Are you struggling financially, on a low income or stressed about affording parking due to the significant increases?
If you have a Low Income Health Care Card (LIHC), you are entitled to support available from the ANU and the government. This list compiles the support services available to LIHC card holders.
A LIHC is used to prove financial struggle. It is a simple process and applications typically take about 30 days to process. Instructions on how to apply for a LIHC can be found here.
To be eligible for a LIHC you must:
Make less than $783 a week.
Be 19 or older (Under 19 eligibility is possible if you’re deemed independent or eligible for Family Tax Benefit).
Be an Australian Citizen or Permanent Resident (some visas are accepted — check here).
ANU INITIATIVES
(For some reason, you must be a domestic undergrad student to access any of this. Ridiculous.)
Students can apply for ANU initiatives here. They include:
Free student life surface parking permit at ANU
$150 textbook grant a semester
$150 student support grant a semester
Free 12 months ANU Sport membership
Free Griffin Hall membership (off-campus students)
Access to Community Connect Food Relief
GOVERNMENT INITIATIVES
Free Ambulances
Free public transport off-peak: on weekdays from 9:00 am to 4:30 pm, after 6:00 pm, and all day on weekends and public holidays
100 per cent off the registration fees of your motor vehicle registration (roughly 50-60 per cent of the total amount)
Greater access to bulk-billed GPs
Access to Canberra Health Services Public Dental
$200 spectacles subsidy from participating optometrists
Access to concession rate co-payments for PBS scheduled medications ($7.70 instead of the usual $31.60 maximum cost)
PBS Safety Net reduced to $277 from the regular $1,694 (this is how much you pay for PBS medications). After you’ve spent $277 with a LIHC — further PBS medication is 100% free.
THIRD-PARTY INITIATIVES
Concession fares for Neuron scooters
P.S.
Services Australia will give you a physical card — it is made from paper. You can access a digital card from the Centrelink App.
Resources like the Community Connect Food Relief and Parking support are likely limited, so bear this in mind if applying without genuine need.
At any given moment in time, there are countless ripples travelling through spacetime, traversing the very fabric of our universe. These ripples are known as gravitational waves, and were first predicted by Albert Einstein in 1916 in his general theory of relativity.
Almost a century later in 2015, direct evidence of gravitational waves was finally obtained when the Advanced LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-wave Observatory) detectors, located in Hanford, Washington and Livingston, Louisiana, USA detected the long-awaited signal.
The 0.2 second audible signal, which was described to resemble the “chirp” of a bird, was actually the product of a black hole collision. This event occurred more than 1 billion years ago. Two massive black holes merged into one, warping the fabric of spacetime and sending ripples through the universe which were eventually detected on Earth as tiny vibrations.
The successful LIGO experiment sent its own waves through the science community. The search for gravitational waves had consisted of decades of unrelenting hard work by over a thousand physicists around the globe and billions of dollars of investment, so the news was both extremely exciting and highly anticipated.
Now you might be wondering what is next for gravitational wave research. After all, the amazing detection of gravitational waves was already accomplished in 2015.
However, in reality, the exploration of gravitational waves has only just begun as researchers continue to use LIGO and a growing network of detectors around the world (e.g. LIGO-Virgo-KAGRA collaboration) to investigate the nature of our universe. In exciting news, the ANU, as part of the LIGO Scientific Collaboration (LSC), will play a central role in this global venture.
Last year I was lucky enough to get the chance to interview Dr Lilli Sun and Dr Jennie Wright, astrophysicists from ANU’s Centre for Gravitational Astrophysics to gain some further insight into the current field of gravitational wave research and ANU’s new LIGO remote control room.
Firstly, could you explain what a gravitational wave is in simple terms?
Jennie: A gravitational wave is a sort of stretching and squeezing of spacetime itself. When we have mass in the universe, it causes spacetime to curve, as explained in the theory of General Relativity. A gravitational wave is like a ripple instead of just a curve that stays still.
Lilli: You can also think of an analogy like a water wave – for example, dropping a stone in water and then seeing ripples spreading out. When we have something very heavy, like black holes that collide, they trigger those ripples in spacetime.
What are your specific research focuses and what are you currently working on?
Lilli: I do mostly astrophysics; using gravitational waves to study black holes, neutron stars, and even searching for dark matter. I do a lot of data analysis to see what the gravitational-wave signals tell us – e.g. whether it tells us that Einstein and his general theory of relativity is right or if there is something unexpected.
One of my projects is about searching for dark matter particles using gravitational waves – we don’t know if they exist or not, but analysing gravitational wave signatures is one possible way to look for them. I also work a bit on detectors, working with instrumentalists like Jennie.
Jennie: What I work on is somewhat related. I’m an instrumentalist as Lilli said, so I’m an experimental physicist and my job has two parts. Half of my time I spend at ANU, working on technologies that we can use to improve gravitational wave detectors of the future. We’re making them more sensitive so they can see further out into the universe and also can see a wider range of signal frequencies. And so, I work on developing technology that basically tries to distinguish things near the detector that look like gravitational wave sources, but actually aren’t – like a truck breaking near the detector, or just air moving near it.
The other part of my job is to help improve the current detectors. Since we use light in the gravitational wave detector to measure the stretching and squeezing of spacetime, we want to have as much light in there as possible. But, because mirrors and optical systems aren’t perfect, we sometimes lose quite a lot of light, so I look at those diagnostic measurements to try to figure out where we’re losing light.
Now that gravitational waves have already been detected, what is next for the field of gravitational wave research?
Lilli: There are many aspects actually: the 2015 discovery was only the beginning. The 2015 event for two black holes colliding into each other and the famous 2017 event for a two neutron star collision are very highlighted events, but now we are collecting many more of them including some special systems. The large number of detections will bring us important information of the population.
There are other types of gravitational waves. For example, we are looking for very faint gravitational waves from a single spinning neutron star. Neutron stars are not perfect spheres, so when they rotate they can generate very weak gravitational waves, which is something we are searching for. Another example is to probe dark matter using gravitational waves. So, we need more sensitive detectors and more of them in the network.
Moving onto the ANU remote control room, what exactly is a control room and how specifically would the remote control room work?
Jennie: So, a control room is usually a room you have next to a lab with an experiment in it: usually one that needs to be in either a really clean environment, or a slightly dangerous environment. So, you set all the physical parts of it up, so you can obtain electronic signals through to your control room that tell you what is happening. And then you can do all the data-taking and analysis from that control room.
In LIGO, they have the control rooms right next to the detector because they don’t want to be walking around next to the detector while it’s running, as they might introduce noise to it. They also have a whole bank of screens which decipher how each sub-system is working.
About the remote control room: whilst we don’t have a gravitational wave detector in Australia, many Australian scientists have been involved in gravitational wave detection from the start, and so this allows us to participate in improving the detector remotely. So, you can see on some of the screens here, I have a read-out of the different sub-systems and if they’re working correctly. For example, green tells us that they’re observing data and red tells us that they’re down and need to be fixed. And this is all in real time.
That’s really useful, because before we had this, we just had the little screen on our computers, and you had to try to view everything simultaneously and it was quite difficult. My colleagues and I will also occasionally do shifts when the detector is running, because we might have to call up people in other countries. If there’s an exciting gravitational wave event, we sometimes need to announce things to other astronomers, so they can point their telescopes to certain parts of the sky.
Lilli: Although it’s a ‘remote’ control room, you can still control some of the sub-systems of the detector. It’s just that we need to be very careful, especially during observation. There will be someone in charge in the real control room, and we can collaborate with them. The advantage of having the remote control room is that it makes it much easier for Australian colleagues, as we are not close to the detector, but we can read off the real-time information in a much more convenient way, on the other side of the world.
So, the detector isn’t always on all the time?
Jennie: There’s a trade-off between the physicists who work on improving it, and the astronomers who want to collect data using it. If you improve the sensitivity, you’re more likely to see really exciting events we haven’t seen before. But if you increase the time the detector is on for, you’re also more likely to see more events. So, there are sometimes periods where we’re not touching the detector for around 18 months, and periods where there is no data collection for a year, and maintenance and upgrading occurs.
From a bigger perspective, what role is Australia and ANU playing in the further research of gravitational waves?
Lilli: Australia is one of the major collaborators in the large international LIGO-VIRGO-KAGRA collaboration. There is a large group here working on gravitational wave astrophysics and detector science. These days, Australian scientists also want to propose and work towards building an Australian detector in the future, which is pretty exciting.
Right now, we are also thinking about the next generation detectors – like what kind of design and technology is needed that can give us a one-order of magnitude increase in sensitivity, which can get us much deeper into the universe. Australian colleagues are working on both the existing science of gravitational waves, but also the future.
Jennie: In the past, Australia has developed sub-systems which are now used in the detector, contributing mirrors for example. Also, Lilli is in charge of the calibration group for LIGO, and that’s just an example, but we have a lot of staff in Australia who are leading some aspect of the LIGO scientific collaboration’s research. We’ve also been instrumental in the design of something called the Squeezer which is used in LIGO to improve its sensitivity, making the detectors the quantum instruments that they are.
Lilli: Regarding astrophysics and data analysis, there are quite a few large groups from different Australian universities within OzGrav working on the data being collected these days. A lot of studies are carried out in Australia, but we also work very closely with international colleagues.
What are some benefits of these large-scale projects, e.g. do they help bring countries closer together and encourage international cooperation?
Lilli: I think yes, definitely. These days, it’s getting difficult to do small narrow research projects by yourself. With projects like gravitational wave detectors, you have large instruments, and that involves many different aspects: you need to work with engineers on different sub-systems, theoretical physicists to understand how the astrophysics work, software engineers and data analysts for dealing with huge amounts of data, and also astronomers who do different kinds of follow-up observations. All these people are playing important roles, and they come from different countries, different parts of the world. Close collaboration is critical.
Jennie: I think it’s really useful to have these big projects, because any falling out between countries can get in the way. It also definitely broadened my horizons, as I’m from Scotland, which isn’t as multicultural. Without science, I definitely wouldn’t have travelled and experienced different cultures as much.
Last question, what’s your advice for students looking to get into this field or just interested in your research?
Lilli: I think there are lots of chances for students to talk to us and do small projects. If they’re really interested there are lots of ways to get into the field. We do lots of summer/winter projects and we also teach undergraduate courses, where we discuss gravitational waves at a more basic level. Many students are interested, and we have extended discussions and they come to us for small projects or Honours and end up staying for PhD.
Jennie: I think definitely the best way is just to email someone who works in the fields. Academics love students being interested in their research, otherwise they wouldn’t be working at a university and teaching. I’m really happy whenever a student asks me, and I think that’s how I got involved in the field too.
Lilli: Yes, definitely talk to academics and lecturers in the field if you’re interested.
Jennie: And I think that’s the same in all areas of science as well, people are super keen to tell you about their research, you just have to ask them.
Photograph of some of the screens in the control room.
Dr Jennie Wright (left) and Dr Lilli Sun (right) in the remote control room.
A huge thank you to Dr Lilli Sun and Dr Jennie Wright for taking the time to do an interview and for so generously sharing their knowledge.
Comments Off on Eight Years Later: Schmidt’s Legacy
On the last day of the mid-semester break, campus is quiet when we sit down with Brian Schmidt. The brown brick Chancellery building is not a hub of student activity, and as we walk over it appears a bit like ANU’s own Battersea power station. Inside, it has been done up in traditional Australian colours: rusty red, muted orange, yellow here and there, brown wood panelling, and a soft sense of beige. As we wait in the lobby, the building feels a bit empty, except for when someone walks through and jumps into the elevator.
The tranquillity is pierced, but not broken, by ANU’s departing Vice-Chancellor and Nobel laureate, Brian Schmidt. He is not loud, but passionate, and he has a lot to say on a lot of things. But most notably, he is an arm-waver. As he speaks, every concept is given a corresponding gesture. Dwelling on the aim of an inclusive community, he swings his arms out wide, and when he waves off criticism about large capital purchases, he points to where the two purchases sit, beyond the office and the gum trees outside.
In February this year, at his State of the University speech, Schmidt announced that this year would be his last in the role and that he will be returning to research and teaching. It is hard to know if Schmidt’s status as a cultural icon comes from who he is, or from his last name, which has proved endlessly punnable for ANU students.
Having spent eight years in the top full-time position at the University, he is tired of the work.
When we ask him about his pay, which is less than most other Vice-Chancellors in the country, he is clear that he would never be a Vice-Chancellor at another university, and that he did this for the ANU. Of course, he is still paid in the ballpark of $500,000. He argues there would be a “disequilibrium” if he were paid less than the people he hires, and the people he hires are paid around that much.
Schmidt is distinctly American as well. Listening to this thick accent while tall gum trees sway outside, with classic Canberra pollen in the air, feels slightly anachronistic. It extends beyond his accent though. When he speaks of his aims as Vice-Chancellor, it is about putting ANU in the same league as other word-class institutions. The first that comes to him is Harvard. When he discusses inclusion on campus, he does so in a distinctly American liberal tone: disagreeing with what may be said, but defending people’s right to say it.
As we begin to ask Schmidt about his time at the ANU, the first thing that becomes apparent is his candour.
He wants to talk about the areas where the ANU is not doing well.
We open by asking him if he is excited to return to a quieter pace of life, and he is quick to describe the job as relentless, throwing his life out of balance. There is, he says, a lot of unpleasantness to it. To explain further, he uses what sounds like a frequent anecdote: 20,000 people come to the ANU everyday, and most people work 20,000 days in their life, meaning that everyday is bound to be the best day of one person’s life and the worst day of someone else’s. And he estimates they deal with one out of ten people who are having the worst day of their life. Throughout the interview he returns to the issue of sexual assault, and it seems he sometimes has to address events like this. He admits that this includes executing the procedural fairness of the university.
The Long View
With a mammoth institution like the ANU, it is difficult to know what gives it momentum and what can push it to change course. Schmidt says his focus has always been on students, despite the expectation that as an academic he would focus on research. In his eyes, his impact has been to give the campus and the University’s research “the foundation of a vibrant student community,” including a distinctly Australian undergraduate experience. ANU, he believes, may lack the “gold plating” of Harvard, but he maintains that
“if you get a degree from ANU, it’s as good as a Harvard degree.”
Schmidt attended Harvard for his postgraduate and then taught at the ANU, so he is better placed to comment on the two universities than most. But ANU did slip this year in the Global QS rankings, suggesting that the gold plating may not be the only thing ANU is missing. Schmidt has clearly thought about this or at least had this discussion before. He rejects the methodology of rankings, like QS or Times Higher Education, arguing they don’t reflect the ANU’s mission. He says the focus should be on students’ experiences on campus, and that Quilt surveys show that ANU students have good experiences on campus, better than most other Australian universities. He also questions the methodology, asking rhetorically how something like QS can measure satisfaction better than Quilt. The value of ANU lies in breaking people out of their “high school clique” and exposing them to the diversity of Australia. Schmidt believes on-campus life and ANU scholarships and programs achieves this.
Some ANU students may reject this characterisation of the on-campus experience. ANU has one of the lowest enrollment rates for low socioeconomic students, and the interstate move for many students presents a cost barrier not often found at other major universities. On-campus rent is itself more expensive than off-campus, further alienating the people who Schmidt wants to include. But, this may also reflect the growing cost of tertiary education in Australia, as higher inflation means that HECS has now become an important, if not crippling, debt for many young people.
The government, in Schmidt’s eyes, is not doing enough to support inclusivity and diversity across the sector, but to him ANU is doing more than most,
in an area where it matters more.
When he talks about inclusion, Schmidt means more than just making students feel included. He chastises the idea that certain people should not be allowed to speak at the ANU, and he is clearly frustrated when he brings up the example of Michele Bullock’s address. Bullock, now the Reserve Bank Governor, gave an address on campus which was briefly interrupted by students who said that if unemployment had to increase to reduce inflation, Bullock’s job should be the first to go. Holding an enlarged Jobseeker application form, the students walked past the stage, yelling with a megaphone, before being escorted out. As he explains his philosophy on free speech, he echoes historian Evelyn Hall’s famous quote, often attributed to Voltaire: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”
Schmidt’s line of thinking fits into the broader issue of free speech on university campuses across the anglophone world. In Britain, the US and here, many controversial speakers have had events brought to a standstill by students protesting. The subject matter of the speakers has ranged, from Malcolm Turnbull at the University of Sydney, to transphobic speakers and academics. Schmidt wants students to ask hard questions, not stand up and shout, or to protest outside the event. Of course, a student asking a question gets probably half a minute of airtime, someone like Bullock gets the full hour.
More Recently
Serving as Vice-Chancellor for eight years – two four year terms – Schmidt has gone round the block more than a few times. His second term, though, was dominated by COVID-19, which presented a short-term and a long-term challenge. With one of the largest on-campus populations in the country, ANU administered its own lockdown. This presented immediate issues, from food provision for students living with communal kitchens or eateries, as well as the money spent on Rapid Antigen Tests and personal protective equipment. Part of the ANU lockdown involved Senior Residents distributing food to rooms, something they were not paid for and which led to protests, especially from Burton and Garran Hall. He noted the pay freeze agreed to in early 2020 as an example of a hard decision he had to make about the University’s staff: had staff not agreed to it, he says he would have had to make 90 more staff redundant.
In the long term, COVID-19 tightened the belt of ANU, and Schmidt has found that the financial constrictions stemming from the pandemic have impacted everything they do. “It’s one thing,” he says, “just being flat, but
it’s another thing having pressure to become smaller and… it’s not an easy place to be squeezed.”
There is, for him, no easy way to make things work. With staff enterprise bargaining having concluded this year, one of the centre points of the debate was how much the ANU could afford to pay.
Schmidt, from his own description, was not a diehard unionist before he became Vice-Chancellor, he only took note of union opposition to hiring young researchers, chiefly because he was a young researcher. However, he now sees the value in having the views and values of staff represented, because otherwise “there’s no one to talk to and you can’t actually get a sensible agreement.” But, he follows this up with an admonishment of what he calls “the theatre of the strike…
call it whatever you want, it’s theatre from my perspective.”
He doesn’t see the cause for the half-day strike, which, with around 300 participants, was one of the largest protests on campus in the last few years. He claims that it didn’t matter in the end, as the bargaining ended up where he wanted it to, although he would have taken the first deal: a payrise of about 16% over five years (compared to the 18% in the final deal). He believes that on casualisation, he was offering terms that were “far more exciting” than the language “that the Melbourne union office was using.”
Key Issues
Another recurring challenge for him, and for university administration across the country, has been sexual assault and harassment (SASH). Last year, the National Student Safety Survey (NSSS) found that ANU had the second-highest rate of assault in the nation, and the highest of all Group of Eight universities. This year saw the establishment of the Student Safety and Wellbeing Committee (SSWC), which Schmidt points out is the only committee of its stature – reporting directly to ANU Council – in the country. Last year the University also established the Student Safety and Wellbeing Team to provide assistance for students and to walk them through the often quite complex processes of the University. These are two key student demands that the ANU has met, and Schmidt is now “much more comfortable” with the position and work that the University is doing on SASH.
Sexual assault in the university sector is more likely to happen the more people live on campus, and Schmidt both understands that ANU has substantial work to do, but also thinks that ANU’s on-campus nature contributes to its poor performance. However, this is not an excuse for him, and he believes it only increases the University’s responsibility. With the SSWC reporting to the Council and having both students and sexual violence experts sit on it, it is likely that ANU is entering a new era in reform around SASH. Whether the University takes up the committee’s recommendations, will be the work of the next Vice-Chancellor. Earlier this year, Woroni reported on the ANU’s failure to progress its Disability Access Plan; it remains to be seen if the University has learnt from its mistakes.
Another alleged mistake the ANU, and Schmidt personally, are often charged with is the purchase of large capital assets to be developed in the future. In 2021, he oversaw the purchase of a $17 million disused bus stop from the ACT, and this year he announced another similarly large purchase of a parking lot to build a new health sciences precinct on. Schmidt denies that the purchases are too expensive, noting that the cost of the acquisitions are amortised to be paid over a number of years and that the land will be used to realise the University’s long-term goals. He also says the purchases were a drop in the ocean compared to the pay rises the NTEU demanded.
The conversation next turned to the ANU’s involvement in AUKUS, which Schmidt denies: “It’s news to me.” Schmidt made a point not often discussed by students which is that the ANU, as the national university, ought to meet the educational needs of government policy. Hence, if there is to be a nuclear-powered submarine program, and Schmidt does not express his views on the alliance itself, then the ANU should provide the requisite education. It’s a reason which doesn’t seem to always be applied evenly at the University, which attempted to cut its Bachelor of Public Policy (BPP) last year, a degree which surely aligns to the government’s interests, even if broader society may not care. Of course, the BPP does not map onto any specific government policy, but one can imagine that if any university is to teach it, it should be the ANU, along similar lines to Schmidt’s thinking.
Education and research into nuclear energy and nuclear-powered submarines is also part of successful nuclear stewardship, Schmidt believes. This argument is a bit more familiar to students, with speakers at the student union arguing that there is a space for nuclear research. However, the controversy revolves around the conditions of any AUKUS-related scholarship that the Department of Defence offers. Will recipients be expected to work on AUKUS submarines, and what steps will be taken to ensure the education can’t be easily applied to nuclear armament? Without more details, these are moot questions, and we will have to wait until the scholarship program is formally announced.
No one person can accomplish everything, so what would Schmidt like to have achieved as Vice-Chancellor but never did? An academic overlay in on-campus residences, something he promises he’ll work on after his term, and hence tells us to stay tuned for. The second aim is more equity scholarships. The goal “is that every person who needs a scholarship in first year should get one.” ANU has a growing asset pool, and it may be that, like Harvard, Schmidt wants to fund equity scholarships from this pool. He doesn’t pull his punches though, and says the federal government could do more to fund tertiary education.
Looking Forward
On Tuesday the 26th August, ANU announced that Professor Genevieve Bell would be its 13th Vice-Chancellor. She will be the first woman in the position, and Schmidt mentioned his passion for a more equitable hiring as Vice-Chancellor. Bell, like Schmidt, comes from the ANU, however she has worked as the Director of the School of Cybernetics, a more administrative role than academic. But, her experience in computing and anthropology makes her well-poised to lead the University in the age of AI, or at least the age of paranoia around AI.
Schmidt’s advice for Bell is clear: “Get out and talk to people, talk to students, include the students in the decision making that affects them.” At the conclusion of our interview, Schmidt mentioned that he doesn’t want to be an “alien overlord” believing that Vice-Chancellors must be “a part of the community, not an alien overlord.” Schmidt can be seen around Kambri fairly frequently, including in the queue at Daily Market. Having provided the name of ANU Schmidtposting, the ANU community’s largest online community, he is in a sense, instantly recognisable, and understood to be a part of the ANU. Whether he seems like a member of the ANU community is up to the reader.
I grew up in the Western Suburbs of Sydney, a place not many ANU students are from. Looking back on high school there, even though it wasn’t the best period in my life, it made me feel like I somewhat belonged. There was always a new club for me to join and I had a great group of friends, who never made me feel isolated for the things I found interesting. Maybe it was because of all those American college movies I had watched growing up, and all those YouTube videos I had watched in anticipation, but I believed that university would be the place where I became more confident and grew into myself. I assumed university would make me feel like I completely belonged.
I had two weeks of the ‘University experience’ before COVID-19 hit, but it was nothing like I expected. That first week of uni, I remember printing out my resume and immediately applying for every job in sight. I assumed every student was doing the same. I was sorely mistaken.
According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, only 40% of people in tertiary education are working part-time. I was surprised when I found out that some students at ANU have never had to work, and will not have to work throughout their entire degree, to take care of themselves. This made me feel like an imposter at ANU, acutely out of place at such a prestigious university.
My first tutorial at ANU also made me feel like I was out of place. The way tutors speak is something that still perplexes me to this day. I felt like I was sitting in a Master’s program for International Relations, not my first ever uni class. I believe lots of ANU students have felt this, as I often see it plastered all over ANU Confessions. Some lecturers do not know how to teach and they can often make the course feel inaccessible. It became even more difficult over COVID-19 when everything was online; it was even harder to learn. For example, I took a French Introduction course, thinking it would be a pretty simple class. I had taken a little French in high school and thought I would have an advantage, – I was wrong. The lecturer attempted to teach a whole year of high school French in a few weeks!
There seems to be a pervasive expectation at ANU that University is our only priority, and ANU continually fails to take into account the complex and busy lives of its students. According to the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, in 2017 – 2018, 15% of people ages 18-24 had experienced high levels of psychological distress. With the impact of COVID-19, I know that this would have increased. As a student who works part-time and suffers from psychological distress, I can attest that the help provided by ANU is minuscule. Because of this, it is so easy to feel like you do not belong, or feel out of place. That first year of university impacted how I saw myself. The thing about imposter syndrome is, everything you feel about yourself is tipped on its head. The way you perceive yourself and the people around you is completely different. You internalise it and feel like you are the only one feeling this way – as if you are the only person who is in the wrong place.
Imposter syndrome also makes you feel like you are in a constant race to keep up, and ANU reinforces that toxic narrative.
Have you ever noticed that most tutorials seem to be during the middle of the day, making it difficult to work and study at the same time? Some lecturers, even after COVID-19, still expect students to go to their lectures in-person and you may even lose participation points if you do not attend. I do not have time to go to a three-hour lecture on a Monday morning, especially when it’s a day I work. ANU perpetuates the pressure to keep up with your peers, you need to graduate when everyone else graduates, you need to get HDs, and you need to be prefect, mentally and physically
When you break them down, though, none of these goals make sense. When it comes to graduating ‘on time’, people change their degrees, I know, shocking! When you do that, you often end up extending the time you need to study before graduating. Many people also do fewer courses to work or take care of their mental health, which also extends their degrees. It feels like to finish your degree perfectly in three or four years would mean that you didn’t work, and never had a mental breakdown, ever!
Moving on to pressure to get all D’s or HDs, not all courses are the same, also shocking! Unless you have done the course already, you do not know what to expect. Your tutor might be a harsh marker and maybe the last exam is really hard for no reason. When you take a look again at these societal expectations that make everyone feel like they are doing something wrong, you realise that they do not make any sense. Many students take time off here and there, many students are working multiple jobs to afford to stay in Canberra and many students are simply trying to pass their courses and survive.
The one thing imposter syndrome has taught me was that it is easy to idealise everyone around you and look down on yourself, what is more difficult is to treat yourself with kindness and remember that this path in life is your own and no one else’s. Tertiary systems also need to look at every student as an individual and provide more financial and mental resources. While I do not believe that uni will ever get easier, especially if ANU continues to forget about the welfare of their students, I do believe that the communities students have created, such as ANU Confessions and ANU Schmidtposting will continue to bring us comfort, so we never fully feel alone.
Comments Off on Editorial | Support your teachers, support the strikes
On Thursday of Bush Week, the 27th of July, ANU staff will strike for better pay, working conditions, and to reverse the casualisation so rampant in the tertiary sector. The students of this University have an obligation to stand in solidarity with staff: we must support our teachers, we must support the strikes.
One of the most important jobs in society is educating future generations. And yet, our society pays the most socially useful jobs, some of the lowest wages, and lecturers and tutors are no different. They are underpaid, under-supported and overworked. Burdened not by our assessments, questions, and debates, but by the ever-increasing administrative work of the University. They are stretched thin, and to add insult to injury, they are screwed over by the ANU.
The National Tertiary Education Union (NTEU) has brought several key demands to the bargaining table. Some have seen success, as Woroni has previously reported. But, where university management remains most intransigent is exactly where change is needed most. Our teachers deserve to be paid more, more because of how valuable their work is, more because of how difficult it is, and more because of the cost-of-living crisis that they must struggle through.
The ANU recently revised its previous paltry pay rise. Despite the overall increase this still includes an administrative pay rise from earlier this year, and ignores the pay rise due from 2022. The University has remained stubbornly opposed to giving casual employees – often fellow undergraduate and postgraduate students marking assessments and teaching tutorials – clear paths to permanent work. Casual research assistants are often paid from research funding grants, and the dilemma between claiming the full hours worked and eating into the research budget of a supposedly research-based university is real. Such casual work is rife with exploitation.
Capitalist ideology preaches the ultimate freedom of the market. The ultimate freedom of the worker is to strike for better conditions, to stand in solidarity and withhold the most valuable part of the production process: human labour. But capitalism does not practise what it preaches, and industrial action is increasingly curtailed, while corporate freedom – from profiteering to monopolisation and downright fraud – remains untouchable. In this climate, every strike reiterates the importance and power of workers, even as those workers are straw manned as “intellectual elites.” ANU staff should strike, so that they can reassert their power as the foundation of this University.
Students are familiar by now with the paradox of apparently being the customer of the University, and yet constantly having their demands rejected, their voices ignored. When we stand in solidarity with staff, we remind the University that it is not run by vice-chancellors or deputy vice-chancellors who want to cut degrees. We remind them that hardworking teachers and students are the lifeblood of this University. The relationship between the student and the teacher is the nexus of learning and education, this relationship cannot exist when teachers cannot live off their wages.
Our University’s status is slipping. We’re no longer amongst the top-ranking universities in Australia, and our research funding has fallen, driving lower revenues. Our University increasingly leans into predatory, exploitative systems of revenue generation. From dodgy financing deals leading to drastic rent-increases to prosecuting students over parking fines, it is creating a conflict between the institution and the person, whether they be student or staff. Higher pay and better support for staff is going to improve learning outcomes, not spending $17 million on a health precinct when the researchers to work there are not paid enough.
The corporatisation of the University goes hand in hand with poorer working standards. As managerial and finance-sector thinking has infiltrated the tertiary sector, staff have seen themselves lumped with more and more administrative work. Even as the genuinely helpful administrative work, such as special considerations and accessibility concerns, is still considered voluntary.
Woroni is a proudly independent media outlet, but on this, we agree with ANUSA: staff working conditions are student learning conditions. If we won’t stand in solidarity with teachers out of principle, then we can at least support them knowing that the better paid they are and the more flexible their work is, the better it will be for us.
Take just one example: assessment marking. Often, casual staff are paid per assessment marked, or paid per hour with the expectation that they mark a certain number of assessments in that time. Both practices drive markers to spend less time on each assessment, increasing the likelihood of unfair marks on students. The NTEU demand for pathways out of casualisation can help ensure markers are not pressured and exploited, and that students’ assessments are not rushed through.
And in turn, solidarity begets solidarity. Rent for next year has increased again, meaning that the cheapest student accommodation now exceeds the average rent one person pays living in a three bedroom sharehouse. We are seeing continued cuts in degrees and changes to the curriculum that remove the flexibility so many students desire. ANU has the highest sexual assault rate of any Group of Eight university. If we stand with staff, they will stand with us at our next protest. Stand with no one, and no one stands with you.
It is unclear how the staff strikes will progress from Bush Week. In other, more corporate universities like the University of Sydney, the strikes continued for months. Since the ANU NTEU branch announced its intent to strike, the ANU has moved forward on some issues. But, if management digs its heel in, we may see strikes throughout Semester 2. We may see picket lines and multi-day strikes and as frustrating as some may find these, it is our obligation to support better standards for educators. Staff will already be under pressure to compromise and give in to the University’s demands. Students have an obligation to stand with staff, to remove the guilt-tripping and emotional argument and say that no, strikes do not negatively impact students, not in the long run.
Support your teachers, turn out to the rally on the 27th of July. Don’t complain when class is cancelled because of industrial action, let your striking teachers know you support them, that you want this too. Remind the University who really matters.
Support the strikes.
The students of this University have an obligation to stand in solidarity with staff: we must support our teachers, we must support the strikes.
Sometimes traipsing around Canberra I feel haunted by an unreal ghost. The spectre is an unknowable woman, but one whose presence I feel like a current of electricity always.
The ghost’s name is Kate, and she attended the ANU in 1984. She lived raucously and radiantly, testing limits of appropriateness, in existential opposition to ‘The Man’. She bleached her hair to a frizzy and discoloured bird’s nest, wore exclusively second-hand clothes and was most often accompanied by a misbehaved and clumsily oversized dalmation.
Beyond graduation, Kate had an equally remarkable and passionate life. She eventually had a daughter, who now attends the same ANU, and who lives in perpetual wistfulness about this version of her mother whom she will never meet. I’ve heard many stories centring Kate as protagonist. Through these histories, I know her to be bold and outrageous and someone I think I would’ve liked to befriend.
On the day I was born Kate became Mum. She describes the transition as cataclysmic –suddenly she looked down at the crying, clawing lump of purple flesh in her arms, and knew that this infant was the most precious thing in the world. Where Kate was irresponsible and chaotic, Mum was completely dedicated to the lives and wellbeing of her children. She says the best thing she ever did in her life was her children and they are her proudest accomplishment. The loss of Kate was worth the gain of Rose and Natalie, according to Mum.
I describe Mum’s devotion to me and my sister as selfless in the sense that she sacrificed parts of herself to be our mother. The pressure placed on mothers to deprioritise aspects of their life, like their career, friendships and hobbies, is too frequently dismissed as part and parcel of motherhood. Motherhood is sacrifice – to be a ‘good’ mother you must sacrifice. Mum first, self second. My Mum is selfless in the sense that upon my birth Mum took precedence over Kate.
Whether brainwashed by hormones or not, Mum was completely enraptured with my infant self, and gladly devoted herself to motherhood. I am so indebted to her for her wholehearted commitment to this identity. My childhood was one smothered with love and gentleness. My mother let me try every sport, musical instrument or obscure hobby that I became interested in on a whim, despite my tendency to give up immediately. She came to every school assembly and cheered for me and my participation awards.
Mum is supportive, caring, generous and the most patient and loving person I know. It’s hard to see much of myself in that. I consider that I must be more like Kate, maybe if only for the fact that we both came to the same university, in the same city, through the same years of our lives.
Kate used to sing at Tilley’s in Lyneham, back when it was a lesbian club, while I now order soy lattes from the same venue. Kate had drinks in Union Court with her friends after class, which I do too, and modelled nude for students at the School of Art (another shared profession). She had shitty boyfriends, fought with her parents and sometimes she was reckless just because it was fun. She cycled down University Ave; studied at Chifley and attended classes in AD Hope and Copland. Balancing work and university made her stressed, not that she was particularly studious or dedicated to her work in bars, but she cut loose often and wholeheartedly.
Kate and myself, though we never met, have much in common. While at ANU we both cried in an academic office, both had too much to drink on too many occasions, both failed a course and both found ourselves at times in and out of love and lust. There is a closeness between us which extends beyond the superficialities of two twenty-something women. We feared and hoped for the same things, for ourselves and others, share the same hurts and frustrations.
Kate had the light in the 1980s and she was celestial.
I have the light now and though I think my shine might be dull in comparison to hers, I love my youth. I love coming home at all hours, having spent the night doing whatever with whomever. I love that the only person I have to take care of is myself, and that I can generally get away with only doing that to a passing grade of fifty percent.
When I float through Canberra I wonder if she felt the same freedom. I wonder if she felt the power in her beauty and trappings of youth that I do, or if she would have sneered at my vanity. At my age, like me, she never wanted to be a mother. Like me, she feared the sacrifice of her personhood and the weight of that responsibility. She never imagined losing Kate to Mum and likewise I cannot imagine myself under any other name than Rose. We both could never see ourselves choosing someone else over our own self-absorption and joyful recklessness, and yet one of us did.
The connection I feel to the unknowable Kate is spiritual and I carry her with me through every Canberra moment that we share. It sometimes feels as if I could bump into her at a party at an inner-north share house or sit down next to her in a sociology tutorial. I am enchanted by the woman I’ll never know, simultaneously mythologising and mourning her.
My Mum is brilliant and wild and known for her energy and authenticity. I would never mean to insinuate she became dull when she became Mum. But it’s true that Kate, in a way, died when Rose and Mum were born. It’s not a sad thing but I still long to meet her, the version of my mother who was just like me but brighter.
This distance between mother and daughter is essential of course. Mum says Kate would not have been a good mother and I believe her because I believe I also would make for an appalling and neglectful parent. But at twenty-two years old I would not look to Kate for her maternity. I would look to her in reverence of Mum and all that she sacrificed for me. I would look to her in veneration of youth and its joys. I would look to her and she to me as mother and daughter, seeing each other in ourselves and ourselves in each other.
Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on Advocacy, Consultancy and Community: A Day With The DSA
One sunny Wednesday during the teaching break, Co Disabilities Officer, Maddi McCarthy, sat down for a chat with Woroni in their Spoon Space, located in Copland. Maddi outlined the challenges and rewards of providing advocacy for disabled students and consultancy for the ANU. From the 26th of September through to the 30th the Disabilities Students Association will be running a series of events for Spoon Week. For more details and how to get involved with the DSA, see here.
Maddi, how long have you been involved with the Disabilities Student Association (DSA)?
I got involved at the start of last year because I was a disability advocate at a res hall and as part of that I had to be involved with the Department.
What was the difference between working for the Department versus your res hall?
In my res hall people didn’t really know what disability meant. Working in a collective is very different because everyone who engages is very aware. My work in the hall setting was very much just trying to introduce what disability was, destigmatising it, and trying to make my hall more accessible because hall accessibility is a real problem. That work was really just case by case sort of helping run events and making them accessible whereas in the collective it’s institutional advocacy.
You mentioned that you’ve worked on a case-by-case basis and at an institutional level, do you think one of these offers more value to students than the other? Do you see your institutional work at the ANU actually paying off?
When the institutional level work does pay off it is very beneficial but institutional advocacy is a lot harder because it is really difficult to see that change. When it does happen it is very rewarding.
When it’s one-on-one you see the change faster and it is more gratifying in the moment. It’s a lot easier to work with someone individually versus trying to institute a systemic change. When you do actually succeed in changing something for the university it is more beneficial for more people. I guess they both have their own merits.
Has the ANU historically been uncooperative with the DSA?
Yes [laughs] for sure. We have done campaigns this year and while the people we talk to from the ANU seem to be very open, the actual changes don’t eventuate. It is very hard to make change happen at the ANU. Working with lecturers seems to be a bit easier and we see change happening there but when working with colleges or the ANU as a whole, they seem to be a little more reluctant and are sometimes quite difficult to work with. It is a bit frustrating when we keep trying to do stuff and they keep pushing back.
Why do you think they are reluctant to action your recommendations?
I think with a lot of the changes we are pushing for they are pushing back because it’s either more convenient for them or it’s a money thing. For example, the most recent thing we’ve been doing is trying to make ANU keep all classes hybrid for the near future, especially while COVID-19 is still a factor. I think for them they consider that that is either more effort or it is not benefitting them. They want to push everyone back onto campus because maybe that will mean they’ll get more money from res halls or stuff like that. For us we’re trying to push it from the perspective of ‘this is harming your students’ but when you’re working with a university whose main priority is money, profitability is a big thing. Not that they’ve ever actually admitted that to us, but I do think that’s a lot of what it is. Or they are just reluctant to make changes because it is not going to be easy for them.
With DSA Collective members, for a lot of them hybrid learning is a matter of their health and safety rather than convenience; what does it mean then to be an advocate for your Collective in that context?
For Collective members these policies literally damage us. For us to have to push for our own safety is really emotionally difficult. People who are immunocompromised or who have health conditions, for them to, for example, get COVID-19, it is not just a matter of “I will isolate for a week and I’ll be fine”. Our collective members can get really sick and have permanent health problems that result from it. To keep hearing ANU complain about effort and workload, knowing that people in our Collective that we work with are going to suffer for it, is really difficult. But it makes us quite passionate about the issues and it’s one of the things that makes us want to really do the work.
It feels like the stakes are really high in the DSA particularly.
Yes, for sure. When you have friends in the collective who tell you stories about how sick they’ve been in the past and how scared they are, yeah, it is really difficult.
It seems a large component of your job then is emotional burden.
For sure it is. Because even when it is not to do with the COVID-19 stuff – even just fighting for Education Access Plans (EAP) for example – all we’re doing is trying to access our education and we just need accommodations in place for us to be able to do that. When you’ve got all this pushback it is frustrating because we are just trying to access university. In whatever setting it’s happening in, and with whatever we’re fighting for at the time, it always just comes back to that.
Other than hybrid learning, what is the number one thing that the DSA wants right now?
One of the other things we are pushing for is EAPs. A lot of students have EAPs and we get a lot of individual advocacy come through to us where the lecturers refuse to acknowledge it or refuse to accept EAPs. We are really trying to push for EAP training and sensitivity training.
One thing we’ve noticed a lot is people who are trying to ask for EAPs are often asked to justify themselves and they’re putting in a lot of emotional labour just to get an EAP accepted, which is not something we think should be happening. That has been an ongoing struggle for years: to get lecturers to understand EAPs and to not ask students to justify why they need it. We’re working with Access and Inclusion to achieve that.
Do you find Access and Inclusion to be an effective partner?
I think they’re valuable in getting EAPs and a lot of people do have good experiences getting EAPs. There are some issues that we’ve had with them in the past, but we tend to be able to work through it with them and they are definitely a valuable resource for us. They’re the reason we have EAPs in the first place.
If we do need official ANU back up because we’re fighting an EAP case it is good to have them as a partner because they’re ANU staff. Sometimes if lecturers aren’t responding to a student perspective it can be helpful to have ANU step in to back us up as well.
What do you think the DSA means to the institution of the ANU?
I would hope it’s a good resource for them to communicate with but sometimes it does feel like it’s just ticking a box.
The DSA, or at least myself and Mira (the other co-officer), are in a lot of working groups and we’re consulted by pro-VCs [deputy to the Vice-Chancellor] and stuff like that but sometimes it does just feel like “oh we’ve talked to the DSA and they’ve approved it, we’re good to go”. We hope we are a resource for the ANU to use to make sure the work they are doing is accessible. That is what we think we should be. But a lot of the time it does feel like they think “we’ve checked with the disabled people, they’re fine with it”.
What do you think it means to ANU students in a cultural sense?
For a lot of ANU students with a disability it is still quite stigmatised to stand up and say “I have a disability” so to have a space and to have a collective with other students who are experiencing very similar things is really comforting and safe. Especially for me it took me a long time to be comfortable with the fact that I am disabled and so to have people around me who have gone through the same thing is really nice. Then having people support you and advocate for you is really good as well. It is really good to be able to go to a collective and talk about things where people can relate to you. Having a safe space where you know you’re accepted and understood is really important.
Other than those reasons why should someone get involved with the DSA?
Other than the fact it is a community, I think it is good to be involved because it’s good to have people who can back you up. If you have any questions you can come to us because we are understanding about disability and how it functions in a tertiary education institution. You can come to us for information, for the social aspect, for advocacy and other resources.
Any closing remarks?
I’d like to reinforce that disability is a wide term. I think a lot of people don’t even know what it means or if they fall under the definition. It’s so broad – mental health, anaphylaxis, food allergies and physical disability all qualify. We’re really inclusive and we’re trying to spread what that definition is and break down the stigma of what a disabled person looks like.
Comments Off on Broke Bitch Mountain: Magically Mediocre
The title is not a backhanded compliment. It is a front-handed compliment. The Women’s Revue is okay. It’s SO okay! The Women’s Revue is okay, but that’s not all it is. It is also very, very fun.
The show is a delightful celebration of mediocrity. If you’re looking for a Broadway production, you may want to look in Kambri instead for whatever large, acclaimed act it has managed to entice into its profit margin. Part of the reason why Broke Bitch Mountain is mediocre is simply because of its genre. It’s operated on the budget of a student organisation, and the entire production is written by members of the Revue, a massive and applaudable feat in itself.
I got exactly what I expected to see: people in handmade props and dollar store wigs performing their hearts out.
First, let’s talk about the band, who had their own stash of snacks. I am offered a sour worm upon approaching them to chat. I found out that some of them do this out of a love of performance. Others have been lovingly coerced into playing instead. The experience for them has been full of light and laughs. The band found different reasons for performing compared to the cast. There isn’t a single person in the band who considers themselves a new hand at this. For them, it’s about a chance to peacock a little (it’s hard to casually stumble upon a saxophone to show off your skills) and simply enjoy playing music with other people. It’s a group of people who find it more fun to play together. The band promises and delivers the most polished aspect of the entire performance.
There’s a genuine love in all these skits that comes throughout the Revue. They’ve been written from scratch by a large variety of the cast, directors, band and even those who have come to the writing workshops without being in the show. I dithered around the cast and crew of women’s revue for their tech and dress rehearsals like a colourful spectre haunting Kambri. There were nervous shuffles of feet and a colourful tale about the threat of a wet pillow as coercion to join the cast as I asked to take interviews. Soon after though, everyone relaxed more.
An autonomous space feels more comfortable and welcoming in many senses. It feels more relaxed. Critically, it allows people to try something new and be bad at it, like comedy writing. For many, this was their first experience in performing and writing comedy. Given how male-dominated the comedy space is, many echoed that it was more comfortable to pitch ideas and to let themselves feel funny in a group like the Women’s Revue. And many people told me with sincere warmth in eyes ringed with stage make-up – there’s no pressure to be good at being funny. It’s a collaborative process with a group of kind, non-judgemental and supportive people who are there to fall back on when you’re not so confident in your ideas.
One girl magics out a container of homemade brownies. It’s easy to see how you can grow out of the fear of mistake-making mediocrity into magical mediocrity-fuelled passion in an environment like this.
Now, it’s false advertising to say that the Women’s Revue delivered 100 percent on the supposition of being bad at their craft. Disappointingly, several musical parodies will indeed be stuck in my head. The yeast infection song will be with me for two years (watch the show, and you’ll get it. The reference, not the infection).
The show falls flat on its long-form comedic skits, which try to balance a political element and a humour element and delivers on neither. The actors deliver their lines with good comedic timing and appropriately dramatic expressions. However, it’s the writing that lets these skits down. I won’t point to specific examples because 1. My memory is Bad, and 2. The Women’s Revue writes collaboratively, and it’s fairer to share that critique equally.
The skits that don’t stick the landing share a common theme. They portray familiar, shitty situations in order to poke at the absurdity underlying them. The not-good ones are not absurd enough. They show a situation that settles into the uncanny valley of experiences. Where it’s ALMOST close enough to a real lived experience, but not QUITE close enough for it feels relatable. The Revue, however, in the pre-emptively defensive way that all people socialised as women are familiar with, is incredibly self-aware. They aptly have a skit centred around “let[ting] women be bad at things”, which resonated with me as someone whose academic transcript has more credits than a bank will ever give me.
I chat to the co-directors Brindha and Sian in the scant break they have between rehearsing Act 1 and Act 2. Brindha states, frank and honest, that there were issues they were uncomfortable making light of or simply didn’t know how to address in a light-hearted way. Sometimes, things just did not land, and there were constant revisions in the creative process to figure out how to keep things fun and joyous. They share a knowing look as Sian says, “when you’re writing a skit, you have to open to it not being good.” I assume that look communicates at least 203 scrapped ideas.
Broke Bitch Mountain is described by the directors as a political but not an activist show. It is about using joy to convey topics that are otherwise difficult to talk about. There’s something therapeutic about telling stories and creating comedy from experiences that would otherwise be unfunny. Sian sticks me with a gaze so intensified by the dramatic theatre lighting that I would’ve believed her even if she said that the sky was red. She tells me she thinks there’s a power in laughing about the Big Bad Issues. It doesn’t make them go away, but it lightens the burden in your heart about it.
I ask them why they’ve chosen to take the leap and take on the huge role of organising the Revue. The show first called for auditions in March, and it’s been a very long haul. Brindha ponders for a moment, telling me about the organisational skills that she’s gained, the experience of guiding a team, before laughing lightly and saying simply, “I like making people laugh. I like making people happy.”
I find myself smiling at her reply. Goal achieved, I think.
The Women’s Revue is okay, but that’s not all it is. There’s a liberty in being just okay at things but still doing it with all the love in your heart anyway. The songs, the skits, and the dances squeezed onto the small stage of Broke Bitch Mountain are infinitely enjoyable. The people up on the stage are students, doing this for the love of the performance, for a chance to try something new, and most importantly, for a chance to make you laugh.
Let’s go give them one.
Editor’s Note: This review was written after attending and watching the second half of a dress rehearsal, not a performance during the show’s full run.
Tickets available here.
Women’s Revue Program.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on BIPOC Report – A Collection of Responses from the Community
In September 2021, the ANU Students’ Association (ANUSA) Black Indigenous People of Colour (BIPOC) Department released its inaugural Racism Report. The compilation of de-identified disclosures highlighted that ANU BIPOC students have been the victims of covert and overt forms of racial abuse within ANU campus. These disclosures were received through “an anonymous form, direct messages to the BIPOC Department, social media pages, emails to the BIPOC Officer or disclosed at BIPOC Department meetings.” Not all disclosures received were included in the report. Hence the report only provides a snapshot of the submissions that the Department receives in addition to the large swathes of incidents that are never reported at all.
The purpose of the document was to “provide more clarity to the ANU community” about the nature of racism on campus as previously reported by Woroni. We spoke to the current BIPOC Department Officer, Chido Nyakuengama, who elaborated on the report’s conception: “During the handover process, I was told about how we had an anonymous reporting tool. I thought about where we could take this information, and after receiving a very serious disclosure at the beginning of my role, I got the idea of tallying them.” The discloser had voiced a desire to have “others … know about the incident” but to also maintain “a certain level of anonymity.” This perhaps speaks more broadly to the nature of addressing racism in that awareness is critical for change yet those affected may hesitate to identify themselves.
We were interested to learn more about the reaction of the ANU BIPOC community to the report’s release. For some, this was a validation and confirmation of their lived experiences. For others, these findings were a new and confronting spotlight on an aspect of campus life of which they had been previously unaware.
We sourced responses from the ANU BIPOC community through a survey distributed through ANU Schmidtposting and ANU BIPOC Department Social/Alumni’s Facebook page. The survey encouraged participants to share their reflections and feelings after the release of the Racism Report. We would like to thank everyone who submitted responses and recognise that due to the vast quantity of received responses we were unable to include all of them. We would also like to acknowledge that the responses within this article represent a sample of the ANU BIPOC community. Thus, the collated responses are not reflective of the entire ANU BIPOC community.
How Do You Feel After the Publication of the BIPOC Report?
I was very disheartened to see so many recorded incidents of racism. It was also validating at the same time though, because it felt that my experience wasn’t unique and I wasn’t ‘imagining it’ as I had been sometimes led to believe.
Exhausted. The BIPOC report is a strong and damning summarisation of our experiences, and it surprised me how many of those experiences I had also experienced at some point or another while at the ANU. I can’t imagine how many more incidents haven’t been reported – and I’m guilty of this, I haven’t reported incidents I experienced too. I’m exhausted because it is so difficult to comprehend how much trauma our community experiences on a day-to-day basis. Yet, it is always somehow our responsibility to educate basic respect. It’s exhausting.
I was initially doubtful that the report would make a difference, but I think a lot of BIPOC students appreciate that attention is being brought to our experiences.
I feel really let down by ANU and non-BIPOC students. ANU advertises itself as an ultra-progressive university, however, this report highlighted that ANU is not as woke as it pretends. I’ve been surrounded by Caucasian people who consistently virtue signal and pretend that they aren’t racist whilst being racist. I am appalled to hear of lecturers throwing around the n-word in class. I am distraught to hear what my peers have suffered. The non-BIPOC students at ANU have belittled us and even hate-crime us. I felt so disgusted reading that non-BIPOC called BIPOC ‘Monkeys’ and ‘Gorillas’. ANU Campus now seems like a scary place. When I return, I’ll just be hoping I don’t get verbally assaulted with racist bullshit again.
It’s certainly disheartening to read about what other BIPOC students have had to face and to know that there are so many other occasions that aren’t included. I’m glad it was compiled, but it honestly makes me feel distressed at living on campus and attending this uni. I’ve been expressing these issues and my concerns for ages, and I hope this finally makes someone pay attention.
I’m quite shocked that ANU students can be so racist.
I am shocked and disappointed that compared to other Group of Eight universities, ANU is severely lacking in services and support for the BIPOC community.
If the contents of the BIPOC report made you uncomfortable, then know that this is how myself and probably other members of the BIPOC community feel on an ongoing basis whenever we experience racism, be it online or in-person, on-campus.
Unsurprised, but it has renewed the sense of solidarity I feel with my BIPOC siblings.
I feel heard and that people can’t get away with saying racism doesn’t exist at ANU.
Be better allies, be active bystanders, learn how to support your BIPOC friends, peers and colleagues.
Angry. Why are these things still happening, and why do I have to watch myself and my peers suffer through them?
Reading the BIPOC racism report brought me to tears almost immediately. I was aware of my own experiences at ANU, but reading and seeing just a fraction of countless instances of racism made me feel helpless and distraught about my future studies. Especially reading about post-graduate student experiences. I hoped that it would get better after undergrad, but it’s just as bad and even worse. Feeling the pain, frustration and helplessness in the stories made me wish there were more safe spaces and communities for POC on campus.
It was enlightening. As a BIPOC international student, I could never put a finger on whether or not the discomfort I had were related to racism. I was able to echo some of the experience’s students had and felt that the report was educational as much as it was representative of the voices of BIPOC students at ANU. Would love to see more reports like the BIPOC Report, although this is not to imply that there should be more negative experiences on campus.
Unchanged – the report was pointless as it didn’t highlight any remotely valid or realistic solutions.
Awful, scared, anxious about who might have been looking at me or my friends and saying things like these about us without us even knowing
Do You Have Any Messages to the Non-BIPOC Members of the ANU Community?
This report was not created for BIPOC people – it was made to give our non-BIPOC community members and the ANU administration an insight into the reality of many BIPOC students on campus. The simple existence of this report doesn’t solve any of the issues detailed in it, but hopefully it can be the push the university needs to take these issues seriously. Please don’t forget about this report and the experiences of racism on our campus because your BIPOC friends and family don’t have that luxury.
If you read the report and found a lot of the incidents to be a stretch and that ‘they probably aren’t racist’, please understand that the report was only formulated on reported incidents and in my opinion, didn’t truly reveal the racism at ANU, especially in residential halls/colleges.
To the non-BIPOC please stop messaging me. Start just listening to others who have the emotional energy to share. I can’t keep having educational conversations. And don’t let this go. It’s important now, and it will always be important.
Why are you so comfortable and okay with supporting women’s issues and LGBTQ+ issues with ANU implemented programs and support like the mandatory consent module and the ally support network email signature, but when it comes to racism you are often silent?
How hard is it to just not be racist??? Also, if you see any of these behaviours subjected towards your BIPOC friends and peers, speak up for them/call the perpetrator out. BIPOC are perfectly capable of speaking for themselves, but it always feels nice to have some reinforcement around you when you’re slapped in the face with racist bs.
Like… be a little more woke.
Call out your friends. This shit is dangerous. Fetishism & taboo words are real racism. Do your research and learn what’s right and wrong.
We are human beings, equal to yourselves. Just because we aren’t white doesn’t mean we are deserving of your racial abuse. Heaps of Caucasian people get angry when they’re called racist. But imagine how it feels to be constantly demeaned for the colour of your skin. Or to be called phrases that were used in eras of genocide and slavery. Please unpack your racial biases. Please call out your Caucasian friends who are racist – racists are more likely to listen to a Caucasian person than a BIPOC person. Why do you want to be on the wrong side of history?
I hope that you will carefully read and reflect on this report. It’s more than just being not actively racist, but rather ensuring that you are actively inclusive too. Things can seem small, like having an all-white, male panel for a research conference, but they can have subtle effects on the BIPOC community. We can feel that we don’t belong and that our achievements are insignificant. Sitting with these things and reflecting on how you might directly or indirectly contribute to racism is really, really hard. I’ve had to do it too, even as a BIPOC person. But it makes our community a better place.
Be better. Do better. If you hear something, report it, stand up for your BIPOC peers. The onus is on the victim far too often. Take some responsibility and do your own research.
As of 19th October 2021, the BIPOC Department has not received a formal response from the university. In response to the release of the report, we received the following statement from a university spokesperson:
“The University has received a copy of this report and noted the concerns it raises. ANU denounces any form of racism. There is no place for racism in our community. ANU is committed to stamping out these unacceptable behaviors. ANU would like to thank the ANU BIPOC Department for calling out racism. If members of our ANU community experience or witness these behaviours the ANU has a range of support mechanisms in place and ways to discuss or report these behaviours. There are many options for support available for students, the ANU Wellbeing and Support Line which is available 24-hours a day. The ANU is committed to students’ safety and wellbeing and will take all steps necessary to protect students. ANU values inclusion, equity and diversity.”
The BIPOC Department intends on releasing an annual report and advocating for the fourteen recommendations stipulated in the document. The responses we have received are reflective of the need to meaningfully address the experiences of BIPOC students here at ANU. An acknowledgement and understanding of the problem are the first steps to fixing it.
If you or someone you know has been affected by this, please contact one of the support services below:
Lifeline
13 11 14
Beyond Blue
1300 22 4636
Winnunga Nimmityjah Aboriginal Health Service
(02) 6284 6222
Canberra Rape Crisis Centre, Crisis Line
(02) 6247 2525
ANU Counselling
(02) 6125 2442
1800 RESPECT
1800 737 732
ANU Women’s Department
sa.womens@anu.edu.au
ANU Queer* Department
sa.queer@anu.edu.au
ANU BIPOC Department
sa.bipoc@anu.edu.au
ANU Respectful Relationships Unit
respect@anu.edu.au
The Thursday of O-Week I went out by myself, with the intention of running into some friends and joining them. Living off campus as I do, it is not possible to wander into a common area and find people, and my housemates had their own evening plans. I caught an Uber into Civic and stood in line outside One22, a party of one.
This would have been unimaginable two years ago, in my first year. I was apprehensive, felt foreign to myself and everything around me. Now, I felt good. Sure, I was getting looks from other groups, specifically ones made up of young men, but it was all mostly harmless, and it had little effect on my mood.
I walked up the all-familiar stairs of old Wolf, bid the bloke I was casually chatting to a good night and lined up for water. It was going to be a sober night.
And so, for the next 40 minutes I drank my water, asked random groups of girls to dance with them and kept my eyes peeled for any friends I could join to appear. I was sober, technically alone, and having a fantastic time. I felt whole, grounded, and confident enough in being a proper, full, and settled person to be able to do this, unlike first-year Karolina.
Growing older means you settle into yourself. You connect with who you are internally and carve out a little space for yourself among the nearly eight billion people who walk this earth. Your existence becomes your own. You learn to claim it and revel in it, wholly and absolutely.
Whenever I tell people I regularly go out sober, they usually respond positively saying “I wish I could do that”. I meet strangers and explain that my friends haven’t come yet, or that they left already, and they are almost always welcoming and friendly. Through my independent adventures I’ve realised that everyone is searching for connection. Everyone wants to feel comfortable within themselves.
The formative moment occurred after Laneway in February 2020. After a beautiful 10 hours of live music at the Old Mill in Port Adelaide, a friend and I headed into town for the afterparty. Tiah and I giddily ran up the stairs to Rocket, which anyone from Adelaide will know as a more indie version of One22 and danced the rest of our energy out. She went home at 2 AM and I decided to stay – the DJ was sick, I felt electrically alive and dancing was an expression of truth.
Hence, I stayed, by myself, in a crowd that was already thinning. At first, I just stood by the bar, sipping water, trying to find an inconspicuous corner I could claim. I wandered over, and immediately looped back to the bar. Too scary. I noticed a small group of people dancing like they meant it, I approached, explained that my friend went home, and asked if I could join them. Yes! Welcomed with enthusiasm, I danced with them until 4 AM, until my body gave way, and my energy was spent. I thanked my companions and got home safe.
The moment that I returned to Rocket after seeing Tiah off, I was strengthening my connection to self. When I walked over to those kind strangers, I was affirming my place in the world, and quietly saying “I exist”. When I felt the bass pulsating through my veins and my body moving in time, I was grounding myself in my own existence, taking ownership of who I was and what I stood for. I was becoming a real, full, and settled person.
Nothing really prepares you for the debilitating existential angst of realising ‘holy shit I am an actual person who is meant to have values and thoughts and a proper life’. You enter the world as an 18-year-old– fresh faced, and unable to internally answer if you even like yourself. Everything comes at you all at once, and you walk down Uni Ave feeling like a meaningless speck that is at the same time bursting with a desire to have a space in the world, to be meaningful.
The changes I’ve experienced in my sense of self over the last two years have been beyond what anyone could have explained to me. It’s like the dust has settled, and instead of frantically looking around and being uprooted from the everyday, each foot on the ground is filled with intention and with conviction.
This space you create for yourself is one you must fill, occupy, and take full ownership of. Doing so requires an understanding of yourself and enough tenacity to claim said space. It’s your little meter-squared surrounded by everyone else’s and a way to affirm your existence amongst them. Your personhood fills your body, transcends it, and grows its roots through the space. I think growing up is the process of making and cultivating that space for yourself. While maybe it always exists, you need to become whole, complete, and full enough so that you can step into it and make it habitable.
I want to get to a point in my life where I only say and do things I mean and believe in. There is a quote in the film Frances Ha, where the titular character Frances says, embarrassed, “I’m not a real person, yet”. I guess my way of living with intention is going out sober and being assured enough to dance with sweaty strangers in the dark. My space is my own, stable enough in its foundations to allow me to stand alone in the line to One22, the perimeter strengthened by my values, goals and confidence that has been through more rejections than approvals.
Becoming a person is scary. It’s a process that you have to completely commit yourself to. My way of navigating that process was giving up drinking in first year and carrying myself through social situations without the blanket of alcohol. It was journaling, failing two subjects, taking a year off uni and moving back home and doing lots of things alone and then with people. It was learning to smile and say “hi” to the person I kind of knew but whose gaze I always avoided. Your life is your process, and your space is waiting to be yours.
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