Woroni Edition Five 2020

MAKING ROOM EDITION

Featuring A pullout with are you racist anu? x woroni

WORONI

WORONI TEAM

CONTENT

Lily Pang George Owens Aditi Dubey Juliette Brown Tilda Njoo Tara Finlay Nicholas Mezo Katie Sproule Campbell Edmonds Queenie Ung-Lam Eammon Gumley

ART

Eliza Williams Alice Dunkley Emily O’Neill Maddy Brown Bonnie Burns Milly Yates Madelene Watson

RADIO

Sam Neave Elijah Lazarus Bec Donald-Wilson Jacinta Chen Rishi Dhakshinamoorthy Tom Stephens Louis Festa Fergus Sherwood Madelene Watson Niamh McCool Rucha Tathavadkar Davis Evans

TV

Liam Taylor Vy Tsan Christian Reeves Tanya Babbar Clara Ho Lucy Bruck Gautham Venkitaramamoorthy Jack Nicoll Charlotte Ward Ben Rowley Elena Couper Nagulan Gnanavel Ronan Skyring Rebecca Stoljar Isobel Lavers Giselle Laszok Sasha Personeni Shreya Gyawali Siobhan Fahey Juliette Baxter

NEWS

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CONTENTS 4 ARCHIVES 4 The Meaning of Woroni 6 How Does Woroni Get Made?

8 NEWS 9 Residential Halls COVID-19 Restrictions In Full Swing For Semester 2 10 Parsa Appoints Interim Officers Before Election In September 12 CAMPUS 13 Hold The Applause 14 Ticked Off 16 Kukula’s: A Review 17 CULTURE 18 Art Piece by Maddy Watson 19 All Hands On Deck 22 Monachopsis 23 ETHNOCULTURAL PULLOUT 24 What is “Are You Racist ANU” About?

25 Things We’ve Learned About Being A Better Ally 26 Learning To ‘Speak Your Truth’ in a Racist University 28 Don’t Look Away 29 Comic By Manya Sinha

Cover Art - Sian Williams & Sydney Farey

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What Does a Decolonised University Look Like?

31 ANU’s Aggravating Colour Class Issue 33 What Does It Mean Going To University on Stolen Land?

35 An Interview With Sweet and Sour 37 I See You, You See Me 38 COMMENT 39 Yellowface and Whitewashing In Hollywood: Where’s The Progress?

41 Digging Up American Dirt 43 Lebanon’s French Connection 44 It’s All English Only 46 I Am Worthy, Because I Am 48 Why We Need A Revolution 50 CREATIVE 51 Motherland 52 Art Piece By Sian Williams 53 A Series Of Multilingual Poems Selected By Members Of The ANU Literature Society 60 Art Piece By Sian Williams 61 The Second Bedroom 63 Town Noticeboard 64 Breaking News! AFP Introduces New Vetting Process

Divider Pages - Milly Yates

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Note From The Editor

I’ve once read poetry described as simultaneously the most embarrassing thing in the world— and the most important. I think the student voice is much the same. It is frustrating as students to go unheard during tumultuous political, environmental and social issues. Speaking up can be embarrassing. It often feels pointless. It has also never been more important.

Since its conception, Woroni’s goal has been the amplification of student voices. This time, however, it means amplifying voices too often silenced by others.

I am proud to release the Making Room edition of Woroni alongside ANU’s Ethnocultural Department. Making room for Indigenous, minority and ethnocultural voices does not happen enough at the ANU, but the Department is leading the fight to change this. I’d especially like to thank the Department’s Deputy Officer Niroshnee Ranjan for all her hard work in writing, editing and compiling the pull-out’s content.

We owe it to ourselves to make student voices as loud as possible. We owe it to each other to listen.

Rachel Chopping Content Editor Woroni Someone once told me, that the one thing your oppressors can never take from you is your voice. So, the greatest service all of us can do in this fight for a fairer world, is to make sure we use it. Especially in a time where many are being silenced around the world or do not have the privilege to speak up in the same way we can.

That’s exactly what this edition of Woroni is all about. It’s about creating a platform for minority voices to tell their story, to put forward a piece of themselves that has long been hidden. I hope you enjoy reading the stories in this edition and I hope you realise that this is just the beginning of a conversation long-awaited.

More importantly, I hope you continue to use your voice long after this edition is released.

The world needs to know that we will never stop speaking our truth, it needs to be reminded that our existence as minorities is powerful.

Niroshnee Ranjan Deputy Officer ANU Ethnocultural Department

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Grace Sixsmith News Editor

EDITORS Sian Williams Art Editor

Bernie Callaghan Radio Editor

Isobel Lindsay-Geyer Editor in Chief

Matthew Donlan TV Editor

Rachel Chopping Content Editor

Josie Ganko Deputy Editor in Chief

Nick Richardson Managing Editor

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From the Archives: Oct 15th, 2018

The Meaning of Woroni

By Harry Needham

On 14 June, 1950, the student journal of what was then the Canberra University College announced a name change. In the search for something “more inspiring” than the original name, Student Notes, the editors decided to pick a title from an Aboriginal language, “because it is far more significant to us, particularly in the Capital City of Australia, than any word of foreign origin.” They chose the word ‘Woroni’, which they stated meant ‘mouthpiece’. Today, 68 years later, Woroni’s Wikipedia page repeats this etymology, declaring that the name “derives from an Indigenous Australian word meaning ‘mouthpiece’.” Over the past 68 years, a key question has remained unanswered. There are estimated to have been 250 different language groups in Australia before European invasion, 120 of which are spoken today.

If Woroni is genuinely derived from an Aboriginal language, which of these 250 languages does it come from?

Some past editions of Woroni have claimed that the publication’s name is derived from the Ngunnawal language spoken in the Canberra region. There is

no evidence to support this claim, which appears to be based on guesswork. Woroni’s 1950 editorial team were following a long tradition of settler Australians appropriating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander words to name a wide variety of things, from place names to literary journals such as Meanjin, as part of a broader search for an authentically Australian identity. A number of books were produced in the twentieth century to assist in this endeavour. One of the most popular was Sydney J Endacott’s Australian Aboriginal Native Words and Their Meaning, which went through ten editions between 1923 and 1973. Endacott praised “the use of musical native aboriginal (sic) names … with advantage to the furthering of the growth of a distinct national feeling.” He hoped to fulfil a “demand for a substantial and reliable list of pleasant-sounding words”. The Woroni editors most likely chose their publication’s new name from Endacott’s widely available compilation, where it is listed as meaning “mouth” - the extension of this to “mouthpiece” may be an example of the editors’ creative licence.

ARTWORK: Eliza Williams Endacott gave no indication of the origin of the words he listed. Their cultural context was of no importance: what mattered was whether they could be used as a “pleasant-sounding” name.

Uncovering the true origins of Woroni requires a little more digging.

Endacott claimed his book was the result of “much sifting of lists of words, and a good deal of research among old books and journals.” One of the sources he would have consulted was Edward M. Curr’s four volume work The Australian Race, published between 1886 and 1887. Curr was a major landowner in Victoria, who was intimately involved in the dispossession of Aboriginal peoples on the colonial frontier. As a member of the Victorian Board for the Protection of Aborigines, he advocated for the incarceration of Aboriginal Victorians who had survived the frontier wars, likening them to “children” and “lunatics”.

Simultaneously, he dedicated a considerable amount of time to recording Aboriginal language and customs, believing he was preserving cultural relics of a people doomed to extinction. A major part of Curr’s work were wordlists of Aboriginal languages he had collected from three hundred correspondents across Australia.

It is in one of these wordlists, contributed by a Thomas Macredie, that we find ‘Woroni’. Here it is defined as meaning “mouth”, and is said to come from the geographical area of Piangil, in northern Victoria. According to the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS), the language spoken in this area is that of the Wadi Wadi nation. Wadi Wadi country straddles the Murray River in northern Victoria. Despite the effects of the colonial invasion of their lands that began in 1846, the Wadi Wadi people have survived and continue to care for their ancestral country.

Descriptions of their innovative land management techniques can be found in Bruce Pascoe’s influential book Dark Emu. What are the implications of this? The name of ANU’s student newspaper was not chosen as a result of consultation with Wadi Wadi people.

It is highly unlikely that the editors at the time were even aware of the Wadi Wadi language. In the words of historian Samuel Furphy, the use of Aboriginal words for naming by settler Australians “has very rarely been the result of sensitive and meaningful cultural interchange.” Referring to the

use of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander words as Australian place names, the Koori novelist and historian Tony Birch writes that “Houses, streets, suburbs and whole cities have Indigenous names.

This is an exercise in cultural appropriation, which represents imperial possession and the quaintness of the ‘native’. For the colonisers to attach a ‘native’ name to a place does not represent or recognise an Indigenous history, and therefore possible Indigenous ownership.” Words are a vital part of Aboriginal culture, but many settler Australians have valued them only for their novelty. At a time when government policies aimed to erase Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages, the Woroni editors of 1950 chose their publication’s name without concern for its origins or cultural context.

Many questions arise when considering this history, including: Given Woroni’s stated commitment to standing with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, in what ways can it ensure that this careless appropriation is not perpetuated, and that the Wadi Wadi origins of its name are honoured? Given the intimate links between Aboriginal languages and country, what are the ethics of using a Wadi Wadi name for a publication produced on Ngunnawal and Ngambri lands? Would a collaboration with the Ngaiyuriija Ngunawal Language Group, which has been working to revitalise the Ngunawal language, produce a more appropriate name? There are no simple answers to these questions, but they should be carefully considered.

Note on Sources This article would have been impossible without the assistance of Michael Walsh of AIATSIS and David Nash and Harold Koch of the ANU School of Literature, Language and Linguistics.

Macredie’s wordlist is on pages 448-451 of the third volume of Curr’s The Australian Race.

The quote from Samuel Furphy is from his article “Aboriginal place names and the settler Australian identity” in Melbourne Historical Journal 29 (2001): 71-78.

The quote from Tony Birch is from his article “‘Nothing has Changed’: The Making and Unmaking of Koori Culture”, in Meanjin 51(2) (1992), 229-246.

There are numerous spellings of Wadi Wadi: I have used that used by the Murray Lower Darling Rivers Indigenous Nations group.

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From the Archives: 25th Feb 1985

How Does Woroni Get Made?

By A Anderson

Editor’s Note: I selected this piece from the Woroni archives because it struck me how pertinent the points made in 1985 are still today in 2020. While some things have changed— Woroni is no longer controlled by ANUSA and no longer restricted by the regulations below— many others haven’t.

We still have a duty to raise the consciousnesses of our readers and contributors. We still reject the promotion of racism, sexism and all kinds of discrimination. We still publish pieces that “many readers just wish weren’t there.” It seems student media has barely changed on that front.

The idea of 4500-odd people controlling a newspaper is as relevant as it ever was. ANU students have more power over Woroni’s content than most realise. We are student run, student funded and student consumed. If students want solely aardvark-related content, Woroni will source it, but it is also up to them to submit it. Our voices are only what we make them.

Here you are reading a paper, where did it come from? Like many other fun things, it didn’t just

happen, it was produced, and thus as always with people working, and resources, there are questions of control and conflict.

This paper is not sold for its owners’ profit like other papers, it’s free because it’s funded by the Students’ Association which controls it. How do 4500-odd people control a newspaper? How can YOU (if you’re undergraduate and ticked the box when enrolling — and you can still tick the box now if you missed out or can’t remember — just ask at the SA) not only involve yourself but exercise control? That’s the story of this article. If you were here last year, remember the Publications Committee? This is what happened at the final SA General Meeting.

There are three things: the Students’ Association (SA), the Editors of Woroni, and the SA’s Publications Regulations. The Regulations spell out how Woroni is controlled. Basically, the SA hands over control to the Editors, by way of a once-ayear election. If you want to contribute articles on aardvarks, you vote for the editors who look like they might print them.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown Editors who promise to print Woroni entirely about aardvarks can (more or less) do just that, if they’re elected, with two exceptions: they have to print notices of SA meetings (and the meetings of clubs and societies affiliated with the SA),and they can also be directed to print special SA material i.e. if the government decides to introduce tuition fees the President can direct that 2 pages be printed about that instead of aardvarks. If you want articles on butterflies and can’t persuade the editors, what can you do? Try and have them sacked at a General Meeting of the SA (which all SA members can attend), having given notice to all and sundry that you want to do that (details are in those Regulations). Sacking the editors would also seem good if they solemnly promised to print articles about butterflies and then out of the blue did the exclusive-aardvark-stunt.

Fortunately, common ground amongst candidates for the Editorship in recent years has been the desirability of maximum student involvement, participation and diversity. This fits well with the objects of Woroni (also in the Regs) and hopefully satisfies more different interests. However, it can lead to new problems: sometimes people want to put in things that many readers just wish weren’t there.

In particular, wanting to let everyone have their say shouldn’t mean that sexist and racist material gets published. Sexism and racism aren’t just offensive, they’re oppressive: they produce a Woroni which caters to only some students, and puts down others: they reinforce the difficulty for a lot of people in getting the benefits of this university, doing what they want to do generally.

These are things the Students’ Association is dead against, and Woroni, the SA’s paper, is not to be used as a vehicle for oppression. Like, rape ‘jokes’ and pornographic ‘humour’ contribute to the situation which legitimises violence against women, and sexual exploitation, where women are not safe on the streets or in their houses: such words and images are already violence against women who read them, who know that men around them read them, who are confronted with trivialisation of the seriousness of their situation in this male dominated world. So, it’s not on.

Some men like to represent this as an incursion on their ‘freedom of speech’. Well Woroni isn’t ‘free’,

it’s got a purpose, which is to do with the SA’s most general purposes, (the real liberation of students, if you ask me). Freedom involves responsibility, refraining from harm, and a sense of priorities, like anything ‘democratic ‘ what counts is how you can exercise control: the Publication Regulations set up check and balances so political discussion can be protected, but they are not about protecting ‘rights’ to spout sexism and racism regardless of the needs and wishes of those affected by them, who we all ought to recognise just do not get a fair go in the world at large, and are entitled to the SA’s cooperation in ensuring that the prejudices discrimination/ oppression they are fighting is not continued within Woroni.

Accordingly, we have duties on the Editors to weed out sexism and racism, raising contributors’ consciousnesses where necessary, and as backups we have a Director of Student Publications (DSP) (the President), an Anti-Sexist Delegate (appointed

by Women on Campus, since ANU’s open feminist collective is better placed than anyone else to deal with sexism) and an Anti-Racist Delegate (elected by the first SA meeting, presumably someone who from personal experiience of the effects of racism brings an authentic rather than patronising commitment to their role). The two delegates are in an advisory role, helping the DSP: one of the things the Regs set up is a preference for printing offending articles with accompanying critical analyses (to raise everyone’s understanding) rather than simply cutting things out, and the delegates could write those commentaries (and that also deals with one of the ‘censorship’ arguments, since everyone can still read the original article and make up their own minds).

That’s about enough for now: remember Woroni isn’t the Editor’s or contributors’ play-thing, it’s the SA’s to control: if you want to check out the details, you can get a copy of the SA Publications Regulations from the Administrative Secretary of the SA, Di Riddell, in the SA Office on the first floor of the Union Building, top of the stairs and face right.

A. Anderson (former member of the Publication Committee which conducted the public meeting which led to the proposals which led to the new Publications Regs).

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ARTWORK: Sian Williams

RESIDENTIAL HALLS COVID-19 RESTRICTIONS IN FULL SWING FOR SEMESTER 2

By Siobhan Fahey

ANU residential halls are in full swing for Semester Two as stricter COVID-19 guidelines have been set in place. For students returning to college this semester, they have experienced a range of increasing COVID-19 measures enacted by ACT Health.

Speaking to Woroni, an ANU Spokesperson assured that ‘strict social distancing and hygiene protocols remain firmly in place, including restrictions on guests, revised protocols and documentation for gatherings and enhanced cleaning regimes…We have refused entry to students from travel restricted areas until we receive documentation from a health authority confirming they are cleared to enter the residence, including completion of any period of quarantine.’

Whilst Halls have been trying to maintain a normal appearance for returning students, there have been some changes to meet these new guidelines.

Regarding dining, residents can expect, ‘catering services to continue for residents, however, due to the COVID-19 protocols, there are changes to the way meals are served, including no self-service’.

Christian Flynn, the President for Wamburun Hall, notes ‘the kitchen has now fully opened up, and we have a sign-in and sign-out sheet for all attendees.

The kitchen is regularly cleaned and has a number of other social distancing measures in place.’ These regulations will vary between each Hall for the foreseeable future.

For many Halls, events have commenced through

the beginning of the second semester, albeit following COVID guidelines. Following the ACT measures, some events undertaken by the Halls have included, sporting activities, movie nights, museum trips etc. ’We’ve been running events that are compliant with restrictions continuously since the return of residents since around the 15th of July, and whilst the restrictions are evolving as the situation changes over time, CROW [the residential committee] is working incredibly hard to run events for our residents at all times’ said Christian. ‘Thankfully, a significant portion of those who are not returning are continuing to find ways to participate in online events and stay a part of our community’ The ANU’s Spokesperson further clarified that ‘All of these activities had a risk assessment document completed and reviewed before going ahead, and contact tracing documentation has also been collected from participants.’

However, it has been revealed to Woroni, by an unidentified source, that some Halls have received contradicting instructions regarding social distancing measures for the spectating of Interhall Sports. Whilst Fenner Hall has been told they are unable to spectate, other Halls have been given the chance to spectate in small numbers, causing confusion between residents.

John XXIII remains closed until Term 4 due to ongoing construction.

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PARSA APPOINTS INTERIM OFFICERS BEFORE ELECTION IN SEPTEMBER

By Shreya Gyawali Interim officers of the Postgraduate Representative Committee (PRC), the operational student representative body of PARSA began their term on August 5th 2020. The PRC comprises of the Executive Committee Members – President, Vice President, Equity and Education Officers; Portfolio Officers – Course Work and Higher Degree Research (Education Portfolio), International Students, Queer, Women’s, and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students, (Equity Portfolio), Social and Environmental Officers (Other Portfolioreporting directly to the Vice President); and the College Officers.

In mid- June, applications were called for the

positions of Education, Equity, Social, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students’, and International Students Officer as the existing members were graduating at the end of Semester One 2020. The Interim Officers will fill in the role for the outgoing graduates until the terms of the officers who are elected in the upcoming PARSA elections begin.

PARSA membership is for students undertaking their postgraduate or research degrees and ceases when the student graduates. Office bearers must be members of the Association to be able to continue their tenures.

ARTWORK: Sian Williams The outgoing PRC members who served a term since last year’s democratic elections are as follows: Equity Officer: Kevin Tiganna Education Officer: Hafsa Omar Social Officer: Walter Obaseki International Students Officer: Claire Zhu Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students Officer: Blake Edwards On reflecting on her term, outgoing Education Officer Hafsa Omar commented: “This year has been a challenging one due to the circumstances brought about by the pandemic.

It caused us to derail some of our pre- existing plans as we diverted our energy and resources in addressing the challenges faced by students due to Covid-19. I focused on supporting students through the provision of emergency grants, advocating for an alternate grading system and voicing their concerns regarding the drop in education quality due to the shift to remote learning. I also contributed to the new Student Partnership Agreement and the Course Representative policy document which still awaits endorsement due to delays caused by Covid-19. However, the past year has been a learning experience and I feel grateful for being able to serve in a position where I could help my fellow students.”

The Interim Officers were recruited by an interview process and will hold office until the end of the upcoming PARSA student elections. The newly appointed officers are: Interim Equity Officer: Epi Terbio Interim Education Officer: Eve Walker Interim Social Officer: Kanishk Kumar Interim International Students Officer: Naomi Otoo Interim Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Students Officer has not yet been finalised.

Interim Equity Officer, Epi Terbio commented:

“I have always viewed student representative role as a fulfilling privilege that entails great responsibility and I am all in for putting in the work for the benefit of our postgraduate community. I am keen on building upon the work that Kevin, my predecessor, started and will continue to work on events and projects that embodies the PARSA’s strategic themes of Support, Advocacy, Community Building, and Transparency and Sustainability. We will be working on a review of the Pastoral Care Model given that I remember this was a pressing issue last year and will also be looking into the issue of Workers’ Rights in coordination with similar-minded organizations such as the UnionsACT. There will also be advocacy programs addressing Sexual Assault and Sexual Harassment (SASH) as well as other issues relevant to student-parents and carers.”

Interim Education Officer, Eve Walker commented : “Being a part of PARSA has been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had since beginning my postgraduate studies. We are more than a representative body, and although I feel a strong passion for student advocacy, I could not imagine the ANU’s on-campus culture without the community our members have helped foster.

As such, I am honored by the opportunity I have been given, and look forward to strengthening my relationships with the rest of our team in future.”

As PARSA elections has been postponed to September this year, President Utsav Gupta mentioned: “It has come to our attention that a lot of new students who start university in the middle of the year were unable to take part in elections due to the tight deadlines. In order to enhance inclusivity and in consideration of the 2-year term of a full time master’s degree, the board decided to delay the election timelines so that we could encourage new students in learning about PARSA and get involved in the elections.”

PARSA student elections will be held between September 21st – 25th, 2020.

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CAMPUS

ARTWORK: Eliza Williams

Hold the Applause

By Queenie Ung-Lam CW: Sexual Harassment, Sexual Abuse

To mark the third anniversary of the landmark Australian Human Rights Commission (AHRC) report on sexual assault and sexual harassment on university campuses, the ANU hosted a summit on Respectful Relationships over Zoom on July 31st.. The summit discussed the ANU’s progress on the Sexual Violence Prevention Strategy (SVPS), a strategy that has taken three years to develop despite the urgency of the AHRC report. Indeed, what we cannot forget is that the AHRC report ranked the ANU as first across Australian universities for the percentage of students sexually harassed, and second for the percentage of students sexually assaulted. These statistics are deeply unsettling, cementing to current and future students that what should be a safe campus for all, devastatingly, is not.

This truth remains relevant today, three years after the report’s publication. Disappointingly, but bringing no surprise to student activists, this has been consistently ignored by those representing the institution. True, the ANU has made a number of changes that strive to make the campus safer for its students, notably the creation of a Respectful Relationships unit alongside an Online Reporting Tool. Nonetheless, the achievement of these two changes over the course of three years, is frankly, abysmal. It is a nod to the fact that the ANU is merely focused on appeasing rightfully angry student activists instead of taking the initiative to spearhead cultural change. This sentiment was crystallised when discussions during the summit were dominated by institutional heads all giving themselves and each other metaphorical pats on the back. The tone underpinning the summit was one of self-congratulation towards the ANU. It was a complete disjoint from the sombre spirit felt by student activists who knew that there were still students falling through the cracks due to the ANU’s delayed and often inadequate action against a backdrop of a slow change in systematic and institutional culture. What we needed from you, ANU, was not lip-service and self-congratulatory

comments, but self-reflection on the work that still needs to be done.

In an open letter to the ANU, ANUSA representatives outlined seven key recommendations for the path forward in creating a safer campus for all students. What struck me in these recommendations was that student activists needed to ask that the ANU commit to “not only accepting, but also actively seeking out, student feedback and cooperation with student leaders across campus”. Such a demand seems obvious and should be inherent to any working relationship between a university and its students. But the condescending and often patronising tone that the heads of the ANU adopted when talking to students during the summit is a more accurate depiction of how the institution views their students’ activism.

The potent combination of self-congratulation and assertion of institutional superiority, effectively, pulling ‘rank’ of staff over students, actively devalues and delegitimises rather than illuminates the tireless and hidden work of student activists.

An alarming precedent is thus set where current and future activists cannot rely on their university for the crucial networks of trust and support. The ANU is not only failing survivors of sexual assault and sexual harassment through slow institutional and systematic change. They are also failing the past and current students who work voluntarily in this area to regain the fundamental rights of safety for all students. In some cases, they are failing those who intersect across the two. The safety and protection of all students should never be an afterthought, nor a burden that is shouldered singularly by the young adults who enroll in the ANU because they believe in the institution’s ability to provide a safe space to learn, collaborate and grow. When the ANU treats it as such, they are failing all students.

Let us hold off on the applause then, shall we?

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Ticked Off

By Adam Grossenbacher

It’s back. The all exciting ANUSA elections have returned with astonishingly revolutionary and astounding policies that will no doubt transform the very foundations of ANUSA. This is the third election I have actively witnessed, and I await in anticipation for it all to be over and done with.

This time however, I wanted to highlight something about ANUSA elections that really gets my goat.

Tickets. First of all, what the heck are they? Second, what are their roles? And thirdly, why on earth do we need them?

ARTWORK: Bonnie Burns

Shockingly enough for those who do not know me personally, I am a dumb person who was even dumber in their first year. When it came to ANUSA elections in my first year, I had no idea what they were, who to vote for or even how to vote. Conveniently enough, I had a friend who was running for ANUSA, and they explained to me how to vote and introduced me to the idea of tickets.

For you all who are not aware, tickets in the context of ANUSA are groups that run under the same principles and support each other on the campaign.

So, me being the naïve first year that I was, I not only voted for her but also every candidate on her ticket. She was my friend, so the rest of the ticket should be chill, right?

It was soon after that that I realised that tickets at ANUSA have a darker side to them. They are a popularity vote. Tickets can easily invite people into the party who are influential to get their friends to vote in the elections for them and their ticket (just as I did) to improve other members’ chances of being elected. It is a tactic I learnt in my politics class and I was impressed and a little nervous to witness it in the elections for our student association.

Let us look at some hypotheticals as to how one may gain power using tickets. An easy ploy to better your chances would be to have as many people on your ticket as possible. Not only does it almost guarantee their vote, but they have also employed other people to praise their name in the elections.

While this may come out of a genuine respect for one’s policies, an innate competition between ‘us’ and ‘them’ is employed. Ideally, if the feelings were genuine, then one would not even need to be running on a ticket. People would simply trust in your cause, and then advertise your policies on behalf of them.

Additionally, if someone has been ‘shoulder tapped’ to be part of a ticket, they may be being used for clout. They are a part of a community that no one else on the ticket reaches, hence tapping into another pool of voters. Others on the ticket then exploit their connections if their friends don’t appropriately research the individuals on the ticket.

Typically, people on the ticket also don’t actually they would like to advertise. While this is a dark portrayal of student politics, there is always a risk that people will be elected just by band-wagoning off other people’s reputation and passion in the ticket system.

So, what am I getting at with all this? At the end of the day you are voting in individuals. Not tickets.

So, if you can, talk to the candidates. Do some light reading into who they are, how reliable they’ve been in participating in student welfare and what policies they’re running on. I am not saying that someone running on a certain ticket makes them any worse than others, it just means that certain people have for whatever reason, decided to run alongside them.

I would like to note however, that in addition to candidates running on tickets, you also have independent candidates, which I personally feel is a much more democratic way of campaigning.

You are running by yourself; your successes and merits are your own. There is no ambiguity or misconception between members on values and ideas. Because at the end of the day, people will be voting for you, not a party.

Also, the settled nature of a party perpetuates an idea that a person may work well within the party but outside may be uncooperative. A system of independent candidates does not have this issue because candidates know they will be working with others outside of the pre-established intra-ticket relations.

There is one upside to the social distancing regulations – 2020 is the first year I won’t be anxious walking down Uni Ave, nervously avoiding eye contact with candidates…surely, I’m not alone in rejoicing this? However, I am very excited to watch the ANUSA debates in the comfort of my own home, popcorn and coke can at my side as I judge people’s policies.

Cheers and best of luck to all candidates for ANUSA 2020.

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ARTWORK: Emily O’Neill

Kukula’s: A Review

By Josie Ganko

PSA: Kambri’s newest restaurant Kukula’s is damn good Kukula’s is what Nandos wishes it was. Kukula’s is so good that I just had my second consecutive lunch there. It’s so delicious that when I ate my chicken burger in the Woroni office, three separate people commented on how good it smelled.

For those who haven’t been on campus yet, Kukula’s recently opened in the corner spot where Green with NV used to be. As a proud carnivore, I have to say this is a huge improvement.

Kukula’s is an upcoming chain of restaurants that started in Parramatta, Sydney, and now has two franchises in Canberra. The ANU store is only the third shop in this rapidly growing chain: iterations are opening soon across Australian and New Zealand.

Kukula’s unique but delicious seasoning and sauce is what makes it stand out. According to their website, Two Ceylonese friends started the first restaurant, drawing from both Ceylonese and Portuguese cuisines. It’s certainly unique and some of the yummiest chicken I’ve ever eaten (and I really love chicken).

I also loved the art on the wall, done by Canberra artist Happy Decay. It seems that similar original murals can be found in all Kukula’s stores which is a very nice touch.

For my first meal at Kukula’s, I had the ‘No frills’ burger – yes very basic. As a first-time Kukula’s customer (and a white person), I decided to start with the mildest sauce called ‘BBQ Rib’. My anglosaxon taste buds were very happy with this choice, and the burger was delicious. The chips are also tasty; not only are they generously sized, but they are covered in delicious spiced salt.

To justify eating at Kukula’s for a second day, I decided to get the Mediterranean salad with chicken breast. This was also delicious, and the culmination of these two great meals is what compelled me to write this review.

I also think it would be very tricky to open a business at a time like this, so be a #localhero like me, and spend all your money at Canberra dining establishments like Kukula’s.

culture

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PHOTOGRAPHY: Maddy Watson

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All Hands on Deck

By Juliette Brown Juliette Brown interviews local musicians on diversity and inclusion in the Canberra music industry.

The local Canberra music scene is fertile ground for new artists, experimental sounds and for finding collab opportunities with different and creative talents in music, art, production and animation.

Yet female, Queer, differently abled, BPOC and Indigenous artists still face a number of systemic barriers within the local music industry, which preclude exposure, innovation and the reflection of Canberra’s diverse cultural voices.

I had the opportunity to chat with local experimental hip hop and RnB artist Ikenna Enyi, or Ike(from)Pluto, as well as the founders of Vessel, an inclusive DJ Collective that seeks to ‘dismantle systemic isms and phobias’, about their work in the Canberra music scene, hoping to gain some insight into its level of inclusivity, how far we have to go, and what venues and consumers can do to help break down the systemic inequalities in this space.

Pluto raps, sings and produces, ‘as well as doing audio engineering for not just [himself] but other artists as well.’ When asked what kind of music he creates, he states, ‘I love to push the boundaries of what music is “supposed” to sound like and create authentic records. I pride myself in creating songs about my real life and the world around me. I feel like my music is very honest – I have a new single, ‘Kill Me Softly’ being released this month.’

Regarding his involvement in the Canberra music scene, he sees himself as ‘just as much a consumer as a creator, constantly trying to find the super talented unknown bedroom musicians in the city and show love to them.’ He comments: ‘I go to as many love shows as I can and I’m always putting my friends onto local artists. I also feel like I’ve

played a role in connecting Canberra musos with each other to work, as well as connected musos with local artists in other mediums as well. Other than that I have recorded with, mixed and mastered music for many talented Canberra artists including ChiefMaez, Partyateleven, Genesis Owusu and YNG Martyr just to name a few.’

This shows the benefits of a smaller local music scene, in which artists can feed off each other’s creativity, fostering community and collaboration.

However, Dot, one of the founders of Vessel, mentions that this ‘insularity’ is also one of the problems with the Canberra DJ scene, which is male-dominated and primarily straight and white.

These people then pass on their knowledge, opportunities and gear to their friends. This compounds issues of accessibility to expensive gear – ‘decks are often around $5000-10,000 and even beginner gear is around $400’. Niamh, another of the founders, mentions that this creates an echo chamber of the same kinds of representation, music and values, ‘replicating the same structures that have historically oppressed minorities’.

This is one of the reasons why Joanne, Dot and Niamh decided to start Vessel just under a year ago. The extremely bright, colourful and switchedon trio of ANU students wanted to create a DJ collective focused on workshops and discussion, where people could share knowledge and space equally, with the freedom, tools, guidance and confidence to try out new things and play the music they wanted to play. They wanted to create a space in which women, BPOC, Indigenous and Queer DJs felt comfortable and didn’t feel like they were getting opportunities due to ‘diversity boxchecking’, or that the people giving them these opportunities didn’t really care about them or their music.

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As Joanne stated, ‘we only learnt how to DJ because people gave us the opportunity, so we wanted to pass on the same.’ They wanted to create something ‘with permanence’, where people could come to the beginners workshops, and then build upon those skills in practice sessions and knowledge-sharing sessions. Vessel also tries to choose mentors that its participants can relate to, with the necessary ‘time and motivation’ to invest in its participants. On this, Joanne comments that ‘different demographics have different experiences and face different issues, so the music they want to play is different, so choosing autonomous mentors for the beginners workshops is just good teaching - being true to what’s there and to people’s stories.’

They also want paying mentors to ‘go back into the cause’, along with the rest of their initiatives.

Joanne adds, ‘people who belong to marginalised intersections often are expected to carry out extra emotional labour without it being acknowledged, so paying is one of those acknowledgements.’

Niamh: ‘It was a steep learning curve. It was less busy initially, but now we are busier than ever. It’s also allowed us to be truer to our ethos, giving people the opportunity to do their own streams – both giving them technical opportunities but also opportunities to direct an event, plan a line-up, choose the theme etc. Now that we know how to set them up, they are easier to run than club nights – they are less stressful and more accessible, and hopefully in the future people will be more comfortable to appear at club nights, because they’ve had a try at home first. In all, we’ve become more focused and creative in the events that we are running.’

Dot: ‘Before it was just club nights, with disco, funk, techno, experimental – the same line-up – but now we can have smaller line ups, more dinner party vibes etc.’

Niamh: ‘It’s forced us to think outside the box.’

As vessels run through the body, delivering oxygen and lifeblood, so too have Vessel been busy over the past year, running workshops and events, bringing energy and fresh air to the Canberra DJ scene. They run supervised practice sessions, open to everyone, usually advertised on their Facebook page. They also run workshops, for example, on learning how to use loops and effects, as well as panel discussions on things like how to run a safer event, focusing on drug health and safety and safe spaces. They facilitate recording sessions and make an effort to recommend female, BPOC, Indigenous and Queer artists they have taught to event planners and club owners when asked. Vessel has created a network of not only DJs, but animators, sound technicians and visual artists as well. Finally, they run club nights, mostly at Sideway, but during the pandemic they have pivoted towards livestreams.

Why the name Vessel, by the way?

Niamh: ‘It’s got connotations of making space; there was also an art course about this at ANU where the theme was ‘Vessel’. A vessel is also a boat, and so there’s this silly pun you can make about having ‘all hands on deck’ because we’re an inclusive DJ Collective. It’s also just a cool name.’

Has Covid-19 made the space more or less accessible, do you think?

Joanne: ‘Before, we were also limited by venues, with their established clientele and music demands.

Even if we had some freedom, we were still limited to what people wanted to hear. We don’t have that with streams, and we can record them for the archives to play at a later date, to give people more exposure.’

Similarly, when asked about the level of inclusivity in the Canberra scene, Pluto thinks that ‘the mission to increase representation of the LGBTQIA+ community in the Canberra music scene and also Australia-wide is doing really well and it’s great to see, and I’m 100 percent supportive of that!

Unfortunately, however, there is definitely a narrow passageway for artists of colour, particularly Black artists, to be booked for shows, played on radio and listed on playlists. It’s as though we are drip fed into the industry a couple artists at a time, even though we are responsible for much of the innovation in the industry.’

Vessel agrees that diversity breeds innovation, choosing to be a non-genre based collective because ‘different genres come out of different communities, meaning that we have all kinds of different music coming together in our workshops, which is cool to see.’

ARTWORK: Emily O’Neill Another obstacle to diversity is the increasing commercialisation of Canberra music venues.

Though there are some venues that tirelessly support smaller acts, like Smith’s Alternative and the UC refectory, as Canberra develops, places like ANU bar have been replaced by Badger & Co, with Joanne noting that ‘businesses usually prioritise established headliners, because they would be taking a risk with lesser known DJs’. However, she affirms that being ‘actively anti-isms requires sacrifices and risks’.

Likewise, Pluto feels that ‘one problem with the industry is that change is seen as a threat to the status quo for those that are content in their position, and the content ones are usually the ones making the big decisions in the industry.’ This is why Vessel chooses to run a number of its events in art galleries and creative non-for-profit spaces, because they ‘don’t rely on the structures of club music’ and are ‘not bound by that business model’.

So what needs to change before we can see Canberra’s rich cultural diversity accurately reflected within its music industry? Firstly, Pluto states that ‘we definitely need to increase the number of black and brown artists being booked for live shows’.

In the same vein, Joanne articulates that ‘venues need to be actively and intentionally anti-isms’.

We need a ‘permanent, ongoing shift in the control of music spaces,’ Dot adds. ‘Collectives, clubs and event runners need to ask themselves, ‘Are they teaching women, POC and Queer people how to run events? Are they listening to their decisions?’’

Secondly, we need to support our local diverse talent over international headliners. As Pluto asserts, ‘some of the biggest and best artists in the country are your neighbours, listen to them!’

One local artist Vessel recommends is Hei Zhi Ma. She has taught some of Vessel’s women’s and people of colour workshops, and ‘infuses her sets with lots of thematic meaning and interesting perspectives, drawing from podcasts, speeches and a huge range of genres.’ Vessel advocates for the ‘excellence in our backyard’ and that we need to speak up about the changes we want to see in the industry.

Pluto notes that Canberra’s small scene ‘gives more opportunity for the consumers of local music and local musicians alike to have a voice for change, and I think it’s time we use it.’

‘When people complained about the lack of diversity at Spilt Milk, they changed it in the years to come’ Niamh argues, as evidence of our power to affect culture for the better.

Thirdly and finally, the government needs to continue to invest in the arts and in more creative non-for-profit spaces. Vessel relies heavily on grants for its continuance, and asserts that small-scale funding is necessary for the growth and viability of experimental artists. Joanne emphasises that ‘what we see as really important is grants and funding for individual artists and smaller collectives and initiatives like Vessel, n.10.as Radio and Sol. Sonik. This type of funding at the grassroots level allows creators from marginalised intersections more creative freedom and ways of working around systemic inequality. In contrast, when funding is directed towards established institutions rather than makers, whatever inequalities already exist in those spaces get reproduced.’

Niamh adds that ‘if you invest in the arts, you will get it back, with people turning to the arts more than ever before during the pandemic.’

With a robust ecosystem of world-class talent, venues like Sideway that are receptive to experimentalism, and a small supportive community of passionate creatives, the Canberra music scene is ripe with opportunity. However, Joanne emphasises that we need to ‘fix the soil’ if we are going to see any meaningful change. When asked to clarify, she continues that ‘you can transplant women or people of colour or LGBTQIA artists into the line ups all you want, but if the soil is patriarchal, racist or homophobic, it’s still going to be fucked. So we have to fix the soil.’ So here’s to uprooting systemic prejudices, and let’s get gardening.

Music Recommendations?

Pluto: J Dilla, Erykah Badu and D’Angelo Vessel: King Midas Sound, Roger Robinson and DJ Bus Replacement Service

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ARTWORK: Bonnie Burns My mother is not an openly sentimental person.

When I hear the question: “Will you go to Lebanon with me over Christmas?”

I understand that she will not go without me. She knows as well as I do that the enchantment of the place has not worn off. And so, every three years or so, we pack our bags and fly across the world to remind ourselves we belong somewhere.

Lebanon—the Mediterranean wonderland plagued by the endless turmoil of political corruption and religion. It seems the combination of time and distance creates an endearing pull towards inevitable chaos. There is no shame in it. It may reek of poetic indulgence, but at least it promotes consistency. Yes, Lebanon is dysfunctional. But more importantly, Lebanon is childhood; Lebanon is family; Lebanon is ‘it just feels right?’

We arrive at night and feel the years of separation wash over us in a single moment. On this night, I find myself sitting across from my grandma, or teta, as we say in Arabic. An ad starts to play on the TV and my mind could hardly comprehend that it was in Arabic. She grabs the remote and mutes the sound as she continues to rock back and forth to the rhythm of her prayer. The stove needs more wood, but it has been longer than a decade since I have handled one and I have no intention of poking my hand into a fire. She is still chanting to herself, yet every minute or so, her eyes dart to the dancing colours until she is done praying, and the faded red book is out of her hands. Her mandeel, a loose white headscarf, slips further back, revealing most of her fine, yellow-white hair. This is the winter I had dreamed of, stitched together by memories of a fading childhood. The injustice of being sent to bed early to warm it up for my pernicious sister; socks, carefully lined on the gas-lit heater, my mother’s yelling to take them off.

You never expect the sudden uneasiness that follows. You know, the kind that creeps up on you when you find yourself somewhere deeply familiar, yet deeply strange. I suppose there is something other-worldly about arriving at a new place at night.

I was ten years old when my parents decided to leave Lebanon and move back to Australia. All I knew of the place was that I was born there, and that things would soon be very different. It’s funny; the way most of our memories seem to desert us, while others choose to linger on. I remember

the eeriness of the quiet roads, and how tiny the houses seemed — like something out of a fairytale. People looked and acted differently, and their slurred speech sounded funny to my ears. My once common name became an anomaly, and it too, sounded just as strange coming from their lips.

And so it goes— your first taste of displacement; one that leaves you feeling like a stranger to yourself. Your accent follows you around like a shadow, but you soon realise you are not the only ‘other’ around. You find a sense of comfort in that.

You stop correcting the people who mispronounce your name, and you wonder if they will ever consider you a member of their speech community.

Monachopsis

By Heba Bou Orm

Your father says, ‘we speak Arabic at home. ’ Your mother continues to pack for you an ‘ethnic’ lunch which you trade with a friend for a vegemite scroll. You are now used to people asking you where you’re from. Your local library has a sign that reads: Welcome! in different languages. Your eyes immediately spot the familiar, cursive strokes.

It thrills you to hear a stranger speaking your mother tongue in public. You smile and drift closer to them.

You can’t help yourself. ‘I am like you!’ You want to say to them, but you keep the secret to yourself.

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Are You Racist ANU? X Woroni

aRE YOU RACIST ANU? X WORONI PULLOUT In Partnership With The ANU Ethnocultural Department

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ARTWORK: Eliza Williams

What is ‘Are You Racist ANU’ About?

By ANU Ethnocultural Department

It’s about weaponising the power of storytelling to dismantle white supremacy at the ANU. White supremacy manifests in more than one form.

Just because we don’t see outright racism doesn’t mean we can deny the historical and cultural influences our university is built around.

From a lack of BIPOC representation in academia to non-critical representations of historical figures, there are constant reminders that the university space hasn’t dismantled the white supremacy it’s rooted in.

We must empower the BIPOC community at ANU to speak their truth. The experiences of racism, struggles with identity, stories within the BIPIC community are vastly diverse and personal to each person and their history. It is important we speak our truth to dismantle the whiteness that minority and ethnic communities are socialised to ignore.

Internalised Racism As BIPOC are victimised by racism, we internalise it. That is, we develop ideas, beliefs, actions and behaviours that support or collude with racism.

This internalised racism has its own systemic reality and its own negative consequences in the lives and communities of people of colour. More than just a consequence of racism, then, internalised racism is a systemic oppression in reaction to racism that has a life of its own.

Because race is a social and political construct grounded in a history/experience of oppressor/ oppressed relationships based on physical characteristics, by definition it offers people of colour a very limited sense of self. With internalised racism, this limited sense of self can undermine people of colour’s belief in our full humanity and disrupt our understanding of our inner life.

Interpersonal Racism

What does racism look like?

Racism takes many forms and can happen in many places. Often when we think about racism, we think about individual incidents of abuse, brutality or harassment that were motivated by racist behaviours. A white, patriarchal capitalist world wants to you believe racism is an isolated incident.

But that’s not how racism works! Racism can be broken down into types such as these: Systemic Racism Systemic racism is also known as institutional racism or structural racism. It assumes white superiority individually, ideologically and institutionally. Under systemic racism, systems of education, government and the media celebrate and reward whiteness.

This assumption of superiority can pervade thinking consciously and unconsciously.

Interpersonal racism occurs between individuals.

Once private beliefs come into interaction with others, racism is now in the interpersonal realm.

Examples include public expressions of racial prejudice, hate, bias, and bigotry between individuals.

Understanding your racism and what you can do about it: Just because you don’t commit hate crimes doesn’t mean you aren’t racist.

Just because you don’t intend to be racist doesn’t mean you’re not racist.

Just because you’re not white doesn’t mean you’re not racist.

Racism is ingrained in a society that benefits YOU, so you are racist. The question is, what can you do about it?

ARTWORK: Alice Dunkley The award for “perfect ally” goes to...absolutely no one.

You will never reach a point in your life when you become the “perfect ally”. Being an ally is everevolving. It’s a process of change and development.

The term ‘ally’ is a verb and so it actually requires you to do something.

You’re going to make mistakes….

As an ally, you’re going to make a lot of mistakes and incorrect assumptions. This is the case even if you’re fighting the good fight to end racism in your community. Learn to say sorry when you do make those mistakes and be prepared to get called out.

You can’t be BFFS with everyone’s oppression.

deconstructing your inner self and contextualising it against the world you live in. The question is, are you ready to do that?

Performative allyship? It ain’t it chief.

Sharing posts on social media and engaging with anti-racist resources is all great but you need to show up when you are needed the most. You need to put yourself on the front lines and weaponise your white privilege or otherwise to help those who can’t afford to do so. You need to be ready to call racism out when you see it.

Your POC, Black or Indigenous friends and student leaders are not your moral yardsticks and encyclopedias for racism. If you have a question, google it. The answer is definitely out there. If you can’t find it? Look harder.

Everyone’s experience with racism is different and you can’t use your own experience with racism to understand the oppression of others.

Things We’ve Learned About Being a Better Ally

By Niroshnee Ranjan I’m guilty of this, in doing so we forget the complexities of systemic racism and how it affects different minority groups. Human empathy does not rely on relatedness. Start listening. Stop relating.

The most radical thing you do is admitting that you don’t know it all.

Often BIPOC are called upon to be the highest authority on all topics related to race but sometimes we don’t know it all. Acknowledging that you don’t know it all makes space for others who can better articulate their thoughts on the topic.

I’m (not) sorry you feel guilty.

Feeling guilty about your complicit stance on racism does not automatically mean you are being a better ally. Guilt is the first step in a very long process of self reflection and development. The process of

The emotional labour of having to talk about race again and again is exhausting. Don’t fall prey to the dangerous inbetween. You can read all the critical race theory in the world or watch all the TV shows featuring Black people ever to be made but that doesn’t give you the authority to speak over other people whose lived experience is racism. I’m so glad you’re finally on your personal journey to dismantling white supremacy but it doesn’t just stop there. What are you going to do about it?

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Learning to ‘Speak Your Truth’ in a Racist University

By Niroshnee Ranjan This semester, the ANU Ethnocultural Department launched their Semester Two campaign Are You Racist ANU?. Some may think this is a new wave of identity politics. It’s not. The movement intends to empower members of the Ethnocultural community at the ANU to ‘Speak Your Truth’, or in other words, tell their story.

When having to witness the severe lack of minority representation in ANU academia, to non-critical representations of historical figures on campus grounds or even ANU’s lack of anti-racism resources and training, one thing remains clear above all. This university is not free from the clasps of white supremacy. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Unfortunately, there is no hiding the emotional labour that comes with telling one’s story. Being oppressed, let alone finding the words to explain that very oppression is a mentally exhausting task.

As writer and academic Toni Morrison says, “The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining over and over again, your reason for being…”

Thus, telling your story can very easily turn into

having to prove your experiences with racism. This constant need to not only justify yourself but also having to verify the anti-racism movement for the white gaze is dehumanising to those who are oppressed by racism in the first place. It is one of the underlying reasons for the disempowerment of minority communities in their fight towards an antiracist world. If only we could all just say, no Karen, this isn’t the Oppression Olympics. These are my experiences and I can speak about them in any way I want to. It’s a privilege to listen to the stories of racism without ever having to experience racism in the first place.

So, what is the point of speaking your truth?

In the white, patriarchal, capitalist society we live in, racism is both explicit and implicit. It is the very nature of this white, patriarchal capitalist society that associates racism with isolated incidents of harassment and abuse, diverting attention away from the structural nature in which racism infiltrates our institutions.

ARTWORK: Sian Williams Racial Justice movements like Black Lives Matter cannot be boiled down to the murder of George Floyd or the acquittal of Trayvon Martin’s murderer.

They may be the unfortunate catalysts these movements needed, but we can’t forget how has embedded itself in the way we are socialised to behave and communicate in this society.

The only way we will actually start seeing it, is if we speak our truth.

For instance, I spent the last two years of my university education living in a residential college that was predominantly white. I was very lucky to find my clan both inside and outside of college but when I had to interact with the rest of the college community, I would put on my ‘white voice’ and hone my ‘white personality’. The dual nature of my identity and interactions with those at my residential college went unnoticed not only by those around me but also by myself. That was, until it was pointed out to me by my friends and I began to see that the very nature of white supremacy ingrained in the institution I called home, was to make you believe that this was the norm.

It wasn’t until very recently that I confessed to my white friends about this duality in my nature.

They were shocked to hear what I had to say.

However, they know this is how I feel now, and their rose-coloured glasses have been tainted by the harsh realities of the world as we minorities see it.

This was a positive experience of speaking my truth.

But there is a fine line between speaking your truth in this way and having to explain yourself and ‘prove’ your experiences with racism all the time. The difference is, that by speaking your truth, you are weaponising your agency as a person, whilst also sharing your experiences for the benefit of others. But most importantly, for the benefit of yourself.

Truth is not only born from the fact that you are telling other people about your story. Truth is also born from the fact that you are sharing your story on your own terms, and are consequently carving out an anti-racist, white-supremacy-free niche for yourself in this world.

Speaking your truth will also allow you to bring to light the complexities that underlie the creation of

the ethnocultural community at the ANU in the first place. In a world where minority communities have to look to one another for safety and comfort, these communities can often be mistaken for thriving simply off a sense of relatability. Let’s take Subtle Asian Traits for instance. The content shared on this group is always #sorelatable. Yet, we are so much more than that. There is unseen beauty in the intricacies underlying our identities which are often misunderstood or cast aside as unimportant.

Speaking your truth is just as much owning up to the bad as showcasing the good. However, the power of the anti-racism movement lies in being able to unlearn those biases that are both visible and invisible in their own ways. I’m on a very long journey to dismantling internalised white supremacy but the least I can do along the way is speak my truth in the process of it all.

Nevertheless, my truth in many ways, is still one of privilege. For it is masked by the niceties of my skin colour, socio-economic class and model minority status. I am not black. Nor am I Indigenous.

I don’t face the same extremities of oppression and blatant fear for one’s life that my peers do. I will never truly understand how it feels as I too am on stolen land. But I can provide a platform where they can speak their truth, whilst I speak my own.

Perhaps you read this and noticed how I speak my truth. Perhaps you didn’t.

Maybe this piece will convince someone else to do the same. Maybe it won’t.

Reading this piece will definitely make someone feel uncomfortable. But isn’t that the point of it all in the first place?

It’s time we make people uncomfortable when speaking about racism at the ANU. So, will you ‘Speak Your Truth’?

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ARTWORK: Eliza Williams

Don’t Look Away

By Anonymous

Don’t look, just walk on.

This is an attitude I was taught. When visiting my Mum’s country, you will be struck by the amount of beggars on the street. And not just the amount, but the severity. Men without legs, women without faces, blind, the elderly and children. All very calm, begging, selling or just watching as you pass by.

The advice I was given?

“Don’t look at them, just keep walking”.

A strange puzzle for a child. When you see someone hurt, someone suffering, you feel as if you have to help them. But here, in the dense and packed nation of India, there’s just too many. Too many people to try and help. For a single person, it’s hilariously impossible. But the lesson, I think, was wrong.

To look past someone felt utterly unjust to me. It coloured such a large amount of who I am, that it became impossible to think. Enjoying food, TV, good clothes or company almost became a crime for me. How could you enjoy anything, knowing that just outside the door people had less?

How could you admire heroes, the Gandhis or Lincolns that you only knew as a fairy tale, when a cruel reality was lurking around you?And the fact that this same fate, reduced to poverty, could so easily happen to you? Hell, you clung on tighter to any kind of safety.

And then, back to Australia.

Suddenly back to a place that was almost grossly, infinitely richer. I wondered why there were so few beggars, so many clean cars and so much food. I

tried to forget the words I had learned in India. To just walk past my problems.

And soon, that became utterly impossible. You have to face people when speaking to them. You can’t ignore family members when they ask for help. And problems don’t just disappear if you stop thinking about them.

The lessons given in India helped me, and the people there, to go about their lives. When you need to work for food, education and housing, it’s unnecessary torture to focus at the beggars lining the street.

And my lesson was to learn that while people may not look at the poor, they are still working to help.

There are dozens of charities in India, with thousands moving above the poverty line yearly. People work like devils to improve things, the most common line in India is “I want to afford a good education for my children”. People want to create a better future. Everyone does, even Lincoln and Gandhi managed between civil war and independence to try and reform conditions in their countries.

The point was not to turn away. While we can’t torture ourselves with guilt, being aware of the conditions we live in, have lived in and those we could potentially live through are important so that we can face problems down the track. The lesson I learnt in India changed from “don’t face your problems” to “don’t dwell on what you can’t help”.

And in Australia, I learnt that ultimately, we cannot look away from a crisis.

BY MANYA SINHA

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ARTWORK: Alice Dunkley

What Does a Decolonised University Look Like?

By Niroshnee Ranjan

What does a decolonised university look like? No one truly knows…

No one knows what a decolonised university looks like because we have never had the opportunity to witness a decolonised world. When the university as an institution is a result of the colonial project and imagination, how decolonised is decolonised enough?

In this context, decolonisation never fully arrives. It is in a constant state of becoming, no matter how ‘progressive’ or ‘radical’ the change seems.

Let’s imagine…

The systemic nature of racism is designed to crush the power of imagination in BIPOC communities through distraction. The distraction of constantly having to prove yourself and that you can’t ask for me. And, in a world prone to pessimism, we often forget how beautiful it is to create through imagining the future. So, let’s imagine what an antiracist, decolonised universiry would look like. Here are some ideas: A university that better supports its BIPOC students A university that actively employs BIPOC counsellors and psychologists to make mental health assistance more accessible and inclusive for its BIPOC

students.

A university that listens to its BIPOC students’ concerns without citing lack of resources as a concern.

A university that employs and encourages more BIPOC representation in academia A university that encourages more BIPOC academics but also goes beyond that to give voice to the lived experience in its research methodologies and output.

A university that stops making pledges for more diversity and inclusion and actually does something about it.

A university that responds to workplace racism and disciplines its staff and leadership when they make the ‘casual racist comment’.

A university which critically re-evaluates the whiteness of its learning curriculum.

A university that looks beyond the conventional approach to education and curriculum and appreciates that true decolonisation means education will never begin and end in its academy.

ARTWORK: Emily O’Neill

ANU’s Aggravating Colour Class Issue

By Manya Sinha

“I’ve been financially independent for 2 years, my parents just pay my rent for Bruce Hall” Statements coated with the blindness of economic privilege like above are regularly heard on the ANU campus. University for many can be an isolating experience, however at the ANU, the experiences of coming from a low socio-economic (SES) minority background can isolate you almost completely.

The ANU is unique in that a major proportion of students are determined by their economic ability to move interstate and abroad to attend in the first place. This essential barrier knocks out a majority of low SES individuals from attending the university in a fell sweep.

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In my first year as a fresh Logan Queenslander youth I felt like someone who had just landed on an alternate private school campus. ANU has the lowest level of low SES student participation at all universities in Australia, (even less than Bond University)! In a 2008 study, the national average of most universities’ proportion of low SES students was 16%. ANU, on the other hand, had an abysmal makeup of 4.53% (notably the highest number they had ever had at the time)! This is reflected in the makeup of students on the campus, many who herald from elite international and private schools that reflect an artificial monied and controlled picture of the society they come from. These students often pride themselves on growing up with a diverse environment, going to schools overseas and interacting with people all over the globe, yet they never acknowledge the falsity of this diversity.

The underlying makeup is that of wealth.

Lack of low SES representation for me has single handedly resulted in an isolating cultural difference.

Having parents not on the dole, connections, a financially and emotionally supportive family network, holidays around the world and the polished spoken command private schools equip you with are prerequisites for participating in this university without feeling inferior. As a direct result the voices of people most affected by situations of strife tend to be drowned out by those who choose to speak on our behalf. It is as though low SES culturally diverse individuals are a foreign specimen in a David Attenborough documentary that requires the palatable translation of richer minorities from affluent families with the right degree of learned political correctness.

Being lectured by well-meaning friends about economic responsibility when they come from backgrounds of economic stability feels like a particularly insidious salt in the wound. Worse is when this kind of patronisation of experience comes from circles and groups meant to advocate for minorities. In my personal experience interacting with these spaces, a singular identity of palatable elitist politically savvy POC-ness is championed and catered to, and the diversity of thought is stifled as a result.

In my experience of most advocacy spaces on campus, those who speak up most and try to control the narrative tend to be from privileged

backgrounds. Spaces cater to one type of POCness. There is little to no recognition that sometimes they share more in common with the rich white girls and boys of elite colleges and halls, than the low SES ethnic communities they try to represent, oftentimes ridiculing the same communities for not being acclimated to a white palatable ethnic makeup. The beauty of POC experiences feels diluted through this controlled lens. The often ugly, unfiltered, sometimes problematic and ultimately complicated experience is diluted when only represented through this filtered lens.

Weaponisation of the very real and personal experiences of low SES POCs as a medium to garner woke validation is reductive to the experiences of actual low SES people of colour.

There’s an immense irony that those that will never have to deal with the intricacies of public housing, over-policing, and a myriad of other low SES issues, are the ones who try to dictate the narratives of these experiences.

Competitional poverty is a side hobby, rather than a lived reality for many of those who attend ANU. Race and class are all comparative, and there’s always someone worse off or better off. But I think more students at Australia’s most prestigious university should use the critical lens they apply to their readings to themselves and their cohort to keep their positionality in these institutions in perspective.

Changing the way ANU students engage with the low SES issue is important. Tokenistically pointing to the lack of low SES representation during stupol season, with empty promises of change isn’t enough. Changing the culture of how we as students comport ourselves, is important in order to not make university an even more isolating experience for those already marginalised by their background.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

What Does It Mean Going to University on Stolen Land?

By Anushri Goswami

How aware are you?

The ANU operates on the stolen lands of the Nngunnawal and Ngambri people. Have you ever thought about the fact that you live, study and work on stolen land? A land where sovereignty has never been ceded?

When you go to class and learn through a predominately white Settler gaze, how aware are you that you do so where complex First Nations social and political systems were in place for thousands of years on land beneath your feet?

What are you going to do about it?

As you progress through your degree at the ANU, are you also educating yourself in ways you may be complicit in the oppression of First Nations people today? As you learn to critically analyse and speak up, are you also amplifying the voices of Indigenous people? You are and will always be living on stolen land.

What are you going to do about it? Here’s a great place to start.

Read and listen to Indigenous authors.

Ambelin Kwaymullina is an Aboriginal writer and illustrator from the Palyku people of the Pilbara region. She has written a book, Living on Stolen Land, which is an exploration on how Settlers can respect the Indigenous sovereignties around them and take meaningful action.

This is a short extract from one of Kwaymullina’s poems:

“Settler-colonialism is a serial violator of indigenous boundaries Of lands bodies hearts minds....

Listening means learning to hear the noise of settler-colonialism inside your head and all around you so you can hear past it to understand our voices on our own terms”

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ARTWORK: Malcolm Fortaleza

aRE YOU RACIST ANU? X WORONI PULLOUT - End In Partnership With The ANU Ethnocultural Department

Woroni would like to thank the Ethnocultural Department for the words, time and energy put into this pullout

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An Interview with Sweet and Sour Words: Viv Wang, Sydney Farey, Eleanor Hsu, Chetan Kharbanda and James Yang.

Edited/Compiled: Viv Wang Photographs: Abby Ching The Sweet and Sour Zine (SNS) was conceived in the middle of isolation by founder Sydney Farey.

As COVID-19 spread across the world, along with it came a rise in xenophobia catalysed by the pandemic. Without everyday physical interactions and our usual support networks, people begin to lose a sense of community. That’s what inspired Sydney to post in ANU Facebook groups in search of a like-minded team to found SNS. After an overwhelming amount of submissions from the community (thank you!) and a lot of hard work from everyone on the team, Issue One of the zine was successfully launched on the 8th of August at Smith’s Alternative. What was a wet and cold day outside, could not stop the merriment and buzz of excitement that filled Smith’s that afternoon. As we are bi-monthly, sending in content for us to print is a way you can support us! Look out for Issue Two submission openings soon!

Following is an interview with Sydney Farey and some responses from SNS team members discussing the zine and its significance.

Viv Wang Founder Sydney Farey: About you: I consider myself a visual artist and art historian. I

work mostly in printmaking, and in ceramics more recently. I was born and raised in China, moving to Canberra when I was twelve years old. My identity is a mix between my Chinese upbringing, my American family, and my life growing up in Australia.

What inspired you to found SNS? I wanted to create a space for individuals with Asian heritage in Australia to share our thoughts, experiences and creativity, and provide a supportive platform where we can come together to explore our cultures, connect and heal. It is a powerful feeling when we realise we are not alone and many of our experiences are shared with others.

What has the reception been like thus far?

The reception has been overwhelmingly positive!

From our dedicated executive team members and contributors, to the people who share our social pages and send us encouraging messages - we have been met with nothing but support from the Canberra, and greater Australia community. It goes to show how important a platform like SNS is, especially during tumultuous times like these. Our community is growing bigger and bigger every day.

On Aug 8 launch event, our FB page surpassed 600 likes, and our IG page surpassed 300 likes. Most online traction came from our Smith’s event at over 9.5k interactions. We had over 50 contributions to the first issue of the zine from all over Australia.

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What do you hope SNS will be able to achieve?

I hope SNS can keep providing opportunities for Asian creators to develop and share their work in a supportive and creative environment, and continue educating the broader public through bringing attention to Asian stories and experiences. While most of our team and our community is based in Canberra at the moment, I hope SNS will keep growing and reach areas all around Australia.

How can others support BIPOC creators/SNS? While we were able to keep the first issue of SNS free as we received SEEF funding, our future issues may require a small charge in order to sustain printing fees and keep this platform alive. We will always try to keep SNS as accessible as possible, with free issues online at all times. The best way to directly support BIPOC artists is to do it locally!

Attend BIPOC artists’ exhibitions, plays, shows, live sets, purchase locally produced art, clothing, crafts and objects from BIPOC creators.

The Sweet and Sour Team: What motivated you to join the SNS team?

Chetan Kharbanda (Management): Race and culture takes up a huge chunk of my headspace as a POC living in Australia. Being an extroverted and super social person, I feel very connected to my peer group which constitutes people from all sorts of backgrounds. Despite this, I’ve always struggled to share some thoughts, ideas and experiences effectively due to a huge difference in personal

context. When I saw Sydney’s post about a potential venture which will facilitate sharing the voices of the BIPOC community, the first thought that hit me was “Hell yeah!!”.

What do you hope SNS will be able to achieve?

Viv Wang (Marketing): I hope SNS will become a popularised space where Asian creators feel safe and appreciated. I see SNS as an important tool in cross-cultural understanding as it provides a platform for creators categorically deemed as niche to publish their work.

How do you think SNS will impact Asians in Australia?

James Yang (Design): I think it will be a good way to attract more attention to the Asian-Australian experience, as I think it is something that is often deemed insignificant, or pushed to the side in light of other social issues.

Viv Wang (Marketing): I think the massive turnout and the really enthusiastic reception we’ve gotten so far speaks volumes about how such a project was needed. I believe SNS will assist in the popularisation and spotlighting of the wide varieties of Asian-Australian experiences which may help in the validation of other Asian Australians.

How can others support BIPOC creators/SNS? Chetan Kharbanda (Management): I’d say follow the three E’s. Educate yourself, Empathise and Enact the change. We’re here to help you do that.

ARTWORK: Sydney Farey

I See You, You See Me

By Queenie Ung-Lam

Smith’s Alternative drew a large crowd last Saturday afternoon, mostly composed of ANU students, drawing annoyed glares from the usual patrons who were expecting another chill afternoon. Laughter and chatter resounded across the velvet sofas as the students brought their energy to support the launch of Sweet and Sour, a zine dedicated to Asian Australian experiences. Waiting in line to gain entrance, I picked up the zine from a pile sitting on an outside table. Flicking through this zine, I felt thrills all over my body. Here, in my hands, I could finally see my history and culture reflected. I saw myself in the words of others which to this moment, is still a foreign sensation.

Growing up Australian Vietnamese, the written word that I consumed largely fell within the confines of white hegemony. Rarely, did I follow the adventures of characters with black hair and tan skin, families didn’t sit down to dinners of rice and fish and parents didn’t speak languages other than English.

In stark contrast, the pages of Sweet and Sour were alive with diverse Asian experiences. Each carefully selected artwork or written piece highlighted how the Asian experience differed to the Australian status quo. Often, when we speak of the Asian experience being distinct from an Australian one, this conversation is layered in negative undertones.

However, the culmination of diverse voices in the

zine presented a celebration of Asian cultural heritage, a symbol of belonging because of our differences. In the literary zeitgeist, this zine carves out space for our voices, legitimising and then championing our lived experiences.

This zine is the coming together of Asian Australian youths to produce art that is relevant and impactful.

It is powerful in its ability to bring together people, place and culture, to make individuals feel seen and heard. And when you grow up as part of a minority, I cannot emphasise enough the importance of feeling as if you belong to a society, even if it’ll never be within the majority groups. To face your reflection in the pages of literature, to trace those words and feel the imprints of your history and your culture, is integral to identity. It is undeniably powerful.

So, thank you to the Sweet and Sour team for creating this zine and encouraging the flow of discussions which naturally began upon reading its content. It’s more than an example of how bright and creative students can come together to produce art that reflects their heritage. It’s the steady outpouring of diverse voices, ready to saturate mainstream journalism and media.

If you missed out on a physical copy of the zine, you can read it online at http://www.sweetsourzine.com/

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ARTWORK: Emily O’Neill

Yellowface and Whitewashing in Hollywood: Where’s the Progress?

By Kristine Li Giam “It is the height of white privilege to think a white person is better equipped to play an Asian character than an Asian person.” - Jenn Fang Hollywood has seen an influx of Asian-representing films lately, with Crazy Rich Asians and Parasite being released to critical acclaim and commercial success.

Whilst these films raid awards shows and are called “groundbreaking” by critics, it has to be asked just how much progress Hollywood has made as a whole, and why the industry has continued to utilise whitewashing as an alternative to yellowface.

Historically speaking, wherever film production goes, yellowface follows. Hollywood’s use of yellowface stretches back to the beginning of film production, with white actors portraying Asian characters with exaggerated facial features that have been augmented with makeup and prosthetics. Perhaps the most notable, and offensive, example is Mickey Rooney’s stereotypically racist portrayal of the Japanese landlord of Holly Golightly (played by Audrey Hepburn) in Breakfast At Tiffany’s (1961).

Additionally,

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The Good Earth (1937) sees the film set entirely in Northern China, yet the main cast are all played

by Caucasian actors in yellowface. Although Anna May Wong, who is long-viewed to be the first Asian Hollywood starlet, was heavily considered for the lead role, the anti-miscegenation (race mixing) rules of Hollywood prohibited her to play opposite the lead white actor. The white actress who was cast to play the lead eventually won an Oscar for the role, a plot explored in the recent Netflix miniseries Hollywood. White actors being nominated for Oscars for their roles in yellowface is not at all uncommon, occurring in at least six films in the past century. The most recent occurrence was in 1982, with Linda Hunt winning best supporting actress for her role as a Chinese man in The Year of Dangerously Living.

Whilst some consider yellowface as simply a thing of the past and acceptable for its time, the truth is that subdued forms of yellowface are still prevalent in the film industry today. In comes ‘whitewashing’, where a white actor is cast in a role that is explicitly non-white. The infamous example of Scarlett Johansson in an adaptation of the Japanese Manga, Ghost in the Shell, once again sees a white actress playing an Asian character. This time, instead of using physical makeup and prosthetics to achieve Asian features, the writers simply altered elements of the script to allow for a white actress to play the lead role. This begs the question of why the filmmakers chose to rewrite an already-written plot for the sake of their casting choices, rather than hiring an Asian actress to begin with. Is that not the sensible step? Other modern examples of whitewashing include The Last Airbender (2010) and Emma Stone playing a Chinese-Hawaiian character in Aloha (2015). You could argue that the absence of makeup and prosthetics, used to make white actors look Asian, is a sign of progress. But if producers’ versions of Asian representation come in the form of white portrayals, that’s not representation – it’s just whitewashing.

Filmmakers use one main argument to defend their casting decisions, which is that their whitewashing is merely a financial strategy to cast a well-known actor. And since “there aren’t any Asian movie stars” to ramp up the box office, the casted actor is white by happenstance. Audience members who want fair Asian representation are clearly disregarded by filmmakers for “not know[ing] how

the movie industry works”. This seems to suggest that the reason Asian actors are not cast in Asian roles is because they are not a guaranteed boxoffice hit. But how can Asian actors ever obtain that box-office clout if filmmakers never cast them in movies to begin with? And this does not even take into account the fact that there are already so few Asian roles in Hollywood being written. Even when one is written, the role is whitewashed time and time again. Have a think, just how many instances of Asian representation did you encounter in your childhood? I can think of Lilo and Stitch, Mulan, Aladdin, and whatever Lucy Liu was doing. Which is why it was such a proud moment for so many when Crazy Rich Asians, the first Hollywood film to feature an all Asian main cast since The Joy Luck Club (1993), was not only green-lit and produced, but also released to box-office success and critical acclaim.

This film follows many films that feature cast led by minorities that performed well in the box office, such as BlacKkKlansman (2018) and the Fast and Furious franchise. It is so clear that Asians in film can do well, and that more Asian roles must be written and played by actual Asians. And whilst recent improvements have been made, there is still such a long way to go. Let’s hope Hollywood catches up sooner rather than later.

PHOTOGRAPHY: Maddy Watson

Digging up American Dirt

By Rachel Chopping

If you’re up to date with your literary scandals you’ve probably already heard of the American Dirt outrage that erupted earlier this year. In January, American Dirt was published by Flatiron books, an imprint of Macmillan. Reviews garnered from Stephen King, John Grisham, The New York Times, and Oprah herself were rolled out alongside a wildly expensive marketing campaign. The US publisher and its global counterparts propped it up as ‘the most anticipated book of 2020’ and scored it as Oprah’s selection for her monthly Book Club.

Written by Jeanine Cummins, an author whose own racial identity has come under much scrutiny, American Dirt follows Lydia Quixano Pérez, a bookseller forced to flee Mexico as an undocumented immigrant after her family is murdered in an act of gang violence. Fearing herself and her son, Luca, will be next, the two embark on an arduous journey to the US border, encountering a variety of other migrants with their own stories to tell along the way.

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Yet even before its official release, the novel encountered its first obstacle. In December 2019, a particularly scorching review from MexicanAmerican writer Myriam Gurba appeared in the magazine Tropics of Meta. American Dirt “aspires to be Día de los Muertos,” Gurba writes, “but it, instead, embodies Halloween.” The full review is worth a read. I don’t know if Cummins will ever recover.

The situation soon got messy. Further reviews derided the novel for misrepresenting everything from Mexican names and dialects to the dynamics of migration. Photos of ‘border chic’ barbed-wire centrepieces at a celebratory dinner began to circulate on Twitter. One tweet commented: “What was an artistic decorating choice for the white author is a reminder of the dehumanizing trauma we ‘faceless brown masses’ too often encounter”.

Cummins received alleged death threats and her book tour was cancelled. Readers called for Oprah to revoke her Book Club selection. She didn’t.

The fairly condescending official apology released

by Bob Miller, the president of Flatiron Books, lists the publisher’s wrongs as if in a confessional, promising to “to listen, learn and do better’ in the future.”

An avalanche of responses soon followed, some satirical, some sombre. Critical reviews condemned the novel’s cultural inaccuracies, the presence of the commercial white gaze, and the larger issue of identity politics (or lack thereof) in the wider publishing industry.

In the novel’s epilogue, Cummins writes of her hope that her novel will give voices to the “faceless brown masses” at the US-Mexico border. Cummins’s racial identity here must be taken into account. Despite her acknowledgement of white privilege in 2015, she has now “re-branded herself as a person of color” to better qualify herself as an author and mouthpiece for migrants.

In one of the novel’s few positive reviews, author Lauren Groff writes that American Dirt is polemical fiction, and “polemical fiction is designed to make its readers act in a way that corresponds to the writer’s vision.” Groff is right in commenting that the novel’s “intended audience is clearly not the migrants described in it,” but she is not critical

enough of Cummins’s desire “not to speak for migrants but to speak while standing next to them.”

In a Western publishing industry where, in the US, 78% of staff identify as white, in Australia only 6% identify as a person of colour and where the number of novels published by black British writers barely enter double figures, a novel mass-marketed as an authentic mouthpiece for the migrant experience takes up valuable cultural space that should have been left for others. The scandal of American Dirt has revealed that while the language of diversity may appear in press releases, reviews, tweets, hashtags and marketing campaigns, without actual institutional change, it is essentially useless. If this scandal reveals anything, it is how hard the publishing industry works to conceal the institutional racism it continues to benefit from.

Yet in the midst of scandal, a silver lining has appeared. The hashtag #DignidadLiteraria (#LiteraryDignity), begun by Gurba herself alongside other Latinx authors, has sparked its own movement. It seeks to hold the publishing industry accountable for its racism and promote Latinx voices too often unheard. They’ve made progress already. On April 9, Flatiron Books announced the hiring of Nadxieli Nieto as its new editor-at-large. Nieto had been suggested by the #DignidadLiteraria creators and her appointment has been considered a promising indication that Flatiron and Macmillan Books at least are listening to their critics.

In a moving response to the scandal, Latinx writer Rosalie Morales Kearns put it simply: “Jeanine Cummins noted that she “wished someone slightly browner” than her would have written the novel. I look at the brilliant books by women of color published by my press, and wish someone slightly whiter than me had opened the gate for them.”

ARTWORK: Sian Williams Like many around the world, I woke up on the morning of August 4th to the horrific footage of Beirut’s port explosion. Appearing to be an industrial accident involving the highly explosive chemical compound ammonium nitrate, the fire and explosion devastated Beirut’s downtown and levelled its port. My Wednesday morning was marked by worry for my Lebanese friends and a sense of sadness for Lebanon’s situation.

Many others felt the same, with French President Emmanuel Macron on the ground in Beirut within 48 hours, promising to avoid aid agreements with the Lebanese government and pledging to help the Lebanese people directly.

Macron’s approach is little more than political optics and alludes to colonial era theatrics such as Kaiser Wilhelm’s surprise visit to Tangiers in 1905. A small amount of French aid has followed and questions about France’s intentions as Lebanon’s ex-colonial power are justifiably being asked. France has very little relationship with Lebanon other than the formal and informal ties of ‘la Francophonie’ and there are few strong actions it can take in this global climate.

Lebanon’s French Connection

Suffering from arguably the worst economic crisis in its history and a pandemic that its government is struggling to contain, Lebanon’s current situation can only be described as a tragedy. Heavily indebted and unable to sort out an economic lifeline, Lebanese trust in the crony and inept government was already at an all-time low. The loss of its port and a further overwhelming of the hospital system has led to yet more political anger at the government, labelled a failed “regime” in the protests around Lebanon on Saturday. It is obvious that the Lebanese people are frustrated and desperately seek change for what was once known as the jouhra alsharq or the ‘pearl of the east’.

Macron’s arrival within 48 hours of the explosion and political theatrics in Lebanon has given us many a sound-bite of Macron castigating the Lebanese government and declaring an end to “business as usual” in Lebanon. Interestingly, his visit has also coincided with the online petition to “Place Lebanon under French mandate for the next 10 years”. Having gathered more than 60,000 signatures already, the petition has been widely shared among my Lebanese friends. The petition is short on words, but the aim is clear, proposing a return to “clean and durable” governance under a French mandate. Vague on details, the assumption is that this entails a return to a similar arrangement to the colonial trusteeship granted by the League of Nations to France that established a period of formal French rule over Lebanon until 1943.

Desperate situations do call for desperate measures, but both Macron and the petition have wrong approaches to Lebanon’s predicament.

By Eammon Gumley The petition is ahistorical in its rationale and naïve in its understanding of past and present French intentions. Understanding the frustration that would lead to some Lebanese to support their own recolonisation, it’s important to understand that French colonial rule of the Middle Eastern mandate was neither “clean” nor “durable”. French solutions to Lebanese problems in the 20 th century were messy and internecine. When not pitting ethnic minorities against each other, France was creating the precursor to the sectarian political system currently blamed for wide-scale corruption. France was dragged kicking and screaming from the Levant

by British intervention in 1946 after seeking to compromise Lebanon’s decolonisation. Any French involvement in Lebanon must be viewed through this lens.

France does not have a significant political interest in Lebanon for no reason. Macron is a shrewd political operator. His hands-on approach to a country that is not even in France’s sphere of influence should be viewed with suspicion.

Lebanese solutions should come from the Lebanese people. The role of the international community must be to facilitate a better future rather than use this tragedy as a vehicle for neo-colonial intentions or political optics.

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It’s All English Only

By Aditi Dubey

Does the title seem off to you? You think there’s a mistake there or what? But there isn’t one. Arre, really. And even if it’s thoda different, it’s still English only na?

Welcome, my confused non-Indian friends, to Indian English. It’s weird and wonderful, though perhaps a little more wonderful for me and a little more weird for you. As an Indian who grew up speaking it, I think it’s obvious why it’s wonderful for me. But I think it might be interesting to look into why it’s weird for you. The most straightforward answer is that it’s different from the English that you speak.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown Fair point, but you probably know that there are different kinds of Englishes out there. I’m sure you’ve made fun of valley girls for their vocal fry and London chaps for being too posh. That’s a little different though, isn’t it? You might laugh your ass off at Americans or take the mickey out of the British but you probably do consider them native speakers of English. However, you might be a little more hesitant to call someone like me a native speaker.

The ANU certainly was, since they made me take a $300 test to prove that I could speak the language.

They weren’t convinced by my Bachelor’s Degree in English for some reason. You, the ANU, and the handful of white people who’ve asked me how come I speak such great English are all very different but, let’s be real, y’all have the same energy.

English is known very commonly as a ‘global language’ but, unfortunately, I don’t think enough people are aware of the existence of various ‘global Englishes’. You see, Australia, the US, UK and Canada aren’t the only countries with Englishspeaking populations. English is also spoken in *gasp* countries without white people. India is one such country, but there are also others, like Singapore, or the Philippines. Of course, in the case of India (and perhaps others), not everyone in the country speaks English, and a lot of people might learn it as a second language. But that doesn’t change the fact that there are also lots of people who speak it as a first language, having grown up bi or multilingual.

But let’s dig a little deeper into these discrepancies in deciding who speaks English. A lot of these perceptions come from the idea that there is a ‘right’ English and a ‘wrong’ English. This can be said in different words- ‘correct English’, ‘proper English’, but at its core, it is about good and bad, negative and positive. However, this idea is deeply flawed because it makes evaluative judgments about language. As has been drilled into my head by every linguistics course I have taken, there is no better or worse when it comes to language.

Instead, there is ‘standard’ or ‘non-standard’. What is ‘standard’ is not better or more correct. More importantly, what is standard is decided, not based on linguistic reasons, but based on social, historical and political ones. Most of the time, judgements about language are judgements about the people who speak them. Take, for example, how many Spanish speakers (from both Spain and Latin

America) consider Spanish as it is spoken in Spain to be the ‘best’ and the ‘purest’ Spanish. The fact that the ‘best’ variety of the language is the one spoken by the country the colonisers came from is not a coincidence. Similar processes can be seen even with languages that have different histories and are different in terms of global outreach. For example, Dutch is regulated by an institution (The Dutch Language Union) that determines what ‘Standard Dutch’ is. This Standard Dutch was originally known as Algemeen Beschaafd Nederlands, or “Common Civilised Dutch”. I’ll leave you to ponder over the politics of calling certain ways of speaking ‘civilised’.

Such attitudes about language are very prominent even within a single country. Let’s go back to the English-speaking countries I mentioned earlier and think for a minute about the different perceptions people have of different ‘accents’, even ones that aren’t perceived as ‘foreign’. Think, for example, about why certain Australian speech types are considered ‘bogan’? The term may be used in fun, more positive ways now, but historically, it hasn’t had positive connotations. Does this have something to do, perhaps, with its associations with lower or working class people? If my point still isn’t clear to you, let’s take the US as another example.

I don’t think I have to explain why so many ‘slang’ terms or ways of speech that are frowned upon and seen as ‘unrefined’ or ‘uncouth’ are actually elements of AAVE (African-American Vernacular English).

My point, essentially, is this: You say the ‘t’ in ‘time’ by touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth and letting out a little bit of air. I might say it by slightly curling my tongue and not letting out any air. So, does this mean that I speak with an accent?

Yes, I do. But so do you. Everyone speaks with an accent. Whether an accent is ‘different’ is entirely relative. And, in the end, they’re all just sounds. No one sound is better than another. Ultimately, it’s all English only.

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I Am Worthy, Because I Am

By Anonymous

I was in a rut. I lost my job in June due to the pandemic and I have been relentlessly applying for work and summer clerkship programs for the past two months. As I faced rejection email after rejection email, the excruciating weight of feeling like a failure began to crush me. The countless hours I had spent painstakingly perfecting my application, the stupid apps I downloaded to prepare for psychometric testing and all the LinkedIn stalking of HR personnel all boiled down to… “unfortunately, you have been unsuccessful.”

ARTWORK: Eliza Williams I had applied for 11 positions, only to be knocked back and told I did not get the role. I felt embarrassed by my inability to secure a new job.

I felt like a letdown to my parents, to my friends, and my potential. I was insecure that I didn’t have a job. Funnily enough, I was not worried about financial security, but rather my self-worth. My self-worth was so intrinsically linked to working, that losing my job utterly destabilised my sense of self. I did not feel like me, I felt like a smaller, more insignificant version of myself, even though nothing else in my life had changed. Although job hunting is undoubtedly stressful, it should not have debilitated my self-esteem to such a dramatic extent. As I was getting ready to throw myself a pity party, I began to dissect my feelings and reflect on exactly why I got so unduly upset over it. Putting on my Freudian cap and psychoanalysing myself helped me realise that migrant children like myself tend to link achievements with our self-worth.

Migrant parents are trying to set up a new life in a different country, which is especially difficult for nonEnglish-speaking parents like mine. It was implied that being a good student at school was the bare minimum in helping reduce their burden and lessen their worries. From a young age, I would only be praised or given attention if I had hit a milestone.

I only recall getting verbal praise twice in my upbringing. First was when I got accepted into an academically selective school at age 12. Second was when I graduated from aforementioned school with a 99 ATAR at age 17. Doing well in an end of term test and winning awards were not milestones that warranted verbal praise. I simply ought to get ‘A’s, play in a youth orchestra and be an award-winning public speaker. My parents seldom expressed pride in my achievements; I felt that I had to exceed their expectations for them to be proud and love me as their daughter. Intentionally or not, I had created a fiction in my head that their love for me was conditional.

As a young adult, I have carried that expectation within myself. Although my parents have grown to be disinterested in my university life, I have internalised their high expectations of me. I had created an external identity around achievement, goals, and milestones through rigid internal expectations of myself. I had set a standard for myself that I would get good grades, be in a leadership position at university and work in an area

related to my degree. I was convinced I needed to tick off this checklist for me to be happy, successful and worthy.

When I did, I felt cautiously confident. When things went pear-shaped and I was thrown off course, my confidence plummeted. Tying my ‘success’ with self-worth was no longer productive, loving or sustainable. I cannot put myself down every time things do not go to plan. I do not need to tick off a checklist to like myself, nor derive confidence from it. It has taken me 21 years, and the ensuing challenges of a public health crisis for me to learn that I am worthy simply because I exist.

Realising this is liberating has empowered me to take control of my narrative. I can see my shift in mindset through my applications. My selfperception directly translates to how I present myself in job applications. My previous lack of confidence meant that I was often understating my experiences and qualifications for a particular role.

Not only was this detrimental to my job hunt, I was also belittling my achievements — subconsciously putting myself down. My mindset of ‘oh I should’ve had this experience anyway’ was not conducive to selling myself as a prospective candidate. Once I let go of my mental gripe, I started using more assertive language and better framed my talents, which translated to confidence on the page.

Mindset shifts are immensely powerful. I feel much lighter, and much more grounded once I learned to separate my self-worth from my achievements.

Although I am still trying to get comfortable with navigating changing amidst uncertainty, I have learned to embrace the unknown and trust the process. I am worthy, because I am.

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Why We Need A Revolution

By Grace Carter If there’s one thing that 2020 has shown so far, it’s that capitalism isn’t working. When COVID-19 hit in force across the world, it didn’t take long to find out that we are not, in fact, all in this together.

Disproportionately, worldwide, this health crisis has been worse and more fatal for minority and poorer communities – to say nothing of the economic impact. At a time when 45.5 million Americans have filed for unemployment benefits in under 3 months, billionaires in the US have collectively gained more than $584 billion dollars.

But in this same year, we’ve also seen the amazing power of struggle. The murder of George Floyd in May, amidst the worst of the health and economic crises in America, has started the largest ever civil rights movement the US has ever seen. Echoes of it have found a home in over 60 countries across the world, including our own. It’s no wonder: we all live under the same system, and we all see the same inherent racial injustice of capitalism, the same police brutality, and the same economic violence.

Capitalism is a system where the tiny minority rule over every aspect of the lives of the vast majority.

In order to maintain its power, there must always be repression – which means there will always be resistance. Protesters in America are resisting spectacularly, and have seen that justice is not found in the ballot box but in the streets. Joe Biden doesn’t represent them any more than Donald Trump does: their power is their own, just as ours is in Australia. More militant and inspiring calls than ever have come from the Black Lives Matter movement, for police abolition and structural change in communities at the minimum. For some, the logical conclusion is that we need a revolution.

Why a revolution?

If you’re an activist, or have ever wanted to change any aspect about this barbaric system, you’ll have

heard that you should take your thoughts to the voting booth. Periodically, leaders like Bernie Sanders or Jeremy Corbyn, or even the most progressive versions of the Australian Labor Party, have promised “political revolutions” – that is, changing the system from the inside, reforming it into something less fundamentally anti-human.

The most genuine shades of this slogan are hopelessly misguided, and the most cynical are trying to buy off progressive votes. Either version, if they actually get into office, have had the absolute best case of being completely ineffective. So why can’t change be achieved from inside the state?

The reality is that nobody seriously contesting the state intends to destroy capitalism with it, because they know what it is. The state is fundamentally a system for managing capitalism, and serves only a secondary role as an illusion of democracy to placate the masses. Running the state is making sure capitalism in your country runs smoothly – as demonstrated with our current government’s privileging of the economy. Even for less rancid parties than the Liberals, this clearly ties their interests directly to those of big business, even before lobbying and donating groups come into play.

In Australia, this bipartisan commitment to the running of capitalism can be demonstrated in any number of ways. A recent example is that of the Adani coal mine: 61% of Australians in 2019 did not want the mine to go ahead, but the Liberals are still strongly for iit, and the Labor party government in Queensland actually directly greenlit it in 2019. If your goal is parliamentary, you fundamentally see the state as an acceptable tool for change. This means that, despite some nice reforms sometimes coming along, your overall change is always hostile to the working class – the majority of people.

ARTWORK: Alice Dunkley For the sake of argument, however, let’s suppose that an actual well-intentioned leftist party gets into government with the genuine goal of destroying capitalism. Historically, as this process happens and reforms of any major extent are introduced, every smart capitalist in the country pulls their money and resources out as a clear demonstration of their opinion. This results in even left governments having to implement cuts to appease big business: like any state, they still rely on economic prosperity for stability and revenue.

The unelected parts of the state – i.e. the justice system, police, and most notably the military – can also swoop in to fix things for capital if they get too out of hand. Military coups are a particularly obvious example, but, as the Whitlam “palace letters” show, capitalists don’t have to come to tanks to be effective.

Additionally, no country exists in a vacuum, and all countries are locked in the constant competition demanded by capitalism: imperialism. States which act against the interests of powerful blocs of capital quickly find themselves subject to sanctions, embargoes, and even invasions.

Fundamentally, however, the state is not made for us. It’s made to repress us. Genuine democratic revolution can never come from above, imposed on the people. It has to come from below, through the working class rising up and seizing power for itself.

It’s a contradiction to say this could ever happen electorally.

In 2019 alone, there were serious uprisings, revolts, and beginnings of revolutionary situations in Lebanon, Chile, Spain, Haiti, Iraq, Sudan, Russia, Egypt, Uganda, Indonesia, Ukraine, Peru, Hong Kong, Zimbabwe, Colombia, France, Turkey, Venezuela, the Netherlands, Ethiopia, Brazil, Malawi, Algeria and Ecuador.

Revolution isn’t at all impossible. Revolts happen all the time. Capitalism is the cause of economic, social and environmental crises, and in times of crisis, there is space for the working class to assert its control. There are countless examples of serious revolution in the last century, with none going so far as the victory in Russia in 1917 – though analysis of the later failure of Stalinism would take another entire article to explore.

What’s impossible is a system like this to continue forever, where the tiny minority continue to grow ridiculously wealthy off the sweat and blood of the majority. Workers run the world. When workers stop, the world stops. The power is with us – and in times of crisis, it is with that power that we can make change.

The Black Lives Matter movement in America shows that even in developed, Western countries – in 2020! – this is possible. Already in a few short weeks, there is change across the US in ways that would have been unthinkable years or even months ago. 54% of Americans think that the burning down of a cop shop in Minneapolis was justified –that’s higher than the popularity of either Biden (49%) or Trump (40.2%). In 2018, the majority of Americans did not support Black Lives Matter at all. The sort of revolution we need is absolutely possible, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard work.

So what can we do about it?

COVID-19 is a horrific tragedy in terms of health and is set to cause an economic crisis worse than the Great Depression. In this crisis, there is space for the argument to be made that a better world is possible. But nothing changes if we don’t fight back.

Jeff Bezos, Scott Morrison, Donald Trump, and every other wretched capitalist couldn’t care less if we all sat at home thinking to ourselves how much we hate them and this system. It is when we are organised that we are terrifying to capitalism.

The other side knows this. The rich and powerful already have organisations representing their interests: private institutions like the Business Council of Australia on top of the might of the state.

They wage class war as a matter of course. We need to have fighting bodies making the political arguments – doing the same for our side.

It is imperative for every activist, every rabblerouser, everyone who won’t shut up about injustice, every hater of the state, every hater of capitalism and every socialist to get organised. We have a world to win.

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Creative

ARTWORK: Emily O’Neill

Motherland

By S. Lazarus

When my mother left there was fire – The air ripe with the wrong things; tears, skin, fear Feet bolting down dirt roads going nowhere Liberty caged Beyond the reach of black and brown hands Too close and too far Onto a boat and into the New World Where the sky went on forever Colour and space Gumtrees Birds that laughed and sang Tires screeching down brand new highways Shock Adaption Light The old home sits there still My mother’s first love Beauty without warmth Death with no birth It beckons Bleeds But that story is over Life is freer And she is here

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ARTWORK: Sian Williams

ARTWORK: Alice Dunkley

A Series of Multilingual Poems Selected by members of the ANU Literature Society Compiled by Sophie Brissenden Translations provided by each speaker

About a month ago, LitSoc combined forces with the folks at BnG and in spite of multiple covidrelated obstacles, hosted a sensational multilingual poetry night at the Griffin Centre in Civic. BnG provided some sweet funding for the venue, Michael the guitarist for background aesthetic tunes and a direct livestream to viewers back at BnG, while LitSoc organised the speakers (and excessive amounts of pizza). We left it open for volunteers to recite any poetry, original or otherwise. Knowing that public speaking can be nerve-wracking at the best of times, and that some people would be speaking in languages they had only recently started learning, we tried to touch base with all the speakers quite a few times before the event.

On the night every single speaker stepped up and treated us listeners to a small, poetic taste of a language other than English, and some background

about their relationship with that language. I think everyone left with a little bit of inspiration to go pick up a poetry anthology by Faiz Ahmed Faiz or Jacques Prevert, or listen more closely to the lyrics in German or Punjabi music, or straight up enrol in an Urdu or Arabic language class.

Admittedly, in our initial vision, the night was smoother for all participants and larger in scale. But like all the student organisations, our events have to adapt and acclimatise. Nonetheless we are grateful to BnG for their support, and of course to all the speakers for jumping onboard so willingly. Also to Rachel from Woroni for suggesting we gather the comments below and spread the delights of multilingual poetry even further!

ANU Literature Society

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ARTWORK: Bonnie Burns

Soraya Zwahlen

is vastly different from my own. ‘Drachendressur’ suggests one first emerges themselves entirely in the opponent’s argument and understands it as thoroughly as possible. Only after that are they ready to argue against it, and will be able to do so successfully.

I chose ‘Drachendressur’, or ‘A Possible Tactic for Training a Dragon’, by one of my favourite Hip-Hop artists, Käptn Peng. The tactic basically consists of getting to know the dragon better than he knows himself. I think everyone interprets that from a different angle. To me, it is about one way of approaching a challenging argument with someone.

Personally, I often get frustrated and angry in arguments where an individual has an opinion on a topic which I care about, and that opinion

Every once in a while, I feel it is vital to listen to languages which I do not understand. It reminds me that there are entire universes out there of which I know nothing about. Poetry (and music) are probably the best way of engaging with these universes – so I am hoping LitSoc will be organising more of these multilingual poetry nights in the future!

Drachendressur Willst du einen Drachen dressieren, musst du dich von ihm fressen lassen, zerkauen, verdauen, wieder rauspressen lassen, zu Erde werden, und remanifestieren, zurückkommen und seinen Style kopieren, Feuer spucken, Schuppen wachsen lassen, Fliegen lernen, ihm einen Heiratsantrag machen und ihn lieben lernen.

Danach gehört er dir und falls ihr kämpft, wirst du gewinnen: Im Gegensatz zu ihm kennst du ihn von innen

A Possible Tactic for Training a Dragon by Käptn Peng If you want to train a dragon, you must let him eat you, chew you, digest you, press you out again, become earth, remanifest, return and copy his style spew fire, grow scales, learn to fly, propose to marry him and learn to love him.

After that, he belongs to you, and if you fight, you will win: Unlike him, you know his insides.

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Addie Townsend Gommers I chose a poem from the Palestinian writer Samih al-Qasim, entitled ‘The Boring Orbit’. I thought the audience might find this poem’s kind of pessimistic outlook cathartic, given how really very bleak these times are for many of us. Poetry can be an invaluable guide. It helps us navigate life and explore different emotions and their implications. In ‘The Boring Orbit’, the author explains to their unborn daughter why the Earth spins: it is just a mere reaction to God stirring sugar into his coffee with a golden spoon.

Sometimes I believe it necessary to accept the mundanity of big things, in order to stop worrying and open up to the little things. But this is just my view, and I am one person in one time, so it is coloured by my experience, culture, and language.

Being open to multilingual poetry allows you to see many more of the world’s colours. For me, reading Arabic poetry is important to my learning of the language. However, encountering different languages guarantees encountering new viewpoints, which can spark crucial moments of growth. The difficulties involved with participating in this poetry night demonstrate to me that many of our connections to culture are made very fragile in our society. The persistence of LitSoc executive and goodwill of the performers show that there are many doing what they can to enrich their communities nonetheless.

The Boring Orbit by Samih al-Qasim God stirred his sugar with his gold spoon In dull, empty circles, Dull circles, Dull, empty circles.

And since that time, my child, The Earth’s been rotating in its boring orbit.

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ARTWORK: Bonnie Burns

Aditi Dubey I performed two poems at Multilingual Poetry Night, one in Urdu and one in French. The first poem was ‘La lune et la nuit’ (The Moon and the Night) by Jacques Prevert. I have learnt French for years and enjoy reading French poetry, so it was difficult for me to select just one poem. I opted for this one because it is written in Prevert’s signature style: simple, yet elegant. The imagery evoked is ethereal. I love poems about the moon, and I like how this one is not overly romantic. At the same time, it maintains

innocence and reverence.

The second poem I performed was ‘Bol’ (‘Speak’)

by Faiz Ahmed Faiz. I grew up listening to a lot of Urdu poetry, because my father is quite the fan. Faiz is one of the most popular poets of all time. Even at our small poetry night, which had just a handful of performers, I was the second person to have chosen a Faiz poem! He is known for his revolutionary, politically charged tone. ‘Bol’ is a poem about how powerful and how necessary it is to just speak, imploring us all to do so. I think it delivers an important message, wrapped up in rhythmic poetry, hence why it resonates with everyone who hears it.

La lune et la nuit

The Moon and the Night by Jacques Prevert

Cette nuit-là je regardais la lune Oui j’étais à ma fenêtre et je la regardais et puis j’ai quitté ma fenêtre je me suis déshabillée je me suis couchée et puis alors la chambre est devenue très claire la lune était entrée Oui j’avais laissé la fenêtre ouverte et la lune était entrée Elle était là cette nuit-là dans ma chambre et elle brillait J’aurais pu lui parler J’aurais pu la toucher Mais je n’ai rien fait je l’ai seulement regardée elle paraissait calme et heureuse j’avais envie de la caresser mais je ne savais pas comment m’y prendre Et je restais là... sans bouger Elle me regardait elle brillait elle souriait...

Alors je me suis endormie

That night, I was looking at the moon Yes, I was at my window And I was looking at her And then, I left my window I undressed And I went to bed And the, the room became very bright The moon had entered She was there, that night in my room And she was shining I could have talked to her I could have touched to her But I did nothing I only looked at her She looked calm and happy I wanted to caress her But I don’t know how to do it And I stood there…without moving She was looking at me She was shining She was smiling…

And then I fell asleep And when I woke up, it was already the next morning and…I could see only the sun above the houses.

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Bol (Speak) by Faiz Ahmed Faiz Speak, for your lips are still free Speak, your tongue is still your own Your upright body is still yours Speak, your life is still your own Look, in the forge of a blacksmith, The flames leap high, the steel glows red The locks have opened up their jaws Each chain has broken wide open Speak, this little time is enough Before the death of body and tongue Speak, for truth still lives Speak, say whatever you must say

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Hassan Khan Why must good things come to an end? We are told that there is light at the end of the tunnel, but why is there a tunnel there in the first place, and why is it dark? Surely there should be light. The Urdu and Persian poet Muhammad Iqbal was a religious man, so he put this question to God. Why would God create darkness when there could always be light?

A philosophical question, no doubt, with no simple answer. Writing from the perspective of God, in the poem ‘Haqeeqat-e-Husn’ (‘The Reality of Beauty’), Iqbal presents us with a possible answer: ‘When its [the world’s] appearance is from the colours of change / Indeed that reality is beautiful which has an end.’ I would sum up this sentiment with another question: how would we know the goodness of light if we did not know darkness? God answers that the ‘colours of change’ render true beauty known to us, and that ‘reality is beautiful which has an end.’ One is naturally saddened to think that whatever may be momentarily perceived as beautiful will be doomed.

Iqbal, looking at the natural world around him, imagined how nature itself would feel about such a proclamation from God. ‘Tears filled the flowers from the message of the dew / The heart of the flower bud burst into blood from sadness.’ Here, I reflect on how short springtime lasts: a few months of blooming flowers and not-too-hot-not-too-cold weather. To quote Paul Simon, ‘The leaves that are green turn to brown.’ But would we see spring for what it is if there was spring all year round? And what about our youth? Youth follows childhood; an even more wondrous time! And after youth? Old age – indeed an age with its own benefits, but how can it compare to wild parties with many friends?

Perhaps there lies our answer. We will remember our youth and appreciate it for what it truly was only when life without it is clearly not the same. With hindsight we can share wisdom. As Iqbal writes, ‘Youth came exploring and enjoying the sights, but left sad and forlorn.’

My first experience of multilingual poetry was like the first time I put on my glasses. I could see without them, but the glasses allowed me to see more.

Different shapes, sizes and colours of the world became visible. There are whole other worlds of literature out there ripe and ready for our reading.

The Reality of Beauty by Muhammad Iqba One day beauty asked God this question Why didn’t you make me everlasting in this world?

The answer came that the world is a picture gallery The world is a story of a long, absent night When its appearance is from the colours of change Indeed that reality is beautiful which has an end.

Somewhere nearby was the Moon and it heard the conversation The conversation spread in the heavens, and the morning star heard it too.

The morning heard it from the night stars and told the dew The talk of the heavens reached the mortals of earth Tears filled the flowers from the message of the dew The heart of the flower bud burst into blood from sadness Springtime left the garden crying Youth came exploring and enjoying the sights, but left sad and forlorn

ARTWORK: Bonnie Burns

Ramneek Cheema I chose the lyrics of the song ‘Jalsa’ by Satinder Sartaaj as my poem in Punjabi. Punjabi is a language known to be both traditional and earthy. It originates from Punjab, an ethnic region which was split during the horrific partition of India and Pakistan. Although this poem/song would be classified as modern poetry, I believe it epitomises the art of classical

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Punjabi poetry, in its beautiful romanticism of nature.

In its entirety, ‘Jalsa’ is understandable to everyone because it discusses the universal concept of the natural elements; exploring their co-dependency but also their playful contrast. This is achieved through charming personification. ‘Jalsa’ roughly translates to ‘get together’, reflecting the way in which multilingual poetry appeals to all people. This poem reminds us too that each language has a personality of its own and expresses ideas in an infinite variation of sound.

The moonlight held a get together on the night of the full moon Invited the eagle The moon was a guest too

Jalsa by Satinder Sartaaj

Light rays wore a milky white outfit Hollered at the stars to invite them over

Chandni Ne Punneya Te Jalsa Lagaya

That was a whole different world

Saddaa Cheel Nu Vi Aaya, Chand Mukh Mehmaan Si

The bumble bees lay drunk under the trees

Rishma ne Rishma Ne Doodhiya Jehi Paayi Si Poshaak

After drinking a drop of morning dew

Maari Taareyan Nu Haak, Oh Taan Hor Hi Jahaan Si

delicate aromas then emerged to crate understanding

Rukhan Thalle Digge Paye Si, Ho Ke Latt Baure

Summoning surkhaab as well, to reveal the path towards unity.

Ji Sharaabi Ho Gaye Bhaure, Pee Ke Tupkaa Tarel Da Shokh Jehiyan

They have grown up looking through the mirrors of water

Shokh Jehiyan Mehkan Ne Phir Aa Ke Samjhaya

These are the sunrays that now posses an air of arrogance

Surkhaab Nu Bulaya, Jo Tareeka Dasse Mel Da

asking who is of our stature

Paaniyan De Sheeshe Vekh Hoyian Ne Jawaan Ehe Dhuppan Nu Gumaan, Dasso Kehda Saade Mech Da

In reply the weather also retaliated with words

Mausamaa Ne Ditte Pher, Byaan Vi Jawaabi

Making the conversation now interesting,

Ho Gayi Guftgoo Oh Naabhi, Koi Rutta’n Nu Rang Vechda

As an interesting atmosphere was created the seasons gained

Soorja Vi Hoya Phireh Baddliyan De Ohle

their colours through the

Shaami Kiseh Naal Na Bole, Ki Oh Lukka Chhupi Khelda

sunrays and weather.

Maadi Maadi. Maadi Maadi.

Oh Maadi Maadi Thandak Hawaawan Vich Hoyi

The sun now hides behind the little clouds,

Saanu Aundi Khushboyi, Rang Vekh Ke Du-Mel Da

refuses to talk with anyone during sunset as he

Pyaar Wale Pind Diyan, Mehakdiyan Joohan

plays hide and seek

Agge Sandli Abroohan, Teh Balouri Dehleez Hai Dilan Wale Kamre Ch Noor Howega, Ji Haan Jaroor Howega Ke Ishq Roshni Di Cheez Hai

A slight slight wind now cools down the earth We can now smell the sweet aroma that emerges at seeing the coming together of two colours In the village of love, the sweet aroma fills the streets As each door entrance lay open with welcoming arms

The room of the heart will be home to light, yes it will be home to light As love is a component of all light

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ARTWORK: Sian Williams

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The Second Bedroom

By Tilda Njoo

Before the house there was a daisy.

The daisy was a girl. Her mother had named her as such thinking that she would grow into her namesake. She had forgotten that the only things that grow in a big city were weeds. But her daughter was not a weed, and neither was she a daisy.

As a young girl, Daisy would walk to school each morning and watch the different colours that the sun would cast around her reflection in office windows. She would see herself in blue and white and grey, noticing how her body solidified in the glass. The buildings would encroach on her body, wrapping themselves around her limbs as if trying to suppress her growth. It didn’t work of course; buildings cannot move. However, no matter how tall she grew, Daisy could never touch the ceilings in her house. Her mother would watch her, hands stretched upwards and heels of her feet lifted off the floor.

You would have made a beautiful ballet dancer, her mother would say.

I’m sorry, Daisy would reply.

When Daisy’s body was all the way grown, she felt the streets back away from her as she walked through them. The city had wanted her to be a dancer too. She apologised to the buildings, walking past them in straight lines, back upright.

I’m trying, she offered. The buildings shook their heads at her and turned around so that they were facing the coast. Daisy didn’t blame them. The view was better out that way. One day, in her late adolescence, Daisy took a train out to the sea. It was dark when she returned, and the street signs had turned blank. Salt air lingered on Daisy’s fingers as she wandered the streets, looking for the way back home ------

We can’t live in a house without a second bedroom, she thought. Her husband would have to disagree.

He regarded his wife. Her lips were twisted in agitated thought. He knew she was thinking about the second bedroom.

Darling, he said, don’t you think we should be saving?

Daisy found it condescending when he called her ‘darling.’ He only ever did it in front of other people, as if trying to prove their marital success.

The real estate agent looked anxiously between the two.

Really, for a two bedroom in this area, and with these ocean views, the arranged price is quite a steal. Daisy looked confused, as if she had only just realised that the real estate agent could talk.

When Daisy didn’t respond, her husband looked embarrassed. Maybe we can talk about this in private, he said. The real estate nodded knowingly.

The husband nodded knowingly back. Daisy watched them nodding at each other.

The house was bought on the third day of winter.

Daisy was pleased. Her husband was exhausted.

They stood on the front lawn, one of them kicking dirt into the hole that the ‘for sale’ sign had left.

The house looked less grand now that it was theirs.

I suppose we could go inside, said the husband.

I like it best from out here, said Daisy Before the house there was the sea.

Before the trees were filtered out and the ground painted grey. It would sit, blue and grey against the bush. Salt would carry in the air and land on leaves, so that even in the summertime it looked as though they were covered in frost. If it were built back then, the house’s four walls would sit rudely against the softness of the hill.

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PHOTOGRAPHY: Maddy Watson It was two children who first saw the sea. They ran down over the hill, sensing something exciting.

Instead, they fell onto the watery plains and frosted bush of the space before the house. The youngest child, a girl, a flower, stepped out from the shade that the hill cast, holding her hand to the sun. Her brother watched her clenching and unclenching her fists as if she were trying to hold the sunlight.

I would like to live in a house by the sea one day, said the girl. It was evening and their home felt too far away.

For the first week, Daisy felt around her new house in the dark. She was too afraid to turn on the lights each night, scared that she wouldn’t like how the walls looked when coated in fluorescence. Her husband followed along behind her, periodically flicking on every light switch that Daisy had flicked off.

One morning, they stood by the window together, looking out at the blue beyond the bush.

I can’t hear the traffic, said the wife.

It’s nice, said the husband, to hear the sea instead.

Daisy wondered how it was that the sky was always grey here. She remembered one day, back when they lived in the city. It had been raining the night before, and in the morning she had found her husband evaporating with the raindrops. She tried to reach out and touch him, but the water was on the other side of the window pane. Her fingers met only cold glass. Back in the new house, her husband reached his arm around her shoulder, still looking out to sea.

I’ll move all our storage into the second bedroom, he said.

Yes, for the moment, she said.

When she was in her second year of high school, Daisy drew her birth. She could remember it clearly.

She could almost hear the quiet that she felt for three months afterwards. As an infant, Daisy didn’t cry; she had expended all of her energy finding her way out of her mother’s womb. It had been dark and red in there, and the four walls of the uterus touched every part of her skin. Once she’d left, a doctor held her up and the light burned her eyes.

Her mother felt so far away.

Daisy’s art teacher had piled the class’s drawings into a stack and taken them home to grade. He was

sitting on his couch when he came to Daisy’s. His microwave dinner slid off his lap and by the time he noticed, his dog was halfway through it.

You just like the attention, said Daisy’s mother, holding the artwork at arm’s length.

I call it ‘Seed,’ said Daisy.

The second bedroom stayed empty. Daisy’s husband was too busy commuting each day to the city to fill it. Coming back each night, he’d throw his hands up to the ceilings and say: look at this place! and look at my wife! Daisy would look through her evaporating husband to try and find her reflection in the window behind him. By that time of day, it was too dark to see.

Daisy wanted to fill the second bedroom before her husband was all the way gone. The wind was too strong by the sea; she watched every day as pieces of her husband turned to droplets and were picked up by the wind. Maybe he would stay if only he had something to watch grow.

One morning Daisy woke to the taste of salt on her lips. She felt beside her for her husband, but found only lingering condensation. Straight faced and holding her empty stomach, Daisy walked down the hallway, past the empty second bedroom and through the front door. She saw the wind before it hit her, pushing her back against her house. The air was thick and blue and grey, and wrapped her hair around her eyes. Pulling her nightdress tightly around her, Daisy walked through the wind and towards the coastline, not hearing the twigs as they cracked under her bare feet. When she reached the shore, she had still not arrived. The cold blistered Daisy’s ankles as she stormed through the whitewash.

Hello, said Daisy as her mouth filled with salt.

Hello darling, replied her husband.

ARTWORK: Maddy Brown

TOWN NOTICEBOARD

By Tilda Njoo and George Owens

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ARTWORK: Alice Dunkley

Breaking News! AFP Introduces New Vetting Process

By Katie Sproule

In response to the current public backlash against police brutality and systematic racism, the Australian Federal Police (AFP) have introduced a new, unconventional vetting process to ensure that no officers are ethical liabilities. The extra security measure will no doubt be familiar to many millennial and gen-z candidates, taking the form of the sorting hat ceremony from the famous fantasy series ‘Harry Potter’.

As in the books, the quiz will sort potential officers into the four houses of the imaginary institution Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Each house is said to embody a different set of characteristics: Ravenclaw = intelligence, Gryffindor = bravery, Hufflepuff = kindness, and Slytherin = evil. Jimmy Whytemann, the director of the AFP, has stated that all houses will be accepted into the police force, however Slytherins will be immediately placed on a watch list as they are more likely to commit hate crimes.

Critics of the proposal asked why the process is even being introduced if the potentially dangerous individuals it exposes are accepted into the force.

The agency’s director said that the AFP had a zero discrimination policy and would never refuse people opportunities based on essential elements of

someone’s identity, such as Hogwarts house or what type of bread they are based on a Buzzfeed quiz.

The logistics of the process are still being confirmed, but it will likely happen online through the publicly accessible website Pottermore.

According to Whytemann, “We’ve spent a lot of time and money looking into creating an actual real life sorting hat but have not yet succeeded. The main issue is that magic doesn’t exist. That’s been the primary roadblock. But we’re working on it.

Pottermore is just going to have to do during the meantime.”

The AFP is hoping that this system will also work to attract a younger generation of officers who grew up reading and watching ‘Harry Potter’. This is particularly important as millennial and gen-z application numbers have hit a record low, with the purported reason being a growing awareness that ‘ACAB’: all cops are bastards.

If this system proves effective, it could signal an impending makeover of the Australian police system. After all, why would you try to upheave a system when you could give it a superficial nod instead?

SOURCING FOR WORONI’S NEXT ISSUE! THE THEME IS DEPRAVITY DEADLINE FRIDAY OF WEEK 7 TO CONTRIBUTE CONTACT Woronicontenteditor@woroni.com.au Woroniarteditor@woroni.com.au

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We would like to acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the traditional custodians of the land on which Woroni is created. We pay respects to Elders past, present and emerging. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.