Category: Comment

• The Fifty-Two Books I Didn’t Read This Year

  December 20, 2020 8:59 am Comments Off on The Fifty-Two Books I Didn’t Read This Year

  There is a ubiquitous saying amongst writers: show don’t tell. Instead of telling you that Tony Abbott is a little bit odd, I should instead show you his lips, palpating and quivering over the skin of a fresh raw onion; I should describe the sound, as his teeth crack through the layers of nested cellulose, and I should describe the smell, warm and pungent, of his halitosis-encrusted breath drifting through the air.
  When it comes to mental health, things are a bit different. I can tell you about depression, but I don’t know if I can show you depression. I can’t put you inside my head and give you the tour. I can’t transmit my feelings to you via radio waves. I can’t take your hand and make you pat the twelve-legged Lovecraftian insect that has hatched somewhere in the back of my skull, feeding me feelings of hopelessness instead of a stream of consciousness. My best hope lies in trying to describe my experience, and in hoping, somewhat morbidly, that I’m talking to someone who has been in the trenches before too.
  But perhaps there is one way of showing-not-telling depression. Before I graduated, I used to make a point of reading fifty-two books a year. I didn’t always read that many, but I’d start the year with a list in mind. That way, even if I got distracted by, say, cat videos, I might get through twenty or thirty of them by the time Christmas came around. I could choose the books I was most excited about reading and finish them first. I could change the list or I could throw it away completely and just improvise. I could read miniscule books or I could read mammoth books. I could read textbooks and comic books and everything between.
  The thing is, I don’t read much anymore. Imagine the things you love most in life, and then imagine that you suddenly didn’t love them anymore. That is one small part of what it was like for me to develop depression. For a lot of people you don’t need to imagine this at all – you’ve gone through this exact thing before. Maybe in your case it wasn’t reading but something else altogether, like underwater basket weaving or extreme whack-a-mole.
  Perhaps it’s futile to try and pinpoint a cause, but I’d still like to try. For me, the trigger was graduation. Afters months of anticipation and grades and fancy robes, I suddenly found myself feeling more empty than I ever had in my entire life. It wasn’t just feeling down. It was waking up in the middle of the night, covered in a blistering sheet of existential dread. It was listening to the same deformed internal monologue five-hundred times a day, thirty days a month. It was seeing all my friends succeed, and feeling like meanwhile I wasn’t worth two cents.
  I didn’t realise until months later that I’d been slowly developing depression. Looking back, it’s easy to make sense of what was going on. But at the time it was hard to step out of my own head. It was hard to defuse my thoughts and to say that just because I’m thinking this awful thing, doesn’t make it true.
  I know a large handful of people who’ve gone through the same thing after graduation. It’s more common than you might think. I’m starting to think we should have a name for it – maybe gradupression, or depraduation. If leaving university was the best thing that ever happened to you, then I’m glad, and I hope the upwards spiral continues. But for a lot of people, leaving university just isn’t like this. For a lot of people, graduating means finding yourself stuck at the start of a long hard road, and needing a helping hand.
  I’m a lot better than I was, now. A big first step was naming the Lovecraftian insect for what it was. Another step was reaching out, and another step was medication. But then again, I’m still unwell. I still don’t read much. Not every problem gets fixed, and if it does get fixed, it certainly doesn’t get fixed overnight. Sometimes it gets fixed a lot, and sometimes it gets fixed only a little.
  I don’t mean to say that all this has been a waste of time. I’ve learned things about myself that I could never have learned while still at uni. I’ve learned to grow new interests, even if my old ones die out. I’ve learned how to ask for help. I’ve learned to stop believing, at least in my case, in the myth of the depressed creative – that depression is somehow a source of great inspiration and motivation, and that it should be relied upon in order to achieve great things. In my case, the exact opposite was true. I used to be productive, and then I became depressed, and I was no longer productive. The arrow did not go the other way around.
  Perhaps, in the end, I am just stating the obvious. That the experience of graduating is not too dissimilar from finishing a book. Perhaps, for you, it has been a wonderful book, a terrifying book, or the most boring book you ever read. Perhaps the book often made you cry. Perhaps the book was a waste of money, and didn’t teach you anything. Perhaps you finished it quickly, or perhaps you finished it after resting it on the shelf for many years.
  Now you face, inevitably, the feelings that come afterwards. For some it will be relief, knowing that you have permission to move on. For some it will be melancholy, knowing that you’ll never be a part of a story that good again. For some it will be devastation, knowing that you step now into a deep dark forest, of which you can only tell, but never show. Whichever it is, you should be proud that you read a book.
   
   

  Anonymous

• Every ANU Student Should be Worried About the Arabic Cuts

  November 9, 2020 9:55 am Comments Off on Every ANU Student Should be Worried About the Arabic Cuts

  As you’ve probably heard, the ANU is in financial hot water. In October, Brian Schmidt told the Canberra Times that due to the global pandemic, there would be 194 staff cuts. These staff cuts have been accompanied by pay cuts for the top leaders, a deferred pay rise for staff, and increased borrowing by the university. So far, the College of Engineering and Computer Science has released its plan to reduce 21 positions. Within the College of Arts and Social Sciences, Arabic and Classics have been earmarked for changes in ‘academic profile’ to ensure programs are ‘strategic and viable’.  Proposed changes for Classics involve changing the contractual structure of the department whereas for Arabic it involves cutting two of its three lecturers. 
  As someone who has studied Arabic for the last two years, I know that to deliver an adequate Arabic program with one lecturer would be impossible. Beginners, Intermediate and Advanced Arabic courses are run concurrently, each containing 5 hours of lectures a week and 1 hour of tutorials. It is simply not possible for one staff member to deliver 15 hours of lectures a week and run 3 hours of class. This isn’t even including courses like Media Arabic and Special Topics in Arabic. 
  Yet the university’s decision goes beyond these courseload issues, and I argue even students who don’t study the language should be concerned. 
  At ANU 
  Arabic is one of the most important languages in international relations. If the ANU hopes to best equip its students in their careers, a strong Arabic language program is an essential supplement.  The ANU’s international relations department is ranked 8th globally and 1st in Australia. The program’s success, combined with the ANU’s connection to the Australian Public Service (particularly in foreign affairs), is a calling card for the university. In the Teaching Research and International Policy Project’s 2014 faculty survey of 5,139 International Relations scholars from 32 countries, 82.4% of respondents considered Arabic to be one of the three most important languages an IR student could possess. Of these scholars, 14.05% of respondents ranked Arabic as the most important language ‘for students to understand if they plan to pursue a professional career in foreign affairs’, while 32.34% ranked it second and 36% ranked it 3rd..
  This makes sense. Revolutions, invasions, war, and terrorism have meant that the Middle East has proved to be a place of keen interest for international relations scholars over the past few decades. Its burgeoning democratic movements, the unceasing Israel-Palestine conflict, and the role of political Islam in domestic politics among a host of other issues, indicate that it will continue to be a key region within the field. This sentiment is echoed by the US government, who lists Arabic as a ‘critical language’, meaning increasing the number of bilingual speakers is of high priority, “for reasons of national security and economic prosperity”. 
  In Australian Society
  Arab Australians and Arabic speakers have played a significant role in shaping the cultural and social fabric of Australia. Waves of migration from the Middle East has led to Arabic being the 3rd most spoken language in Australia. Nevertheless, we are marred by a past of racial discrimination, which in more recent times has been directed at our Islamic and Middle Eastern community. 
  While the most visceral outburst has been the 2005 Cronulla riots, others include the then Immigration Minister Peter Dutton suggesting that the Fraser Government made a mistake letting in Lebanese refugees, the election of openly Islamophobic politicians such as Pauline Hanson, Bob Katter and Fraser Anning, the rise of the ‘Reclaim Australia’ movement and the Australian connection to the 2019 massacre of 51 Muslims in Christchurch. We’ve also suffered lone wolf attacks perpetrated by members of the Arab and Islamic community including the Lindt café siege, Bourke street attack, Endeavour Hills stabbing and Parramatta shooting. Learning, speaking and teaching Arabic promotes cultural understanding and immersion, allowing a tempering of the extreme voices within our society who have attempted to shift anti-Arab and anti-Islamic discourse into the mainstream. It also facilitates the inclusion of isolated and disenfranchised groups of society from which homegrown terrorists have emerged. 
  In Foreign Affairs
  David Frum, a staff writer for The Atlantic Magazine and supporter of the Iraq War suggested that the campaign was “undone by blithe assumptions, cultural ignorance and careless planning”. Australia as a part of the Multi-National force in Iraq is culpable in its lack of cultural understanding and false assumptions about the region. Ian Parameter claims the Australian approach to Iraq is “unprofessional”. In his article ‘What’s Wrong With Australia’s Middle East Policy?’, he describes interactions with ministers whose simultaneous ignorance, and importance in Australian Middle East decision making was concerning.  It is clear our future foreign policy decisions will inevitably cost lives, what is not clear, is whether the same mistakes driven by ‘blithe assumptions’ and ‘cultural Ignorance’ will occur. 
  Learning Arabic is one of the most important ways by which we can better understand Arabic nations, cultures and societies. This will allow for more informed policy decisions based on a reality that we truly comprehend and appreciate, rather than ones built on ignorance and essentialism. Given ANU is known for its stream into the Australian Public Service, in particular the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, it’s not hard to imagine that those learning Arabic at ANU today will be making substantial contributions to Middle Eastern policy in the future. Without a viable Arabic program and Arabic speakers in government, we risk making foreign policy decisions in the dark, and consequently repeating the same mistakes which have cost many Australian and Arab lives.
   
   
   
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  Woroni Editor

• ‘An Irreparable Decision’: Arabic Students Speak Out Against Cuts

  October 28, 2020 8:22 pm Comments Off on ‘An Irreparable Decision’: Arabic Students Speak Out Against Cuts

  2020 has been a terrible year in which the Coronavirus pandemic and the resulting economic recession have both severely impacted universities across Australia. For many students here at the ANU, it has separated us from communities that enrich our uni experience and make the burdens of these stressful times lighter to bear. The ANU has announced cuts to many of its programs due to the economic impacts of the pandemic, however, some of these cuts have been made arbitrarily and without consultation of the students that study these programs. For us in the Arabic language program, we found out not even a fortnight ago that two of the three lecturers that have put in countless hours facilitating one of the best Arabic programs in Australia were to be cut. 
  These are the proposed cuts: 
  The ANU is proposing to cut two (2) of its ONLY three (3) valued lecturers from its already small Arabic Language Program run by the College of Arabic and Islamic Studies (CAIS).  
  Their justification is as follows:
  “the steady continued decline in student numbers in the Arabic Program coupled with further expected decline as a result of the global pandemic has resulted in the program not being financially viable or sustainable.”
  This reasoning is misleading for multiple reasons, as we found in SELT data gathered by ANU:

  According to the latest enrolment data the university itself produces, enrolments have been increasing over the past 10 years until 2019 – the same year CASS decided to remove the Diploma of Language and restructured many of its degrees to remove the language minor component. 
  The onset of the coronavirus has reduced enrolment numbers across the university, seeing that international students chose not to enrol, and many domestic students chose to take a gap year instead.
  These combined scenarios – both outside of a lecturer’s control – has led to two years of reduced enrolments. CASS has chosen to use this small sample size bias as a justification to remove two hard working teaching staff from a program that in 2018 served almost 300 enrolments over 7 courses between 3 lecturers over that year alone.
  Some courses even saw increases between 2018 and 2019.

  The very small number of staff currently in the program are highly valued by students. They are essential if the program is to continue providing excellent education and achieving overall outstanding results. We students have found this cutting process frustrating, saddening and downright cruel. 
  In response, several students across the year groups have chosen to speak up and state their opinions on these cuts and what the Arabic program means to them. 
  A first-year student found that, 
  “Starting a language as difficult as Arabic this year was hard. Morale towards studying online quickly decreased when we went into lockdown. Lucky for me, I’d chosen a minor with the most incredibly close-knit community and supportive teachers who immediately lifted me out of my funk. 
  Ultimately, what made Arabic so difficult online was not the demanding grammar and confusing alphabet, but how we had been pulled away from such an enthusiastic and encouraging community that had made us feel so welcome in the first place.
  The Arabic department is small, but it has an incredible ability to make you feel like you’re apart of something bigger than four hours a week. Sometimes it’s hard to feel recognised as an individual in a University of 21,000 students, yet our Arabic teachers hit the nail on every one of our bilingual heads.”
   
  Another first-year shares this sentiment,
  “The transition to online learning due to COVID-19 was so smooth and made me less anxious to study this difficult subject with two lecturers constantly supporting me in both semesters. Alongside the many compulsory classes, the drop-in hours, optional reading and speaking classes made me feel greatly supported throughout what would have been otherwise a difficult transition and year of Arabic.”
   
  A third-year student had this to say about the cuts,
  “These cuts are nothing short of a direct attack and disregard on and for teachers’ well-being. Brian Schmidt has shown time and time again that he actually has very little regard for the languages that this university provides, nor does he respect the staff that teach it. He holds the actual teaching staff of the university below anybody else, and would rather stick to his vision of “Australia’s Harvard” than focus on providing a quality education.
  The public and specific nature of these cuts is humiliating and disrespectful. Furthermore, Rae Frances’ approach in return has been to sow misinformation and sideline student voices, implying that the program would continue like nothing had happened. The students know that it is the Arabic staff that make the Arabic program, and having one permanent staff member to teach the entire major (250 students in total and 9+ courses) is completely unfeasible. If the program does continue with the same content, it would be nothing short of intellectual theft, a plagiarism that we are so often cautioned against. Every time university funding is cut, so too are languages. We know this is intentional. ANU has even resorted to Republican tactics (yes those Republicans) to disentangle students from languages.
  To sum it up neatly, I am outraged. The university and Brian Schmidt have ignored outcry from students and staff alike and has chosen to sacrifice jobs over sacrificing the university’s grand plan.”
   
  A second-year student shares this outcry,
  “All my life I wanted to study Arabic, and when I graduated I knew that ANU was the place to go to fulfil this dream. I moved states for this course and I’ve never regretted it for one minute. The care and commitment of our lecturers is unparalleled across the university, and as a Bachelor of Languages student I can say that the teaching quality is the best I have ever experienced. Leila, France and Huda go above and beyond for every single student, putting in well above the hours expected of them. In my two years studying Arabic I have been lucky enough to have been taught by all three of them, and all of them bring something totally unique but equally fantastic to the course. 
  Thanks to them, I have thrived in Arabic and it has become easily my favourite part of my degree. Without having all three of them there, our tight-knit Arabic community will be shattered, and ANU’s stellar reputation as an exceptional provider of this extremely important language will be ruined. The changes proposed by the ANU are completely unjustified, unfair and disproportionate, and cannot go ahead.” 
   
  Another third-year student maintains a similar sentiment,
  “I love Arabic. The community that it has given me has improved my time at ANU tenfold. It’s for this reason that the proposed cuts not only infuriate me but also truly sadden me. The loss of the Arabic program in its full glory will be a genuine loss and I pity the future students that will be deprived of it. And before an ANU representative corrects me, we all know that some version of the Arabic program will remain. However, the hollowed-out version that ANU offers is of no interest to us. That’s ANU’s fundamental failure in this mess; they don’t understand that there is no Arabic program without Leila, Huda, and France.
  What’s worse is that I’m not even surprised. Time and time again Arabic students have fought to get our lecturers the recognition and support they deserve. Yet every time ANU just greets us with dismissal and empty words.”
   
  Another second year had this to say about the cuts and the Arabic language community, 
  “Originally chosen on a whim, I had no idea that the Arabic program at ANU would come to be the reason why I am still studying. I caught the travel bug just before I started my studies back in 2019 and having enrolled already I channelled a bit of “what the heck” and dove in. And I am beyond grateful that I did. Fast-forward to 2020, one missed gap year and a global pandemic; there were so many reasons for me to take this year off. But I stayed, all thanks to the seductive allure of learning just that little bit more of the new language and culture I have fallen in love with. 
  I stayed to remain with the tight-knit family we are at the College. I stayed because for the first time in my learning life, I am committed to this, and I have three incredible lecturers to thank. Leila, France and Huda are for most of us like our second mothers. They remind us to eat, sleep, drink and stay healthy just as much as they remind us to complete our homework. Class no longer felt like a drag as it was in so many other courses, it became something I genuinely looked forward to. Their passion for teaching knows no bounds, to the point that its infectious. I have even thrown my hat in the ring to volunteer with reading classes for first years, as the years above did for us. 
  It’s a learning community like no other that they so successfully created in such a short space of time, and with so much potential still. The decision to cut 2 of the only 3 staff that run the program is effectively throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The program cannot continue to exist at its exceptional strength – and I use these words with no exaggeration (a look at some of my more ruthless SELT reviews can attest to this) – if cuts are made to the incredibly talented and diverse teaching staff it currently employs. The ANU administration must choose: excellence, or convenience. The entire community past and present will be watching. I ask that they keep this, and what is truly at stake here in mind as they make this irreparable decision.”
   
  As you’ve probably deduced from these opinions, we students love the Arabic program. But most of all, we love the amazing lecturers that make studying this challenging language easier, engaging and most of all, fun. For many of us, the Arabic program is not just a course, it is a community that we love dearly. To cut such a program would be to cut a hole in a community that our lecturers have fought relentlessly and tirelessly to facilitate so we can feel at home away from home.
   
   
   
  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.

  Woroni Editor

• Melbourne (un)Sound

  October 26, 2020 11:34 am Comments Off on Melbourne (un)Sound

  It was early August, and my family had spent the better part of a week binge-watching Killing Eve (late to the party, I know). In an alarmingly short amount of time, we had reached the last episode. Being Melbournians, we decided it would be rude not to indulge in a Persian fairy floss frozen yoghurt to mark the occasion. I was yet to use my allocated hour of outside-the-house time, so I grabbed my keys and headed to the door. Sitting in the car, I turned on the engine and looked down at the dashboard. Shit. It was already 8:04 – four minutes past curfew. That’s when it really hit – the grim reality of being a Victorian during the second wave of COVID-19.  How on earth did we get here?
  When Australia tentatively opened up in May, we were all united in our intention to put the previous few months behind us. Like the details of a bad dream, memories of life during the first wave became more elusive the harder you tried to remember them. As winter set in, the rest of Australia began to enjoy an ever-increasing number of freedoms. Victorians, on the other hand, grew more and more anxious as case numbers edged higher. Almost as quickly as we were freed, we were told to ‘stay home’ once more. Our winter months are notoriously miserable. During this winter, however, ‘miserable’ has taken on a new meaning.  
  I asked some friends to help describe how it feels here. 
  Some were positive:
  Our beautiful city has been asleep for months and we are all counting down the days until she wakes up and returns in all her glory… 
  … tbh I’m really just waiting to go back to rats (if you know, you know).
  More common responses, however, were along the lines of:  “horrible”, “utter shit”, and “depressing”. 
  Personally, I think one friend in particular put it best:
  It’s like purgatory. I know for sure it isn’t heaven, but it also can’t be hell because we’re all still f*cking stuck here.
  Most of us support shutting down to save lives. And we realise, of course, that we are incredibly lucky compared to most people in the world. Knowing this, however, doesn’t make lockdown any easier.
  And this lockdown is not at all like the first. The novelty of pandemic entertainment – Zoom yoga! Zoom baking! Zoom Kahoot! – has long worn off. No one is trying to pick up a new skill or hobby; I gave up on learning Arabic with Duolingo months ago. My baking trays are gathering dust below the oven. I no longer Zoom my friends every Friday night. At this point most of us are just trying to get through each day. And these days seem to last forever, stretching into weeks that merge into months that form an indistinguishable blur in which time has lost all meaning and nothing is ever of consequence. 
  But how long have we been here, anyway? I’ve had the 16th of October marked in my calendar for quite some time now. This date marks one hundred days of lockdown in Melbourne. 100 days of living under some of the harshest government restrictions imposed anywhere in the world. 100 days of mundanity, insecurity, tedium, restlessness, and melancholy. 100 days since we’ve seen most of our friends and family. 100 days since we’ve enjoyed our marvellous Melbourne. 
  I don’t think I need to tell you how fiercely (and perhaps irritatingly) proud we are of our beautiful city. Watching silently on the sidelines as it shut down again – witnessing drone footage of a CBD with empty streets and boarded-up businesses – has been particularly cruel punishment. 
  The attitude of Australians outside Victoria has compounded the sense of isolation in the city. We certainly are not all in this together anymore, and, frankly, I’ve never felt less Australian. Whilst many of our compatriots show support and sympathy, others seem to relish Melbourne’s suffering. For evidence, you need look no further than comments made by other state premiers. All of this has left us feeling even more alone. For those outside Victoria, this may be difficult to fathom. For most ANU students, life is almost back to normal.
  Seeing photos and videos on social media beaming to us from Canberra is like watching life unfold in a parallel universe. We want to disconnect, but at the same time, we don’t want to sever the only connection to the lives we should be living. We care how our friends are going, but at the same time it hurts to know. The response from those in Canberra has been interesting. Some call and talk to us in a tone of voice you might normally reserve for someone who is dying, while others call us blind drunk after finally convincing the DJ at Mooseheads to play Melbourne Sound. The sad reality is that, for the time being, relating to those on campus is hard. 
  That same night back in August, as I sat in my car with nowhere to go, it all felt like too much. I went back inside to finish Killing Eve, but my excitement for the finale had dissipated. And then, just when I was about to click ‘play’, my phone dinged. “Check your front door”. A friend in Canberra had sent a tub of ice-cream through an UberEATS promotion that invited people outside of Melbourne to send free desserts to those in the city. Words cannot explain how much this meant. Not only had she thought of me, but she had also taken the time to find my address (somewhat concerningly) through social media.
  It really is the small things that have made the difference; the spontaneous acts of kindness from friends and strangers alike have kept us warm in this long and cold winter. 
  Despite – perhaps even because of –  the lockdown sadness, Melbournians have come closer as a community. These *strange and unsettling times* remind us of the importance of our loved ones – both near and far – whom we cherish now more than ever. Being apart really has kept us together (Thanks, VDHHS). 
  So, if you are wondering how you can be a good friend to those of us stranded here in ‘Sic(k)toria’, you don’t need to do much – no, you don’t even need to send us dessert. Just hearing from you, knowing that you’re thinking of us, makes all the difference. 
  And for my fellow Melbournians, hold on, we really are close now. Before you know it, we’ll all be back in downstairs Mooseheads spilling $2.50 vodka raspberries and rapping every lyric of Melbourne Sound. 
   
   
   
  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.

  Woroni Editor

• The Cost of Not Educating Girls

  October 19, 2020 8:26 pm Comments Off on The Cost of Not Educating Girls

  At a time when Australian universities are facing devastating budget cuts, taking a closer look at the long-term consequences of directing funding away from education is essential. Investing in education secures the future economic health of a country. Although slashing university finances may seem a tempting option to save money now, the cost of making education inaccessible, particularly to women, will likely be detrimental for decades to come. Australia may not immediately incur the worst consequences of limiting access to education, but the sobering realities currently playing out elsewhere around the world should serve as a stark reminder of how much we stand to lose.
  October 11 marked International Day of the Girl Child. This year, it was a day of especially solemn reflection. The World Bank estimates that the COVID-19 pandemic will push an additional ~100 million people into extreme poverty in 2020, causing concern that global poverty will increase for the first time since 1998. Consequently, girls from poverty-stricken families are being forced out of school and into marriage or work—to the extent that 25 years of progress towards ending child marriage threatens to be undone by COVID-19. The United Nations expects an additional 13 million child marriages to take place over the next decade as a result of the pandemic. Indeed, this ramification of COVID-19 is one of the most dire and severe.
  Worldwide, more than 130 million girls are out of school and two-thirds of the world’s illiterate adults are women. Educating girls not only changes the lives of those girls—it also uplifts their families, communities, and countries. Prioritising girls’ education has a ‘multiplier effect’, ensuring women are able to lead safer, more autonomous lives, increase their earning potential, and invest in their children and communities by encouraging the cycle of education to continue. It is widely acknowledged that educating women is the most powerful way to address poverty, but ironically, poverty remains the most critical factor in determining whether a girl will have access to education.
  For every extra year of education that a girl receives, her earning potential increases by 10-25%, and an educated woman invests nearly all (90%) of her income into her family and community. Increasing the proportion of educated women has shown to encourage economic growth through increased incomes. Having millions more educated women means having a stronger workforce, with the potential to add up to $12 trillion USD to the global economy. Furthermore, educated girls are healthier citizens who raise healthier families. As such, educating girls contributes to reduced rates of maternal and infant mortality as well as reduced incidence of malaria and HIV/AIDS.
  It may interest Australians that supporting girls’ education in developing countries is of global benefit. The consequences of unequal access to education are not issues only affecting far-away, low-income nations. Educating women has a positive impact on agricultural production, thereby increasing global food security. That the 2020 Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to the World Food Programme is evidence that combating hunger is currently one of the most pressing international concerns. Conveniently, it is yet another issue that can be mitigated through educating girls. When women are included in a country’s policy-making process, decisions in the interest of mitigating climate change are more likely to be made. Unsurprisingly, the Brookings Institution has identified high school education for girls as the most cost-effective strategy to combat climate change.
  Educating girls has also been suggested to increase a country’s resilience against natural disasters and public health emergencies. This year we’ve seen that countries with female leaders (e.g. Taiwan, New Zealand, and Germany) have been significantly more successful in addressing the challenges presented by the current global pandemic. Certainly, this is an excellent demonstration of what happens when women are given equal opportunity to learn and to lead.
  Nevertheless, in many countries, particularly in South Asian and African countries, biases against girls are rife in schooling systems. This is largely a consequence of deep-seated cultural perspectives on gender roles. In many societies plagued by poverty, traditional values emphasise a woman as the homemaker solely responsible for caring for her children. Again, there is irony in the fact that these cultural norms making women the bedrock of society—and therefore, causing a woman’s level of education to more strongly influence the prosperity of the next generation than a man’s—actively discourage girls from attending school. An educated mother is more than twice as likely to send her children to school than a woman who was denied an education. Other factors hindering girls’ access to education are period stigma and lack of information about menstrual hygiene. Even when girls are educated about their periods, sanitary products are often unaffordable, forcing girls to skip school while menstruating.
  As students at ANU, most of us acknowledge how lucky we are to have access to the exceptional opportunities and the world-class education we enjoy—even if 2020 has brought significant challenges and endless Zoom meetings. Nevertheless, we can simultaneously be angry and concerned about the wide-reaching damage that reduced funding to universities will cause, particularly given that the students who will suffer most are those who are already significantly disadvantaged.
  With the end of semester drawing closer, bringing with it the stress of final exams and consecutive deadlines, we should still take the time to remember how many girls are denied even the chance to finish high school simply because they were born female. I encourage everyone to channel the frustration this should stir in you into action that advances the education of those denied the opportunities we enjoy as students in Australia, while also advocating for the protection of our own education system. Indeed, education should be a right, not a privilege.
  If you want to learn about what Australian charities are doing to prevent girls from being locked out of education and how you can help, have a look at the work being done by some of the below organisations:
  One Girl Australia: https://www.onegirl.org.au/
  School for Life Foundation: https://www.schoolforlife.org.au/
  Share the Dignity: https://www.sharethedignity.org.au/
  Room to Read: https://www.roomtoread.org/
   
   
  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.

  Ruth Purcell

• Wet Ass Patriarchy

  October 13, 2020 10:29 am Comments Off on Wet Ass Patriarchy

  This piece needs no introduction. You know what WAP is. You’ve seen the video. Or you’ve heard people talk about it. Or you’ve seen hundreds of people almost break their legs/arms/much more sensitive parts trying to do the dance on Tik Tok. You might have your own opinions about it, and you certainly wouldn’t be alone. Some of them are really, really strong opinions, and often very negative. This is unsurprising, given that it’s a song about slick vaginas. Some people think that it’s the height of depravity. Not only is it perverse and “what happens when children are raised without God”, as one outraged American congressman put it, it’s also apparently a terrible influence on young women and girls in general. Noted right-wing wanker, political commentator Ben Shapiro lamented that WAP goes against the idea of treating women as “independent, well-rounded human beings”. Of course, their comments make a lot of sense. After all, these conservative white men are staunch advocates of women’s empowerment. They know that pussies should only be referred to when a President talks about grabbing them non-consensually. 
   
  On a more serious note, their opinions do kind of make sense, don’t they? I mean, isn’t feminism all about making sure women are respected? Feminists are always going on about how women are objectified and treated only as sex symbols and this way of thinking needs to change immediately, etc, etc. Surely a song that is entirely about vaginas accompanied by a video that has about 5 seconds of footage that isn’t boobs and/or butts would be cause for much outrage amongst feminists? In reality, however, the song is being hailed as an anthem of female empowerment and liberation. Why? Because there is a difference between objectification and sexual expression. 
   
  Picture a typical music video, especially one by a male musician. It probably has a man singing, partying, surrounded by scantily clad women. They drape themselves around him, dance with him, or just stand around looking hot. The camera focuses on their breasts, their tanned, bare waists, their endlessly long legs. You’ve seen this a thousand times and you probably know that this is objectification. The women in these music videos are just objects, just there to be admired, desired, and felt up by the man. They have no other purpose, they have no agency. 
  WAP is different. Yes, it also shows scantily clad women showcasing their bodies for the camera. The lyrics are explicit, their gestures clearly sexual. But there is a difference, and that difference is control. In WAP, Megan Thee Stallion and Cardi B are clearly in control. They’re twerking and doing splits and licking their lips, but it’s not for anyone else to see. Their gazes aren’t demure, sexy but coy, appealing to a man as he looks on with a smirk. There isn’t a single man in the music video. Their gazes are fierce and they pierce straight through the camera, bowing down for no one. 
   
  Now, of course, the song is addressed to a hypothetical man and is about how he would enjoy their WAPs. However, even in the lyrics, they show themselves to be in control. They want sex, but they want it on their terms. They want to be gagged and slapped and choked, but for their own pleasure. They aren’t asking or begging, they’re giving orders. There’s no mincing of words. They’re ‘certified freaks’ who know what they want and aren’t afraid to ask for it. They use degrading terms like ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’, but these terms have been reclaimed by women for a while now. I know what you’re thinking – “So if a man calls a woman a whore he’s terrible, but if a woman calls herself a whore it’s okay and maybe even empowering?” Yes, exactly. I’m glad you’re following. WAP is empowering instead of objectifying because women are in control of its narrative. It’s women rapping about their own sexuality, flaunting their bodies because they want to. They do not cater to a male gaze. That is the key difference. 
   
  But that is also the reason why it is so heavily criticized. The men criticizing WAP cannot stand women (particularly black women) taking control of their own bodies and being sexually liberated. Women aren’t allowed to be sexual, unless, of course, it’s for men. If Cardi and Megan were dancing as a man looked on, and it was a man talking about their pussy, I guarantee that the reactions would have been different. Women are meant to be under control. Women who deviate from this norm and exert power in whichever way, whether it’s by running for office or by making music, are punished – a tradition that dates from burning witches at the stake to writing terrible things about female artists on Twitter. 
   
  WAP does not solve patriarchy. But it does bring to the forefront a perspective of women where women are in control of their own bodies. You don’t have to like it to appreciate that. I’m not a huge fan of the song. Musically, it’s not my style. However, on a sociocultural level, I recognise what it does. It shows two black women unafraid of their sexuality, openly, explicitly flaunting their bodies and stating their desires. The power of that cannot be ignored. 
   

  Aditi Dubey

• Let Loose: The Benefits of Psychedelics

  October 12, 2020 12:53 pm Comments Off on Let Loose: The Benefits of Psychedelics

  There has been a surge in the use of psychedelic substances such as LSD (Lysergic acid Diethylamide), Psilocybin (mushrooms), Mescaline (Peyote Cactus), and DMT (Dimethyltryptamine) over the last 60 years, and this has also resulted in scientific studies on how they affect the human body making a comeback. From Carlos Santana ingesting LSD in Woodstock to enhance his musical creativity on stage, to Native Americans using Mescaline in sacred rituals, there is a lot to learn about these psychedelic substances. Researchers have been responding to these stories and narratives from artists, pioneers, and history which claim that psychedelics play a substantial role in heightening creativity.
  Most governments have baulked at scientific studies that show psychedelics aren’t just substances hippies and rebellious teenagers consume to get high and party, but are substances which have actually been traditionally used for centuries. They have been used, not just for fun, but for healing, expanding and enhancing creativity and the cognitive ability of our minds. There is a small number of researchers who still study these substances and don’t let politics and fear impede their studies. These studies show mounting evidence that these substances can be used to treat almost anything from PTSD to depression to cancer.
  For example, researchers from the Imperial College, London, in June 2018 conducted a comprehensive study on the effects of Psilocybin on patients afflicted with treatment resistant depression. The study involved 20 patients who were given micro doses of the Psilocybin compound on a weekly basis and a range of their personality traits were examined over a 3 month time period. One of the personality traits examined was “openness” amongst the patients, as researchers believed it was one of the most essential factors for imagination, creativity and aesthetic appreciation. From the study, it was concluded that over the time period stipulated, Psilocybin along with DMT and LSD increased patients’ openness and creative thinking.
  Recent studies of psychedelics and their impact on the human mind have a well-known precedent in the late 1950s and 1960s. In 1954, Oscar Janiger, a psychiatrist from the University of California, Irvine, conducted a study on the effects of LSD on creative output. He gave 70 artists LSD doses, crayons, pencils and a canvas to draw on while under the influence of the substance. He had them draw still-lifes, both on and off the substance. From the analysis of the artwork, it was concluded that “LSD art” was neither superior nor inferior to non-LSD art, but it was comparatively brighter, more abstract, and non-representational. It also tended to cover the entire canvas.
  There are several groups of people that believe that we shouldn’t be assigning a sense of morality to psychoactive substances since they are just material compounds and also because there aren’t clear, tangible distinctions between what is right and wrong. Intoxicated humans are heavily influenced by their emotional state, environment, and the people around them. Psychoactive substances are just a small part of the equation. In this case, is it really immoral to ingest these substances?
  The inclination to get intoxicated and expand the state of mind and to enhance creativity isn’t just a human instinct, but also an animal one. There are thorough accounts of animals intentionally utilising psychoactive substances in the natural world. From cats using catnip, to dolphins using pufferfish toxins to get high, there undoubtedly exists a biological drive in nature to experience and go beyond typical states of mind. As such, ideologies which strive towards a “drug free-world” could be considered immoral and anti-science. There is direct evidence from nature and history that we have a biological drive to consume psychoactive substances. By prohibiting drug consumption, we would be going against our natural instincts.
  There is research suggesting these substances work by obstructing communication in the chemical systems of the brain. They affect the chemical serotonin which regulates our mood, sensory perception and sexual behaviour to name a few. Overdoses caused by these substances don’t always directly lead to death, but to extreme uneasiness and unpleasant experiences. Long term influences can cause a persistent sense of paranoia and psychosis (disordered thinking and detachment from reality), but are quite rare. Although there is substantial evidence which suggests that psychedelics can be addictive and people can develop a tolerance, to what extent a tolerance could be developed is still unclear, and the addictive potential of the substances mentioned is quite ambiguous.
  If psychedelics such as LSD and DMT have a set of risks and benefits, adults should be able to make their own informed decisions about whether they want to use the substances or not. Governments don’t have the authority to decide whether an adult can or cannot consume something. Thus, regulation and legalisation of psychedelic substances is necessary in order to adhere to a sense of morality. Legalisation and regulation would provide governments with the golden opportunity to educate communities and facilitate further research into psychedelics so that we can understand them better and use them to the best of our ability. This would also help prevent adversity which, at the end of the day, is the main reason governments oppose psychedelic substances. Providing information on the conditions that are required to use these substances would increase the moral acceptability of psychedelics.
  I like to believe that psychedelics have the potential to make our lives better or worse. They can either empower us or enslave us, either create or destroy. In other words, psychedelics do have consequences. They are powerful substances that can alter our state of mind, and can be very risky under unsuitable conditions. Having said that, the positives do outweigh the negatives when taken responsibly and in controlled environments.

  Ramkumar Arcot Parthiban

• A Message to Conservative Students

  12:39 pm Comments Off on A Message to Conservative Students

  I attended an all-boys private school, so one can imagine the modest level of diversity I grew up with. We were all male, we were mostly Christian, we came from middle and upper class families and most of us were white. As with many other young men who graduated from that school, the lack of diversity shaped my view of the world and ultimately of myself. I became  quite conservative in my views; I valued the status-quo, rejected the idea of privilege on the  basis of identity whether it be through gender, sexuality or race and I prized personal  responsibility and hard work to succeed in life no matter the adversity. You might be reading  this finding it rather self-indulgent but hear me out, I have a point to make.
   
  Coming to the ANU two years ago upended my entire belief system and self-perspective. One of my immediate thoughts was how diverse the university was. The  university was replete with people from all walks of life, each a product of their own distinctive past and unique upbringing. I’d met people hailing from all around Australia with a variety of life  experiences and some who unfortunately were far more disadvantaged than myself. The  seminal and formative political discussions at university became heated and tense at times, I  will admit. However, in each conversation I gained a sliver of new insight and a new perspective. It dawned on me that my idea of the world had been shaped by my upbringing, almost blinding  me to certain  issues. I didn’t realise rent day brought people a lot of anxiety. I didn’t know that race was still a pertinent issue for some people. I didn’t realise that using the wrong pronouns could be hurtful. A phrase echoed by one of my friends during one such discussion will ring true to my ears everyday: “Just think about it from outside of your perspective.”
   
  At  first, I was skeptical of these issues and thought they were indicative of how young  people weren’t grateful for being able to live in Australia. After all, we’re a highly developed democratic Western nation with a higher quality of life than most other countries. What’s not to like? We are indeed extremely fortunate to be able to call Australia home. However, that doesn’t  mean that some people don’t have it much tougher than others. The story isn’t black and white, indeed it’s quite grey. I began to think about what being in another person’s shoes would be like. I no longer saw the world as a dichotomy between extreme privilege and lack thereof, but as a place which was incredibly complex, where the human experience could be painful, even in a lucky place like Australia.
   
  The ability to empathise and consider someone else’s opinion shouldn’t be pursued for  some individualistic, self-actualising, sanctimonious  purpose. You should develop it as a general courtesy, out of respect for others in society and to make the world we live in a better place. Sympathising with others isn’t the same as studying more or improving your sporting performance. There’s a difference between self-serving learning and learning to respect other members of society. Not only does having empathy and consideration generate more respect but it also leads to more conducive and agreeable discussions around political and social issues. Disagreements and differences pertaining to political and social issues only become exacerbated with opinionated voices and regressive insults, and that applies to both sides of the political spectrum. While I don’t always agree with the other person’s opinion, I do think there’s incredible merit and power in finding a middle ground and understanding that just because you disagree doesn’t mean they’re wrong or out to attack you. 
   
  For anyone who’s been in my position and had similar experiences, you can’t change your circumstances and the cards that life dealt you. I can’t change mine either. What you can do is understand and sympathise with others who may view you as out of touch, privileged and ultimately insensitive. We all have our personal challenges that permeate class, race, gender and any other facet of identity but for those of us who have been dealt a good hand in life, I’m sure we can tolerate some initial anger and frustration in open discussions with others if it means we come to a middle ground. This is an open invitation to all conservative students (and non-conservatives) reading this to try and be more open-minded and sympathetic. I’ve been in your position and I know how satisfying it is to defend the status-quo. I know the delight in feeling righteous and noble because you used ‘logic’ and ‘reason’ while others become livid and irate, consumed by ‘trivial’ emotion. I know what it’s like to look solely through the lens of my upbringing and beliefs. Whilst you don’t have to agree with every opinion I urge you to try and search beyond your lens and see the value in considering someone else’s opinion and position. It might be disagreeable and uncomfortable to have someone point out every way you have it easier than them. See where they’re coming from and just admit it, you’re privileged. Admission of privilege is a minute demand compared to other people’s struggles. Given our fortunate position in society, it is our responsibility to extend the generosity and the courtesy of understanding others.

  Julian Brazier

• What Does Capitalism Have to do with Promiscuity?

  12:24 pm Comments Off on What Does Capitalism Have to do with Promiscuity?

  In Australia, conceptions of ‘promiscuity’ can be boiled down to the following formula:
  Multiple occasions (Night out + alcohol + incessant flirting + sex) = promiscuity
  Promiscuity is understood with a negative connotation. People are deemed promiscuous if they are getting laid too often, too easily. The concern lies within the belief that sex should ideally be with someone you love and has a connection with. The implication is that having too much transactional sex makes you incapable of maintaining morally healthy sexual relations. My personal understanding of promiscuity is limited to and based on observing (at times partaking in) behaviour from my peers running around civic on Thursday nights, alongside Friday gossip sessions about the debauchery from the night before.
  I had always assumed that promiscuity as a concept would be consistent in other cultures, but I did not realise how myopic such a view was until I read about Cuba’s erotic economy in Noelle Stout’s ethnography — After Love. The pingueros in Stout’s ethnography casts doubt on the existence of a ‘universal’ form of promiscuity. Pingueros are straight, homophobic male sex workers in Cuba who have sex with gay men in exchange for money, clothing and accommodation. They can make up to $1200 a month in a country where $60 is considered a well-paid monthly wage. In Cuba, pingueros are viewed as ‘strategic’ workers in Cuba’s emerging market economy and are not subject to the shame of being viewed as ‘promiscuous’.
  Their experiences demonstrate that promiscuity is shaped by a myriad of factors — contextual, temporal and cultural. Pingueros as a phenomenon can be traced to the mass economic restructuring in Cuba, where Soviet-style communism was being phased out in favour of a market economy. This transition was accompanied by growing material inequality and opportunities for the hard-working individual. Working in the sex trade in Cuba is not considered scandalous in the same way sex work is scandalised in Western countries. In Australia, sex work is stigmatised because people are uncomfortable with the idea of commodifying sexual relations, with sex workers facing systemic discrimination as a result. In Cuba, having copious amounts of casual ‘sex’ is uncontroversial, rather it is the ‘work’ that is scandalised, as having sex with someone for money undermines the socialist values of hard work and labour.
  Here, we see a cross-cultural disparity in our understandings of promiscuity, where economic structures play an integral role to our understanding of intimate relations. In pre- Soviet Cuba, straight men would have sex with gay men for pleasure, embodying notions of tenderness and empathy that characterised relationships during socialism. However, in post- Soviet Cuba this undertone of ‘brotherhood’ diminished; it is replaced with pingueros with ‘empty hearts’ having sex with gay men for quick cash. The pingueros are not ‘empty’ because they have lost their dignity through sex, but because they lack the work ethic of ‘hard labour’ glorified in the socialist days.
  Despite pinguero symbolising an erosion of socialist values, it is also an opportunity for them to negotiate their position, and subsequently the definition of promiscuity within an emergent market economy. For example, Ruso, a pinguero distinguishes between charging a fair rate, echoing the socialist sentiment of hard work, rather than ripping people off as a legitimate form of labour, which is viewed as giving in to greedy capitalist tendencies.
  Thus, it is societal values that give contour to the notion of ‘promiscuity’, rather than individual self- interest. ‘Promiscuity’ is a culturally contested and constructed notion subject to negotiation by its members. So next time we judge someone as promiscuous, just pause and reflect on how much capitalism has conditioned us to value modesty, and be complicit in perpetuating stigma around sex workers as a unintended consequence.
   

  Anonymous

• Three Men, One Corroborree

  12:21 pm Comments Off on Three Men, One Corroborree

  Smaller than the average share house, 23 Corroborree Park manages to be even more cramped on the inside than a cursory glance at the outside would suggest. I say cursory glance as a more sustained viewing of the house would make hardy stomachs churn. The lingering onlooker would start to notice features of the house that they would rather have missed. The remnants of slabs of the ‘Very Best’ lay scattered around the property, slightly hidden in case the real estate agent ever drove past. If Admiral Yamamoto had ever found himself at Corroborree, he would have found a crushed tin and a half smoked durry behind every blade of grass.
  One of the oldest cottages in the Inner North, the affectionately named ‘Corroborree’ has been a share house since the Vietnam War. As house historians, we knew of its age and purpose through careful historiographical work, but the scratched statement on the wall declaring ‘This has been a sharehouse since ‘71’ helped. An embassy of filth and depravity in Ainslie, I found myself fantasising of the remote possibility that it could be invaded by the Viet Cong, and myself and my housemates evacuated by U.S. marines from its tiled roof.
  For those blessed with livable share houses and struggling to imagine such a den of depravity, a quick floorplan is in order. Entering the front door, one is faced with a small corridor, branching off into three equally sized bedrooms and a bathroom. Taking five paces straight down the corridor from the door, one walks into a decently sized living room with a four-seater couch and a TV. Walk through the living room and one finds themselves in the kitchen, with a small laundry and second bathroom through a small door on the right.
  What’s wrong with that you may ask? With Corroborree, the devil is in the detail. On further inspection, one will see dollar-sized heaps of black mould distributed like stars across a soggy plastered bathroom ceiling. The switch for the kitchen fridge lies in the off position, with duct-tape enveloping the fridge door in an effort to prevent the unsuspecting from opening a rotting fully stocked fridge that ceased to work 4 months prior and hadn’t been opened since. In every nook and cranny, VB tins and rubbish lie dejected. Turmeric has stained every white surface in the kitchen, and the laundry toilet sits unbolted to the floor, ready to destabilise even the most experienced of sit-down afficionados.
  It may seem obvious to most, but a disgusting environment leads to disgusting behaviour. The more disgusting the surroundings, the more immoral and depraved the activities. More nurture than nature (although nurture may be the wrong word), myself and my fellow residents found our manners and expectations slowly warped by the dystopian setting of the residence. The rubbish bin no longer mattered if the floor was covered in rubbish. Going out on a Thursday night became a Thursday to Sunday morning affair, if only for an escape from the mouldy dust-covered wooden walls. Proper English became one of the many victims of Corroborree, as the other inhabitants and I began to speak a dialectical analog of Burgess’s ‘Nadsat’ language from A Clockwork Orange. By this point, if a Russian gulag had advertised a vacancy, I would have disappeared myself to Siberia.
  If students start off at the bottom of the housing ladder, then my ladder was longer than most. But having now moved from Corroborree, I see that it’s real value was in its ability to show me where my lowest moral and residential attitudes lie. Experiences like Corroborree are rare and survival rates after inhaling black mould rarer, but if you were somehow enticed by the depravity above, I can’t suggest the three-bedroom yellow cottage more.
   

  Eammon Gumley