Honi Soit: Week 12, Semester 1, 2020

Week 12, Semester 1, 2020 / First printed 1929

St Andrew’s: Racism, sexism, hazing / p. 6 An obituary for Jack Mundey / p. 11

Lebanon: How a revolution died / p. 12

Reimagining the digital ether / p. 16

Acknowledgement of Country Honi Soit is published on the stolen land of the Gadigal People of the Eora Nation. For over 230 years, First Nations people in this country have suffered from the destructive effects of invasion. The editors of this paper recognise that, as a team of settlers occupying the lands of the Bidjigal, Darug, Gadigal, Wangal and Wallumedegal people, we are beneficiaries of these reverberations that followed European settlement. As we strive throughout the year to offer a platform to the voices mainstream media ignores, we cannot meet this goal without providing a space for First Nations people to share their experiences and perspectives. A student paper which does not acknowledge historical and ongoing colonisation and the white supremacy embedded within Australian society can never adequately represent the students of the institution in which it operates. We seek to resist colonial violence and the racist power structures that serve to oppress those who are Indigenous to this land. Sovereignty was never ceded. Always was and always will be Aboriginal land.

Contents Who? Weekly / 3 News / 4 Investigation / 6 Analysis / 8 Opinion / 9 Perspective / 10 Feature / 12 Culture / 14 Multilingual / 18 Creative / 19 SRC / 20 Comedy / 23

Editorial Editor in Chief: Lara Sonnenschein Editors: Nina Dillon Britton, Matthew Forbes, Zhiquan Gan, Robbie Mason, Angad Roy, Lara Sonnenschein, Ranuka Tandan, Chuyi Wang, Madeline Ward, Lei Yao Contributors: Soo Choi, Victoria Cooper, Samuel Garrett, Hall Greenland, Deaundre Espejo, Phoebe Evans, Catherine Ku, Lauren Lancaster, Aiden Magro, Will Solomon, Bianca Watkins, Claire Ollivain, Jeffrey Khoo Carriageworks stories and photographs: James Bradshaw, Lawrence English, Ben Hanson, Lauren Lancaster, Jenny Leong, Jacquie Manning, Madeleine Martin, Rhian Mordaunt, Steph Sekulovska Artists: Ash Duncan, Michael Lotsaris, Emma Pham, Shania O’Brien, Honglin Xie Cover artist: Aiden Magro Back cover artist: Ellie Wilson

Every incoming editor wonders what their term taking care of this paper will look like. It’s safe to say that whilst I entertained many thoughts in my head, I never anticipated we’d be covering the biggest event of our lifetimes, for the most part separated from each other in our bedrooms. I miss campus deeply — sitting leisurely at Hermanns as friends pour in and out like the jugs we laugh over, watching people pick up our weekly edition off the stands, and the way that this pandemic has stifled spontaneity in our social interactions, as Claire (p.16) so eloquently writes about. With USU voting occurring online this week, I’m even nostalgic for inperson campaigning, the free beer vouchers handed out at Manning as polling draws to a sunset close, and of course the famous anti-Liberal chants. Thankfully at least gossip (p.3) transcends the physical realm. Yet this crisis has both revealed and exacerbated existing inequalities on campus. 40 per cent wage cuts have been applied to USU staff, the University wants to gut 30 per cent of Arts and Social Sciences courses and the government has once again shown complete disdain for international student welfare. The residential colleges sit almost empty, as students have returned to heated homes, even as First Nations people live in poverty just down the road.

This week Honi breaks an exclusive story on St Andrew’s (p.6), detailing instances of hazing, sexism, and white nationalist sentiment within the College. That all we have reported on has occurred post Broderick Review, with the aim of ‘cultural renewal’ is enlightening. Indeed, those that were weary of reviews, and superficial tinkering seem to have been proven correct. This story provides the inspiration for this week’s cover. Drawing on the work of pop artist Roy Lichtenstein, my wonderfully talented friend Aidy has drawn a fictional occupation of St Andrew’s College. In particular, I’d like to thank 1966 Honi editor, Hall Greenland for returning to this paper’s pages to pay tribute to the legendary Jack Mundey (p.11), Samuel Garrett for his excellent feature (p.12), my own reporters for contributing, in large part to this edition, and all whistleblowers who dare to speak out, even when it puts their safety and wellbeing at potential risk. This is the penultimate edition of Honi this semester, the last regular one as the Queer Collective edits next week. I’d like to wish them good luck, and give everyone else my best wishes for upcoming exams. Have a restful winter break, and I hope to see you on campus soon. In solidarity, Lara Sonnenschein

Disclaimer: Honi Soit is published by the Students’ Representative Council, University of Sydney, Level 1 Wentworth Building, City Road, University of Sydney NSW 2006. The SRC’s operation costs, space and administrative support are financed by the University of Sydney. Honi Soit is printed under the auspices of the SRC’s directors of student publications: Maia Edge, Peiqing Fan, Nina Mountford, Roisin Murphy, Mikaela Pappou and Maxim Vishney. All expressions are published on the basis that they are not to be regarded as the opinions of the SRC unless specifically stated. The Council accepts no responsibility for the accuracy of any of the opinions or information contained within this newspaper, nor does it endorse any of the advertisements and insertions. Please direct all advertising inquiries to publications.manager@src.usyd.edu.au.

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LETTERS

Letters Kiss Goodbye to MS! Hi Honi Soit team, My name is Ralph, I am a Maltese Shitzu living in Brighton in Melbourne and I have just celebrated my 16th birthday, making me 97 in dog years! Over the course of May I am walking 50km (which is a long way with little legs!) to raise money for Multiple Sclerosis Research Australia. I am doing the walk to support my Aunty Em who was diagnosed at just 28 years old, but there are over 25,600 Australians living with MS as well, so it’s really important research. My goal is $1,000 and I am almost halfway there! I have walked 31km so far. I love walking to the dog beach - some days I get a bit tired and Mum & Dad have to carry me the last bit of the walk - but this morning, I walked the whole 4.6km so I am spending the rest of the day in bed (see below), can’t wait! You can see my fundraiser page here, find more pictures here of me on my walk and recovering from them! & track my progress on Strava!

Write, create and produce for Honi Soit

I would love any coverage you could give to help me reach my goal and help Kiss Goodbye to MS! Thanks for reading! Ralph

Interested in reporting or making art for Australia’s only remaining weekly student newspaper? Email us at editors@honisoit. com or message us over on our Facebook, Twitter or Instagram pages.

Nudes, declarations of affection and hate mail may be sent to: editors@honisoit.com.

Weekly Jordies jab! Annoying accent-faker FriendlyJordies released a 40-minute video this week exposing everyone’s favourite representative body: the Australian Taxpayers’ Alliance (ATA)! For an organisation that claims to represent all taxpayers, they sure seem to be chock-full of libertarian bullshit. Imagine our delight when we came across the familiar face of Jabbering Julia Kokic around 25 minutes in, famed for her passionate vocal performance at the conclusion of last year’s SRC election! FriendlyJordies, however, seemed less than pleased to see her - likening group photos of Julia and her ATA associates to a ‘Virgins Anonymous meeting’. CoRpoRaTE SeLl OuTs fOr UsU!!! A scathing page has popped up on our Facebook newsfeed - Corporate Sell Out for USU. With as many likes from Trots as an Ashtanga yoga appreciation page, it is clear who the true culprits are. SAlt members seem to have taken a break from posting photos with cardboard placards expressing solidarity to an echo-chamber of like-minded friends. Instead, they are now taking aim at leftwing/centrist USU Board candidates to an echochamber of like-minded friends. At least this page is mildly original, unlike the Harry Styles for USU page (whoever is stealing our jokes, beware), and it joyously captures the egotism of all student politics. Netflix vs a literal student newspaper In sadder news, Honi were asked to take down a comedy article this week - not by our lovely, godsent DSPs, nor SRC President Dangerous Doon,

but by the kings of streaming themselves, Netflix. Our article from last week, titled ‘ADORABLE: The Stranger Things kids all tried heroin together for the first time!’, obviously caught their eye, as a Mr. Joey Levine (a ‘who’), a representative for Netflix’s ‘Original Series Publicity’ and former employee of Oprah (a ‘them’), informed us via email that our “libelous reference to drug use” wouldn’t fly. I guess we’ll have to scrap our article about the kids from ‘It’ developing meth addictions, lest we feel the wrath of Warner Bros. as well.

Whos tryna be us?

Signed away in the nick of time!

We’ve also noticed some lonely independent floaters hungry to hop on a ticket, but unfortunately have not found a home yet. These include Daring Daany Saeed and Cream alumni Keen Kate Scott, both of whom are trying to recklessly accumulate as many student journo credits before the election as possible. We also thought Notorious Nicole Baxter might be throwing her hat into the ring, but she has firmly denied this allegation over a Twitter argument with Dangerous Doon himself.

It looks like the curtains are slowly closing on Naughty Nick Forbutt’s USU President dreams as Rogue Ruby Lotz is nominally locked out of a USU preference deal, receiving no second preferences from any candidate. With Plotter Prudence Wilkins-Wheat locked into a three way deal with Antisocial Ada and Vigorous Vikki, Rogue Ruby is only receiving Plotter’s fours. Of course she could still get elected should her primary vote be high enough, yet it makes things difficult and Prudence’s three way deal surely comes with a vote-for-Benny clause attached. The Panda-Groots relationship is certainly stronger than when Dangerous Doon Donohoe and Jerk Jacky He almost got into a fistfight. Indeed, we hear that now #cancelled USU Board candidate Wacky Wayne was initially in on a four way deal and even wanted Panda to support Dangerous Doon over Jealous Josie Jakovac last year… Do we see an SRC alliance on the horizon? Time will tell...

Despite this year of Honi not even being half over, we’ve heard rumblings of ambitious tickets already emerging to enter the fray come September. On the left, we have a classic Switchroots bubble consisting of every wannabe-them under the sun: SRC Ethnocultural Officer Kooky Kedar Maddali, SRC Women’s Officer Vehement Vivienne Guo, current Pulp editor Eager Ellie Stephenson and Colourful Claire Ollivain.

Arrogant Abbey Arrogant Abbey Shi made an appearance on ABC’s flagship 7.30 program last Monday. If an article released afterwards is anything to go by, it seems the journalist, and perhaps Abbey herself, incorrectly believed the SRC was helping to provide accommodation to students. It’s enough to make one wonder how involved Abbey really was. Ultimately, it seems that she certainly loves the limelight — her job, not so much. We remember when she drafted in former Honi editor Benevolent Bob He to lay up CounterCourse for her!

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NEWS

Alexis Roitman resigns as USU CEO Chuyi Wang, Lara Sonnenschein and Ranuka Tandan report. Alexis Roitman has resigned from her position as University of Sydney Union (USU) CEO. Hired last year, Honi Soit understands that Roitman was on a six month probation period contract. As per USU regulations, an Acting CEO will be appointed shortly. The USU has named Director of Commercial Operations Jessica Reed for the role.

Honi was sent two conflicting press releases today, the latter of which confirmed Roitman’s resignation. USU President Connor Wherrett has clarified that the first of these was an ‘old document’ that was sent inadvertently. The timing of Roitman’s resignation is particularly unusual due to the COVID-19 crisis and her probation

period, suggesting the split may not have been on friendly terms. The announcement follows widespread criticism of the USU for recent financial decisions made in response to the coronavirus. Such decisions include the standing down of the majority of the USU’s outlet employees last month, as well as

a 40% staff wage cut announced two weeks ago. The USU has also faced backlash for a lack of transparency in their Board meetings surrounding the aforementioned pay cuts.

USU Board candidate Jiale Wang disqualified from election Nina Dillon Britton and Chuyi Wang report. Panda USU Board candidate, Jiale Wang, has been disqualified from the election following a decision by the Electoral Arbiter, Magistrate Theo Tsavdaridis, which overruled an earlier temporary suspension of Wang by the Returning Officer, James Hoare. The disqualification comes as the result of an appeal made to the Electoral

Arbiter by other USU Board candidates, including Liberal-affiliated candidate Ben Hines. Earlier this week, Pulp published screenshots of WeChat messages sent by Wang, offering to share his USU Board stipend with members of his political faction, Panda, if he were elected. Bribery is listed as a ‘Forbidden

Practice at Annual Elections’ in section 8.10 of the USU Regulations. In the messages Wang states that he “will forgo all my salary as a hidden fundings for next year’s election or activities. (please don’t leak this to the outside as this does not comply with the regulation).” The disqualification leaves only

nine candidates in the race for five Board positions. This leaves only three international students in the race; last year, three of six USU Board Directors elected were international students. Honi Soit has reached out for comment from Wang, but he did not respond in time for publication.

USyd to delay Semester 2 by three weeks Nina Dillon Britton and Lara Sonnenschein report. The University of Sydney (USyd) is pushing back the start of Semester 2 by three weeks, with classes now set to begin on Monday 24 August. The semester will be 12 weeks long, a week shorter than usual. The decision comes after weeks of uncertainty as to what would happen, following a campus closure for most of this semester, which has seen classes shift online amidst the coronavirus pandemic and enforced social distancing

measures. At this stage, it is unclear whether classes will return to campus or remain online, though pushing back the dates seems to indicate a potential return to some on-campus learning in Semester 2. Staff have been told that plans for online teaching remain in place, as plans for the gradual recommence of face-toface teaching are considered. In an email announcing the delay to

staff, Vice Chancellor Michael Spence stated that the reopening of campus will depend on “further health advice from the Australian and NSW governments.” The move comes after the Federal Education Minister, Dan Tehan, publicly pushed last week for universities to reopen next semester. The University has said the decision was made to allow further time for teaching staff to prepare online learning courses and to allow more time for

prospective students to enrol. However, the border closures, which have stopped tens of thousands of international students returning to classes will likely remain in place. The University has previously announced that it projects a $470 million revenue loss from coronavirusrelated enrolment drops this semester.

University of Queensland student facing expulsion for activism Matthew Forbes reports. The University of Queensland (UQ) will be deciding whether they will expel fourth year student Drew Pavlou, an elected representative on the University’s Senate, in a disciplinary hearing next week. Pavlou’s public activism against the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) - especially on campus - was the main focus of a number of the allegations outlined in a 186-page document sent to him by the University last month. Among the allegations was a claim that Pavlou had “prejudiced the reputation of the University” through posts he had made on Facebook regarding the humanitarian situation in Hong Kong which were positioned as statements on behalf of the university.

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Pavlou’s potential expulsion was also in part due to his vocal criticism of the University’s several connections to the Chinese state, which include the CCP’s co-funding of at least four of UQ’s courses and the naming of Xu Jie, the Chinese consul-general in Brisbane, as a faculty member. Last July Pavlou was assaulted at a rally he led on the UQ campus, which called for the University to sever ties with the Chinese government. He later asserted that his attackers were set upon him by Xu, whom he took to court for making him susceptible to threats and attacks by accusing him of anti-Chinese separatism. These posts resulted in “at least one (1) student withdrawing from their

non-award program of study at the University”, hence the alleged damage to UQ’s reputation. The National Union of Students have condemned UQ in a statement released yesterday that deems the university’s actions an “attack on free speech.” “Student representatives should not be punished for speaking out against the inaction of university administrations, to do so undermines the role student representation and student unionism on campuses [play] to its core.” The University’s handling of the process leading up to Pavlou’s disciplinary hearing has also been questionable, threatening to deny him legal representation during the hearing and denouncing “attempts to exert

external influence on our processes” following the public support shown to Pavlou by various Australian MPs. UQ’s treatment of Pavlou is indicative of a broader trend within Australian universities of stifling free speech on campus via university misconduct systems. Last year, Honi reported on how this manifests at the University of Sydney. Indeed the University’s own Student Discipline Rule (SDR) also refers to prejudicing the good name of the University, as with Drew’s case. The disciplinary hearing which will decide Pavlou’s fate will take place on Wednesday 20 May.

FASS casuals call for halt to proposed course cuts Nina Dillon Britton reports. More than 100 casual staff in the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences (FASS) have signed an open letter to Vice Chancellor Michael Spence and Arts Dean Annamarie Jagose calling for a halt to proposed course cuts. FASS staff have been informed that almost a third of courses offered would have to be cut next semester to reduce the cost of casual staff. The letter states that the proposed cuts would have a “devastating impact” on casual staff “who do the bulk of teaching in FASS, often in difficult conditions and without full financial compensation.” The University has been inconsistent in its explanation of the proposed course cuts. Staff have been told that the cuts are related to the $470 million revenue shortfall the University estimates it will

see this year. But a University spokeswoman told the Sydney Morning Herald that the cuts were unrelated to the coronavirus, and they were made to ensure that the faculty “operate sustainably in the medium to long term”. In the same statement, the spokeswoman stated that the number of courses to be cut as yet undecided. The letter also outlines the harm proposed cuts would have for students. “In FASS, we are responsible for coordinating units of study, delivering lectures and tutorials, marking students’ work, and guiding students individually in their university education. “For the vast majority of students, their university experience is absolutely indissociable from their relation to casualised staff and to the roles they play as tutors, lecturers, and mentors.”

FASS casuals’ open letter Dear Doctor Spence and Professor Jagose, As casualised staff members from the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, we ask that you immediately reverse your decision to cut up to thirty percent of units of study in FASS. These cuts will not only undermine the scope and integrity of students’ degrees. They will also have a devastating impact on some of the most vulnerable members of our University community—those hundreds of casualised staff who do the bulk of teaching in FASS, often in difficult conditions and without full financial compensation. We know that the decision to cut units of study was taken in order to

reduce the Faculty’s spending on casualised staff. Yet, this decision means that many of these staff members will soon be unemployed during what is projected to be Australia’s worst economic recession in decades. To make matters worse, these workers will have no access to the Jobkeeper payment. There is no University of Sydney without its thousands of casualised staff. In FASS, we are responsible for coordinating units of study, delivering lectures and tutorials, marking students’ work, and guiding students individually in their university education. For the vast majority of students, their university experience is absolutely indissociable from their relation

“Just this semester we have done crucial work helping the University transition to online delivery, putting in even more unpaid hours than usual and investing financially in the infrastructure needed to run online classes. “To find ourselves on the precipice of unemployment after performing this important but mostly unpaid work is profoundly disappointing.” Casuals are amongst the hardest hit under the National Tertiary Education Union’s (NTEU) proposed National Job Protection Framework, announced last Wednesday. Under the Heads of Agreement the NTEU’s leadership negotiated with universities, casuals with a “reasonable expectation” of getting work would be protected. But as a statement from the UNSW Casuals Network notes, “casual

workers are offered work informally, sporadically, and verbally, with contracts processed at the very last minute, and with little regularity in work,” meaning that “it seems unlikely that this clause will substantively protect casuals at UNSW who have already lost work.” The framework would also not protect casuals who lose work as a result of course cuts. University of Sydney staff are not entitled to the JobKeeper payments, after the gGovernment changed eligibility requirements. The NTEU has called for a National Day of Action on 21 May for a government bailout of the higher education sector. Nina Dillon Britton is a signatory of the open letter.

to casualised staff and to the roles they play as tutors, lecturers, and mentors. We bring many years of experience—in some cases decades— to our teaching and research. Just this semester we have done crucial work helping the University transition to online delivery, putting in even more unpaid hours than usual and investing financially in the infrastructure needed to run online classes. To find ourselves on the precipice of unemployment after performing this important but mostly unpaid work is profoundly disappointing. We want to continue making our essential contribution to the University community. We want to keep teaching our students and

supporting them through their studies. We want to deepen our research experience and produce knowledge for the public good. And we want to do all of this in secure jobs without the ever-present threat of unemployment. Doctor Spence, Professor Jagose, the University has a choice about how to respond to the present crisis: it can either use casualised staff members as financial shock absorbers, or it can invest in those who have worked so hard and with such passion to make the University of Sydney as successful as it is. As FASS casualised staff, we call on you to reverse your decision to cut units of study and instead to give us the secure jobs we deserve.

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INVESTIGATION

Racism, sexism, hazing: New allegations surface over behaviour at St Andrew’s College Lara Sonnenschein, Nina Dillon Britton and Madeline Ward report. Honi can reveal several new allegations of racist, sexist and hazing incidents which have occurred at St Andrew’s College since the Broderick Review into Cultural Renewal at Residential Colleges report was released in late 2017. Written by former Sex Discrimination Comissioner Elizabeth Broderick, the review was a million dollar report into sexual violence at the University of Sydney’s residential colleges, with the exception of St Paul’s, who joined on later. Criticised by anti-sexual assault activists for its superficial approach, the report neglected to include case studies or quotes from survivors, and only conducted a small number of interviews with current and former college students. The review failed to mention the scandal-ridden history of the colleges or include the events in 2016 which led in part to the commissioning of the report, including articles from Pulp Media and Honi Soit on Wesley College’s “Rackweb”, St Paul’s “Bone Room” and sexual violence at St Andrew’s itself. In response to the perceived failings of the Broderick Review, End Rape on Campus Australia published the Red Zone Report in early 2018. The report found that 1 in 12 female St Andrew’s students had experienced attempted or completed rape or sexual assault since commencing — the joint highest rate of all the colleges. Other notable incidents include the words “enter the halls of misogyny” spray painted at the College in 1993, residents advertising their 2006 formal with the slogan “More Moles, More Holes”, and the burning of an

LGBTQ pride flag in 2016. The Broderick Review laid out a number of recommendations for “cultural renewal” at residential colleges, including an end to hazing rituals, the development of a “harm minimisation” alcohol policy and a specific sexual misconduct policy, along with greater gender diversity in student leadership. As a result of the report, St Andrew’s College committed to a “policy of zero tolerance to hazing and sexual misconduct, harmful alcohol, use, harassment and damage to property.” St Andrew’s lists the outcome as being “accomplished” in their 1-year progress report. St Andrew’s Principal, Wayne Erickson, tells Honi that he believes that the college has now implemented all of the Review’s recommendations. But concerningly, hazing practices known as “walkabout” at St Andrew’s continued after the publication of the Broderick Review. “Walkabout” — a hazing ritual in practice since at least 1997 — involves the auctioning of first year students to second year students. First years are made to kneel on hands and knees during the bidding. Popular students are sold for several hundred dollars, and less popular students are sold for as little as $5. The money is donated to charity. First year students are then made to perform different tasks for the buyers. One student told Honi that she was made to steal and break street signs. First year students are then forced to drink copious amounts of alcohol, and afterwards taken to unknown, often remote, areas and left to find their way back home. Emma* told Honi that in 2018

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she was left in rural NSW as part of “walkabout.” The group was allowed only $50 between them, and had to hitchhike back to Sydney. “So it was really demeaning to be auctioned and the event itself was dangerous,” she says. Post-Broderick Review, participating students were asked to sign a consent form, doing nothing to remove the significant social pressures on students to participate. “Everyone knows that unless you go to Highlanders, unless you drink, unless you participate in group stuff, you’re probably gonna have a shit time at college,” Emma says. “Getting students to sign consent waivers so that institutional responsibility is abnegated is the very opposite of cultural reform and accountability,” Red Zone Report lead author Nina Funnell tells Honi. “Students should be provided with a safe living environment, not asked to sign waivers accepting that they understand the environment is unsafe.” Though the forms were issued by the Student Club, Emma says that staff were aware of walkabout, and “that sort of thing could not have happened without the greenlight from staff.” Walkabout was cancelled in 2019. St Andrew’s declined to respond to questions regarding whether hazing rituals still occur within the College, and failed to provide Honi with details as to whether any students had been suspended or expelled from St Andrew’s in the past year. Other toxic elements of college culture have only become more secretive. Though St Andrew’s has abandoned the “Lolly Buffet” where students announced recent hookups over the college’s PA system (including an instance where an alleged sexual assault was broadcast to the college), similar activity is now run online through a Facebook profile “Drew’s Buffet”. The page posts about recent hook-ups in a closed college resident Facebook group. One post, from May 2019, shows results from a poll of the “hottest

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mums” following a Mother’s Day event at the college. Another, from September 2019, discusses a resident hitting on a 50 year old woman, with college men in the comment thread referring to each other as “tunnel buddies” — a reference to group sex. A separate post from the same month contains a timeline of a previous evening’s events, including the entry “[redacted] roots a girl while his dad is passed out on the floor.” For some, a mention by “Drew’s Buffet” is a point of pride. “I know that for a lot of people being tagged by buffet in these posts is almost a cool thing because it shows that the things you’re doing matters and that you matter,” Emma says. It’s unclear to what extent the college administration actively monitors the page or the student Facebook groups, but a 2012 post on the Drew’s Buffet profile from the then-Dean of Students promoting the college’s public Facebook page

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St Andrew’s students throw eggs, bags of flour and firecrackers at college principal.

St Andrew’s students are reported running through the corridors of the Women’s College, masturbating. The St Andrews student club is fined $4500.

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‘Soup Night’: St Andrews seniors force freshman to lie in a mix of sand, oil, rotten fruit and mollases.

Honi Soit reports on instances of rape and sexual assault that, according to the Women’s Collective, have been reported to the University and “hushed up” by the administration.

St Andrew’s advertises their ‘informal’ with slogans such as “ride them home and drop your load”’and “buck your girl”.

St Andrew’s magazine details hazing including giving freshman a bath in a horse trough, plastering them with bad fruit and flour.

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indicates that the administration is aware of its existence. St Andrew’s College failed to respond to a question concerning the extent to which the College monitors any students’ Facebook groups. This is particularly concerning given a history of unsavoury social media use at Sydney University’s residential colleges. The Red Zone Report details a St John’s College ritual called “the Purge” where students were invited to share embarrassing photos of themselves and details of sexual encounters. In 2009, St Paul’s College came under fire for a “pro-rape” Facebook page, and again in 2017 for a Facebook group with sexist posts describing having sex with women as “harpooning whale[s]”. Though the Broderick Review canvasses harmful uses of social media, reporting that approximately 8 per cent of students at St Andrew’s had witnessed “inappropriate commentary/ images/film distributed on social media without consent,” none of its recommendations specifically pertain to social media use. Honi can also reveal two serious instances of white nationalist sentiment at the College. In one case

“white power” was graffitied on a memorial to a deceased St Andrew’s College student. Honi understands that the graffiti was done within the past year. When questioned on whether the College knew about the incident and had investigated it, St Andrew’s Principal Wayne Erickson said, “This has previously not been reported to me…I would be grateful for any information you might have (time and date) which will allow us to investigate it further.” In another instance, a current St Andrew’s student posted in the college students’ Facebook group saying that she’d lost her guinea pig, and if found it would respond to the name “Adolf ”. Honi understands that the student deleted the post after a period of time, but not before other students had “haha” and “love” reacted to it. Students are also known to defecate, urinate and vomit in common areas of St Andrew’s. This is an expected occurrence after nights at the Highlander and Salisbury (the bars of St Andrew’s and St Paul’s, respectively), and such behaviours occur “pretty frequently.” A post from May 2019 in a closed college Facebook group shows a video of faeces left in a hallway, with the caption “WARNING: Someone has taken a massive shit on the second floor of main. Watch your step.” The hallways are a common target of faeces, and urine and vomit are often found in the showers. The clean up is left to college staff. Such behaviour is not isolated to hallways and showers, with students also defecating in the bedrooms of fellow residents. Honi has obtained an image shared in a messenger conversation between two former St Andrew’s students, showing a man, naked from the waist down, who has defecated in the room of a female student and fallen asleep on her floor after she had left her door open overnight. This behaviour recalls similar instances described in the Red Zone Report, including a 1986 incident where male St Andrew’s students would break into the Women’s College and masturbate in their corridors, to more recent reports of male students ejaculating into the shampoo and body wash bottles of unknowing female residents who would then wash themselves with the semen and product. “These

most recent events are appalling, but they are by no means isolated incidents at St Andrew’s,” Funnell says. “There is a long history of sexism, misogyny and racism within the college; it’s like asbestos, it’s in the very walls.” Emma says that staff responses have been unsatisfactory. “There’s been a lot of complaints from girls to the VP of college regarding the ‘lad’ behaviour of boys,” she says. “But ultimately it just turned into an awkward conversation in the Highlander Bar, post-dinner with the students club to discuss what was inappropriate behaviour.” These incidents support fears that the Broderick Review would be used as a tick-a-box measure for residential colleges to respond to embarrassing scandals, rather than impetus to engage in the deep structural and cultural reform necessary. Indeed, St Andrew’s appears to have deleted its own Broderick Review report from its website. Vice-Chancellor Michael Spence, has said that whilst “we’ve made a lot of progress in terms of implementing structural changes to encourage cultural renewal...this doesn’t mean our work is done. Racism and any other form of intimidating, abusive or discriminatory behaviour on our

campus is completely unacceptable.” The University, however, was not aware of any of the incidents detailed above. When contacted, Elizabeth Broderick stated that St Andrew’s had not been in contact with her since the Review occurred. A college culture resistant to change remains. Emma says that students who spoke out against the college in 2016 remain the focus of hatred “even now.” “Ultimately college is a bubble that exists in its own world, distinct from reality. Drew’s survives on secrecy, and denial of its issues.” Despite the platitudes offered by the University of Sydney and St Andrew’s College, it seems that very little has changed at all.

If you have any more information on this story, cultural renewal at the colleges more broadly, or anything that you think is in the student interest, please feel free to contact us at editors@honisoit.com. Should you wish to remain anonymous, we will respect that. Alternatively, you can send us an anonymous tip. We only receive your message, and the time and date of submission. If you are a student at the University of Sydney and you wish to report an instance of sexual assault or misconduct to the university, you can do so through the university’s reporting portal, available on their website (sydney.edu.au/students/ sexual-assault.html). The student liaison officers can be contacted for assistance in this process through their email (safer-communities. officer@sydney.edu.au) or by calling 1800 SYD HLP. If this article has caused you any distress you can reach out to the following organisations for assistance: Free counselling through RPA Sexual Assault Clinic 9515 9040 (Monday to Friday, 8:30am 5:00pm) RDVSA NSW Rape Crisis Hotline 1800 424 017 (24hrs, 7 days) *Name has been changed. Information in the timeline taken from The Red Zone Report.

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2017

2018

Honi Soit publishes an article on the ‘Bone Room’ Pulp Media publishes an article on the ‘Rackweb’.

After a 2016 national survey, the AHRC Change the Course report on sexual violence on Australian university campuses is released.

The Red Zone Report is released

2016

2017

Kendra Murphy tells the Sydney Morning Herald that she was raped by a student at St Andrew’s college, and that details of sexual encounters between students are broadcast over the PA system.

The Broderick review into College Culture at the University of Sydney is released.

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ANALYSIS

Queer ecology: Reimagining “nature” and sexual politics Deaundre Espejo on how queer ecology allows us to reconstruct and reimagine environmental justice. Andre Gides’ Corydon tells the story of a young shepherd that falls in love with another shephard, engaging in samesex passions and musing about the mysteries of sex with women. The name Corydon was used as a stock name for a shepherd in Ancient Greek poems such as Virgil’s Eclogues. However, while Virgil’s Corydon was a shepherd who longed for another boy, Gides’ Corydon is a sophisticated individual deciphering same-sex passion, natural innocence and opposite-sex eroticism as a learned social order. He comes to the realisation that “a friend... is of better counsel to an adolescent boy than a mistress.” Corydon was influential in shaping the later field of queer ecology, a practice which seeks to disrupt heterosexual articulations of ‘nature,’ to reimagine evolutionary processes and ecological interactions, and broaden environmental politics in light of queer theory. Drawing upon the work of ecofeminism and environmental justice, it seeks to draw important connections between the material and cultural dimensions of environmental issues.

The distinction between what is ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ has long been used as ammunition in battles waged against queer bodies. The rise of evolutionary thought in the nineteenth century centred on the primacy of sexual reproduction for species survival and development. Consider Darwin’s ideas on sexual selection in The Descent of Man, which observes that certain traits in animals have evolved as a result of mating competition. This has served to legitimise procreative heterosexual acts as the only true form of ‘natural’ sex, denaturalising all other forms of sex unless they can be explained within the overall operation of reproduction. Sex came to be understood not as a set of acts, but as expressions of an innate biological condition. By this logic, if the ability of a species to survive in nature is tied to its reproductive fitness, then “healthy” environments are those in which heterosexuality flourishes. Accordingly, homosexual degeneracy has been explained away using pollution or environmental contamination, factors which are believed to interfere with reproductive capacities. Some ecologists have insisted that female homoerotic activity amongst seagulls is evidence of habitat changes, or that sexual pairing of male ibises is a result of mercury poisoning (in reality, there are probably just a lot of gay birds). Such reasoning is guided by heteronormative biases⁠—the fact that heterosexuality is more common does not take away from the diverse social relations of sexuality occurring in animal species. Evolutionary thought has,

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however, moved away from these ideas. Recent work has attempted to reclaim the “naturalness” of queer bodies and liberalise sexual minorities. For sexologists such as Havelock Ellis, the fact that nonheterosexual sex is congenial allows it to be morally neutral and therefore part of the narrative of evolution, rather than its aberration. Research also documenting the vast range of homosexual behaviour in non-human animals also presents possibilities for radically rethinking nature as queer. Bruce Bagemihl’s 750-page volume Biological Exuberance presents an extensive compilation of species in which same-sex acts have been scientifically observed. These appeals to nature have been powerful, especially when science is purported to “reveal” nature’s truth. However, such assertions of the “natural”—whether heterosexual or homosexual —essentialises sexuality to material conditions; a product of some innate biological trait rather than an expression of agency. Queer ecologists challenge these biopolitical regimes, arguing that sex is always indivisibly material and social. David Bell coined the term queernatureculture to criticise binaries between what is natural and what is cultural, and to emphasise the ambiguity of queer sex acts. Animals are cultural beings, enmeshed in social organisations with agency over their sexual lives. By uncovering these complex realities, we open up a space to rethink nature and sexual politics. Spaces of nature have been organised to promote and prohibit certain sexual behaviour. Emerging discourses around urban development in the late nineteenth century articulated that the ‘effeminate homosexual’ and ‘lesbian gender invert’ were not only against nature but symptoms of a moral and even “physical” decline of the American population, attributed to urban sociality and pollution. The natural world was therefore transformed into a space in which heterosexual masculinity could be recultivated, free from the influences of urban degeneration. The American wilderness became heavily dominated by communities of men - cowboys, prospectors, rachers. Boy Scouts and mountaineering expeditions provided opportunities to simulate more conventional paths to “manhood,” solidifying a connection between conquering wilderness and one’s expression of heteromasculinity. In The History of Men, Michael S Kimmel tells readers that due to material conditions of urban life, “men have been running away - off to the frontier, the mountains, the forests, the

high seas, the battlegrounds, outer space” to retrieve an “essential part of themselves, their identity, their manhood.” But these visions of a ‘heteromasculine wilderness’ could not be farther from the truth. According to sexologist Alfred Kinsey, in the nineteenth century there was more sexual activity between men in the remote wilderness than there was in cities. Various worksites in the Pacific Northwest such as logging camps and fishing grounds included complex networks of sexual activity among men, and some men would even leave the city in search of them. At the same time, queer women experienced a complete invisibility in dominant wilderness discourses. More recently, the framing of queer culture as exclusively urban has erased the ongoing presence of queer bodies in rural communities and has contributed to the assumption that country spaces are inherently hostile to anything other than monogamous heterosexuality. While many gay men and women leave small towns for urban centres, many do not — queer couples reside in 99.3% of all American counties. The emerging practice of queer ecology has reclaimed natural spaces as sites of resistance and exploration for sexually diverse people. In Sarah Orne Jewett’s writing, particularly in her novel Deephaven, natural environments are sites of both romantic friendship and eroticism between women. Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain contrasts two sheep herders’ frayed heterosexual relationships in the 1963 Wyoming to their deeply romantic “high altitude fucking” in the wilderness. A queer interpretation of ecology blurs boundaries of identities and liberates queer people in their connection and belonging to the natural world. The natural world defies current heteronormative politics, enabling humans to redefine cultural understandings of “natural” and “queer” environmental spaces as we have with sex and gender. It also serves as an important basis for coalition building, since both queer and environmental justice perspectives observe nature and the environment as not neutral or ahistorical. Rather, we can look to how the language of nature can mask human and environmental destruction. Ultimately, an understanding of environmental sexual politics, alongside existing discourse on race, gender and class envisages a possible future of common liberation. Art by Shania O’Brien

OPINION

International students are trapped in exploitation Catherine Ku on the structural barriers international students face in reporting exploitation. The 7-Eleven wage scandal in 2015 revealed the systemic vulnerability of migrants and international students to exploitation in Australian workplaces. As one example among many, international student Pranay Alawala was underpaid more than $30,000 by a 7-Eleven franchise in Brisbane. However, when he confronted his employer about his owed wages, the franchise’s lawyer sent him a letter threatening to report him to immigration for working more hours than his visa allowed. For those on student visas, visa condition 8105 mandates that international students are only allowed to work up to 40 hours per fortnight while their course is in session. Whilst grappling with costly international student fees and living expenses, many international students struggle to find work due to their lack of Australian work experience, language difficulties, lack of local contacts and restricted working hours. Without other options, many students accept employers’ offers to work for more hours, but at below minimum wage - usually cash-in-hand. Rather than occurring at big companies like 7-Eleven, the majority of this exploitation takes place in small businesses, especially in the retail and hospitality industry. In particular, employers usually speak the language and therefore are able to attract students who desire a workplace in which they

can comfortably speak their native language. According to a survey conducted by Sydney University business school academic Stephen Clibborn, out of 274 international students working parttime, 60 per cent were paid less than minimum wage, with 35 per cent paid $12 an hour or less. Amongst Chinese students, 73.5 per cent were paid less than minimum wage. It’s clear that international students are being exploited. But why do the majority not report their employers? Under the Migration Act 1958 (Cth), it is an offence to breach a visa condition that restricts the work one can perform (s 235(1)). By working more than 40 hours a fortnight, international students have breached visa condition 8105, and are therefore liable to visa cancellation and deportation (s 116(1) (b)). For students who have undertaken the daunting journey of moving to an unfamiliar country, and who often bear the emotional burden of fulfilling the hopes of their families back home, visa cancellation is an unimaginably high risk. The tradeoff is disproportionate: whilst a student risks losing their dreams, an employer most likely faces fines. At worst, the Redfern Legal Centre notes incidents where employers have gotten away without consequence because students were deported before their claim finished. Even when students

request their legal wages, employers utilise the threat of visa cancellation or deportation to silence them, as in Alawala’s case. Currently, the law gives them legal backing. Furthemore, if a student reports an employer for exploitation, it doesn’t only affect themselves. Employers will have to fire other employees because they cannot afford to hire, which means other international students will also lose their incomes, and probably struggle to find another job. Of course, reporting may also expose other international student workers to the risk of visa cancellation and deportation if they have also worked over the 40-hour work limit. Obviously, the exploitation of international students is a systemic issue, and targeting employers who engage in exploitative wage theft would address the root of the problem. But in order to do so, students must report their employers. To some extent, the Fair Work Ombudsman (FWO) has recognised how the law inhibits international students from reporting, with Natalie James assuring that students can seek assistance without visa cancellation, even if they have worked more than the 40-hour limit. But international students need more than an ‘assurance’. A concrete guarantee would require providing

definite deportation amnesty for students who report exploitation. Currently, the blanket policy of exposing all breaches to visa cancellation in section 116(1) (b) of the Migration Act, regardless of severity, nature or circumstance, increases students’ fear about reporting employers. This legislation should be reformed to reserve the penalties of visa cancellation and deportation only for serious breaches of visa conditions. Furthermore, successful case examples have not been publicised by the FWO, increasing the fear that international students may have. Following a recommendation put forward by the University of Adelaide, the FWO should post examples of successful stories on its website and social media platforms to raise awareness about the legal ability of the FWO, and encourage international students to report exploitation. Debating whether or not to remove the 40 hour working limit is another debate in itself - perhaps it is interesting that the government relaxed the work limit from March to May 2020 to account for the economic downturns of COVID-19. But at the very least, international students should feel safe to report exploitative work conditions, and shouldn’t have to fear losing their visa and the dreams that it enables.

Renewables stimulus essential for economic recovery from COVID-19 Phoebe Evans thinks renewable energy should be a central part of Australia’s solution to COVID-19. COVID-19 has presented a unique opportunity to finally overcome the political inertia surrounding climate action. And it is not just environmental activists and scientists pushing the idea this time, but a range of businesses and industry groups recognising that the shift to clean energy is not only a necessary course of action, but a smart one. The sudden and unprecedented rise in unemployment, already estimated at 6.2%, compels a reflection on how future disruptions can be best prevented. It is becoming increasingly clear, as lockdowns around the world persist, that future-proof jobs do not lie in fossil fuel industries but in renewable energy. The International Energy Agency (IEA) released a damning report for fossil fuel industries, indicating that during the pandemic, the demand for gas has dropped by 5%, and coal by 8%. Only renewable energy remained resilient to the global drop in energy demand. Renewables are already cheaper than new coal power in two-thirds of countries, whilst the cost of solar power has declined by 85% in the past decade. But what does this mean for the workers in fossil fuel industries? Regional workers particularly have expressed frustration at their marginalisation in city politics, and have taken to the streets to protest what they perceive as inner-city environmental movements. Perhaps the most well-known protest movement of this kind was the pro-coal

movement in Mackay, mobilising in support for the Adani Carmichael coal mine and the jobs promised through it. The promise of job opportunities in Mackay demonstrates the persistent economic arguments underlying the advancement of renewable energy projects in regions dependent on the fossil fuel industry. Yet Tony Wood, the energy program director from the Grattan Institute, has argued that the government is cheating the nearly 100,000 Australian carbon workers by letting them think their protests against clean energy development will hold in a future predicated on renewable energy on a global scale. This is not to say that these workers will lack employment. Instead, the creation of renewable energy plants would provide masses of new job opportunities. Potential employment figures are estimated by the Clean Energy Council to be at 50,000 construction jobs and 4,000 ongoing jobs. The Grattan Institute further finds that new industrial development in ‘green steel’ made with renewable hydrogen could employ 25,000 in coal-intensive regions. Beyond Zero Emissions is also developing a “million jobs plan”, with potentially 300,000 jobs in a national energy “retrofit” drive to render three million buildings more energy efficient. Australia’s abundant natural resources mean renewable energy is a ticket to advance Australia’s

global standing through exports. The Australian Energy Market Operator released a ground-breaking report in April, stating that Australia has the capacity to run a power grid on 75% solar and wind energy by 2025 with technologies that are already available. Whilst environmentalists and scientists have been promoting these changes for decades, it has taken a global pandemic to meaningfully engage businesses and industry. The Business Council of Australia has argued strongly that every “dollar we invest in energy, should be a dollar towards a lower carbon economy.” It is government policy that is hindering this necessary and highly conceivable shift away from fossil fuels. At a surface level, state policy seems to be shifting towards clean energy development. Online summits presenting the need to frame the COVID-19 recovery around climate action were attended by representatives from each state and the ACT. For instance, Queensland’s premier indicated that green hydrogen would overtake the state’s liquefied natural gas exports, whilst SA’s energy minister hoped for SA to run on 100% clean electricity before 2030. However, these statements do not indicate a complete energy revolution; the Queensland government has announced a support package for the oil and gas industry, and the Victorian government has decided to lift the ban on onshore gas drilling. And NSW has approved an extension

of coal mining under a Greater Sydney reservoir These policies are clearly aimed at appeasing worker grievances. However, they are ultimately short-term fixes. Smarter developments in renewables are being sidelined in favour of attempts to save fossil fuel industries, with environmental goals of moving towards a zero-emissions future being sidelined. The extensive media coverage of COVID-19 has seemingly provided an opportunity to hide environmentallydamaging decisions, despite states vocalising support for clean energy. The states do appear to be ahead of federal policy change however, with the federal government not represented at either online energy summit. The federal government has instead promoted a fossil fuel-powered pandemic-recovery based on gas, despite evidence of its diminishing economic viability. Unsurprisingly, the federal government has not addressed how this sits with pursuing emissions reductions. The coal industry will not stand indefinitely, and by investing in fossil fuels in the post-pandemic stimulus, Australia would be passing up a oncein-a-generation opportunity to boost the economy and create jobs in new sectors, ensuring long-lasting economic recovery from the COVID-19 pandemic. It is near-impossible to maintain the argument that fossil fuel jobs are futureproof; now is the best time to ensure that the Australian economy is.

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PERSPECTIVE

My eating disorder made me feel like a “bad” feminist Anonymous on reconciling her eating disorder with feminism. I am well acquainted with feeling like a fraud. In tutorials, in meetings at work, even in writing pieces like this one — I am frequently plagued by the sensation that I am not good enough. To be fair, this is nothing exceptional — it is reported that up to 70% of people will experience impostor syndrome at some point in their lives. But what I find hard to justify is my feeling of inadequacy, as a woman, about my feminism. Despite my firm belief in feminist values, and the fact that my university years have featured a notable devotion to studying and writing about gender, I often feel that I am living a lie in espousing my feminism. Because, after discussions where I would truthfully tell my female friends that they should be confident in their bodies, I would go home and kneel at the toilet bowl. I am committed to the core insights of feminist theory, that women are often reduced to our reproductive capacities and so, our bodies do not belong to us, but to patriarchal society at large. And I am aware that eating disorders are in many ways socialised illnesses that flow from those traditions — stemming from strict normative beauty standards in a society that diminishes our value to our bodies. For years, I have vocally supported feminist movements which

fight the persistence of these valuesystems. Despite knowing all of this, I remained ashamed of my own body. And for that, I feel ashamed for feeling ashamed about it. I think at least part of my insecurity can be attributed to the fact that, as arrogant as it sounds, I felt like I was too smart to have an eating disorder. I was too well-read and had studied too much to fall victim to these patriarchal mechanisms of society. When I began counting calories, I would justify my

as shallow as being thin. Moving through life as a woman is a masterclass in shame. I cannot be too big, too thin, too loud, too soft-spoken, too sexual, too demure, too confident, too shy. When living is inherently paradoxical in this way, perhaps it is no surprise that I felt I was a hypocrite in my feminism: because, women are told they are too much, or not enough, often both at the same time. But, just as feminism attempts to expose the hypocrisy of these images of “perfect

My struggle with eating is still ongoing. But I recognise that an integral part of my feminism is acknolwedging that I am not immune to the structures that neccessitate my activism. obsessive label-reading as a by-product of my resolution to eat more plantbased food. I would claim that I was just so busy that I hadn’t had time to eat anything until I got home at 10pm and would eat an apple. The secrecy was not driven by fear of ostracisation by those around me — I knew they would have been supportive. But I didn’t want their support — what I wanted was to be skinnier. And I just couldn’t bring myself to reveal that I wanted something

women,” we should also open our eyes to the hypocrisy of the notion of the “perfect feminist.” Women are always being told that they are falling short — even in their feminism. Sexist notions theorise that feminism is a movement for women who “will never find men,” women who are “too ugly,” women who are “too loud.” To tell a woman that she is “too pretty to be a feminist” exposes the harmful binary that not only the patriarchy

imposes on women, but women impose on themselves as a result: that you can either be what history has told women to be, or you can be a feminist. You cannot be both. I felt that I was being disingenuous when I called myself a feminist because I wanted the archetypal body that a patriarchal world had told me was perfect. But, to fall into the trap of the very system that I believe is harmful does not lessen the worth of my passion, commitment or fervour for the cause. I cannot be perfect, not even in my feminism. As Charlotte Lieberman writes on her past eating disorders, “susceptibility to whatever manifestation of patriarchal oppression…is the hand we’ve been dealt as women, and feeling guilty about our coping mechanisms isn’t going to help any of us.” My struggle with eating is still ongoing. But I am now trying my best to recognise that an integral part of my feminism is acknowledging that I am not immune to the structures that necessitate my activism. My eating disorder does not mean I am not “good enough” to be a feminist — it’s another good reason to be one.

A crip’s account of coronavirus Victoria Cooper is having a great time. Over summer, I spent six weeks in a wheelchair. It was a trying time — everyone else was flaunting their hot, able bodies around Sydney shores, while I grew paler and saggier, emotionally sustained only by the tiny thrills of karting around my kitchen in my grandmother’s motorised pensioner scooter. While everyone else soaked up artisan coffees from very cool, very urban, clearly very Instagram-worthy cafes, I became extra-hyped on my one instant Moccona for the day that coursed through my thin-blooded body at a nauseating pace. In hindsight, spending six weeks completely housebound was incidental training for the limitations of physical distancing in 2020. I’d hate to flex, but I’ve been preparing for this moment for months. The coronavirus lockdown has been an interesting time for people with disabilities. For many, it’s been a punch in the delicate guts — a time of feeling particularly overlooked and disposable (yeah by the way, that time people hoarded vital medications was not cool!) For some, transitioning to a life online with disrupted audio and blurry screens has been seriously disadvantageous and, for others, life at a distance has worsened pre-existing conditions, especially mental health. It is virtually impossible to capture the range of experiences for people with disabilities in this time, but what I can

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offer is my experience. In a word: I have bloody loved it. Digitally streamed concerts, plays and seminars have torn down ableist barriers and made attendance possible. Mosh pits are death traps (fight me), and COVID-19 has made concert attendance a possibility for me, and others, who can’t do crowds. I’ve been able to watch the Sydney Theatre Company’s live table reads of plays without first having to check for disabled parking, or mentally prepare myself for the long walk down to the ‘Bar at the

I have been able to fearlessly network with representatives from various organisations without concern that my unexplained ring splints make me look like an untrustworthy punk. In fact, the general concealment of my splints, braces and taping has helped me avoid a lot of awkward conversations (“what did you do? Sports injury?” – “yeah nah, all my joints are just structurally gelatinous” – “… okay”). This semester is the first in three years that I haven’t dipped into my special considerations. I think that’s telling.

With uni online, I have not spent a single morsel of my mulla on an Uber between Redfern Station and the Social Sciences Building, or on tolls and petrol driving to campus. End of the Wharf.’ Avoiding the logistics of travel has been mint. With uni online, I have not spent a single morsel of my mulla on an Uber between Redfern Station and the Social Sciences Building, or on tolls and petrol driving to campus. Being able to avoid well-meaning stares as I limp from class to class has also been welcomed, and should I lock a hip or slip a rib ‘walking’ between classes, bed and the next meeting is about a metre away. Now my internships are online,

You might not have realised, but your experiences in lockdown have probably made it easier for you to sympathise with people like me. For those with disabilities, the walls between public and private life are porous. Few would have experienced the awkwardness of explaining the daily struggle to brush your own hair in a professional context, but zooming from home has put cracks in your walls too. Remember that time you had to apologise for Zoom call interruptions caused by your cat, or your kids, or your obnoxious choice

of wallpaper? Those cute little snippets where your ‘at home’ identity had been exposed scrapes the surface of the blurry lines between public and private conversation commonly experienced by those with visible disabilities. Feeling a bit stir-crazy stuck at home is another taster of the experience of being someone with mobility issues. You lying in bed all day, binge watching Sex Education and dreaming about being able to go to a bar, is you reliving my summer break. However, when I’m housebound with crippling joint pain, I don’t have ten to fifteen B-grade celebrities from Channel 10 condescendingly reminding me that ‘times are tough.’ I’ll take that as a win. The fact that my quality of life and ability to participate in public spaces has improved during a time when most people are feeling severely limited, is an indictment on our profit-driven way of life. Our fast-paced lifestyle, the need for hands-on, in-person experience and the usual lack of accessible options is uniquely burdensome for people with disabilities.This time of lockdown begs the question: why are we expected to keep up rather than help establish the pace? As restrictions ease for some, how do we prevent accessibility restrictions from rising up again?

OBITUARY

Vale Jack Mundey 1966 Honi editor Hall Greenland pays tribute to the legendary unionist. Because of Jack Mundey the Sixties were different in Australia. The United States had Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Mario Savio, Angela Davis, Noam Chomsky et al; France had redhaired anarcho-communist Daniel Cohn-Bendit; Germany Rudi Dutschke; Britain Tariq Ali and John Lennon. They were all activist intellectuals or students. That was typical of that moment in history. Only Australia had a figurehead who was a working-class hero. That was Jack Mundey, legendary leader of the builders’ labourers union, who died Sunday night aged 90. Jack Mundey combined in himself all the leitmotifs of the Sixties. He was antiwar. He was anti-racist. He practised civil disobedience. He was a champion of the environment. He was a supporter of women’s and gay liberation. He advocated participatory democracy – it was called self-management then – everywhere. He introduced it and practised it in his union. He defended the idea of socialism with a human face and condemned the Russianled invasion that snuffed out the experiment in democratic socialism in Czechoslovakia. And yes, he wore his hair long. He might have preferred a beer to a toke, but he had no problems with dope smoking. He was as much at home with libertarian bohemians (of which Sydney in the 1960s had more than its fair share) as with building workers. Jack’s origins were classically Australian working class. He was from North Queensland, once known as the ‘Red North,’ the only part of the country to ever elect a Communist

Builders Labourers Federation (BLF). It was a sad excuse for a union, but Jack was soon caught up in a reform drive which by 1960 had democratised a newly militant BLF. By 1970 he was its undisputed leader. Along the way Jack had got communism (and met his life-long partner Judy). It was a time when Australian communism was in turmoil, splitting three ways: pro-Chinese, proMoscow and independent. Jack joined the third tendency. He was always an

any development in its tracks. These Green Bans stopped the demolition of huge swathes of the Rocks and Woolloomooloo, the alienation of parts of Centennial Park and high-rise development on Sydney harbourside land. It began in the most unlikely place, in refined haute bourgeois Hunters Hill, when in 1970 a bunch of female resident activists asked Jack and the BLF to help save Kelly’s Bush, an area of bushland on the harbour foreshore

Jack Mundey’s first successful green ban stopped development of Kelly’s Bush in Hunters Hill Sourced from NSW State Library Twitter.

activist, making his appearance as a public militant when he was arrested in one of the first anti-Vietnam War sit-

slated for an apartment development. What is often forgotten or overlooked in the celebration of the Green Ban

staff strike in the Arts faculty over the attempt to prevent a course in Marxism and feminism in the Philosophy Department. The threatened Green Ban acted more as a boost in morale rather than a blow against the University administration which was not then the mega-developer it was to become a generation later. The Greens Bans left their historic mark in another way too. Petra Kelly, who was to become the ‘founding mother,’ so to speak, of the world’s first Green Party in Germany, visited Australia in 1977 and met Jack Mundey and learned of his revolutionary ecological unionism. Back in Germany, Petra insisted on the name ‘Green’ – in conscious tribute to the Green Bans – for the party ex-Sixties radicals formed in 1980. The Sixties came to an end in Australia with the fall of the Whitlam government in 1975. Coincidentally the Maoist federal leadership of the BLF sacked the Mundey-ite leadership of the BLF in New South Wales. As in the case of the Whitlam coup, there were protests but the mood for reform had soured and the federal intervention won out. Jack was far from finished and was elected to the Sydney City Council in 1980 as part of a radical push. The Council majority was too radical to be left in charge of the city’s business district and was sacked a few years later by a state Labor government. By then Jack had been elected president of the Communist Party, but it was a ‘hospital pass’ as they say in rugby league, as the party was in terminal

Jack Mundey combined in himself all the leitmotifs of the Sixties. He was anti-war. He was anti-racist. He practised civil disobedience. He was a champion of the environment. He was a supporter of women’s and gay liberation. Party MP – Fred Paterson back in the 1940s. He came to Sydney in the 1950s to play rugby league football for a club in the proletarian western suburbs, Parramatta, which he did for three seasons. He did that on Saturdays; during the week he worked as a builders labourer. Naturally, for those days, he was a member of his union, the

down protests in 1965. He became famous, of course, because of the Green Bans. This was the name given to the practice of the BLF in banning the employment of any builders’ labourers on contentious development projects. As almost all builders labourers were union members, a Green Ban would stop

movement is that it was from its inception a response to an upsurge of local community movements against over-development in the late 1960s and early 1970s in Sydney. Green Bans were typically imposed only after citizens in a neighbourhood called for them. Green Bans came to Sydney University in 1973 during the student-

decline. When the Party disbanded in 1991 after the collapse of the Soviet Union, it was more than natural that Jack and Judy joined the Greens. After all, its politics were theirs. The four founding principles of the Greens – ecological sustainability, participatory democracy, social justice and peace and non-violence – sum up Jack Mundey’s credo. The man of the Sixties had found his natural home. Right to the end he continued to support citizens in campaigns against the wrong kind of growth, whether it was coal mines, fracking, heritage demolitions or the expropriation of public land for upscale apartments. He’s gone, but his example remains. La lutte continue, as they say.

Sydney University students support the New South Wales Builders’ Labourers Fund. Source unknown.

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FEATURE

All of them means

ALL OF THEM Samuel Garrett on the birth and death of the Lebanese revolution.

Tear gas tastes how a razorblade looks – clean, sterile but with a cold, vicious edge. It is a taste that became all too familiar for many in Lebanon throughout the first months of this year. We were having dinner in a central Beirut restaurant when a group of protestors streamed past in the street below. A white cloud of gas, mixed with the acrid smoke of burning tyres, drifted in through the restaurant’s open windows. Although we moved to a back courtyard and the waitstaff closed the windows, the steady flow of food from the kitchen continued uninterrupted and the backgammon games of patrons were unperturbed. This contrast of violence and chaos with the everyday, of living with the seemingly unliveable, has been a staple of Lebanese life since the days of the 1975-1990 Civil War. Yet, it would be a mistake to assume that this tolerance represents aloofness or apathy. Anger lies just beneath this surface of normality and runs deep across almost all of Lebanese society. Modern Lebanon stands at a crossroads of crisis, facing a swathe of challenges that decades of mismanagement and corruption by its leaders have left it perilously unprepared to deal with. Lebanon has been gripped by unprecedented mass protests since October 2019. Early on, hundreds of thousands of protestors gathered in a movement remarkable not only for its scale, but for its universality: cutting across the social, political and sectarian divides that have riven Lebanon throughout its history. Unlike previous protest movements, which were largely confined to Beirut, demonstrations were held in cities across the country. While initially sparked by a range of economic measures including a tax on WhatsApp calls, the

movement was responding to far more systemic issues than international media implied in framing it as ‘WhatsApp protests’. Within a fortnight, the government had resigned. But the protests were not just a rejection of a single government, but of a broader political and economic system of corruption and clientelism that has robbed people of their livelihoods and young people of their futures. In Lebanon, the protests are described almost universally as a ‫ةروث‬ “thawra” – revolution – and while it is not an armed rebellion, it has certainly been revolutionary in the social awakening that it has precipitated. People throughout Lebanon speak of a sense of pride and unity felt in the early days of the revolution and of the emergence of a purely Lebanese national identity, free of partisan or sectarian connotations and caveats. Rather than singling out one party or sect, the revolution was a revolt against the entire political and social elite, neatly summed up in the ever-present chant ‫“ – نلك ينعي نلك‬all of them means all of them”. The divisions these elite have wrought in Lebanese society, both economic and physical, are obvious to any visitor. Lebanon faced an extremely uncertain economic outlook even before the coronavirus ravaged what was left of the imploding Lebanese economy. Despite the universal denouncement on the streets of the country’s economic situation, the multimillion dollar yachts of the Zaitunay Bay yacht club in central Beirut paint an all-too-obvious picture of the extreme wealth disparities that exist. Not everyone has suffered in the days since the civil war – politicians and businessmen have amassed vast fortunes, even as Lebanese citizens struggle to survive day-to-day.

Marks of violence and protest are spread throughout downtown Beirut, with broken windows, burnt-out banks, and protest art common sights, and behind it all, an overt military presence with squads of soldiers and armoured vehicles patrolling the streets. In the weeks after October, public spaces that had been coopted by protestors, including the streets themselves, began to be retaken by the state. Demonstrations against a confidence vote in the new government on 11 February saw an almost complete shutting down of downtown Beirut by security forces. Barricades and security installations manned by soldiers brandishing automatic rifles and the occasional rocket-propelled grenade now draw dividing lines through the centre of the city, cutting people off from traditional gathering places and squares. The streets for entire blocks around the parliament have been barricaded by security forces for months, with an ever-greater fortress of concrete, steel and barbed wire insulating politicians from the people in the surrounding streets. As winter passed, however, the protests began to change in form and tone. Jubilant crowds of hundreds of thousands became smaller, more mobile groups of protestors, and violence became a more regular feature of demonstrations. A clear split began to emerge over the viability of the revolution and the use of violence to achieve its goals. In the eyes of some, violence was the only tactic to which the state would respond, and which could hope to achieve results. But for others, it was driving down turnout and playing into a government narrative that the protestors were vandals and rioters. More recently, Beirut’s Martyrs’ Square, the

Rather than singling out one party or sect, the revolution was a revolt against the entire political and social elite, neatly summed up in the everpresent chant ‫– نلك ينعي نلك‬ “all of them means all of them”. 12

Many have blamed the coronavirus, which arrived in Lebanon on 21 February, for the death of the revolution. Yet the reality is that the protests were losing momentum even before the first case of coronavirus was confirmed in Lebanon. epicentre of the protests, has been largely empty and quiet, despite the six-metre high fist that has become a symbol of resistance continuing to defiantly stand at its centre. Many have blamed the coronavirus, which arrived in Lebanon on 21 February, for the death of the revolution. A strict lockdown has prevented gatherings and the ruling elite have attempted to capitalise on the crisis by reclaiming what legitimacy was lost in the revolution. Yet the reality is that the protests were losing momentum even before the first case of coronavirus was confirmed in Lebanon. Despite occasional resurgences, particularly on the swearing in of the new government and the passing of their first budget, turnout had been falling through the winter and up to a week could pass with relatively little disturbance. With the eventual passage of the budget, it seemed to many that there was little more to be gained from street demonstrations. Arguably, a principal cause of this apparent failure has been the movement’s lack of structure or leadership, ironically a source of its strength in the revolution’s early days. Without a clear political agenda or designated spokesperson, the revolution was able to attract mass appeal, serving as a conduit for the outpouring of all forms of political and economic grievances. It was immune to accusations of partisanship or sectarianism, and its momentum could not be stopped simply by arresting a series of figureheads. Yet this same lack of leadership hampered its organisational capacity and left it unable to produce a viable, widely accepted alternative to the present political structure. Against this background, the existing political elite remained the only body capable of filling the vacuum left behind by the government’s fall. Further, others argue that a class divide began to emerge on the streets. Certainly, as the weeks wore on, those who continued to demonstrate were largely either those with the means to do so, or those who had nothing more to lose. But for many, the realities of survival did not permit them to remain on the streets as the country’s economic situation continued

The revolution at its height last year. Photos: AP.

to deteriorate. One of the primary demands of protestors was the establishment of a technocratic government, headed by apolitical “experts” who could devise a solution to Lebanon’s political and economic woes. A new, supposedly technocratic government was sworn in on 21 January but was immediately rejected by protestors who denounced the links between a number of new cabinet members and existing political parties. However, from the beginning the desire for a technocratic government has faced serious questions over what form this would take, and indeed its viability in a country that has experienced a serious brain drain in the years during and since the Civil War. Given the persistence of the Lebanese oligarchy, there are few experts at the head of their field without some tie to the existing political structure. Most of all, the cause of Lebanon’s problems runs deeper than simple mismanagement. Any successful government would be forced to confront and address severe systemic problems, a task beyond the reach of purely bureaucratic solutions, Understanding Lebanon’s issues requires an awareness of the background of austerity and corruption that has defined Lebanese political history and social development since the end of the Civil War in 1990. Lebanon never went through a reconciliation process after the Civil War. Instead, plans for the country’s recovery, spearheaded by billionaire Prime Minister Rafic Hariri, focussed on extensive development and reconstruction, most notably in the devastated downtown Beirut area. Soldidere, a company in which Hariri had considerable financial interests, was granted almost unlimited purview to raze and rebuild the city centre in the name of progress. With limited government oversight, there was a near-total removal of boundaries between the public and private sectors. Reconstruction thus developed into an elite resource grab and economic free-forall, entrenching corrupt clientelism that has directly contributed to the state of the country’s economy today. The historic Beirut downtown area has now been replaced with glass towers and the old souks with a gleaming mall selling expensive international designer brands. It is a soulless place, and nearly deserted. By some estimates up to 23 per cent of Beirut apartments are unoccupied, largely owned by international investors and wealthy members of the diaspora. Many of these apartments are in the downtown, which despite its emptiness and wide streets, feels sterile and claustrophobic. A significant achievement of the revolution has been the reclaiming of some of these public spaces for public use. A miniature tent city sprung up in Martyrs’ Square offering food and accommodation. Barriers to previously closed private spaces such as “The Egg” — an abandoned, unfinished cinema overlooking downtown Beirut — were torn down and the spaces converted into locations for public lectures and discussions. Many of Lebanon’s political issues are rooted in its confessional political system. Seats in the Lebanese parliament are divided along religious lines. The president must be a Maronite Christian, the speaker of parliament a Shi’a Muslim and the prime minister a Sunni Muslim. Though this system was credited with securing social stability in the wake of the Civil War, in practice it has entrenched the political power of a small number of former militia leaders who were intimately involved in the Civil War and who now sit at the centre of extensive sectarian patronage networks.

The legacy of colonialism continues to cast a long shadow over Lebanon, and foreign powers and interests have much to answer for in the perpetuation of these divisions and the exploitation of Lebanon and its resources. Under the control of the Ottoman Empire and, later, France, Lebanon’s early powersharing systems, conflicts and current borders have all been heavily influenced by the geopolitical interests of foreign powers. Lebanese banks form a cornerstone of the political system, harnessing foreign remittances to provide the state with extremely high-interest bonds that have contributed to catastrophic levels of public debt. The government defaulted on loan repayments in March, much of them owed to local banks. While the revolution was a response to an already dire economic outlook, the coronavirus has pushed the Lebanese economy into total meltdown. An artificially high currency peg has produced no less than four parallel foreign exchange market rates. While officially the Lebanese pound is pegged at 1500 pounds per US dollar, the currency has collapsed in recent months and on the black market the rate is nearing 4000 pounds to the dollar. Sky-high inflation is now placing enormous upwards pressure on prices, raising living expenses to levels that were untenable for many even before the mass unemployment precipitated by the coronavirus lockdown. Particularly affected have been thousands of migrant workers who work under the exploitative kafala system of sponsorship and whose meagre wages, denominated in Lebanese pounds, are now virtually worthless. Even for those fortunate enough to have reasonable savings, extreme capital controls limit bank withdrawals and transfers to and from the country. By some estimates, half of the Lebanese population could soon be living in poverty. It is this economic catastrophe which will define any future protests and the course of Lebanese social and political development. The confluence of Lebanon’s crises has produced a moment of reckoning for the country and devastated its most vulnerable. The revolution failed in its attempt to establish a new political order. But its success in opening a new arena for political discourse in Lebanon should not be overlooked. The unifying sense of national identity felt in its early days, though brief, is deeply imprinted across Lebanese society. Whether the revolution will begin anew once lockdown measures are eased remains to be seen. There have already been demonstrations in cities around the country in recent days. If nothing else is certain, it is that Lebanon’s problems will not disappear, but neither will the anger of its people and their desire for change.

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CULTURE

Memories from Carriageworks

Edited and compiled by Matthew Forbes, Chuyi Wang and Lara Sonnenschein. Earlier this month, Carriageworks, Australia’s largest multi-art centre, announced that it would be going into voluntary administration. A short walk from Sydney University’s Abercrombie Building, Carriageworks has become a staple of Sydney’s cultural scene, using its 17 venues to host awards ceremonies, art galleries, theatre productions and seminars, to just name a few. Throughout its 13 years of existence, it’s provided a space for unrestrained creative expression and diverse, radical ideas. We reached out to a number of people with fond memories of the precinct — from former employees, to artists and audience members — to provide a glimpse into Carriageworks’ importance, and why we can’t afford to let it die. We hope that these memories will play a small part in the fight to save an iconic cultural institution. “It is impossible for me to share just one memory of Carriageworks – images fly in to my head of the countless performances I have seen as part of Performance Space programming, independent programming or festival seasons, dancing in the middle of a sweaty crowd while Jesswar performed, slurping up piping hot pho at the Saturday markets surrounded by fine food and delicious smells, tasting beer at a craft brewing festival, experiencing vast visual art installations in the main space like Zhang Huan’s Sydney Buddha, and watching Australian music legends including The Presets and Sarah Blasko play at FBI Radio’s 10th birthday celebrations back in 2013. I also love wandering around this space when there are no people around, soaking up the heritage, the histories and the memories of the past. We must keep this precious public space and institution in public hands.” - Jenny Leong, Greens Member for Newtown

Photograph: Steph Sekulovska “I went on a first date to Carriageworks to see the opera ‘The Rape of Lucretia’ directed by Kip Williams back in 2017. It was the most weird first date I’ve ever been on - opera singers dramtically singing about Ancient Rome, suicide and sexual assault isn’t my idea of a romantic time. But in a shocking twist of events I ended up dating that guy for over a year. Carriageworks will always have a special place in my heart and I’m forever grateful for all the times I’ve been able to witness beautiful (and sometimes traumatic) art and theatre over the years there.” - Rhian Mordaunt, USyd student

“Last year I worked backstage at Fashion Week, and it was the coolest experience! Carla Zampatti’s show with the Australian Brandenburg Orchestra playing the middle of the runway was by far the highlight - but we had to stay back for three hours after the show scratching the silver foil off the runway with our bare fingernails!!” - Lauren Lancaster, Fashion Week volunteer There are many venues in Australia and there are many arts centres. They all contribute to how we form a sense of ourselves, culturally, socially and even politically. Beyond pure inspiration and joy, they provide us with creative mechanisms to ask difficult questions, they allow us to ponder uneasy problems through divergent media and they invite us to dream of the possible futures that we action through our day to day lives. There is however only one Carriageworks. If people asked me about what I felt about Carriageworks, I would reply with a simple statement - Carriageworks is a benchmark for the kind of curatorial vision that is profoundly needed in this country, and especially Sydney! Carriageworks is a beacon, a shining light of possibility for how art, music and culture can be radical and at the same time draw in audiences and moreover send them home with experiences that continue to resonate long after they have passed. Carriageworks hailed the experiences of art not merely as spectacle or hollow entertainment, but as transformative, life altering encounters that carry forward. I have had the pleasure to curate part of the music program at Carriageworks since 2015; specifically Room40’s Open Frame Festival and in 2019 a special presentation of the legendary Japanese free music unit Marginal Consort. For over half a decade, I have been able to share my musical obsessions with some 500 curious others each evening in Bay 20. It was without question one of the most satisfying and inspiring curatorial projects I have ever undertaken. Personally, Carriageworks also offered me a wonderful reminder of the value of support. On numerous occasions, Lisa Ffrench and Lisa Havilah (and in recent times wonderful folks like Rosie Fisher and Daniel Mudie Cunningham), reminded me that there is inherent value in this work. There is a cultural legacy that is built and that legacy is not merely the space within which the work unfolds, but it is the combined efforts of all the amazing humans that toil to realise it. This is what Carriageworks really is; it’s the people who worked there and the people who visited. They were the flesh of this architectural skeleton and to them I am eternally grateful to have shared these experiences. Carriageworks is what our art centres should be like - its lungs breathed a profound sense of curiosity, wonder and warmth. It’s a reminder of the wonder of possibility and the promise of imagination. - Lawrence English, Artist and founder of Room40

Photograph: Jacquie Manning

Photographs: Madeleine Martin “I was Monica Lewinsky’s bodyguard for fifteen minutes. That was just one of the indelible experiences of my time at Carriageworks. The institution’s diverse programming, which spanned visual art, theatre, food and live music, meant that working at Carriageworks was never dull. Truncating my myriad experiences is difficult, but some highlights include having my aura portrait taken by Kate Mitchell for her installation All Auras Touch, the bidaily activation of Tom Mùller’s Ghost Line during the National 2019 and the monthly chef masterclasses which ran in tandem with the weekly Carriageworks Farmer’s Market. It was also a great privilege to work on the site of the Eveleigh Railway Workshops, the birthplace of the Great Strike of 1917. A lesson to learn from this moment in Australian industrial history is that times of crisis do not have to erode the rights of workers. Ultimately, the most formidable aspect of working at Carriageworks was forming bonds with my Front of House comrades, with whom I stand in solidarity with during this sad time.” - Madeleine Martin, Former Carriageworks employee

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I attended Open Frame: Room40 at Carriageworks in 2019, a two-day ambient and experimental music highlight that featured artists such as Stephen O’Malley of Sunn 0))) and industrial noise mastermind, Merzbow. It really changed my life. To be able to see these artists that I had always heard were essential live acts in a place as accessible and well facilitating as Carriageworks. I honestly can’t think of any other venue in Sydney that would have both chosen to present such artists and have presented them in such an expert way when it came to audio quality and audience experience. It will be another massive hit to Sydney’s artistic identity to lose such a vital and communal space for those working in any medium. - James Bradshaw, Local musician As a fresh faced 19 year old, I attended the FBi SMACs Festival at Carriageworks in 2016. I vividly remember running around the halls listening to and watching legends of the Sydney music scene such as Sampha the Great, Palms, Cosmos Midnight, and even future leader of the Labor Party DJ Anthony Albanese. Before this, my friends and I had only been to larger festivals like Groovin the Moo. This experience at Carriageworks turned me from a music lover to an obsessive. It was the first time I felt like a part of my local music community. I would return to Carriageworks many times throughout the years, even returning earlier this year for the SMAC Awards as an FBi Radio volunteer, but that first gig is one I’ll always hold near and dear. - Ben Hansen, Presenter at FBi Radio

The limits of the Biennale for meaningful political criticism Aiden Magro believes the political strength of art is not being used to its full potential. Since Venice established its first biennial exhibition of Italian art in 1893, we have seen many different iterations of biennial exhibitions of national art forms, in the form of the biennale. A biennale is an international art festival which occurs every two years, and curates artworks that culminate in a showcase of the diversity of the region it is exhibited in. With the Venice Biennale as a blueprint, the biennale’s goal is to provide a platform for contemporary art practices which are underrepresented in museums and galleries. This has meant that many other instances of biennales have deviated from the Venetian model which has become the same institution it used to offer an alternative to. For instance, the establishment of the Havana Biennale in 1984 was an expression of the amount of art being made in the Global South that had gone unrecognised. Today, the hundreds of biennales around the world function in many different ways, meaning the relation and artistic exchange between them has evolved in very political forms. A biennale, as Peter Sloterdijk would argue, has the ability to reproduce different nations and their sociopolitical relations in a gallery space. This political nature of course brings with it the state’s economic position to the arts; as a market, as patronage, and as something for economic gain. The Biennale of Sydney, first established in 1973, came under fire in 2014 when artists boycotted the 19th iteration of the Asia-Pacific region’s longest running international art festival due to such controversial economic ties. In 2014, Libia Castro, Ólafur Ólafsson, Charlie Sofo, Agnieszka Polska, Sara van der Heide, Nicoline van Harskamp, Nathan Gray, Gabrielle de Vietri and Ahmet Ögüt withdrew their work from the festival

due to the Biennale of Sydney’s ties to Transfield Holdings, a company that held an investment in Transfield Services. These six artists withdrew their work due to Transfield Services’ contract with the Australian Department of Immigration to work on the detention centres on Manus and Nauru. An additional 41 artists wrote an open letter to the Biennale of Sydney urging them to reconsider their partnership with the company embroiled in the human rights violations of the Australian Government. While the boycott was successful and ties were cut with Transfield Holdings, this incident calls into question the true function of the Biennale internationally. Can it truly be a platform for artists to present subversive art forms and meaningfully critique borders and the idea of the nation? In 2018, under the Artistic Directorship of Mami Kataoka, the 21st Biennale of Sydney: SUPERPOSITION: Equilibrium & Engagement did not centre on any one theme, but instead attempted to present a variety of different concerns. Borrowing the term “superposition” from quantum mechanics, its goal was to elaborate the duality and paradoxical ways that humans inhabit Earth through the artworks of 69 artists from 35 different countries. One such artist was Ai Weiwei, whose practice focuses on social injustices with specific attention given to refugee rights. The work of Weiwei fit within the overarching theme of the biennale but in an incredibly troubling way. The works seem to be at odds with both the international art festival’s partnership history and the general problem with biennales: these biennial exhibitions seem to uphold the idea of the nation through mimicking its borders rather than

Ai Weiwei, Law of the Journey, 2017, reinforced PVC with aluminium frame, 60 x 6 x 3 m. Photograph: Zan Wimberley (found on Biennale of Sydney website) Location: Cockatoo Island

offering a platform to deconstruct them. Law of the Journey (2017) featured a 60 metre-long boat filled with refugees made from rubber manufactured in a Chinese factory which also constructs vessels used by refugees seeking asylum in other countries. The work is certainly dual and paradoxical. On the one hand, the larger than life piece, meant to make the viewer feel the monumental scale of the global refugee crisis, is troublingly haunted by the biennale’s prior complacency on cruel mandatory detention. On the other hand, its positioning in the biennale is also troubling, as the exhibition focuses on going against Euro-American centric visions of contemporary art while acting within the EuroAmerican centric visions of nations and how they should be divided. In its attempt to draw Australian artists into the cultural stream, the schematic system of the Biennale of Sydney is admirable, but the festival’s own role in the nation building project of Australia is rarely critiqued and the works that are exhibited in them seem to be “superpositions”; dualistic and paradoxical, critical and yet complacent, outside of the nation and within it. In another work, 4,992 Photos Relating to Refugees, which lines the gallery’s walls with photos taken by Weiwei on his iPhone during the filming of his documentary Human Flow. What does it serve to plaster the faces of people who have been or would be denied access to our country in an exhibition which has both been literally tied with the forces that prevent them from seeking safety in the past and fundamentally tied to the idea of the nation? The inclusion of this artwork may seem like a protest levelled against the government, and while it does make

a statement, why can’t art go even further in critiquing the borders that colonialism has so verdantly drawn? Why can’t it go beyond established arts institutions and exhibitions and instead find its voice in interregional conversations? Art has a real possibility to be a tool for change, a tool that is not being used to its full potential. Perhaps the thing that prevents the work from successfully critiquing social injustices is the sense of fixed place that is inherent in the Biennale structure. Kataoka asserts in her post-curatorial statement that the “significance of a biennale does not merely consist of gathering existing artworks in one place.” While it is true that the artworks exhibited in a biennale are made precisely for the biennale, the argument that they are not made for one place is not necessarily true. If this were true, the idea of the biennale would not be so rooted in the idea of the nation. Would the art works of Ai Weiwei not function better as political critique through a more collaborative, independent and interregional exhibition? Perhaps the name “SUPERPOSITION” is more accurate than I give it credit. All future iterations of the international art festival will have to grapple with the paradoxical idea of a biennale, which at surface level, seems to be an encouragement of international exchange of art and ideas but, when interrogated, is exposed for its unbreakable link with the idea of the nation. As governments profit from the subversive ideas of artists in national displays of “difference and diversity,” one could say that the biennale plays a very vital role in nation-building, a role that artists should critique from the outside of the biennale, rather than within it.

Ai Weiwei, 4,992 Photos Relating to Refugees, 01.12.2015–10.02.2016, wallpaper, dimensions variable; Installation view of the 21st Biennale of Sydney Photograph: silversalt photography. Location: Cockatoo Island

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CULTURE

Reimagining the digital ether Claire Ollivain on why films should catch up with the lexicon of social media. With our social lives now almost completely substituted by digital interaction, the limitations of forming connections over cyberspace are more pronounced than ever. Gone are the times where we could make small talk with familiar faces in tutorials, weave our way through parties to bond with someone new, or stoke the flames of newly formed friendships by running into each other on Eastern Avenue. These acquaintances and casual friends are all still there, within virtual reach, yet it feels impossible to remedy the loss of body language cues and spontaneity that make our conversations feel unforced. When regular contact in digital spaces has formerly been preserved for communication between already close friends, how do we prepare for the potentially ongoing digitisation of our relationships into the future? Overshadowing every messenger conversation, video call and Instagram story, the likelihood that everything we do online will be permanently recorded already limits how open we are with others. Before social distancing, the panopticon-like surveillance of digital technology was enough to cause anxiety, but as we now attend classes and socialise mostly online it penetrates further into our lives. Unless we choose to keep in touch by writing letters, our interactions must necessarily take place within a profit-oriented algorithm that sells our data to advertising companies. Not only is privacy a concern when interacting online, but our ability to express meaning is restricted. There are fewer audio-visual cues such as facial expression and tone of voice to help us understand intent when messaging. Video calls might allow us to read facial expressions, but body language is far more polyphonic than what can fit within a screen’s window-like frame. The internet is hostile to embodiment–it chops our voices into uncanny robotic sounds and dissolves our faces into pixelated fragments. One of the greatest drawbacks of social video calls is that there is no potential for movement and proximity, for walking around a room and talking in smaller groups, making spontaneous conversation. In Roland Barthes’ A Lover’s Discourse, his reflections on the telephone resonate with the anxiety of Zoom calls, “the other is always in a state of departure; the other departs twice over, by voice and by silence: whose turn is it to speak? We fall silent in unison: crowding of two voids.” The simultaneous absence and presence felt during Zoom calls is exhausting and results in frequent silences. We feel so strongly the need to connect, but are at a loss for what to say and how to express it through the language of digitality. Surprisingly, while social media dominates our lives it is not often written as such in films. We need new artworks to make sense of the complete transferral of our interpersonal connections into cyberspace, to help us understand the potential and the danger of the surrogate worlds we have created online. Part of why film has

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yet to seriously take on the language of social media is that it requires collapsing the idea of a narrative into a tele-communicative scenario – time unfolding in a single space that brings together multiple spaces. Film theorist Béla Balázs wrote that “we should turn to the cinema so as to compile a lexicon of gestures and facial expressions on a par with our dictionaries of words.” If film functions as a social toolbox and cultural machine showing what to desire, it needs to update its vocabulary for the new modes of interaction brought on by digitality. What can now be considered a gesture or non-verbal expression in online spaces disrupts conventional ideas of the body, and though the way we use our devices as extensions of our bodies bears significance, its meaning is often nebulous. For Balázs, embodied gestures and facial expressions don’t signify concepts, but are the direct expressions of our non-rational selves.

the dangers and stigmas faced by sex workers as the protagonist’s identity is mysteriously stolen by a virtual doppelganger. The action takes place both offline, which is shown through traditional film techniques, and online where the actions of a mouse, sounds of message notifications, and error messages are used to communicate meaning. Cam draws on our collective anxiety about having our accounts hacked and losing the ability to control what happens to our image, while also bringing to light camgirls’ experiences of stalking and harassment. The replacement of real people by digital doubles has occurred quite literally in the use of CGI to resurrect the deceased James Dean for the upcoming film Finding Jack. This is a disturbing symptom of how digital technology, and by extension, commercial cinema, is used under capitalism not to expand on creative possibility but to remix preexisting material for profit.

There are some things that we cannot bring to light through words, likes, images or reacts – which dominate our interactions on social media – but that arise unconsciously through our faces and movements. Since it is likely that future disasters will lead to further instances of physical separation, we need to seriously interrogate how to open up fissures for non-rational expression and refuse the encoding of offline hierarchies onto the online world. We need to transform these spaces so that they affirm our humanity and allow for genuine moments of connection. In the 1930s, Balázs argued that the nature of film contradicts capitalist culture because it “expresses the yearning for the concrete, non-conceptual, immediate experience of things.” Presently, the tendency of mass commercial films is to reduce our attention spans through frenzied cutting and full sensory immersion. There is radical possibility in reimagining digital spaces to embrace an alternate logic of slowness and stillness. Playing off our anxieties about the digital ether, the horror and thriller genres have found strong interest in the language of social media. The 2018 Netflix original Cam explores

Recognising the limitations of digital love, Spike Jonze’s 2013 film Her resonates with our collective nostalgia for a return to physical contact. The lonely protagonist Theodore falls in love with Samantha, an artificially intelligent voice assistant installed in his computer’s operating system. Her suggests another way that the existing social order is encoded into new technology; the Siris, Alexas and Cortanas of our time may not be programmed to understand themselves as gendered, but they perform services that are traditionally associated with women and have therefore been given a feminine voice. In Her, Samantha’s voice is always sympathetic with Theodore up to a certain point where she begins to assert her agency. Like Theodore, we evoke a hallucinatory mental image of those we interact with in bodiless, digital space. According to Paola Golinelli, “the virtual excludes and gets us used to the absence of direct contact between bodies, with the complexities, limits, fragilities and consistency that physical co-presence carries with it.” When Samantha finds someone willing to act as a surrogate body to unite them in flesh and blood, we realise the perversity of the perception of bodies

as interchangeable. The film leads us to conclude that digitality frustrates love because it eludes carnal, non-rational knowledge by excluding the body. Virtual reality is an outcome of the evolution of cinematic language as it expands the aspect ratio to encompass an entire field of view. Steven Spielberg’s 2018 Ready Player One depicts both a playful fantasy of life occurring in a video game-like virtual world and a dystopic vision of the transferral of existing repressive structures into that world. The major corporation (IOI) seeking to take control of the virtual Oasis has its own carceral system where people in debt are kept in small chambers and forced into virtual labour. Though the protagonists defeat the evil corporation, the film doesn’t gesture to any further possibilities of transformation aside from the fantasy of escaping working-class conditions through Oasis which has its own form of currency and ownership. Though Ready Player One’s haptic cyberspace equipped with physical touch and facial expression are a far throw from the present, its depiction of the freedom to manipulate one’s appearance through avatars resonates with the issue of curating social media presence and catfishing. More hopefully however, Ready Player One gestures toward the liberatory potential of transcending somatic boundaries and biological determinism through the ease with which avatars change genders in the example of the character Helen. Eventually realising the limitations of the fast-moving virtual world, the film ends with a message advocating the return to ‘authentic’ reality as a way of maintaining physical connections, something which is impossible for us now. In Arundhati Roy’s words, “the pandemic is a portal.” We can take this opportunity to rethink the baggage that has been codified in existing iterations of cyberspace and imagine new possibilities–for slowness, for openness, for transforming the multiple worlds we inhabit. This doesn’t mean we stop being critical of our relation to the land we are on as we access online spaces and nor does it mean we unquestionably accept that everything will stay digital post-COVID. As we have seen in our own lives and the films discussed here, the desire for connection is often stifled by the language of the digital and it may never live up to the concreteness of physical co-presence. Still, the imaginative activity of striving to make the spaces we retreat to in times like these as accommodating as possible is an act of love. More is to be done in art’s challenge to the notion that the world is static; the future of cinema needs to re-invent the language of the digital and virtual through its form. If we don’t interrogate how existing systems have mutated with the evolution of technology, we risk accepting the fracturing of our relationships online as the only possibility there is. Art by Emma Pham

All-stars, Netflix and the future of reality TV Jeffrey Khoo explores what rehashing our favourite characters might say about the future of reality TV. A recent trend in reality TV of an abundance of “all-star” seasons has emerged — bringing back memorable characters for another chance to win fame, glory and Instagram brand deals. It’s a long list: in February, Channel 10 premiered Australian Survivor: All Stars, followed immediately by MasterChef Australia: Back to Win, which banked (correctly) on the familiar faces of past contestants to ease the transition to brand-new judges. Channel 7 attempted My Kitchen Rules: The Rivals, with “fans” competing against “favourites”; The Voice in 2019 featured returning contestants in the mix; and we’re waiting for the next instalment of Bachelor in Paradise, where problematic faves get a free Fijian vacation, an excuse to daydrink, and a chance at true love. Australia’s not alone in the all-star game. In the US, Survivor, the original (and in my opinion, still the best) reality TV show, just wrapped its 40th season, Winners at War, bringing back 20 champions to play for the biggest cash prize in reality TV history of $2,000,000. RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars has been a staple since 2012, and The Amazing Race in mid-2019 saw all-stars from Survivor, Big Brother and The Amazing Race gallivant across the globe. Yet as I flicked through the channels, I couldn’t help but wonder: why? Why this explosion of all-star seasons, and what might it say about the future of reality TV? Perhaps it’s simply about money.

Unscripted TV already costs less to make than scripted shows, and bringing back old heroes and villains means that networks can rely on tried-and-tested talent which viewers will tune into. It’s a strategy which should deliver reliable advertising revenue, all the more important for traditional networks as Australians consume more content from on-demand streaming services. This is a plausible theory. MasterChef has easily had the warmest reception in a while, whereas Australian Survivor

after shareable hit with The Circle, Love is Blind, Too Hot to Handle, Queer Eye, Nailed It and Next in Fashion, all featuring either brand-new concepts or intriguing storytelling. Netflix benefits from having a business model optimised for online; Joshua Rivera argues that reality TV is being “reinvented on Netflix for our extremely online world”, with shows, while focused on entertainment, also exploring questions of authenticity, perception and human connection. Lauren O’Neill and Emma Garland

Reality TV is at its best when it presents real, interpersonal drama, such that it’s not quite reality, but a heightened, curiously constrained and altered version of it. delivered a 94% increase in 18-to-49year-old viewers, compared to the same dates in 2019. But it hasn’t worked across the board; MKR had abysmal ratings and is potentially facing cancellation. Ultimately, prudent financial decisions don’t always make for good TV, and one could view this all-star glut with some sense of weariness. Some argue that all-star seasons, the same show but just with different configurations of characters, indicate a lack of innovation or a certain tiredness in the reality TV genre. But reality TV isn’t dead; instead, it’s having a renaissance on Netflix. The streaming platform has produced hit

point out that Netflix isn’t under the same obligations to please advertisers and regulators as commercial networks, and thus can proceed full steam ahead with more daring concepts. So what does commercial reality TV need to kick its all-star habit? For one, their production and social media teams need to be attuned to shifting digital patterns of consumption. It’s unlikely they’ll ever be able to take over Netflix’s niche, but commercial networks need to prioritise younger adults as an important demographic. But I think it’s ultimately simpler than trying to find the next magic formula. Reality TV is at its best when

it presents real, interpersonal drama, such that it’s not quite reality, but a heightened, curiously constrained and altered version of it. Networks seem to be focused on manufacturing the next viral clip, or introducing the next controversial character for the public to flay alive, that they forget what originally made reality TV so compelling: throw a bunch of complex, fallible characters into a situation where they are challenged, and simply watch how they interact. Make them step out of their comfort zone, and see them react with humour, anger, grace or scandal. It’s what Netflix does so well, and it’s what makes recent successes like Love Island or Married at First Sight such addictive trainwrecks. My favourite reality TV moment comes from Survivor’s first Final Tribal Council, where eliminated contestant Sue Hawk, after being betrayed by her alliance, gets the chance to make a speech. She compares the two finalists to the “snakes and rats” that infested the jungle they’d been living in, and lays bare the pain and barely-contained rage she felt, all while feeling personally conflicted with having to award $1,000,000 to people who didn’t deserve it. It was an incredible, honest moment. I’d argue that the 52 million people who watched it didn’t need more all-stars to know that.

On the state of fashion journalism Ranuka Tandan explores the fashion journals that are going beyond surface level criticism of the industry. Fashion journalism is continually evolving and changing shape, however, there is still a distinct lack of critical writing in mainstream and indie fashion magazines, even those claiming that their independence gives them an edge. It’s pretty clear that there is a need to hold industry accountable, but when the ‘hot takes’ that fashion magazines hold up as proof that they’re challenging the mainstream are as boring as “new sustainable line of clothing from historically unsustainable brand shows a shift in industry thinking” it’s not even worth pretending that that’s what you’re doing, really. Worse still, are the takes that headline: “why we need a radical fashion revolution” and go on to make the argument that the public should do away with fast fashion by choosing to buy better quality clothing. Obviously, anyone who persists with fast fashion is an Uneducated Loser (read: poor person). Vestoj is the best example that I’ve found of a fashion journal that actually interrogates, critiques and uncovers not only the underlying trends and issues within the fashion industry, but also the operation of fashion in global and individual ways. It’s not super visual,

and it doesn’t use advertising, which makes it quite dense and wordy, but the ideas it puts forth are just genuinely very interesting. Vestoj means ‘clothing’ in Esperanto, a language that was made up in the late nineteenth century in an attempt to unify the world. It seems naïve and idealistic that fashion — which relies so much on capital — can be held up as unifying when it so often divides people by class, gender and culture. Yet this magazine is very much of the view that you don’t have to be anti-fashion in order to be critical of the way fashion operates in a capitalist world, and that being critical of the way fashion operates in a capitalist world doesn’t mean that you can’t also enjoy taking part in it as a cultural phenomenon. Academic writing on fashion cannot be separated from the fashion industry itself and is essential to holding the industry accountable. As Yuniya Kawamura says, “institutions that help create and spread fashion, such as fashion magazines and newspaper periodicals, are participants in the system... the link between the production/distribution of clothing and the dissemination of the idea of fashion

is interdependent.” The increased focus on bridging the gap between academia, politics, art and fashion is something that Vestoj is very good at. It is by no means the first publication to do this, and it borrows much that has been in discussion in academia for centuries, but in bringing it to industry, and looking at fashion on a much deeper, theoretical level, it forces other independent fashion publications to consider theory as well, at least on a level of self-reflection. This is especially influential, because fashion media is easily as, if not more important than the word of brands themselves. Past themes of Vestoj have included masculinities, power, shame and capital. The theme always comes first, according to publisher and editor-in-chief Anja Aronowsky Cronberg. She has an advisory board that is made up of 50 per cent academic and 50 per cent industry representatives, which is essential to helping maintain relevance to both fields. Vestoj’s editorial philosophy addresses three central ideas; independence, quality of academic, interdisciplinary content, and the gratification of the reader. The manifesto states: “We must remain independent in thought and action. We must actively encourage

critical thought and never be satisfied until we have examined every theme intrepidly… advertising is forbidden”, “We will place academia and industry side by side, and give equal significance to both”, “Fashion must always be taken seriously… We are as interested in the minutiae of clothing as we are in the grand themes of fashion”. One of the most beautiful articles I’ve ever read was about the importance of fashion to homeless people. It described the significance of the garments they own, not only for the fact that they provide safety, comfort and warmth, but for what they say about personality on the street, what they say about the relationship that these individuals have, the ways in which it marks the passing of time. There is demonstrative of the fact that there is a much deeper level of fashion journalism out there, that goes past advertising, and goes past surface level ethical consumerism.

17

MULTILINGUAL

女性，你因何仍在被束缚？ Words by Lei Yao

自古以来，理想女性就被塑造成 柔美且顾家的形象。而性别不平 等正是这样一个长期并且显著的 问题。是长期以来女性被社会结 构，文化语境以及经济地位上明 面或者隐性削弱的结果。 而抗争的过程是强与弱的斗 争。 这个问题常常和其他社会问题 联系在一起，比如说肤色，种 族还有社会阶级的不平等，被称 为“intersected issue”。波伏娃在她 的著作第二性分析了女性被局限 的历史文化还有社会结构原因。 女性从小受到的教育往往把女性 的未来道路局限在了家庭之内， 或是一些社会地位和薪酬并不高 的职业领域中，比如说幼儿教育 老师或者护士。” 人们常惊讶的 发现，女人一旦找到了丈夫，便 能多么轻易的放弃音乐、学习和 她的职业。在她的计划中，她明 显涉及到自己的地方实在是太少 了，以致实现计划也不会给她带 来多少利益。一切都在联合起来 抑制她的个人野心，巨大的社会 压力仍在强迫她通过婚姻谋求社 会地位和合法庇护。” 在这样的 社会语境下，女性追寻自我不仅 仅需要脱离环境自我觉醒，还需 要去面对觉醒后社会规则与本身 的对抗。 女性独立已不是空谈。

严重的问题，受害者往往是女 性。除此之外，黑人女性或者亚 裔女性也容易比白人女性受到更 多的倾轧。 强者口中的‘自愿’和弱者口中 的‘自愿’往往不是一回事。美剧“ 晨间直播秀”中生动地展现了这 点。缺乏对弱者真正有效的支持 和理解，加上集体规则对弱者的 默认压制，也就会导致弱者越加 弱，从而一直处于受欺负的地 位。弱者的觉醒不能等到触底反 弹的地步，那时常常为时已晚。 家庭暴力对女性造成的情感和身 体上的创伤是持久而深刻的。家 庭暴力实施者常常拥有经济或者 家庭地位上的主导权，对另一半 实施精神上的谩骂冷处理甚至人 格侮辱，或是以性暴力，身体暴 力还有经济控制的手段来让另一 半遭受折磨且无法离开。

极少的外来者身份问题的困扰。 “本是同根生，相煎何太急。” 这句来形容曹氏兄弟之争的诗 句，也适合当代女性的困境。女

女性的自我保护和来自身边人 还有其他社会团体的支持仍然十 分重要，前者让女性意识到被压 抑的自我的重要性，从而正视自 己的需求，后者让女性与社会链

被边缘化的女性，像案板上的 肉，无法发出反抗的声音。也 是容易发生严重性别不平等的群 体。留学生群体是家暴事件的高 发群体。年轻易怒，尚不懂得如 何妥当处理感情，却常常以同居 作为情侣相处的模式。作为一个 国家体制外的非本国居民，以及 有色人种，缺乏信息来源和相关 的求助途径，常常落入发生此类

The beauty of a maiden is like a spirit. After the confusion, is the embrace of freedom.

I hide behind the flowers, and shuttle between the edge. Only wait for the time of thick accumulation.

今天的女性已经处于一个幸运 的时代，这是自工业革命以来一 代代先驱努力的结果。女性对于‘ 男色’的自由追求是一种证明。男 性不再是作为一个‘寄主’的价值 被衡量。女性独立，方能有筹码 去更好地谈判权利与真正意义上 的平等。 即使现代社会对女性在文化语 境中的友好程度与从前相比已是 天壤之别，但女性仍然在一个男 性领导占多数的社会中处于相对 弱势。即使在当代社会，家庭暴 力和职场潜规则等等还是一个很 18

事件后，孤立无援的境地。 海外留学生并没有家人陪伴在 身边，建立的社交关系也大多十 分浅层，因为大学的教学模式使 得社交圈的流动性很大。其次， 女性往往被教育最好一直保持‘温 和 可 爱’ 。即使在遭遇到了十分 不公平的对待后，显示出的攻击 性往往会被被进一步指责和刻意 构陷。在受到家庭暴力后，甚至 有部分受害者会被灌输从而相信‘ 家丑不可外扬’的思想，让施暴者 更加肆无忌惮。除了留学生外， 也有诸多女性身在海外，在外务 工，遭受着语言不通和社会资源

性受到的攻击不仅仅来源于男 性。仍然有部分受到传统社会对 女性的婚姻教育和职业道路教育 的女孩们，对本身的性别缺乏真 正的认同和信心，自我厌恶和自 我攻击，不得不依附于其他性 别。同时，把这种攻击性投射到 了其他同性的身上。宫斗剧十分 受欢迎。清平乐播出后，微博上 的各大博主跟风教育女性如何‘上 位’，且附庸者众多。一群女性在 一起勾心斗角，为了抢夺一个‘男 性’的宠爱从而得到社会资源的倾 斜，这种文化现象在一定程度上 体现的是男权社会的复辟思想。 刻意取悦和迎合的结果是，从 开端往往就落于下风，主动地压 抑了本我意愿。若本身仍然处于 一种把婚姻视为唯一保障自己经 济和社会地位的思想阶段，女性 独立的声音会越来越弱，直至成 为空谈。娜拉出走的标志性事 件，也会倒退回‘娜拉和皇上赌气 出走，却最终回归皇宫’。对于 所有自由的女性来说，大概年龄 不是诅咒，年龄是每天的礼物， 因这是经验和智慧的沉淀；松弛 的肌肤和不完美的体型也不是诅 咒，是自然刻下的轮回，因这并 不动摇美之风骨。

接，从而有归属感和安全感。缺 一不可。女性的自我保护大多始 于教育，女性权益保护的相关团 体的建设的成功与否则始于社会 对于这个的关注度。 拥有自我之身体主权，拥有自 我之精神主权。隐匿于繁花之 后，穿梭于锋芒之间。只为待厚 积薄发之时。应有所警醒，应坦 然面对的同时永不放弃挣扎和对 抗。卡门作为流传最广的歌剧， 其内涵从塑造一个悲情的浪荡坏 女人到对女性主义偶像的歌颂。 文化变迁的背后是女性精神的自 我觉醒。 我们有何理由不相信迷惘之 后，将是更自由的拥抱？ Art by 谢红霖 (Honglin Xie).

CREATIVE

A course to roam Words by Bianca Watkins. Around a month ago, my boyfriend recounted a scene he witnessed while waiting for a bus at Railway Square: a woman walked up to a man and asked him for a cigarette. He said sure, but she’d have to roll it. With terms accepted, this mutual engagement escalated. Almost instantly the man confessed he’d been kicked out by his wife earlier that day. The woman replied by saying that her dog had just died. A car had run over him. I think about this a lot. Almost every day now, I slip on my bike shorts and my work’s polo t-shirt so that when I enter the public eye I will be indicating my status as both an exerciser and employee. I head towards work, in case police ask me what I am doing outside. My cross-city commute by bike is faster, cheaper and safer than by bus. It also serves as a minor reformation to my own burdensome, habitual contributions to the climate crisis. I get a lot of satisfaction from this commute. I also see a lot of things. On each journey I pass two or three bikes I've used previously, still parked where I discarded them. Sometimes a bike has cobwebs on the handlebars surely a repurposed Halloween prop placed there by illusive Onya staff, perhaps a quaint expression of solidarity in trying times, perhaps a public artwork, perhaps a corporate attempt to evoke sympathy by rendering the decrease in usage visible, as if people even used them before the pandemic. On Easter weekend, I resorted to the novelty of catching a bus home from work. I couldn’t find any idle bikes near me that day. The buses are often empty now, of course. At Central, a woman held our journey up, asking the bus driver about getting to Newtown. She hopped on without paying and sat in the accessible seating area. As the driver lugged us up Parramatta

Road, she told the bus driver her dog had died. My eyes and ears shot to attention, though it already felt intimate with just the three of us on this ride. She asked the bus driver, “Where do you think dogs go when they die?” The bus driver replied softly but loudly, “I’m not sure. What do you think?” She asked if their souls roam around the earth for forty days.

At that time I only knew that Jesus ascended to heaven forty days after his resurrection. She soon after hopped off, and I was left looking at my hands. The belief that the soul of the deceased wanders the Earth for a 40-day period, visiting places of significance and their grave is rooted in Eastern Orthodox Christianity. Those that don't have places to hide from the public space stick out more now. I've seen one particular man three times: first in Hyde Park, then a nook in front of an office on Pitt Street, then in a park in

Ultimo. He paces back and forth fuelled by angry, incomprehensible mutterings. Once my partner forgot to lock his bike. When we returned to it, it was manned and claimed; a young woman bounced her weight side to side, an impressive boxing stance from such a small body. Surrendered, we watched from a short distance as she told us to keep on walking. This was her bike now. She hopped on and slowly peddled off. Later we checked the app’s map of the trip history, expecting to see the words ‘world peace’ spelled out through her cycle path. Sometimes I traverse across campus, just to check up on her. Eastern Avenue now serves solely as a pretty thoroughfare. The other day I watched a photo shoot of a gowned woman staging her graduation day in front of the Quadrangle. Despite the desolation, neat little piles of autumnal leaf litter made me suspect the university has hired a fleet of Roombas to maintain the grounds. A security guard I met recently told me about the glory hole once operating in a bathroom in Carslaw. I wanted to visit it, find it, wishing there were more campus landmarks I could investigate to curate my own kind of ghost tour, where the ghosts are that of student occupation. No matter how nerdy it might make you to miss school, I miss USyd. It cultivates so much more of my individual value than I realised, and falling short of that quota I find myself visiting old places as compensation, like my childhood home, university sandstone, particular waters. I’m a sorry sappy disembodiment of a cliché, and I’m grasping for small tastes of what once was. Art by Michael Lotsaris.

The poetry of loving those we've never known Words by William Solomon. These are the things I can tell you of my grandfather. Eric Solomon, my father’s father, lived a prolific life. He was born in Baghdad to a pair of diplomats from the United Kingdom, in what was then the Ottoman Empire, and moved to Mumbai as a young boy, then called Bombay by the British Raj. Tensions between the Ottomans and the British were growing dire before the Great War. He attended the same grammar school as Rudyard Kipling, though decades later, and would go on to join the Royal Indian Navy. He played water polo for the Raj and spoke a handful of languages. He served in the Second World War, was later discharged by Mountbatten, and then he immigrated to Australia. He supported Gandhi. Before he met my grandmother, he was married to another woman and had a son, my uncle, who he both tragically lost. All of this had occurred by his forties, when he fell in love with my grandmother and together they had my dad. Eric was a Sephardi Jew, grandma was a Christian. He would suffer a heart attack and pass away during my dad’s childhood. I can tell you these things but not with any dates. I don’t know the year he was born, the year he immigrated, the year he passed away, or the precise age of my father when it happened. I could figure it out if I prodded, but I prefer it this way. Eric is a story that I hold very dear,

rather than a man I ever knew. I would say I love both of my grandfathers deeply, and that I maintain a relationship with them both. They were young men when they were interred; I never met Wilfrid, my mother’s dad, either. I have always felt that little would come of doting on the fact that I never had a chance to know them – they have for decades belonged to history. Instead I love them for their stories, as I love my favourite novels and poems. Wilfrid loved poetry, and my mum is convinced that he is the reason I love it too. I don’t know as much about Wilfrid, he was a quiet man, and his story is a quiet one. He grew up in Sydney, married my grandmother and they had my mum and uncle. He was much younger than Eric and didn’t serve in the war. He was blonde, pale and skinny, and had very blue eyes. My mum believes I look more like him than I do Eric. As I reached adulthood, I found myself hungry for information. Speaking to my parents about their fathers, I was engrossed by what were stories of young men. Eric and Wilfrid took on a mythological youthfulness, and they became facets of how I saw myself. In Eric is my courage and wanderlust. I like to think of Eric when I sit on the train, he is movement and liveliness. Whenever I visit the beach, I can see his love of the water. He reminds me that progress is possible, that through

him a line can be drawn that connects me to a vibrant history. Despite being a man of his time that I would certainly disagree with, he is my progressivism. His love for his country was reconciled in his post-colonial understandings. His spiritual openness drives my own. He has taught me to love the old world and to want for it to change. In Wilfrid is my comfort. He is a crackling fire and a calm smile. Where Eric inhabits the waves, Wilfrid still resides in my grandma’s beautiful house. He sits in a rocking chair by the fireplace there, and reads his poetry in a corner of my mind. He is stillness and rest, helping me to breathe and teaching me to think quietly. My mum is right when she says I look more like him, the similarities are remarkable. When I look at photos of Eric I see a Homeric figure, while in photos of Wilfrid I can’t help but see myself. My favourite pair of cufflinks were his, with embossed W’s on them. I often like to read poetry as if my head voice is his, and I think I don’t ask my mum very much about Wilfrid because I like to keep him similar to me. Their lives belong to history, but their essences are wonderfully free. They exist somewhere between fact and my imagination, and this is how I love them. I experience them like poetry.

Wilfrid In pastel colours, he is Pale and thin – A blonde face, A warm embrace, The hearth. Living ever in the past But somewhere closer still The heart. A Golden hand, A plan of some sort – Brought a daughter And unspoken promises Of a verdant future. In the gardens of the moon, Asleep on a green pool, His is the face Of every loon. Eric Cresting now, the ocean clipper dips to meet the tempest lip And glides toward the sun. Soaring as a great sea bird That spends its summers On the run, He mans the guns and softly, In an ancient tongue, A dozen words are sung That beckon, ‘O Jerusalem.’ And as the wind enchants the sail There forms a gilded hand Out in the gale That places in young Eric’s hand The Holy Grail. He won’t succumb to frailness yet, Nor will the pages of my Kipling Soon forget. A ripple in a puddle Is greater than A stagnant sea.

19

SRC REPORTS

President

Note: These pages belong to the Office Bearers of the SRC. They are not altered, edited or changed in any way by the editors of Honi Soit.

Liam Donohoe The Students’ Representative Council Offices, in concert with society more broadly, continues to swell with more people and activity. Between Mutual Aid drop offs, protest organisation / resourcing, and a desire to get out of the house, Office Bearers and undergraduates alike have found themselves in the annals of Wentworth once again. And just as students are starting to return to the Offices, so too are activists returning to the streets—I attended a protest, and plans are afoot for more. It was, in all, a relatively calm week, which was spent planning for the storms about to hit our shores. To that end, protest organising was the main focus of the week. With University’s experiencing a once-in-a-generation crisis generations in the making, students and staff are mobilising so we can defend our conditions and avoid the attacks the powerful seem to be planning. With the National Tertiary Education Union’s Executive selling out to University management and agreeing to a “National Framework” for EBA re-negotiations which will involve at least 15% cuts, it is little wonder we’re urgently strategising. Tuesday saw an open meeting of our Defend Our Education campaign, which aimed to make clear the connection between staff conditions and student learning conditions. By emphasising student conditions and connecting our

myriad academic issues to broader structural determinants, we hope academic struggles will serve as a good entry point for engaging more students in the campaign to support staff and fight government negligence. Not to be outdone, Thursday saw the Education Action Group host an online meeting and panel featuring Education Officer Jazz Breen and USyd Academic (and head of the USyd Casuals Network) Rob Boncardo. With an impressive audience from a few different political perspectives, the meeting made crystal clear how important student contributions will be to upcoming higher education struggles. Discussion specifically centred around the NTEU’s National Day of Action on the 21st of May (Thursday this week), which will involve a car convoy and possibly other forms of inperson protest. The SRC totally endorses the campaign, and will be sending a sizable contingent to the convoy and will encourage students to contribute digitally too! We will also be promoting and participating in the follow-up National Day of Action on the 22nd, which will specifically emphasise the “No Uni Cuts” and “No Deal” demands / outcomes which will be essential to winning this broader fight. Between these actions, and a few others, it seems not only that in-person protest is back on the agenda, but also that the spirit of rebellion is in the air. On Tuesday I

attended a small protest outside the NSW Parliament demanding relief for renters / tenants, which was, unfortunately, quickly shut down by the NSW Police. Despite their hasty and intolerant intervention, however, I did manage to sneak a speech in at Hyde Park amid a small crowd of staunch activists from the Housing Defence Coalition. And further actions are planned in the coming week, including a potential refugee solidarity action. Protest and long-term structural change weren’t the only thing on the agenda, however. After the small but successful launch of the Mutual Aid delivery program in week 10, the SRC initiated its secondround of drop-offs. It is hard to convey the scale of the operation. Countless bags of hampers, kindly donated by the Exodus Foundation, are piled up in the Gosper and Office Bearer rooms, and filled with extra goodies we’ve received by careful volunteers. Once filled and tied back together, we sort them into different piles to reflect the different drop-off routes we’ve created. Then, after a few days of disinfecting, our drivers come by and load them into their car—we’ve had trips to Darlington / Chippendale, Burwood, Strathfield / Rhodes, Hornsby, and many more are planned for places far and near. And while this process has taken a bit of time to perfect and get off the ground, it is now running smoothly and efficiently.

We have so far distributed 60 packs, and we intend to do at least another 40-80 in the coming week. For any students who have not yet received a pack, we apologise for the delay—we are running on volunteer labour and can only process so many bags in a given time frame. Please be assured that we are trying our best to help you. As always there were plenty of committee meetings to attend. Tuesday saw an Undergraduate Studies Committee meeting, while Wednesday saw both a Student Life Committee and Board of Interdisciplinary Studies meeting. On top of my usual Friday afternoon meeting with key University managers, and additional ad hoc meetings with various staff throughout the week, I have been quite immersed in the University bureaucracy of late. The next week will see yet more committees, with the Student Consultative, Academic Standards & Policy, Learning Environment, and Orientation Project group all meeting. More importantly, however, we’ll be building towards and then actualising two massive National Days of Action on Thursday and Friday. And with all this taking place amid the USU Elections, and the USU’s own staffing issues, I’m certain week 12 will be an incredibly busy and important week.

exist in a bubble, and so we have also been active in the national no uni cuts campaign, and are building up to the National Tertiary Education Union’s national day of action on May 21st. Another major fight we have taken on recently is encouraging a ‘no’ vote to the NTEU’s proposed concessions which allow the undermining of staff working conditions, including a 15% pay cut. We believe that this is not good enough, and that the NTEU should instead be pushing harder for a university bailout, not throwing staff under the bus. The proposed deal will not save the jobs of thousands of casual staff,

who can also not access jobkeeper payments because of the nature of casual contracts. Last Thursday the EAG hosted an open forum to discuss the current issues within higher education, and the NTEU’s response. Jazzlyn spoke alongside Rob Boncardo from the National Tertiary Education Union USYD Branch Committee and the casuals network, followed by a discussion amongst the 40+ attendees. Unfortunately 300 words is not long enough to expand on everything we have been doing, or all the fights that need to be had - so please join our facebook group to get involved!

Major upcoming events: May 21st “NTEU NSW NDA Car and Bike Convoy” - NTEU New South Wales. May 22nd “Fight Uni Cuts: we won’t pay for the crisis!” - Students Organising Resistance

on the importance of prison abolition in our understandings of feminist justice which was loosely based on the podcast ‘Beyond Prisons: Abolition is a Horizon Feat. Sarah K. Tyson’. Furthermore, Women’s Officer Ellie Wilson also helped facilitate an Enviro Collective workshop on online activism alongside Education Officer Jazzlyn Breen and Welfare Officer/2019 Honi editor Amelia Mertha. We have recently been looking into supporting domestic violence survivors and women’s shelters during this time of crisis. During COVID-19 social distancing, rates of domestic violence have spiked, making now a particularly crucial time for us to support

survivors however we can. We have reached out to the Women and Girls Emergency Centre (WAGEC) and Mudgin-gal, offering support with online fundraisers, mutual aid, creating informational resources etc. We look forward to working with them further. Our education is under attack. Across the country, tens of thousands of jobs in higher education have been jeopardised as neoliberal universities scramble to save their profits during COVID-19. We have been seeing job cuts and course cuts on a massive scale; at USyd, management has ordered a 30% cut to courses in the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences. It is incredibly revealing of the neoliberal University’s character that

workers, especially those on short-term casual contracts, have been the first on the chopping block. We firmly believe that staff working conditions are student learning conditions, and we stand in solidarity with the USyd NTEU rank and file. WoCo demands no cuts!

Education Officers Jazzlyn Breen and Jack Mansell It’s been a massive couple of weeks for the EAG, and the higher education sector more broadly. The sector is in crisis, and desperately needs funding in order to survive. The EAG has now launched the campaign we have been working on; “Defend our Education USyd” - focused specifically on issues affecting the university of Sydney. We have held various open meetings, attracting a large variety of USyd students who have been able to share their ideas and issues with USyd’s recent decisions. Our key demands address issues which undermine our education, such as the use of ProctorU, and staff job cuts. However USyd does not

Women’s Officers Vivienne Guo and Ellie Wilson As the semester nears its close, WoCo has been running educational and social events. In Week 10, we ran a non-autonomous feminist film screening facilitated by Claire Ollivain from Filmsoc of ‘The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open’ (2019. Directed by Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers and Kathleen Hepburn. CW: themes of domestic violence, missing and murdered Indigenous women, unwanted pregnancy, and abortion). We encourage readers to watch the film and engage with the conversations about gendered violence, trauma, and solidarity that it brings to light. In Week 11, WoCo facilitated an open discussion group hosted by Georgia Mantle

Indigenous Officers Mathilda Langford did not submit a report this week.

International Student Officers Ziying (Nicole) Huang, Mengfan (Karen) Ji, Mingyu (Moses) Lin and Kigen Mera did not submit a report this week.

Residential College Officers Charlotte Ainsworth, Winny Li, Joseph Yang and Kiran Gupta did not submit a report this week. 20

SRC STUDENT HELP

Procrastination: Will you ever get around to it? Tips to get motivatied

Ask Abe

SRC caseworker help Q&A

Ask Abe about Late DC - Discontinue Not Fail

Dear Abe, I used to think that I’d be able to pass all of my subjects, but I now think I’m going to struggle. I don’t quite get the hang of doing online classes, and find it very difficult to concentrate. Being home alone all the time makes me feel pretty sad and lonely, and I’m finding it really difficult to stay motivated. How can I avoid failing any subjects? Home Alone Dear Home Alone, The most important thing to address is how you are feeling. Go online to eHeadspace to talk online in a group forum, or book a one on one appointment with a counsellor to develop strategies to deal with how you are feeling. Think about all of the subjects you are currently enrolled in, and figure

out which ones you would be able to successfully complete. Remember that most people will overestimate their abilities. If you are on a Centrelink payment or have a study visa, find out the consequences, before you drop any subjects, from an SRC Caseworker. Withdrawing from subjects now will give you a DF (discontinue fail) grade. However, if you need to withdraw from a subject due to illness or misadventure, you can apply for a late DC (discontinue not fail) grade. Check out the details here: srcusyd.net.au/src-help/academic-issues/discontinue-not-fail-dc/. You may be able to argue that it is reasonable for you to get a DC based on the unexpected shift from face-to-face to online delivery. Again, seek advice from an SRC Caseworker on what to include in your application. Abe

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Procrastination is when you deliberately delay completing (or perhaps even starting) a task, despite the negative consequences that might come of it. It is a normal part of life and can happen to all of us at different times. It might mean that you never get around to finishing your readings before class, submitting assignments on time, or studying for exams. The obvious outcomes are that you might lose marks or fail the subject, but perhaps you had not considered that it might place stress on other aspects of your life as well? When you miss deadlines, or recognise that your work is not as good as it can be, this can lead to feelings of anxiety and low mood, which can then have a direct impact on feelings of self-worth. These feelings can then disrupt your studies and your life. Procrastination works in a cycle: we approach a task and have negative feelings about it (e.g., “writing essays is boring”, or “I’ll never get this done”), so we try to avoid this discomfort by ‘escaping’ and doing something else! This might initially feel rewarding but it will actually increase the likelihood of procrastinating again next time. We need to find a way to break this pattern. Solutions 1.Identify what you want to achieve, then put in place some strategies to get the task done. For example, write a to-do list, break the task down into smaller more manageable parts, be realistic about how long each task will take, and make a weekly schedule of the tasks that you have been putting into the too hard basket! 2.You can either begin with the worst task first, to get it over with, or by doing something that feels more manageable, and gradually build up to the trickier ones. It can help to set a time limit for yourself to do as much as possible and reward yourself with a break. Perhaps you could use an interval timer app on

your phone where you set your work time, your break time, and the number of cycles you could do that for before having a bigger break. E.g., 20 minutes work, 5 minutes rest, repeat 3 times then have 30 minutes break.

CAPS has online resources and provide one on one counselling appointments which can help you develop strategies for dealing with procrastination, and can help to identify if you have any other underlying difficulties. 3.Work out when is your best time of day, i.e., when your brain works best. Use that time for the tasks that need the most concentration. Find the best location for yourself to get tasks done, remove any distractions like your phone or social media (there are apps which can block devices or websites for a certain amount of time), and plan rewards for yourself when you actually do complete something! 4.Utilise the resources available to you at uni and online. CAPS have a booklet with ideas on how to deal with procrastination (sydney. edu.au/current_students/counselling/ download-docs/learn-to-deal-with-procrastination.pdf) and also provide one on one counselling appointments which can help you develop strategies for dealing with procrastination, and can help to identify if you have any other underlying difficulties. The Learning Centre has workshops and online resources (sydney. edu.au/students/learning-centre/learning-centre-workshops.html).

Contact an SRC Caseworker on 02 9660 5222 or email help@src.usyd.edu.au

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PUZZLES

Puzzles

ACROSS

Omega

12 13

1 6

14 15 16 18 19 21 24 26 28 29 32 36 37 39 41 42 44 48 49 50 52 53 54 55

DOWN 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 17 20 22 23 25 26 27 30 31 33 34 35 36 38 40 43 45 46 47 49 51

Stairway to heaven: ... Ladder (6) Arthur's court, or JFK's presidency (7) Bead of precipitation (8) German philosopher (9) Bums (5) Frontmost part of the stage, and its frame (10) Fragment, passage (7) Finish (3) Public speaker (6) Awkward, troubling (13) Loathing (9) Sorted, organised (2,5) Eastern European country (7) ? Bitter woman (4) Respond, please (4) And there you have it! (4,4,5) Arabian bird (3) A small 7 Down (7) To (4) Dustin, or Philip Seyour (7) Place of tertiary education (3) Christmas (4) Violent, angry (10) ?Dynamic flight? (9) Injury you might get from being punched in the face (9) Picture E (8) Instil (7) Making beer or coffee (7) Elevated seat (6) Goddess of wisdom (6) Burp (5) Picture F (3)

Picture A

Picture B

Picture C

Picture D

Picture E

Picture F

Target

U R A T E A L C W 22

Picture A (9) If you don't have live Zoom classes, your lectures might be (11) Merge (7) One who endures hardship without complaint (5) Certainly (4,3) Demolishes mechanically (5) ? Flesh-eating coronavirus disaster (11) Von Bismarck or Mann (4) ? Chicken dish gives disease to about one million - finally! Berry (4) Nickname for Labour Leader (4) Paid back (10) Raise the shoulders (5) Picture B (10) ?Idris put on party with disturbance (10) African country (5) Picture C (10) Onion-like creature (4) Cross (4) Moves to another country (10) ? Fab band at its core (4) Nitrus Oxide (8,3) Southern American states, known for their high protestant (5,4) Scold, or mark as completed (4,3) The Tempest's airy spirit (5) Like an eel (3-4) The act of coing out again (2-9) Picture D (9)

10 words: The Bachelor 20 words: Love is Blind 60 words: Too Hot to Handle

Puzzles by Tournesol. Solutions next week.

THE

RODENT REVIEW

Fierce, independent journalists controlled by the rats on our heads!

What does your iso-baking say about you?

Build your own USU campaign!

Lauren Lancaster, Getting Baked Editor

Who have you become? That’s for me to say and you to find out.

VOTE 1

[YOUR NAME HERE] FOR USU

Banana Bread: As the weather turns a little chilly, you whip out your Lorna Jane vest and matching ¾ leggings. Every day is a new day, and must not be wasted! Thanks to the two hour Masterclass you watched last night with one (1) glass of chardy, you are now a qualified interior designer! Tomorrow: organise a feminist knitting sesh with the gals over Zoom. Even if you don’t have three kids and a sizable mortgage, you have three kids and a sizable mortgage. The worst part about not driving your white VW Polo home from work every day is that you miss Kate, Tim and Marty! They are so funny. The greatest thing to happen to you in the last six weeks was the Le Creuset sale at Peter’s of Kensington because you could finally get your hands on the same casserole dish that your sisterin-law has been raving about, for only 70% of what she paid for it. HA!

Sourdough bread: As Australians, there are four things that are crucial to our culture: the beach, the sun, mild xenophobia and sourdough. A day in isolation is in fact a lifetime on repeat, and your mood swings confirm it as such – sourdough is followed by a deep funk followed by EMAILS followed by a sprightly jog followed by left-overs for dinner. You often wonder why YOU are always the one organising catch-ups, but shake that feeling off by slapping down more spelt flour onto your table and screaming silently into the void.

Sugar-free Brownies: The only goal of quarantine should be for one to become, in the sage words of Snoop Dogg, “tone, tan, fit and ready.” Sugar is a government conspiracy designed to enslave us to Coca Cola and Big Pharma! Resist! Coconut sugar doesn’t count, and you will not be vaccinating yourself against COVID19, thank you very much for asking. The plan for next week is to tie-dye your ethically milled cotton tracksuit with plant-based dyes and the watered-down blood of Hello Fresh users, because Marley Spoon is oil reduced and clearly superior.

Cinnamon rolls: Your self-illustrated bullet journal is up to date and your Screen Time is at an all-time low. You don’t feel guilty about indulging in a baked good, because you already have 1.5 hours of speed-walking scheduled with your childhood neighbour each evening to maintain peak cardio fitness and mental health as part of your colour-coded study timetable that will continue until the end of the Anthropocene. The act of baking cinnamon rolls is a multi-stage process, and one that requires expert doughkneading, expert rolling of the buns and expert timing when icing. As a Dalyell scholar, you are well-placed for this task. Don’t forget to email your tutor to thank them for today's class!

Hi, I’m ________, I’m a _________ year (name) (number) Arts/_____________ student, and I’m running to be (real degree) USU Board Director! A bit about me: In my spare time, I like to binge ___________________________, (exceedingly average Netflix show) drink rosé and dip into ________________________. (virtue signalling writer) You might have seen me around ____________________, sneaking in (campus food outlet) a quick _______________ before a lecture, or (type of coffee) during my time as an exec member for ______________________________________________ (that one club you joined during O Week and never went to any of their events) I’ve had a __________________ time at USyd, from (positive adjective) parties at __________________ to (dead campus bar) ____________________________________, and that's (other soul-sucking campus activity) been thanks to the USU. This election is _______________________________ (wildly overstates importance) as we move into recovery mode from the effects of COVID-19, and I think I’m the right person for this job. I have a history of activism and will bring __________________ values to the Board. (don’t say centrist) I promise that I will __________________ to ensure (meaningless verb) that the USU is looking after their________________ (don't say serfs) and will push for a review into ________________. (vague problem) I’m willing and able to bring __________________, (work-related trait) ___________________________, and (synonym for previous word) ____________________________ to this Board (synonym for previous word) so that we can revive the aspects of ______________. On Board I will fight for (fake interest) oppressed _________________________________ (pick one: women, gays, college kids)

and build on my time fighting for students through _____________________________________________. (pick one: SASS, SULS, SULC, SASS or SASS) So, I hope I can count on your vote, and together we can re-_______________ the USU. (vague verb)

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