. I was surprised and jealous that they could talk to their parents about their fears, hopes and feelings. At this point, Yulis was no longer my nanny, and the majority of my conversation with my parents revolved around my grades and what we were having for dinner.

This was when I began to resent my parents for ‘not caring about me.’ They continued to pay for an expensive education, splash out on lavish presents and fulfill every material desire I wanted, but the relationship felt increasingly transactional. The lack of open conversation between my parents and I contributed to a widening emotional gap between us. When I suffered from bouts of depression in high school, the gap seemed even wider. I did not want to discuss my mental health with them, nor did I want them to talk to me. I was angry at my parents for a while for not being emotionally present. All of my friends feel comfortable talking to their parents about sex, struggles and successes, meanwhile I’m left to internalise all of that on my own.

At one point I was convinced that my parents did not love me, and during my resistant teenage years, I was convinced that they didn’t care about me.

After I moved to college, I learned that not everyone receives a high level of financial support from their family. Suddenly, I began to question, well why are my parents so generous with their money? I work a parttime job and earn enough money to support myself, yet they still insist on giving me an ‘allowance’.

I began to interrogate their psyche and traced my parents’ behaviour to their upbringing. My parents are generous with their money because, when they were growing up, having money was like a security blanket. My grandparents were poor farmers in 1950s

China, who could barely provide three meals a day for their five children. When Grandad rewarded Dad with one boiled sweet after a day of doing hard labour in the rice fields, my dad would be utterly overjoyed as a child. When Dad won a scholarship to go to university, he did not have the $18 RMB ($3 AUD) to catch the train from Guangdong Province to Beijing. My grandmother had to sell all the food in the house to scrape together his train fare.

That was the greatest demonstration of love he could ever imagine from his parents.

This was why Dad worked so hard to earn money. He wanted to break the cycle of poverty for us and saw spending copious amounts of money as a genuine demonstration of his love.

Making that connection opened up a new way of thinking for me. It was the first time I considered how they were giving love, rather than just how I was feeling. Spending my formative years in Australia whilst having Asian parents challenged my understanding of how love is expressed. I realised that I was judging my Asian parents on a ‘white’ parent metric and that it was incredibly unfair that they were subjected to a standard they were unfamiliar with. Parents from different cultural backgrounds each have their unique method of expressing love. Just like how different countries speak different languages, the language of parental love also differs. Asking my Chinese parents to demonstrate their love like Western parents do is unreasonable and inauthentic.

After recognising the source of their love language, I began to understand their behaviour and appreciate their love for what it is. I let go of my misconception that my parents didn’t love me. My parents adore me, it’s just that they show it with gifts, rather than with words, because that is how their parents showed their care. My grandparents were too poverty-stricken to care about building emotional connections when having food on the table was already a struggle.

Because of this revelation, I no longer feel bitterness towards my parents, and I am actively working on becoming the daughter I want to be. I don't want to be an ungrateful daughter who resents her parents just because they don't speak the same love language.

I want to be the daughter who appreciates all the sacrifices her parents have made for her and can interpret their way of saying ‘I love you’. I accept that it’s going to take time before my parents and I can have open conversations, at least now I am certain that they love me.

// 24

ARTWORK : ABIGAIL BORDER

time to divest unisuper AUTHOR // KIERAN BROWNE

CONTENT WARNING: Climate Change, NSW/Victoria Bushfires The ANU began to divest from fossil fuels in 2014 under former Vice-Chancellor Ian Young. It was a ground-breaking move followed by many other universities around the country. It made me proud of our university. But just how divested is the university sector from fossil fuels?

You might be surprised to learn, as I was, that every month when the ANU pays super contributions to its staff, a significant chunk of that money flows into oil, gas and mining companies. Why? Because most of the university sector are members of UniSuper and most of UniSuper’s members have never really looked into how their super is invested.

There’s no shame in this. If you’re anything like me, you pretty much never think about super. Most of us can’t access it until we’re 60. I barely plan for next week.

When I got my first tutoring job at the ANU in 2014 (the same year we theoretically divested), the university automatically set me up with a UniSuper account even though I already had a REST account from my hospitality days. I was put in the default ‘balanced’ investment option. ‘Balanced’ sounded good to me and I didn’t give it much thought. I was shocked to find out only last year that UniSuper and I don’t agree on the definition of the word ‘balanced’.

The substance of these investments isn’t exactly hidden, but you can’t really find it unless you specifically go looking for it. It was certainly never communicated when the ANU set up my account. I only found the details when I went digging on the UniSuper website.

So what was I invested in? BHP (mining and petroleum), Woodside Petroleum (petroleum exploration and production), James Hardie (the asbestos magnate who fought for years against compensation for workers), APA Group (natural gas), Oil Search Ltd (literally trying to find new sources of oil to burn), Fortescue Metals (iron ore mining) and Santos (natural gas).

Aside from that, it’s big banks and some minor infrastructure investments. Now Australian shares make up more than half of your investments, with BHP and Woodside making up the largest holdings within that section.

Not only is this astoundingly unethical in the current climate crisis, it is also astoundingly short-sighted.

This summer, bushfires burned through the majority of Namadgi and Canberra choked on hazardous smoke for months. In other parts of the country it was worse: people, livestock and wildlife perished in huge numbers.

If that doesn’t convince you, it’s also a terrible investment. The world is transitioning away from oil, coal

and gas. By the time I can access my super it will be 2053, and if the world upholds the Paris accord, it will be producing net-zero emissions and fossil fuel companies will be dead in the water.

I still work at the university, and will continue to work here until my thesis is finished. I speak to students, staff and academics daily and I know they are passionate about the climate. I can only assume that UniSuper is hoping that no one will find out about this.

So what can we do?

The first step is to change investment options. It takes 10 minutes and can be done entirely online. UniSuper claims to offer a “sustainable” version of both the “balanced” and “high growth” pre-mixed options.

Just how sustainable these are is a matter of perspective. You won’t be directly invested in fossil fuel companies, but you will still be invested in a bunch of banks that promote fossil fuels. If you want your super invested in actual solutions, there’s a “global environmental opportunities” option which invests in companies actively trying to respond to environmental issues. This gets you invested in railways, solar and wind power and electric cars!

But we can’t leave this to individual action. We need to demand that UniSuper divest altogether so that people don’t end up automatically invested in fossil fuels.

Within twenty years, superannuation will make up two thirds of the Australian Stock Exchange (AFR).

This means that super divestment has the power to radically change the value of certain industries. The university sector is well placed to play a part in this.

Many academics have almost a fifth of their pay funneled into super.

ANU pays super every month. That means every month more money goes into fossil fuels, but it could go into solutions.

UniSuper must completely divest from fossil fuels. It is not good enough to allow conscientious workers to opt-out. It is not good enough to offer pseudo-sustainable options that launder oil, coal and gas investments through banks. It is irresponsible to invest a cent of Australian university workers’ retirement savings in carbon-intensive industries, when the ANU had to close its campuses at the start of this year due to hazardous smoke. And when ANU staff and students spent the first month of 2020 breathing through a P2 filter. And when our campus was shredded by hail leaving buildings unsafe and destroying some valuable research.

The climate crisis is already here. No more excuses.

CAMPUS | SATIRE

ARTWORK : ALICE DUNKLEY // 23

browsing through kambri AUTHOR // RACHEL CHOPPING A recent poll has revealed that ANU's most essential service is T-BROWS, the campus's one stop shop for eyebrow tinting and eyelash extensions. Thanks to its convenient location, student deals and essential services, T-BROWS is now considered the beating heart of ANU's student life.

Developers agreed that these services would have been unnecessary eyesores in the sleek grey of Kambri's streamlined paths. Despite many complaints from the ANU community about Kambri’s corporate prices, facilities and general inaccessibility to students, Kambri’s team have stood their ground.

"Where would I be without it?" one student commented. "A quick session in the morning, and I walk into my gender studies class a whole new woman. I wouldn’t have thought it before coming to ANU, but I guess forking out for good brows is essential to the university experience.”

"Post offices are so old-school," one developer commented. "The ANU is all about forward thinking and we've got no time for snail-mail around here. What does progress look like? Like clean sneakers, that's what."

So too has an original sceptic of T-BROWS been convinced of the salon’s importance. “At first I thought it was ridiculous that Australia’s most prestigious research university has a shop that sells women an ‘ideal appearance’. Then again, I’m an anthropology student, so I’m keen to use T-BROWS as a case study for my thesis on the effect affordable student facilities have on beauty roles and institutional misogyny. Wish me luck!”

T-BROWS was followed closely by Kriss Kross, a retailer for 'high-end' streetwear and sneaker laundry. It comes highly recommended by students — with one member of the ANU community laughing off the high price tag, “Who cares? Anything to get my sneakers clean after Spilt Milk. I’ve told Dad that it’s food money but this is way more important.”

A parallel poll asking students about their most desired campus service has been disregarded as impossible to reconcile with Kambri's original purpose as a 'bold new campus vision'. They are as follows:

Post Office: 20 per cent Newsagency: nine per cent Affordable Food Options: 51 per cent Bike Shop and Repair: 17 per cent

"I would like to be able to buy a MyWay card."

One student bravely admitted while in the line at T-BROWS. “Or send a postcard to Mum. But if the campus has a brow-bar, who am I to pass up the opportunity?”

"Nothing but the best for my faculty," Brian Schmidt is purported to be heard murmuring, sporting beautifully shaped brows and freshly cleaned kicks as he ambled through the bustling heart of ANU.

26 // CAMPUS | MEMOIR

madame armpit hair AUTHOR // PHILLIS ZENG

CONTENT WARNING: Body Image, Body Shaming, Sexism Last winter, my mum and my sister had laser hair removal for their armpit hair. As they told me, laser hair removal is the easiest way to get rid of armpit hair once and for all with only a small amount of money.

Sounds like a great deal.

My attitude, however, was this: I gave them full understanding and support, but when it comes to myself, there’s no way I’m doing it.

Due to my principle of ‘peaceful coexistence’, we lived in harmony with each other all winter. Then, summer came and I appeared in front of them in sundresses. The armpit hair I kept was exposed, wittingly or unwittingly, to my mum, which ultimately irritated her.

“As a girl, your underarm hair is so unsightly and disgraceful. Let’s get it done by the laser removal.”

“I don’t care,” I refused immediately. “I won’t do it because it’s not an issue to me.”

In fact, as an ordinary girl, I do shave my underarm hair every summer for sleeveless summer clothes, but I just don’t like it and I never remove my hair from the root. And sometimes I don’t shave and am indifferent to whether the armpit hair is visible or not. In a nutshell, I never feel ashamed of my armpit hair. Maybe that’s because I’ve had thicker body hair than other girls since childhood and have long been used to the reactions of others.

I’ve always had thick arm hair. In primary school, there was a boy, one of my closest friends, who in jest nicknamed me ‘gorilla’. I reacted angrily, but was never truly bothered by it because I knew that he didn’t mean any offence. That’s the environment in which I grew up: people freely talked, or even joked, about my body hair without any malice. Yet at the same time, they sometimes said as a consolation that girls with hairy arms would become beautiful after they grew up.

I myself was never worried that my body hair would cause any impairment of my beauty or do any harm to my personal image. All I knew was that body hair was an indivisible part of my body and a native part of myself as a ‘being’ – for me, to hate my hair is to hate myself. But I cherished the ‘being’ of myself so much that I was willing to accept all of its inborn defects. As for the opinions of others, what’s the point of befriending someone who can’t even accept a little body hair of yours? And if they are not a friend, what’s the point of caring so much about how they judge you? Ultimately, for me, the meaning of body hair depends on how I see myself, but not how others see me. For this reason, I sometimes made fun of my arm hair but had never thought about removing it.

Not until my armpit hair grew.

I finally yielded to the popular aesthetic standard that keeping and exposing underarm hair is disgraceful, and even vulgar. As all of the girls started shaving armpit hair, I had my first try too.

I will never forget when I tried to remove my underarm hair for the first time. After I spread the depilatory cream over my armpit, those little black things soon fell down on the skin faintly and groggily in a puddle. I thought of the corpse of some kind of animal.

If armpit hair has its own life, then these are its corpses. I was the murderer of my own armpit hair, who shared the same life with me. Thinking about this, I scraped off all the hair just like removing hundreds of thousands of dead bodies from the battlefield, with my stomach churning and teardrops uncontrollably falling.

Afterwards, I gradually got used to it and became a cold-blooded murderer of hair. The vivid impression of my very first experience of hair removal, however, has long stayed alive in my mind. Generally speaking, I’m not a conservative person. The strong aversion to hair removal comes from my guilty conscience for what I’ve done to my own body.

ARTWORK : SIAN WILLIAMS // 27

The Korean film Love Fiction has an interesting take on how society views women’s armpit hair. The protagonist, novelist Goo Joo-wol, falls in love with photographer Hee-jin, but is shocked by her armpit hair.

A famous and warm scene from the movie is Joo-wol’s apology to Hee-jin’s underarm hair. He says, “I don’t mind your armpit hair because I love fluffy stuff. The most important thing is that it is a part of my lover Hee-jin. So, little cute armpit hair, I like you and I would like to meet you every day.” He even writes a novel named Madame Armpit Hair based on her.

Ironically, however, Joo-wol takes it as a lover’s privilege that he and he alone can see Hee-jin’s armpit hair. When he finds out that Hee-jin never avoided showing her armpit hair in public, he imagines her as a slut and his love for her falters. Despite the happy ending in which the couple reunite, the film brands Hee-jin’s armpit hair solely as a result of Alaskan cultural influence. Joo-wol’s determination to be with her never dispels the rumors and bias which depicts women with armpit hair as unchaste. Overshadowed by the male chauvinism of East Asia, armpit hair is endowed with a social meaning of female chastity and objectification. The most that is asked of men, on the other hand, is to concede to a woman’s dissolute past.

Every time I shave, I can’t help asking why girls, to varying degrees, should be forced by society to do something with their body even when they are not willing to. Because, in mainstream aesthetic and popular culture, men are not usually worried about showing their body and armpit hair, and society as a whole is more tolerant towards the male body and its appearance. Admittedly, there is an increasing number of men who shave their armpit and other body hair, and there are arguments for the benefits of hair removal out of aesthetic, hygienic, religious and various personal reasons. Yet, in light of seemingly ‘scientific’ hygienic consideration, it’s worth noting that removing hair is not the only way to keep hygienic and get rid of body odor. Instead, keeping body hair has its own advantage in health.

Here, I’m not speaking for feminism or arguing for stopping hair removal. What I really want to say is, respect personal choice regarding people’s bodies and their body hair. Whether they shave or not, take them as you would if they had a different hairstyle. After all, every Madame Armpit Hair deserves to be loved and respected.

28 // CAMPUS | HEALTH

i got an iud and this is what happened AUTHOR // JOSIE GANKO

CONTENT WARNING: Contraception I recently got the Mirena, also known as an IUD (Intrauterine Device) or IUS (Intrauterine System). After all the shocked and concerned responses from my friends and family, I thought there might be some value to sharing my experience for those who are curious about the process, or afraid of the concept all together. After all, according to Family Planning NSW, the IUD is 99.9 per cent effective as a contraceptive and is cost-effective and highly convenient due to the fact it can be in place for up to five years. It also has very little effect on fertility, with most women experiencing a return to normal fertility immediately after removal. As with any contraceptive, there are also risks and side effects involved, so be sure to do your research before getting an IUD. Full disclosure: this is obviously one woman’s experience. Everyone is different, and this in no way should be taken as medical advice.

So without further ado, here are my answers to many of the questions my friends have asked me since my insertion:

Is it invasive?

Well sure, it does involve having a small T-shaped bar shoved through your cervix, but if you can get past that idea mentally, it really isn’t that bad. It’s hardly more invasive than a pap smear, and no more painful than a bad period cramp.

Does it hurt?

Yes, but not for long. The doctor only has to actually enter the uterus twice, once to measure and once to place the device. Both are very quick, and I experienced two sharp pains that lasted no more than five seconds each.

Is it a massive inconvenience?

You do have to make an appointment a while in advance. The appointment took almost two hours for me. The procedure itself was only five minutes, so most of that time was spent waiting, testing to check I wasn’t pregnant, and the consultation before insertion. As far as I’m concerned, the one-off convenience is worth five years of highly effective birth control, and potentially light or no periods.

Is it expensive?

At a public sexual health clinic, I paid $250 for the procedure (with my Medicare card). You can pay about double that to get the insertion under general anaesthetic, but if you have a reasonable pain tolerance, I really don’t think that’s necessary. There may be cheaper ways of getting it, but this was my experience. While it’s certainly not cheap, the fact that it should last me five years makes it far more cost-effective than the contraceptive pill I was taking before this, which would amount to hundreds of dollars every year.

ARTWORK : ALICE DUNKLEY // 29

What are the side effects?

It hasn’t been very long at all since my insertion, but all I experienced was period-like cramping in the 48 hours afterwards. According to the internet and my doctor, the most common side effects are irregular periods and spotting in the first three to six months.

Most women find their period is very light or non-existent after that.

Does it affect sex?

I can confirm that your sexual partners will not be able to feel anything, unless they go looking with their fingers…

Do you have to abstain from sex in preparation?

It is advised that you abstain for two or three weeks to completely rule out the risk of an undetectable pregnancy, but I didn’t and was told that if you are using reliable contraception in the lead-up, it’s not an issue.

Can you feel the strings/does it feel weird afterwards?

After getting an IUD, the doctor will cut the string so they hang out at the top of your vagina. I’ll admit that the first time I checked them after the insertion was pretty weird, but you definitely can’t constantly feel them in your vagina.

If you want to learn more about the technical/scientific aspects of an IUD, there’s heaps of information available online.

CREATIVE

ARTWORK : ALICE DUNKLEY // 31

bitter reflections AUTHOR // KAIA PARLEVLIET

I look at you and you look back Your left is my right But you're not right So what's left?

I thought you were me for so long Who can i really be without you?

They gave me pills To change you Make you more like Who i really am They told me if i can Find the money Find the time And find the peace of mind That they would cut you But not like i did Where i came at you with hate Trying to make you feel What i do They feel nothing But they fix you nonetheless Soft where i was hard Reshaping what i tried to break For a better purpose (or maybe "future"?)

Making you what i need To love myself

carmel AUTHOR // DOMINIC PAGE Two years and one to the day did the blood drain from your face in that House on the Burley, nestled in green and blown by wind, forgetting but not forgotten.

Wearing your warm woolly cap, a beanie baby drifting in distant oceans.

While every night he stood vigil, watching your spark flicker towards the horizon, the Unreal.

I held your hand and told you stories ending with birds, beaches and melting paddle pops.

Candles spat as I kneeled in that holy place, my chamber of reflection.

Where would you go on this borderless journey?

As dark shores become black seas become glassy clouds.

Outside on the Burley, small waves wept gently against shattered shells.

ARTWORK : MADDY BROWN // 33

This I saw as I walked the Wallace Labyrinth following its solitary spiral path to the centre, and back out again.

A momentary kernel of calm surrounded by water and weeping willows.

The Burley, as I see it now, was a mirror into the past, the future and eternity, both yours and mine.

Two years and one to the day did you stop forgetting.

Memories once sung with laughing kingfishers inexorably faded in that oncoming fog hell-bent on dousing all.

Yet today I feel the fire and beat of wing.

Forgetting but not forgotten.

34 //

CREATIVE | VISUAL

there's a bonsai on my windowsill AUTHOR // INDY SHEAD

The world is a fever I can feel it in my hair

I had a dream the other night of a bonsai on my windowsill.

We were cultivated in a dorm room over twelve-year-old photos, looking out into a world we will never fully own.

Your name keeps people guessing, your shirt is on my floor There’s a bonsai on my windowsill,

ARTWORK : BONNIE BURNS // 35

I can see it from the street it sings to me on the tide, it calls to me.

We mimic the world which will never wait for us.

Crystal clear, I see your grin waiting for me.

I live for the days of nothingness of memories spent beneath your gaze. for ever searching.

We live in the world, of pebbles and stones – a lucky world. our roots grow into the windowsill. together. the dying trinity in your holy renown.

For the loam beneath the wet soaked amity of royal earthy tones, lays bare a true impression destined for eternal bliss. we find shelter beneath her mist. and for once is now and now shall find

That when awoken, We Will surely fly.

36 // CREATIVE | POETRY

when people smile at each other at traffic lights AUTHOR // JEROME ARROW

We sat around in 40˚C in our underwear and fan and a wet cloth over the fan and cubes of ice in our mouths.

So many love songs about keeping each other warm, but so few about keeping each other cool in this fucking heat.

I’m sweating thru my balls. It’s a real prick.

You can take em off.

I did / was naked now.

ARTWORK : ELIZA WILLIAMS // 37

It was not a pleasant or a graceful sight.

But you didn’t laugh and you didn’t even look twice.

Sometime after that you got it all off yrself.

3 hrs we sat there watching Passion of The Christ.

We didn’t even fuck.

But let me assure you— this this is this is a love poem.

38 // CREATIVE | FICTION

brown swan AUTHOR // PHOEBE LUPTON

CONTENT WARNING: Racism On my first day of primary school I found myself walking into a sea of white. White walls, white uniforms... white faces. These were the faces of the other children. I looked nothing like them and they knew it. The hairs on my back spiked from the intensity of their stares and their white fingers pointing at me. I examined my own light-brown arms, and I knew right then and there that I wasn’t going to fit in at this school. My heart pounded, and I buried my face into my mother’s chest, my tears soaking her t-shirt.

“I can’t go here,” I cried.

“Don’t be silly, Daisy,” said Mum. “You’re five, and you know that means you’re a big girl now. And where do big girls go?”

I didn’t respond.

“Where do big girls go?”

“They’re laughing at me,” I whispered.

“Laughing at you?” said Mum. “Whatever for?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

My first day of school was hell. Those blonde girls kept laughing at me, and the teacher did nothing about it. During recess, one of them came up to me and stroked my arm, which made me jump out of my skin.

“What's your name?” said the girl.

“Um, Daisy?” I barely said out loud.

The girl turned around towards her two friends behind her. All three girls once again erupted into giggles.

“Daisy Duck!” the girl exclaimed.

She pulled away from me and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders.

“Big girls go to school.”

My mum has white skin. I don’t. The darker colour comes from my Sri Lankan dad, but I hardly ever saw him after my parents divorced. No one else I met before I went to school looked like me. As a fiveyear-old I was so excited to start school and hoped that I would meet different people who might be a little more like me.

“I don’t like home,” I once told Mum when I was four.

“You don’t like home?” Mum laughed. “How can you not like home?”

“Because I can’t see anyone else.”

What I meant was that I couldn’t see anyone else I could connect with. Little did I know that this wasn’t going to change as I got to school.

I went to the local primary school. We lived on the outskirts of a wealthy suburban area. Mum didn’t make much money, so we could hardly be called wealthy ourselves, but I just so happened to be in the catchment area for that school. It was a ten minute walk from home, which meant that Mum could take me there in the morning and back in the afternoon without having to drive.

Someone was giggling behind me. I turned around, and I saw a group of three girls, three very pretty girls with long blonde hair, looking at me and smirking. More tears leaked out of my eyes.

“Um, what?” I said. ney?”

“You’re Daisy, like Daisy Duck. You know, Dis-

“Um, no. Mum doesn’t let me have Disney Channel.”

More laughs ensued. I kept looking left and right, trying to get my bearings as if I were in Wonderland like Alice (Mum did let me watch that one).

What were these girls trying to say?

The girl at the front moved closer to me and poked me twice in the tummy.

“You’re brown and ugly,” she said.

Her two friends probably started laughing again, but I didn’t know for sure, because at that moment, I buried my face in my hands and ran away, sobbing my eyes out.

That was the first time I remember someone calling me ugly because of the colour of my skin.

From there on in things didn’t get any worse, exactly, but they didn’t really get any better, either.

People called me names every once in a while. I cried a lot. I was lonely most of the time, but I kind of got used to it. I accepted that I was always going to be the ‘Ugly Duckling’, the odd one out, the circle that was trying too hard to fit into a square.

Then, at the beginning of Year One, a new girl arrived at my school. Her name was Ashanti. She had long

ARTWORK : ALICE DUNKLEY // 39 black hair, almond-shaped eyes and brown skin. Like me, and like nobody else. On Ashanti’s first day I kept staring at her, and she kept returning my stares with smiles. She’s pretty, I thought. Girls were giggling at Ashanti like they always were at me, and every time they did I tried to give Ashanti a comforting smile, as if to say, You’re not alone.

Ashanti came up to me after class. She hadn’t spoken very much to the other kids, but she wanted to speak to me.

“Hi, I’m Ashanti,” she said.

Ashanti grinned.

“Well, my mummy always tells me that I’m like a brown swan.”

“There’s no such thing as a brown swan.”

“Yes there is, Mummy showed me a picture!

It’s like in The Ugly Duckling- you know that one? It’s a fairytale about a duckling that’s ugly, but he finds out that he’s a swan? Like, I don’t know if he’s a white swan, but Mummy says that swans can be any colour, so I guess we can be brown swans.”

“Hi, I’m Daisy,” I returned.

She looked slightly above me.

“You have really cool hair.”

My insides began to warm up like a room after the heater’s been on.

“You have really cool hair too. You have hair like me.”

Ashanti giggled.

“You look like a swan,” she said.

“Huh?” I replied.

“You look like a swan,” she repeated. “That’s good. Swans are my favourite animals.”

“But I don’t look like a swan at all!” I exclaimed.

“Swans are, like, white. Like, they have white hair, or whatever. I don’t have white hair.”

I giggled.

“I thought I looked more like a duck or something, because people call me ‘duck’ sometimes, because my names Daisy, which is the name of a duck in Disney, I think,” I said.

“But you’re pretty!” said Ashanti. “You’re a brown swan.” girls!

I’m pretty. I’m a brown swan. Take that, giggly

Ashanti and I only stayed friends until Year Six. Then she and I went to different high schools, and we never really saw each other again. But I’ll never forget the day we met, when I found out that I didn’t have to be the only brown swan in my world.

40 //

reflections AUTHOR // ANONYMOUS CONTENT WARNING: Body Image The mirror and I have always had a distorted blurred relationship.

Seven.

In adoration of the sparkly princess dresses and fairy wings You look so pretty She will be gorgeous when she’s older I see the reflection and thinkThis must be what matters most.

Twelve.

Pulling on a shirt, only hearing It isn’t very slimming It will look right when I am a smaller size Visions of family members worshipping the scale flood in I place the shirt back on the rack.

Thirteen.

In fear of going to school of feeling like a whale in a sea of tiny fish

// 41 I’ll change in one of the stalls for PE at least there I can hide Considering adopting their methods of maintaining such small frames.

Fifteen.

Feeling more anxiety for the pool party that afternoon than my final exams later that year Is it worth going?

I can’t go there looking like this What if I’m the largest there?

Feigning sickness is easier than joining my friends.

Eighteen.

No longer in a world of carbon copies.

Able to attend a college party baring a midriff Hoping I can join for the next beach trip Even though that means buying swimwear.

The only reprimands from peers who have the same thoughts who will not allow those voices to remain.

The mirror and I have always had a distorted blurred relationship but now rather than remaining idle and letting the image warp further I will clear the glass.

// 42

ARTWORK : SIAN WILLIAMS

desire of a truant morning AUTHOR // MOCKA WACKA

I’ll tell you a story of when you were twelve.

Climbing the apple tree, you slipped and fell among the endless, terminal wheat of your father’s fields.

You scraped both elbows and one knee, like Alice, tumbled and glimpsed a golden sea with white perfect foam on its lips, sparkling like a thousand breakfasts.

Smiling on the lowest branch, your sun dress torn, your mother’s make-up faded, you wrapped your legs about the lowest wooden leg, with feet airborne.

ARTWORK : BONNIE BURNS // 43

i see you AUTHOR // Mokgadi

CONTENT WARNING: Body Image

You watch me through a window. You observe.

Imperfectly.

You wait as I peel back each layer of my exoskeleton to reveal my soft, vulnerable belly. You critique. You remember. You watch as I deliberate over another set of armour and commit to it piece by piece.

You see me, thus, day by day. Have you committed my body to memory yet?

hair, my legs were bereft of sense and feeling. I felt like a plucked chicken. I committed my past legs to memory, and eagerly awaited restoration. *** My lover turned on the light. With a furrowed brow, they pointed to the purple lightning bolts that adorned my upper thigh.

“What are these?”

***

I laughed. “They’re stretch marks.”

When I was 15, I was part of an elite swimming squad.

I trained six times a week for two hours in the pool and committed to two gym sessions on the side. I faded through three jean sizes, yet could never eat enough.

I was proud of my body – of what it could do for me, what I could achieve. I was still too big though. It always seemed that my wrists were too chunky and my shoulders too wide, my stomach not flat enough and my chest too flat.

“Yeah, but why?”

In every regard, the project of my body was under review.

***

I stopped swimming. I prioritised school. I watched in horror as my strength and fitness, honed by years of early mornings and late nights, lapsed. I watched the numbers on the scale increase and refused to buy new jeans. I gradually committed that past body to memory. I gradually appreciated how hard it had worked. How good it had looked.

At the end of my last year of high school, I went to get my legs waxed. This was the first time that I’d ever removed my leg hair, although all through my adolescence it had been coarse, dark and dense. I had endured many questions on the subject, been subjected to many stares. Some people appreciated my abstinence as a bold feminist gesture, while others understood it as an affront to their own carefully performed version of femininity. Meanwhile, I was confused. I liked my hair and, after many years of it cheerfully poking through stockings and blowing haphazardly in the breeze, I felt oddly attached. Yet I also recognised the aesthetic advantage of smooth shiny legs. So, when school finished, I consulted friends and booked an appointment.

The new legs were smooth and shiny as promised.

They were not, however, my legs. When I got in the pool to swim a few laps I had trouble kicking. Without

I strung together pieces of relevant history for my recount. I remembered how thin I was as a swimmer. I remembered watching my body morph in the mirror.

I remembered all that I’d read about the progression of the female body through adolescence. All those things I’d understood, all those moments I’d memorised.

I strip to shower, a daily revelation you observe. I watch you as you watch me – blue-grey eyes, inquisitive, exploratory, knowing.

Have you committed my body to memory yet?

You know only the past, and even then, imperfectly.

We smile.

culture

ARTWORK : BONNIE BURNS // 45

are clothes necessary to a decent life?

AUTHOR // BELLA VACAFLORES

Over the course of your existence you will spend 287 days dressing yourself. This is ironic given our less than fashionable entrance into the living world; covered in blood, with all our bits out for everyone to see. Clothing is about our physical bodies. It implies protection, safety and health. Article 25 of the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights argues that, alongside food and housing, clothes are necessary to a ‘decent life’.

On some levels it really is that simple. After all, it’s not just smelly backpackers who’ll claim that all you need is an outfit’s worth of stuff. Steve Jobs famously wore the same black jumper, jeans and New Balance sneakers every day. From these perspectives, deliberating our clothing choices distracts from more important thoughts. Ergo the criticism of fashion is inconsequential at best and narcissistic at worst.

Even a cursory glance at the industry’s history will show you that this is anything but true. It is no coincidence that Coco Chanel’s adaptation of the suit to the female body aligned with first-wave feminist movements. It is also no coincidence that the shoulders on American jackets are wider and boxier than other continental designs. If your mind is the director and your body is the stage, then the clothes you wear are the actors.

Fashion is a quotidian form of art. By analysing the symbols, we momentarily understand the composer.

In my mid-teens, my outfits predominantly consisted of shapeless t-shirts and sportswear. After a series of humiliating catcalling incidents, I’d grown wary of my body and the unwanted attention it brought me. In some ways I was hiding, but in other ways I was tak-

ing the power back. If sexualisation was an inevitability, then at the very least I wanted to set the terms of when and where. The next time you see a girl wearing a short skirt, remember this – Mary Quant invented them so women could dance more freely.

But it’s not just about women. Men, too, can take the power back. The most handsome guy I know wears women’s jewellery. A limited realm of social acceptability makes the task slightly more challenging, but nevertheless worthwhile. Another man I know wears mostly all black, a hardness which juxtaposes against his shoulder length hair and form-fitting tops. When I asked him if he chooses these clothes deliberately, he said “it shows people that I don’t fuck with all of this” and by this I knew exactly what he meant. I don’t fuck with it either. The abstract dress codes and unintelligible washing labels we are supposed to understand, despite never being taught how to dress for our bodies, not against.

My lecturers like to tell me that what separates humans from other animals is consciousness, but I think it’s more complex than that. After all, no ordinary cat, dog or bird could look at their own body, then decide to cover it in squeaky latex a la Kim Kardashian.

It takes a certain kind of ingenuity to know how a body should look and then proceed to do the opposite. Use this glitch to your advantage – and don’t be afraid to post an #ootd.

46 // CULTURE | MUSIC

rave reflections AUTHOR // SOPHIE RICHARDSON Last year I spent six months in Stockholm for university exchange, and was super fortunate to be able to delve into the depths of the underground techno scene. I was struck by the uniting power of the Stockholm underground, and I found inspiration to return home to Canberra with it.

I was introduced to Stockholm’s underground on my first weekend exploring the city in August. Soaked with rain, with no battery in my phone and barely any idea of the city map, I nearly decided to head back to my hostel and not visit the celebrated contemporary arts museum Fotografiska on this particular Friday.

Thankfully, I listened to my intuition.

Amongst other exhibitions, I sat and viewed a captivating piece by Refik Anadol titled Latent History, an algorithmic streetscape motion imagery consisting of hundreds of thousands of social media photos of Stockholm analysed and sorted by AI. Dwelling on the digital reimagining of Stockholm developed by this artist, I went upstairs to Fotografiska’s renowned restaurant for lunch when I heard minimal techno coming from the sister bar at their Friday evening event Studio Live.

I moved into the bar, ordered a southside and observed the dancefloor, pleasantly astounded to have discovered my first taste of the techno scene in the most unexpected of places. I admired the social happenings on the dancefloor and the DJ set by Cosmo Jonsson, a Stockholm producer, DJ and co-founder of the underground rave Kiosk.

A group of Stockholm skaters originating from the UK and Sweden had noticed me hanging solo at the bar and invited me to join them. Not far into our conversation, one of them remarked that if I was enjoying

the gig at Fotografiska, then I was in for a treat living in Stockholm. The next day I joined them in the outskirts of the city district at my first Swedish open-air rave – Sweden’s version of our beloved ‘bush doof’.

We trekked through the woods and into an electric rave set beside a sprawling lake. The music ranged from live hypnotic bands to DJ sets from all corners of techno’s subgenres into the early hours. As I sat on the rocks beside the lake surrounded by new friends that nippy summer morning, I knew Stockholm’s underground had totally gripped me.

A few weeks into my exchange, I rolled into Stockholm Central Station to meet two of my new Swedish friends on a September evening. We were heading to underground rave Botánica on a whim. We hopped in an Uber and gave the driver directions sent privately via email to registered guests.

Arriving at the address, I noticed no pulsing bass or streams of people lining up. We walked up a few concrete stairs, past the bouncers and into a dimly-lit, smoke-filled, industrial-feeling expanse with a sound system to put many to shame. Walking into the thick of the main room dancefloor, I was instantly captivated by the sensory experience and the energy amongst ravers in the room.

The main room hosted a top-tier line up, including the likes of Vincent Lemieux and Tom Ellis. Add to that, an atmospheric chill-out space and a ‘library’ dancefloor lined with books, indoor plants and the same resident DJ spinning house tracks on vinyl from the comfort of an antique sofa all night long. It was the ideal party. Regularly attending Botánica over the subsequent months, I built friendships with the inspired minds behind the party and was welcomed to their crew with open arms.

ARTWORK : MADDY BROWN // 47

Many ravers and DJs I met at parties during those first few weekends became some of my very closest friends. In months passed, I’d join them in underground bunkers for afterparties or volunteer setting up raves in the meatpacking district of Stockholm. I’ll never forget scraping snow off tables in the smoking area of Kiosk in the middle of freezing winter before the party opened, and realising I had truly become a part of the community I had admired from a distance that first night at Fotografiska.

Stockholm’s contagious energy went unmatched across the seven European cities I visited during my half-year abroad. Despite all preconceptions passed onto me prior to my arrival in Sweden, I put this down to a generation of Swedes who are extremely open-minded and interested in other peoples’ contributions.

I felt this on a personal level as I was invited to DJ several times over my six months in Stockholm. Cosmo, whom I saw perform at Fotografiska on my first weekend, invited me to join him for a back-to-back (B2B) set with him in October at a local bar. I was super nervous before this gig, which made me introspect as an artist. Performing in front of a room of strangers is totally within my comfort zone. But playing with fellow musically-inclined friends can induce nerves for me. After my set with Cosmo, I ended up playing another couple of B2B sets with a friend’s crew Skogswerk. Stockholm built up my confidence as a DJ. It made me refocus any nervous energy I felt playing with top-tier local artists into appreciation for what I can learn through co-collaboration and co-creation with friends.

At my last gig in January, I performed a slower-paced experimental set for four hours in Lilla Baren (‘small bar’) at popular Swedish/French bistro Riche. This set really spoke to me, as I explored underground ambient music previously unknown to me thanks to useful advice from the booker. Overall, I experienced a great deal of growth as a DJ due to Stockholm’s focus on community and creativity.

While the added uncertainty of a faraway city certainly added to the thrill of partying in Stockholm, Swedes know how to make every weekend a deviation from the last. I believe with the crews and locations available, Canberra could benefit from this approach and I encourage organisers to break the boundaries of

what they consider to be a typically successful weekend in our city. For example, after attending Stockholm events that fused food, art or wine with electronic music in unobvious ways, I have felt inspired to establish a similar styled event in Canberra.

Returning to Canberra has given me a refreshed appreciation for the things we do well. I have discovered, and rediscovered, the many electronic crews we have running parties. It is really exciting to see the breadth of styles and spaces on offer. On that note, Canberra promoters focus on creating safe spaces at their parties. There are safety officers, safety hotlines and zero tolerance policies. Canberrans lead a beautiful example of how to build safer spaces in the underground. With a friend who can offer their northside sharehouse, the best club in town Sideway, and the many outdoor locales available in Canberra, we have an extremely colourful and inclusive scene that we can use with far more logistical ease than many of our national and international counterparts.

There is an abundance of community within any electronic music scene around the world. Friendships are formed in the little moments, whether it be lending a hand in setting up parties, over conversations in toilet lines and in the early hours shared at the afters or ‘kickons’. Building connections has enabled my music experiences in Canberra and abroad. My advice to people looking to DJ or work in the music industry is to consistently support the places or parties that interest you the most. Becoming a regular is the best way to suss out who the bookers are, familiarise yourself with a brand, build circles and discover new music. You reap the rewards, personally and professionally, of being an active and enthusiastic raver.

48 // CULTURE | ART

ARTWORK : ABIGAIL BORDER

making art galleries an inclusive sensory space AUTHOR // JULIETTE BROWN CONTENT WARNING: Disability Art dances with all the senses. A delicious meal that somehow overloads and soothes your senses of smell and taste simultaneously. A piece of music that electrifies your sense of sound, inducing euphoria. Or a swathe of silk, which has an inherent value beyond functionality, revealed by touch.

Gallery art is often thought of as distinctly visual, gaining its impact from the vivacity of colour, the crispness of lines or the interplay of light and shadow. However, this view not only limits access to art for those with sensory impairments, it misunderstands art at its core. I think art is so powerful, because it facilitates a seamless emotional call and response between the artist and the audience. We receive the artist’s message so strongly, because it’s communicated by something primal and unmediated. It’s neurological.

Evidence shows that functioning senses can even be heightened in those with sensory impairments, creating profound artistic experiences.

This is recognised by several artists and galleries around the world, including the National Gallery of Australia (NGA). For example, the NGA has sign-interpreted lectures on the exhibitions for the hearing impaired, as well as braille guides for the gallery and the sculpture garden for the vision impaired. What’s more, there are also guided, descriptive tours for the vision impaired, with opportunities to experience the artworks through touch where possible. This allows attendees to interpret the artworks for themselves, thereby developing an intimate connection with the artist’s intention. The NGA also holds monthly ‘Sensory Sundays’, allowing those who may experience sensory overload, such as those on the autism spectrum, to come into the gallery early and experience the artworks in a calm environment.

A few years ago, the ANU held an exhibition called Colour Music which explored ‘synaesthesia’, a condition where your experience of one sense triggers another. Some artists displayed frames of colour connected with different notes based on pitch or intuition, so as to mimic synaesthesia. This was a further celebration of fluid sensory experience.

But Canberran galleries could go even further. Many famous galleries like the Louvre, the Guggenheim, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Victoria and Albert Museum have permanent tactile exhibitions allowing attendees to touch sculptures that have either been resin-protected or replicated. This increases access, as vision impaired attendees do not have to organise a private tour. The Warhol Museum in Pennsylvania has several 3D printed versions of Andy Warhol’s Artwork. 3D printing has revolutionised accessibility in the art world, allowing people to experience artworks that aren’t naturally conducive to touch. Some artists, such as Roy Nachum, have started embedding braille into their paintings or accentuating their texture, taking advantage of this inherently tactile element of visual art to increase access for the visually impaired. By these means, low vision individuals can develop an almost synaesthetic vocabulary of shade and tone.

Canberra has over 30 art galleries, spanning Indigenous, abstract and traditional art of all media. These galleries should make their exhibitions more accessible, so that everyone in our community can fully appreciate them. Celebrating the different ways in which our bodies can experience art is more not only more inclusive, it opens up a whole new world of fluid and intense pathways for hearing the artists’ secret messages to the soul.

ARTWORK : ALICE DUNKLEY // 49

no pay? no way! a play with a punch AUTHOR // TARA FINLAY Marieke Hardy’s play No Pay? No Way! was hands down the funniest play I have ever seen. I laughed an embarrassing number of times louder and longer than I should have. But it was just too good. If you need a good laugh, then this play is for you.

Hardy adapts the beloved Italian playwright Dario Fo‘s original play Sotto Paga! Non Si Paga! written with his wife Franca Rame in 1974. Fo wrote this ferocious political satire in 1970s Italy, where the country was facing severe economic and social problems.

Stagnant wages and rising inflation meant that many Italian workers couldn’t afford their rent, electricity and gas bills and even basic groceries. Fo wrote a play that called his audience to arms and for workers to fight back.

It is not hard to see the connection Hardy saw to modern-day Australia. Sadly, for many Australians, the rising cost of living means that Fo’s story is not so farcical. Hardy, in her adaptation No Pay? No Way!, while making you almost fall over with laughter, is also calling you to stand up against those lining their pockets.

Set in Italy in the 1970s, the play begins with Antonia (played by Helen Thompson) as she comes home with bags upon bags of groceries. She explains to her best friend Margherita (played by Catherine Van-Davies) that the supermarket management had doubled prices overnight. Angered, hordes of angry housewives including Antonia stage an uprising that sees the shelves ‘liberated’ of food. Before Antonia and Margherita can finish hiding the last of the stolen goods, they are interrupted by Antonia’s husband.

Margherita resorts to stuffing the last few groceries under her coat. The two set off on a ludicrous adventure, using their quick wit to explain this mysterious phantom pregnancy, outsmarting their husbands as well as the cops. What ensues is a play that walks the line of ludicrousness, including stories of pregnancy transplants, ‘womb olives’, dog food, a corpse that blows up like a balloon and a Catholic Saint Eulalia.

The play is a hilarious political satire with plot-twists and incredible jokes that seem to build and build, creating a thrilling and beyond-funny two hours.

Charles Davis’ set design is perfect, bringing fun to the story. The realistic-looking Milan apartment complex is cleverly put together and portrays both the cheerfulness and the poverty of the characters.

I couldn’t do a review of the play without mentioning Hardy’s brilliant use of the stage crew. At the start of the second act, the crew themselves stage a strike, unwilling to continue with the play. What ensues is a hysterical and ingenious second half with all five main characters having to work together to push the sets around tirelessly. It is inventive and comical and had the audience in stitches.

The cast too must be specially noted. Helen Thompson draws your attention whenever she opens her mouth. Surrounding her is also an exceptional cast.

The way both Glenn Hazeldine (Antonia’s husband) and Rahel Romahn (Margherita’s husband) portray their ignorance of female bodies (‘womb olives’, for example) has the audience roaring. Also brilliant is Aaron Tsindos, who does a fantastic job of playing numerous characters, especially the socialist Sergeant. The cast, while only including five members, was brilliant at portraying this ridiculous and mad story while also ensuring its important political message hits home.

Hardy shows that laughter can be a truly powerful tool in opening people’s minds to new ideas. When wage growth is slowing, and prices are increasing, do people accept their poverty? Or do they rebel? Hardy believes the latter and challenges us to stand up to those in Canberra and take back our power.

This play was a night of exhilarating, chaotic fun. If you find yourself in Sydney, I highly recommend that you see it. No Pay? No Way! will be running at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House until March 28, and at the Riverside Theatre, Parramatta until April 4

50 // CULTURE | FILM

a tale of two families in bong joon-ho's parasite AUTHOR // ADAM GOTTSCHALK

It’s not often that you emerge from a movie theatre knowing that you’ve just seen a truly exceptional film.

Parasite gives you this privilege. It’s a rollicking story that tracks a South Korean family’s desperate efforts to climb the social ladder and escape from poverty.

On one level the film is an immensely entertaining tale, at times hilarious, at times devastating, at times remarkably tender. Delving beneath the surface, however, you’ll find an emotional and moral complexity that truly sets Parasite apart, as director Bong Joonho grapples with issues of class in modern society.

The Kim family live in a basement apartment, steal Wifi from their neighbours, and fold pizza boxes for a living. The story kicks into gear when protagonist Kim Ki-woo cons his way into a position as English tutor to the teenage daughter of the wealthy Park family. The mischief continues as Ki-woo manages to systematically replace each of the Parks’ household staff with the remaining members of his own family – his sister as the art teacher, his father as the chauffeur, and his mother as the maid.

What appealed to me most about this section of the film was Bong’s ability to fuse comedy and suspense.

There are laugh-out-loud moments, but we are uncomfortably aware of the precarious situation of the Kim family and wait with bated breath for everything to go pear-shaped. Sure enough, the hilarity quietens down and gives way to a shocking discovery – the husband of the ex-maid has been stowed away in a bunker beneath the house for several years.

The metaphor is simple yet powerful. Indeed, I felt the power of its clarity: the wealthy live above the poor, who are forced to struggle helplessly in servitude. Bong repeats this image throughout the film, so there’s no escaping its symbolic importance. Staircases too are a recurring image, and the Kim family ascends and descends these as they move between the disparate worlds of the upper and lower classes, desperately trying to secure a foothold in the former.

ARTWORK : ABIGAIL BORDER // 51

At around this point, the pace and tone of the film changes dramatically. The vague unease we felt earlier suddenly erupts, and violence bubbles up out of the widening crevasses between rich and poor. However, the way that this happens will likely surprise you, as it did me. Very little about this film is predictable.

Bong’s masterful use of the surprise twist is part of what I found so gripping. I think it’s rare that a film with such weighty subject matter can be so much fun to watch. This feels particularly important in an age when people seem prepared to accept trivial online content as adequate entertainment. Parasite is proof that art can be both enjoyable and intellectually stimulating.

On the subject of intellectual depth, I think that the complicated morality of the characters’ actions is worth briefly discussing. The Kim family is forced to contend with a system that smothers people in poverty, to the benefit of those like the Parks. In such a situation, is it justifiable for the poor to act deceptively in order to survive, like Kim Ki-woo and his family do?

Who is the parasite in the situation? Is the Kim family leeching off the wealth and benightedness of the Park family? Or does the Park family signify a broader kind of parasitism? Is the parasite of the upper classes sucking the blood of those beneath them?

I certainly can’t provide any clear-cut answers to these questions, but what I feel is very important is that the film doesn’t either. Social inequality is one of the most pressing problems in the contemporary world, and Bong manages to explore this with sensitivity and an appropriate degree of moral ambiguity. It’s for this reason that Parasite feels so relevant.

The ending of the film manages to pull a strand of hope from a seemingly hopeless situation, yet perhaps strays a little too far into the implausible. The social issues Bong deals with are horrifying and complex, with no neat solution in sight. For this reason, the strand of hope is tenuous and offers little comfort. However, I feel that film has the capacity, and thus the obligation, to be uplifting and bring about change. Although many people are of the opinion that Parasite’s ending is utterly hopeless, I am not entirely convinced. Kim Ki-woo’s dream for a better future is fragile, but not non-existent. One might be labelled delusional for thinking that such a future is possible, but I am grateful that Bong at least gives us the chance to dream a little.

If nothing else, the movie’s emotional power spurs the audience on to consider the positions and perspectives of those less fortunate, and perhaps to cast a more critical eye at the divisions that ravage our society.

The acting is outstanding, yet the true star of the show is director Bong, who deservedly won best director at the Academy Awards in February. It is a thrilling experience to have a director of Bong’s calibre at the rudder, as we are borne along the waves of humour, horror, and empathy with skill and precision.

On another note, it is wonderful that an international film has been celebrated at the Oscars, with Parasite being the first non-English language film to win Best Picture. Perhaps this means the Academy Awards are on the path to redeeming themselves and moving beyond Western superciliousness (only 11 non-English language films have been nominated for Best Picture in 92 years). I wonder if this even signals the end of the ‘Best International Feature Film’ category and a shift to a more globally-minded awards ceremony. Separating “foreign” films from Western ones is an out-dated way of thinking.

What is certain is that Parasite will continue to entertain and dazzle long past the first viewing. Much like the characters find a hidden world beneath the Park house, the audience can unearth layers of complexity. Parasite is made truly extraordinary by its ability to tread the line between blockbuster grandeur and intellectual and emotional depth, and for that, it is a film you should make every effort to see.

52 // CULTURE | TV

sex education is the best teen drama i've ever seen AUTHOR // PHOEBE LUPTON

CONTENT WARNING: Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexism, Homophobia, Violence, Anxiety, Self-Harm For a long while, I was hesitant to start watching the recent Netflix Original series, Sex Education. I was convinced that it was just another pop culture craze that would die out in six months, never to be spoken about again. But during the break, there wasn’t really anything else I wanted to watch, so I curbed my preconceptions and turned on Sex Education. Having now seen both seasons, I can safely say that I was wrong: Sex Education is the best teen drama I’ve ever seen.

The programme stars Asa Butterfield as Otis Milburn, an awkward and innocent sixteen-year-old, whose mother, Jean (a brilliant performance from Gillian Anderson), is a sex therapist.

When Otis and (supremely attractive) outcast Maeve Wiley (Emma Mackey) encounter school bully Adam Groff (Connor Swindells) struggling with the consequences of taking three Viagra pills, Otis, having presumably absorbed some of Jean’s wisdom, provides Adam with some advice. This prompts Maeve to comes up with the novel idea to start a ‘sex clinic’, by which she’d arrange for Otis to provide sex therapy to other students at their school. The word gets out about Otis and Maeve’s service, and their classmates begin to visit Otis at school before and after classes and tell him their deepest, darkest secrets. The clinic takes off, and we discover the array of sex and relationships problems that this group of teenagers face.

ARTWORK : MADDY BROWN // 53

To me, it is a feat of great proportions how many sexual taboos Sex Education has normalised. From female masturbation to gay and lesbian sex, asexuality to vaginismus (a condition involving unwanted vaginal muscle spasms), the programme leaves no stone unturned. Sure, Sex Education is somewhat prone to inaccuracies – namely, it gives the impression that all sixteen-year-olds are having sex, when this is far from true. A 2018 article from The Washington Post details that in fact, teenagers are having less sex and losing their virginities later in life than ever before. However, some young people do have sex, and many of the situations in which the characters find themselves are far from uncommon among young people. Two secondary characters receive ‘coming out’ storylines: Adam as bisexual, and Ola (Patricia Allison), Otis’ girlfriend, as pansexual. Another character, alien erotica writer Lily Iglehart (Tanya Reynolds), also experiences sexual attraction to multiple genders, although she refrains from adopting a specific label. As a young bisexual woman myself, this made me feel seen, a feeling that I hardly ever get when I watch television.

One side character, theatre enthusiast Florence (Mirren Mack), also realises that she is asexual, an identity rarely represented in mainstream media. That’s not to mention the fact that we know from the very start of the series that Eric Effiong (Ncuti Gatwa), Otis’ free-spirited best friend, is gay. In Series One, Eric is subject to intense homophobic bullying and physical assault. He is initially left traumatised, but eventually reverts back to his confident self. Despite being the black, gay best friend, Eric’s character is not reduced to the ‘sidekick’ trope. His character development is rich, and his personality is made up of layer upon layer, making him one of my favourite characters in the show. Aside from Eric, there is some fantastic casual representation of people of colour, which is always refreshing to see.

Every character in Sex Education is complex and occasionally unlikeable. Otis is a kind and supportive friend, but due to his social awkwardness often says the wrong thing. Maeve is clever and sensible, but has the tendency to behave aggressively. Jean is protective and wise but tends to cross her son’s personal boundaries. Young Adult stories across media are so often filled with stereotypes and one-dimensional characters. One need only watch Disney channel to see teen dramas without any sex and swearing, and portrayals of several heterosexual relationships alongside the complete absence of queer* relationships. Luckily, Sex Education paints a picture of human beings as they think and behave in real life, making the show all the more relatable.

There are so many interesting and complicated stories within the overarching plot of the show. Otis comes to terms with his ambivalence towards sex, head boy Jackson Marchetti (Kedar Williams-Sterling) copes with a severe anxiety disorder that in Series Two leads to self-harm, and Maeve tries to navigate living on her own after having been abandoned by her mother and brother. But the storyline that touched me the most was that of Aimee Gibbs (Aimee Lou Wood). A popular and privileged young woman, Aimee spends most of her days as a sixteen-year-old with complete trust in her environment. But when she is sexually assaulted on the bus, she comes to a shocking realisation that maybe, the world isn’t always going to be on her side. In Episode Seven of Series Two, Aimee shares her experiences with the other primary female characters, who all respond with their own stories of sexism and sexual harassment. At the end of the episode, in a perfect display of female solidarity, they all help Aimee face her trauma head-on and ride with her on the bus where she was assaulted. Many journalists and cultural commentators have remarked upon this storyline, most of them praising the creators of the show for its respectful and nuanced treatment of sexual assault. My feelings are no different from theirs. Aimee’s storyline inevitably made me fearful that the same thing could happen to me. But seeing how the other female characters support her and how she overcomes her trauma gives me hope. This is why well thought-out storytelling can be so powerful: it can change how people think and feel.

I truly think that Sex Education has paved the way for more honest, fearless, multifaceted storytelling. It is my hope that the television creators of tomorrow will learn from the television creators of today and make work as good as – or better than – this. Until I watched Sex Education, I don’t think I’d ever come across a piece of media that burned so many societal taboos to the ground. But I’m sure that this incredible, ingenious, inspiring show will remain in the cultural memory forever. And that excites me!

Both series’ of Sex Education are available on Netflix.

DISCOVERY

ARTWORK : SIAN WILLIAMS // 55

learning from viruses AUTHOR // ADITI DUBEY

CONTENT WARNING: Discrimination The term ‘virus’ has been dominating the news these days. Though this is not the first time a virus has made headlines, the rapid spread of this particular virus around the world has been causing quite a frenzy.

Like all the other viruses that came before it (and the ones that will come after it), it has induced much fear and panic. This is to be expected – viruses can, after all, be deadly. Biologically, they are not classified as organisms, but we tend to think of them as such – as bad, evil, beings that are out to get us. But if we must confer human qualities on these non-human parasites, then maybe we should consider another, perhaps slightly unexpected one: fairness.

Viruses can be quite complex, but the fundamentals of how a virus works are quite clear and easy to understand. In simple terms, viruses enter a host and infect it. They go into the body of an organism and take over its cells, forcing it to create thousands of copies of the virus at a very fast rate. They spread through the host body, hijacking it.

Viruses can travel through many means – they can be transmitted through water, bodily fluids, and even through air. They can attack any living organism – plant, animal, human: there are viruses for everyone.

Sometimes, they can even travel between species, such as in the case of the SARS virus, which was transferred to humans from animals. Viruses are so deadly because they don’t pick and choose. A virus never targets an individual or a single organism, it goes where it can. In that sense, viruses are objective, they truly do not discriminate. Maybe that’s something we should learn from them.

As humans, we sometimes forget that we are one species. We might have a thousand different ways to differentiate ourselves but, at our core, we are the same type of organism. At the most basic level, we have the same bodies. Viruses do not see us as different. They do not see us in terms of race or nationality or gender or any of the other numerous divisions we create for ourselves. To them, we are merely hosts to infect. Viruses do not care if you are Chinese or Australian or Indian, all they see is a body. In that respect, they see us more honestly than we see ourselves. We, I think, need to be reminded of the fact that no matter how different we think we are, we are essentially the same – just bodies, equally mortal and fallible and vulnerable.

In these troubling times, when we seem to be more preoccupied with our differences than our similarities, maybe we need to follow the example viruses set. It is perhaps time for us to see ourselves the way a virus does – as people, just human beings.

56 // DISCOVERY | SOCIETY & CULTURE

sex and security AUTHOR // SAMANTHA WONG

CONTENT WARNING: Sexism, Miscarriage, Pornograpgy, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Violence, Suicide, Brief Mentions of War and Terrorism Nuclear warfare, rising sea levels, terrorism and cyberwarfare are all security issues that you may have heard of. However, there is one little-known threat that could put an end to whole populations: sex. Or at least, a lack thereof. From a Western perspective, sex is perceived as an act of love and intimacy, but rarely as a means to survive. On the flip side, there are still people in developing countries who need to have as many children as possible because of low child mortality rates. Then there is South Korea. In 2018, South Korean women were having an average of 0.98 children compared to the estimated ‘replacement-level fertility’ rate of 2.1, making South Korea’s fertility rate one of the lowest in the world.

This can be attributed to young people’s decision to forgo dating, marriage and children, earning them the title of the sampo generation, which literally translates to ‘giving up on three’. This lonely philosophy is not predominantly a product of anti-socialism as one might think. Rather, it reveals troubling aspects of Korean society and culture that must be rectified. Gender inequity has to be addressed in South Korea to fix low fertility rates. If this is achieved, women will feel supported and safe enough to engage in romantic relationships and become mothers.

So, what problems will this social attitudinal shift create in the future? If this trend continues, gross domestic product (GDP) growth will slow, and an economic crisis precipitated by a labour shortage will at some point occur. Such an event would in turn limit the availability of social welfare for those who need it most, such as senior citizens. This is an especially worrying prospect considering that by 2065, those aged 65 and older are projected to make up almost half the population. Even more disturbing are predictions by the South Korean government that its entire population will go extinct by 2750. It might be unthinkable, but certainly not impossible.

40 per cent of Koreans in their 20s and 30s have decided not to date for various reasons, with gender inequity a key factor in many. Firstly, discriminatory attitudes towards women have discouraged both dating and having children. Expectations set upon wives and mothers are largely patriarchal. 46 per cent of married women aged 25 to 54 are considered full-time housewives responsible for childcare and 80 per cent of the housework.

ARTWORK : MADDY BROWN // 57

The treatment of women in the workplace is yet another factor contributing to the hostility surrounding having children. The BBC recently reported the story of Choi Moon-jeong, a woman who had to be hospitalised and almost suffered a miscarriage due to the stress caused by her boss yelling at her upon discovering she was pregnant. Even after returning to work, her boss continued to pressure her into quitting. There are multitudes of women facing the same neglect as Choi, but they’ve had enough. In rejecting traditions like marriage and bearing children that are so deeply entrenched into Korean society, as well as the collectivist notion of ‘saving face’ (that is, maintaining a sense of worth and honour to secure social acceptance), women are embracing Western individualism and challenging gender norms. Although this brave wave of feminism may sound like positive progress, it still fails to enact any consequential changes towards gender equality.

The expectation placed upon mothers is part of a much larger problem also impacting gender relations and romantic relationships. Incidents of revenge porn, voyeurism and sexual violence present a disturbing picture of a toxic patriarchal society. Many of these acts and attitudes manifest in relationships, with 65 per cent of voyeur photography cases in 2018 occurring between romantic partners. One tragic incident reported by The Guardian involved a young woman taking her own life after discovering someone had been filming her in a change room at the hospital where she worked. Moreover, youths’ perceptions about sex are largely moulded by pornography, with 67 per cent of participants in a Korean Women’s Development Institute survey saying they did not find sex education useful. It is obvious that South Koreans’ education about sex, women’s rights and gender equality is far from adequate.

The second principal factor driving this phenomenon is the economic strain placed upon young South Koreans. With the youth unemployment rate at 10.8 per cent and only one out of 10 graduates able to find full-time work, young people’s incentive to prevail in a highly competitive job market trumps their resolve to date. Even those who are employed receive low salaries and high work hours. Alarmingly, Koreans spent an average of 2,024 hours working a year in 2017.

Comparatively, Canadians worked 300 hours less per year.

Previous government solutions have targeted key economic issues that exist within Korea. Notably, these include childcare subsidies, extended paternity leave and paid maternity leave amongst other things.

However, aside from economic issues, the government has failed to meaningfully enforce change in the prevailing patriarchal culture that binds women to archaic archetypes. For one, significant progress can be made by first starting to close the gender pay gap. How does the government expect to encourage gender equality when its wage gap has reached 37 per cent, the highest of all 36 member states of the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development? Another step in the right direction would be to enact immediate change in how victims of online sexual abuse and workplace sexual harassment are supported psychologically and legally, as well as how sexual education is taught in schools. For example, the South Korean NGOs Coalition for the third Universal Periodic Review in 2017 advocated for introducing gender quotas, as well as punitive damages against employers in response to the encroachment on minimum wage regulations. By replacing a sense of taboo surrounding sex with respect, consent and understanding, young people may find that they feel safer when dating or starting relationships.

Toxic cultural and social stigma plague this fast-ageing population. The Korean government needs to feel the impact that seemingly low priority issues like the treatment of women will have on their country’s security and survival. Gender equality cannot be discounted as a top security priority. How today’s women are treated will inform the fate of millions in the future.

58 // DISCOVERY | BUSINESS & ECONOMICS

risky business AUTHOR // ELLIOTT MERCHANT

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Exploitation, Body Image, Brief Mentions of Xenophobia and Misogyny Sometimes the stories that make the biggest impact are those which play out in real time. News and academia seem immeasurably married to events. If someone in the Sydney Morning Herald wrote an amazing article about the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the destruction of Pompeii today, few would read it. However, a lower quality story about the spontaneous eruption of Mount Ainslie would probably crash the Sydney Morning Herald’s website. Very limited attention is given to stories about things that have happened over long periods of time. Business and economics is not a topic that inspires ‘The eruption of Mount Ainslie’ type stories.

Instead, it gives material form to abstract patterns, evolutions and phenomena that we would otherwise forget about, but which shape our world as we know it. It is my view that articles and stories about business and economics should aim to shine a spotlight on these changes and the implications that they carry for our society, our money and ourselves.

So much of our reality exists without material form at the behest of companies like Netflix, Amazon and Facebook to name a few. These corporations control so much of what we do every day and often bleed into one another to the point where they monopolise everyday life.

Since the emergence of computers and smartphones, more and more of our lives are conducted online. Some of our relationships exist as much online as they do in person. Our money, most of which we will never see nor hold exists only as a number on our screens. We spend hours binging shows like Sex Education, The Office and Watchmen (all personal favourites) on streaming services, all of which exist on our laptops and phones, not anymore, it seems, on our televisions.

As a consequence of their great size and power, these companies often contradict themselves and operate outside of their own corporate identities. Amazon, for example, was established as an online book store. It now controls the online shopping market, Whole Foods shopping markets (with 500 stores in the United States and counting), produces films and has launched its own streaming platform to rival Netflix. Imagine if 20 years ago someone told you that by 2020, a company which sold books online would control a chain of supermarkets, launch its own online television channel and become one of the largest tech corporations in the world. What more can a company control other than food, technology, entertainment and shopping?

It gets weirder. The Walt Disney Company, originally responsible for Mickey Mouse and The Lion King, not only owns Lucasfilm and Marvel but is the parent company of Fox Corporation. The very network that gave us Fox News and Roger Ailes, Bill O’Reilly and Tucker Carlson is owned by the same company that gave us Lilo and Stitch and Bambi. I don’t know if Pinocchio would agree with their demonisation of immigrants or their blatant misogyny, but I guess the board of Disney wouldn’t invite him.

// 59

These companies, through monopolising everyday life and exploiting it, for all it’s worth have managed to creep into politics and business to amass great wealth and power. They remind me of the fictional media conglomerate Waystar Royco from the show Succession, gigantic and seemingly indestructible but morally corrupt. Like Waystar Royco these corporations wield enormous political power, sourced from the sheer volume and size of their political donations and their control over news networks. Facebook for example decides what political material appears on our feeds no matter the legitimacy of the add or the substance of the claim. This has an enormous impact on how we form our political opinions and ultimately how we exercise our right to vote.

The same dynamic is exploited in news. Some channels push fast-paced discourse and furious agreement so that the viewer doesn’t have time to consider the implications of what is being discussed. All we see is two seemingly respectable, good looking people in such vehement agreement that there is no time to think more deeply about the issue until they have bought the claim being discussed. Viewers seem more likely to believe something if it is sold to them by someone they find attractive or alluring, especially if the news program is fast-paced and filled with more graphics than analysis. This has allowed Facebook and Disney to buy millions of viewers, giving them one of the biggest viewerships in the world and the billions that come with it.

Amazon, Disney, Facebook and others represent the closest thing we have to despotic actors in the world of business and economics, these titans of industry wield enormous power sourced from their immense wealth and ability to control what we see and how we see it. The $4 trillion question is, how did we let them grow so powerful to the point where they are entrenched in our economic, social and political fabric?

It doesn’t take a genius to see that giving billions to lawless and morally corrupt media conglomerates by allowing them to play on our sexual desires and insecurities isn’t great. It is impossible to calculate the psychological or economic damage that it has had on people who suffer from severe body issues and chase product after product clinging to the hope that it will give them the perfect body and appearance.

Who knows how much Facebook or Fox has been able to push its own agenda by tuning us to accept questionable, or blatantly wrong claims because we are more inclined to believe someone who we find attractive? This has only allowed these companies to amass great wealth and power, making them so politically immune that they can survive even the most strident efforts of government to regulate or monitor their behaviour.

The answer is sex.

Sex, bodies and seduction, and business and economics seem to have nothing in common. Monetary policy appears to play little role in who we find attractive and talk of fiscal policy would never make us swipe right. The reality is that how we spend our money is governed by appearances and sex. We are more likely to spend big on something that is glamorous and sold to us by a perfect celebrity or model, even if it is in our interests to do the opposite. Over time, media conglomerates like Facebook, Amazon and Disney have monopolised this dynamic in order to control not only what we buy but what we see, when we see it and how we see it. As a result, these companies have amassed great wealth and power to the detriment of consumers. The monopolisation and commercialisation of sex has had untold consequences on our economy, our politics and on ourselves.

People will often succumb to the ‘buy this get this’ trick or the ‘buy this become this’ idea whereby some model will stand behind a product, leading the consumer to buy it due to some subconscious wish to become or attract the model. Fox News has expanded on this to create a ‘believe this get this’ dynamic where questionable news and political claims become more believable because of the glamour behind the ugly propaganda.

Selling products or news using sex also encourages impulsive buying, which is particularly common online. Most of the things we buy online are low-risk, relatively cheap and low-information products such as books, accessories and small electronics. Amazon for example, tries to make it as easy as possible to purchase something so that you have little time to consider if you really need it. The model standing behind the product telling you how great it is makes it even more likely that we will think ‘if only I buy this useless hat, I can be as good-looking as they are’.

It has become fact since the emergence of the internet and these conglomerates that sex breeds sales and viewers, sales and viewers breed money, money breeds power and power breeds impunity. This is not something that has happened all at once, and there is no moment in time that can be pinpointed as the day this began to go beyond our control. This is not an ‘Eruption of Mount Ainslie’ story. This is something that has developed over a long period of time as our everyday lives became more and more dependent on the online economy.

The use of sex and envy in advertising and news has allowed these conglomerates to maximise their market share and become some of the most powerful entities in the modern world. To the psychological and economic detriment of consumers, we have been trained to neglect our better judgment and give into our lesser desires. The dynamic they have created between us and them is dangerous, toxic and seemingly-unshakable. It might not quite be the eruption of Mount Ainslie, but volcanic events are limited by the rules of nature. Facebook, Amazon and Disney know no rules, natural, political, economic or otherwise.

60 // DISCOVERY | RESEARCH

the whole ugly circus AUTHOR // GEORGE OWENS

CONTENT WARNING: Sex, Nudity, STIs, Sexual Harrassment and Assault, Masturbation, Drugs, Homophobia, Violence Against Women This piece is a combination of excerpts from essays, books and movies, creative pieces, statistics and figures. Excerpts from other works are italicised, original work is not, and creative pieces from this author begin with a bold sentence. Statistics and figures have been collected from the Australian Institution of Health and Welfare Services.

A Reading List for the Modern Man (1900):

In the 19th and 20th centuries, apocryphal medical claims introduced the idea that men require regular sexual activity for good health. Male sexuality was expected to be active and aggressive, with many female partners and extramarital relations. Female sexuality, on the other hand, was expected to be passive, sterile, monogamous and lesser. This led to the normalisation of male sexual degeneracy.

- Ray Lankester’s Degeneration (1880).

Male scientists argued that male sexual traits were products of evolutionary instinct and sexual physiology. Promiscuity, virility and sexual domination, they claimed, were within men’s nature.

Without doubt the man has a livelier sexual need than the woman... guided by a powerful natural drive, he is aggressive and stormy in his love-play.

Woman is quite different. If a woman is mentally normally developed and well-raised, then her sensual desire is scant.

- Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, 1886.

However, the degeneration of masculinity was also a topic of great concern in the late 19th century. Male sexuality was seen as something contaminated. Issues such as sexual promiscuity, prostitution, STIs, and masturbation chipped away at the idealised norm of masculinity. The fear of sodomy and homosexuality added to this decline.

Wood: Here an act of grossest indecency occurred.

Mr. Wilde used his influence to induce me to consent.

He made me nearly drunk. [testimony censored]....Afterwards I lay on the sofa with him. It was a long time, however, before I would allow him to actually do the act of indecency.

Gill: I understand you to say that the evidence given in this case by the witnesses called in support of the prosecution is absolutely untrue?

Wilde: Entirely.

- Two excerpts from the highly-public trial of Oscar Wilde. Alfred Wood examined by Horace Avery, and Wilde examined by C. Gill.

- Bénédict Augustin Morel’s Physical, Intellectual, and Moral Traits of Degeneration in the Human Species (1857), - Cesare Lombroso’s Criminal Man (1876).

- Max Nordau’s Degeneration (1892).

The spread of STIs – syphilis and gonorrhoea, then HIV and AIDS – symbolised this degeneration. Advances in medical understanding led to a greater awareness of STIs. Syphilis was a sign of sexual degeneration because of its obvious visual stigmata: pustules, rashes and ulcerations. The spread of STIs was seen as a failure of public health.

Men, being sexually promiscuous, became vectors for disease. Men with STIs were corruptive influences on family life, capable of inflicting diseases from extramarital partners onto their wives. Damage could also be passed to offspring: syphilis caused stillbirths, miscarriages and physical deformations.

He examined with minute care, and sometimes a monstrous and terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead, or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age.

- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890.

JACK Ennis Del Mar ain’t been in, has he?

AGUIRRE glares at him even harder. The wind hits the trailer like a load of dirt coming off a dump truck, eases, dies, leaves a temporary silence.

JOE AGUIRRE You boys sure found a way to make the time pass up there.

// 61

RON Homo? Homo? That’s what you said, right? Shit. You gotta be kidding me. (laughs) I ain’t no faggot, I don't even know any faggots! Look at me, doc. Come on now, look at me. What do you see? Huh? The goddam rodeo is what you see.

Dallas Buyers Club, directed by Jean-Marc Valleé, 2013.

Time Magazine, AIDS, The Growing Threat, 1985.

JACK gives him a look, then sees the big binoculars hanging on a nail on the wall behind AGUIRRE’s head.

AGUIRRE Twist, you guys wasn’t gettin’ paid to leave the dogs baby-sit the sheep while you stemmed the rose.

- Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain, 2006.

The masterful man was the purveyor of what Mayreder characterized as an erotic of the “strong fist,” which depended not only upon aggression and violence but also upon the subordination and sexual objectification of women.

- Kirsten Leng, Sexual Politics and Feminist Science, 2018.

DR. SEVARD You’ve tested positive for HIV – RON looks at DR. SEVARD blankly.

DR. SEVARD ...the virus that causes AIDS. RON freezes. A long beat.

RON Who you kidding, Rock cock sucking Hudson bullshit?!

DR. SEVARD Have you ever used intravenous drugs or had any homosexual – RON spits out his candy.

- Cara Phillips, The Boob Book, 2012. From Phillip’s series, Singular Beauty: Technology has enabled us to correct and enhance our bodies with an endless array of procedures that promise to make us younger, thinner, sexier and more beautiful. Plastic surgery is one of many industries that affirms male sexuality as the lens through which women are seen.

The ‘Male Gaze’ doesn’t apply to him. He loves women. He treats women well. He can’t stand that his eyes follow the latest one into the coffee shop, her buttocks squeezing and unsqueezing in black activewear as she walks to the counter. He will admonish himself later. She’s made her order and walks to the other side of the counter, giving him the opportunity to look at her profile. Her breasts aren’t very big, held tight by a sports bra under a loose-fitting white top.

He turns back to his own coffee. He wouldn’t look for long. He barely even notices himself doing it. Habit?

He would scoff if you said it to his face. It’s an atavistic trait, primal even. All men do it. He doesn’t mean it, the guilty, compunctious, delicious, unintended leer. He wonders who she is, the woman caught in his gaze, as if this shred of empathy could save him.

He does not hear her name as it is called out by the bearded man behind the coffee machine. Takeaway.

This is his cue. He hasn’t intended this either. He gets up and beats her to the door. Really she’s not his type.

Bottom-heavy. Frizzy hair struggling to be contained by a bun. But that doesn’t stop him from holding the door open and trying to catch her eye, his grin flashing like the emergence of the bright sunlight through the door.

62 // DISCOVER | RESEARCH I was not too crazy about sleeping with girls I didn’t know. It was an easy way to take care of my sex drive of course, and I did enjoy all the holding and touching, but I hated the morning after… the girl would wake up and start groping around for her knickers and while she was putting on her stockings she’d say something like, “I hope you used one last night. It’s the worst day of the month for me”.

- Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood, 1987.

Note on the below figure: it is extremely interestinghere to see that 47.9 per cent of women hospitalised for assault specified their attacker as their spouse or domestic partner, while only 4.4 per cent of men hospitalised for assault did likewise. Instead, 50.5 per cent of men hospitalised for assault chose not to specify their relationship to their attacker. This perhaps indicates the embarrassment and emasculation of assaulted men.

Note on the below figure: it is clear here that women have disproportionately experienced dating or partner violence.

Note on the below figure: 10.8 per cent of men and 5.5 per cent of women have experienced violence in the 12 months before the 2005 survey. This may seem surprising; however, total violence includes violence inflicted on men, by men. Women experienced over double the amount of sexual violence or violence from a partner, committed by, to an enormous extent, men.

…all part of a grand narrative in which male sexuality is directly responsible for women’s subordination.

Women can’t equally compete in economic, political and social systems that privilege individual output because of the demands of pregnancy and childcare.

This translates into overall subordination, enabling men to sexually dominate women and force women to service their excessive sexual lust…

Are you in your tote bag? In the plants? In the bad faith sods-stream (Palestinian tears)? In your rug? In the city’s half-assed attempt to recycle? In your tribe?

In your kink? In your place of employment? In your wage packet? In the likes? In the rejections? In your documentation? In this sentence?

- ‘Locate the Self’, Grand Union Stories, Zadie Smith, 2019.

// 63

Note on the below figure: sexual assault rates have risen between 2011 and 2017. Around 60 per cent of women and 50 per cent of men have experienced both inappropriate comments about their body or their sex life, and unwanted touching, grabbing kissing and fondling.

Porn is a type of voyeurism. I’ve been told that if you watch too much then real sex stops being good. Real Sex – love making, not drunk, not high, on a bed, naked and vulnerable, vulnerable together, together, not apart, joined as one. That’s what I’ve been told.

Wake up the next morning, check your phone, hug a little longer.

Instead I sit out the back with the rest of the lot, and yeah I smoke with them, but I don’t say anything, I just sit in the dark like the real world is all inside my head.

I don’t even wonder what people are thinking of me like I do every other time of the day. I can barely be seen in the half-light of the candle and the flare of the joint.

I hate the whole ugly circus.

I love fashion but then there’s the smoke-pumping, toxin-burning, forest-shucking stuff. There’s fingernails holding together the stitching of the new Nike Air Max Flyknit. I bought something yesterday – online, of course – and hated it and now the ship will travel right back to where it came from. What are these ships? I think of an overhead shot, the vessel sitting on the clean black slate of the sea, long and straight like an enormous phallus with the bow as the head.

I want to be cool. I spent three hours and three minutes per day on my phone last week. When you’re trapped in a well and all you can see is the small opening far above you, it becomes your whole world.

Your view will never be as straight, as uncomplicated as it is then. Who can even say what I did on my phone for three hours? Not me, that’s for sure. I’d throw the thing out but every time I try to the wires come out through the charge port and cut their way into my hand, and at each small puncture a drop of blood seals the deal.

I’m on the bus and my head is rattling around just like everyone else’s, but we’ve all got Airpods in and are calmed by the various things we hear. I’m hungover. I bet there’s some function through which we could all sync our Airpods together to listen to the same thing (if anyone could do it, Apple could! Haven’t you seen their Facetime ads?). We’d all be there, a harmonious little group connected by our bus route and our collective music. But instead we’re all tuned out. At the station, a man is cleaning the floor by the toilets with a huge, wheeled, electronic, ride-on mop, whose loud whirring creates a different aural buffer, encasing him and rendering my Airpods useless.

I’m in a funk for the rest of the week. I watch people as they do what people do. I see women on TV, on glossy snapshots in the hairdresser windows, on Facebook. I see one standing at a traffic light in a nude-beige skirt and a severe black worktop, mimicking perfectly the stance of a model on a large billboard over the top of the city: a tiny simulacrum.

What smog-filled metropolitan vista will visit me tomorrow? I’ll watch them all again. We’re filled up with the same stuff, it goes into us all: defiled air, social overload, falsity, coercion, blue light, flashing impulses. Here our sex is used against us: every frisson amplified, every thought seized upon, we crowd each other out. I’m one of them: a leech sucking on society, the blood turning black inside, black bile.

the spread of medical misinformation AUTHOR // ISABEL RICHARDS

ARTWORK : BONNIE BURNS // 65

CONTENT WARNING: Brief Mention of Climate Change Coming from a chemistry and biology background, I frequently question medical advice that is emotionally appealing but not backed by rigorous scientific research. Alternative medicine, for example, takes advantage of public fear to promote their arguably bogus treatments. The recent coronavirus outbreak is just one scenario exploited by the industry among many others, such as cancer and neurological disorders. Like with climate change denial and anti-vaccination movements, the rejection of evidence-based approaches in favour of ideology and profit repeatedly overpowers science.

Acupuncture is one type of alternative medicine that is part of traditional Chinese medicine and unbound by the constraints of the scientific method. Based on a mythical, ancient philosophy of invisible meridians controlling energy (or Qi) flow through the body, acupuncture has successfully invaded the health care system. The state of New Mexico defines acupuncture as: “the surgical use of needles inserted into and removed from the body and the use of other devices, modalities and procedures at specific locations on the body for the prevention, cure or correction of any disease, illness, injury, pain or other condition by controlling and regulating the flow and balance of energy and function to restore and maintain health.”

According to acupuncture practitioners, they can treat pretty much anything. Their latest pursuit is, of course, the novel coronavirus. The Acupuncture Healing Centre, located in Chicago’s Chinatown, released an article in late January on how acupuncture can be used to prevent coronavirus. This is supposedly done by facilitating the body’s immune response to expel the pathogen through points that supposedly strengthen digestion, breathing and the mind.

However, I argue the practice is a form of psychological manipulation and theatrical placebo – the more you expect it to work, the more likely you are to exhibit symptom relief. It may seem like a ‘real’ medical treatment, but it lacks scientific evidence to support its bold claims and does not truly cure or prevent conditions. Short-term treatment with acupuncture does not produce long-term benefits, and its apparent effects are not caused by the treatment itself. Decades of research and over 3000 trials show that any possible specific effect from acupuncture is clinically insignificant.

Unfortunately, a lot of people are unaware of acupuncture’s ineffectiveness and quackery, so the practice continues to grow. This is largely because of poor communication, misleading information published online and increasing government approval. This makes it far more difficult than necessary to obtain correct information on acupuncture. We can’t blame people for not knowing, however, given that we of-

ten have to dig deep and critically analyse to find the facts. Yet there are a few examples across the globe contributing to the spread of misinformation and the acupuncture industry.

Let’s start with Australia. The Better Health Channel, funded by the Victorian Government, has an information page on acupuncture procedures and its effectiveness. The page has a summary box at the top with what the authors consider the main points to take away. But the summary ignores the most important piece of information: that there is no systematically reviewed scientific evidence to prove acupuncture’s effectiveness. This point is also glossed over in the body. Most people will not read the whole page and even if they do, they will easily miss this key point.

Additionally, there is a statement at the very bottom of the page which asserts that “content on this website ... does not in any way endorse or support such therapy, service, product or treatment and is not intended to replace advice from your doctor or other registered health professional” [emphasis added].

Considering how few people read the fine print, I question why this statement was not placed at the beginning of the page.

Now on to America and China. As of this year, acupuncture is covered by Medicare in the United States.

In China, acupuncture is pretty much recommended by the National Health Commission. Not only will this result in conditions not being properly treated, but also lead people to believe that acupuncture is an official and effective practice approved by medicine.

Finally, the Vickers meta-analysis. This analysis from 2012 is one of the most cited studies used to argue that acupuncture works (much like the infamous Wakefield paper that linked the MMR vaccine with autism). However, the study shows nothing of the sort and has several issues in its methods. For starters, the authors had an enormous pro-acupuncture bias, which caused them to overcall the results. Secondly, the controls used were entirely problematic because the participants knew they were receiving no treatment. Even the authors acknowledge that “because the comparison between acupuncture and no-acupuncture cannot be blinded, both performance and response bias are possible.” Basically, the meta-analysis is completely useless, despite what acupuncture advocates would have you believe.

Medical misinformation can spread like wildfire on social media and through word of mouth. Evaluating information is particularly important during this time of international health emergency. But people forget to critically assess sources before arriving at a conclusion, leading to a growing acceptance of deceptive alternative practices like acupuncture.

66 // DISCOVERY | SCIENCE

what is love?

AUTHOR // ZACK CUNICH

CONTENT WARNING: Brief Mentions of Drugs and Depression Love.

Be it familial or romantic, requited or unrequited, infatuated or platonic, divine or self-directed, our culture is obsessed with it. It furnishes our songs, scripture and screenplays. And just like sex, it sells. It’s a panacea.

The idea of love lingers in our hopeful minds. We feel it in the empty moments spent between bed sheets or at society meet and greets.

But despite all the airtime it gets on our screens and in our mind, we rarely think critically about love.

Sure, some of us might watch The Bachelor or MAFS from time to time and say, ‘no way does she love him: look at her body language’. Love is used casually, as if we all know what it means. Problem is, we don’t.

It’s time to do as Haddaway did in 1992 and ask, What is Love?.

Biologically, we think we know a lot about love. It’s a drive, just like hunger or thirst. It’s classed into three overlapping stages, each an evolutionary purpose.

The first of these is lust. In lust, testosterone and estrogen flood the brain, amping up libido. One must pass on our genetic material, evolution tells us. Lust lasts for a month or so.

Simultaneously or independently, attraction occurs.

Attraction is dopamine and norepinephrine stimulating our pleasure centre, turning someone into that special someone. We get hooked on their vibes and can’t stand time apart from them.

Their presence is so euphoric it boosts our heart rate, lowers our appetite and our ability to sleep. These symptoms are remarkably similar to those produced by amphetamines: love really is a drug. For up to three years, anyway. Eventually, affection fades away.

Attachment, however, can last a lifetime. During this stage, oxytocin and vasopressin promote emotional intimacy. Unlike with lust and attraction, attachment is not limited to romantic partners; it moderates the bond of parents and children, close friends and social cordiality in general.

But love, like any drug, has a dark side. Heartbreak hurts. Literally – it’s processed as genuine physical pain. The dysregulation of chemicals at any of these stages has its consequences. Too much dopamine during attraction can cause physiological addiction.

This extends into psychological addiction, with obsessive behaviour, jealousy and withdrawal symptoms when one’s cravings are not met.

But too little dopamine and one will lack commitment and motivation and might fall into depression.

Oxytocin, ‘the love chemical’, is likewise a double-edged dagger. Oxytocin amplifies feelings. In both directions. So just as it increases warmth and empathy for a friend or lover, the love chemical simultaneously lowers your empathy for those outside your social, political and ethnic tribes, increasing prejudice and discrimination. An excess of oxytocin generally is linked to dissociation and wild, reckless behaviour.

This triarchic model of lust-attraction-attachment shows us there are different ways in which we can love. People vary in their preferences and capacity for each of the three, so it also teaches us empathy for those who struggle with love as their difficulties are often not their fault.

At the same time, accepting a purely biological explanation of love feels uncomfortable. Dissecting love like this feels sterile and disenchanting, so removed from the sublime personal experience of love that it verges on cruel.

And then there’s the danger that explaining the darker side of love justifies it. It’s the naturalistic fallacy that because something is instinctive, it is defendable to do. Nonetheless, people reason that way. To justify xenophobia through the effects of oxytocin or claim that cheating is a result of testosterone, is making excuses, not science.

It’s a basic fact of psychology that how we think influencei mmutable. Science gives us only the mechanisms, it is normatively silent on what and who we should love. We, by and large, get to decide that for ourselves.

Looking around, it’s clear humans love many things. It extends not just to not friends and family but to food and fauna, fictions and facts, fraternity and freedom.

It’s striking to think people willingly sacrifice their lives, literally and metaphorically, out of love for many of these ideas and ideals.

Perhaps it’s regrettable that English uses one lumpy word for all these things. After all, the Ancient Greeks famously used six. But in a way, I think it’s beneficial.

The word is so ambiguous that we can’t adequately answer the question ‘what is love?’. This forces us to ask a much more meaningful question, that is: ‘what is love, for me?'.

WORDS TO: PHOEBE@WORONI.COM.AU ART TO: GEORGIE@WORONI.COM.AU