Comments Off on Signs of Damage: In Conversation with Diana Reid
In March 2025, Diana Reid, author of Love and Virtue, released her third novel, Signs of Damage. It follows the Kelly family on their idyllic French holiday, which is interrupted when Cass, their thirteen-year-old guest, goes missing. She is found alive and well several hours later, and those present dismiss the incident as a harmless blip. Sixteen years later, at a funeral for a member of the Kelly family, Cass collapses. As the past and the present begin to collide, secrets are brought to light and old doubts creep in. What really happened all those years ago, and could it reveal what is wrong with Cass now?
Set between two timelines, each with their own mystery, the novel investigates the difference between trying to explain other people and actually understanding them. I had the wonderful opportunity to ask Diana Reid some questions about this new book and her writing career.
Brooke Corkhill: I am such a fan of Signs of Damage! The ‘summer noir’ juxtaposition between dark events and idyllic settings is a powerful, eerie backdrop for the novel. Did you do any specific prep work to build this? What were your sources of inspiration?
Diana Reid: Thank you! My inspiration was novels and films that I love — all of which feature the eruption of violence in idyllic settings. It was only when I was halfway through writing Signs of Damage that I realised there was a term for it: summer noir. Those texts include the novels Swimming Home (Deborah Levy), Never Mind (Edward St Aubyn) and the French film The Swimming Pool, as well as Luca Guadanigno’s more recent remake, A Bigger Splash.
In terms of specific prep, I didn’t actually go to the south of France, which I regret. (It’s subsequently been pointed out to me that I could’ve had a tax-deductible holiday!) But I did a lot of research online: there is a specific villa on Booking.com which is where I imagine the Kelly family spent their holiday.
BC: The nuanced ensemble cast was so engaging to read! How did you create each character? Did you conceptualise their dynamics before their individual personalities?
DR: I never conceive of characters in isolation: the first germ of an idea is always a relationship between two people or groups of people. In this case, I thought about a wealthy family on an idyllic holiday with a few outsiders or ‘guests’ orbiting around them. Specifically, I started with the patriarch, Bruce Kelly, and his oldest friend, Harry: a single gay man. Thinking about characters in terms of dynamics — especially of ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ — is always interesting to me because it enables you to explore their insecurities. Character, then, is not just about the surface-level of how people appear socially, but also about interiority; what they’re embarrassed by, what they’re trying to obscure, how they’d like to appear.
BC: The past and present timelines, each containing their own mystery, weave in and out of different perspectives. Did this pose some plotting challenges? Did you enjoy the process, particularly as it differs from the structure of your first two novels?
DR: ‘Enjoyed’ would be putting it too highly but I definitely found the process rewarding. Inspiration, for me, lives at the outer edge of my comfort zone. I never want to go to the desk and mechanically repeat what I’ve done before. I always want to feel a bit of fear: to wonder whether I can pull it off. So this more complicated narrative was stressful initially because, as you say, I’d never done it before and it certainly took a lot of wrangling. But then it’s very rewarding when you prove to yourself that you can do it.
And it was also rewarding — not just in the ‘craft’ sense of expanding my skills as a writer — but also artistically, because I think this structure suits the story. In Signs of Damage, the characters are trying to understand the significance of a holiday they all shared 16 years ago. The events of that holiday are interwoven with the present-day. The reader, then, is undergoing the same process as the characters: they’re dipping in and out of the past, trying to identify patterns and draw connections between events.
BC: What did you want to explore around the themes of voice and storytelling, particularly as you feature competing narrative voices in this book?
DR: Signs of Damage is a novel about storytelling — about the stories we tell ourselves in order to make sense of the world around us. So I always knew it wouldn’t have an omniscient narrator. Instead, I wanted to emphasise the limitations of an individual’s perspective: the impossibility of ever seeing the whole story. The bulk of the narrative is told in several competing perspectives in the third person, which allows the reader to decide who they believe. Then it’s framed (in a prologue and an epilogue) by one character’s first-person perspective. This was to deliberately frustrate the reader. I wanted to cast doubt on the “truth” of the whole story. Is it, perhaps, a projection told by one character? Does that matter? Does this story — does any story — need to be true to have emotional resonance?
BC: Your Guardian article, “The trauma plot: how did culture get addicted to tragic backstories?” is a powerful extension of your novel. I was struck by your question “why do we keep looking to trauma as shorthand to better understand character, when it invariably proves such an unsatisfactory tool, one that flattens and obscures where we rely on it to clarify and complicate?” Do you have any theories about this? What made you want to explore and subvert the trauma plot?
DR: No doubt the ‘trauma plot’ has gained so much cultural purchase because it is a useful tool for understanding other people. Most people are shaped, in some capacity, by negative experiences and learning about these experiences can provide deep psychological insight. However, if I have a theory, it’s that being able to tell our own story about our lives — to decide for ourselves the significance of certain events, be they positive or negative — is the cornerstone of autonomy. This was also a big theme in my first book, Love & Virtue, so it’s clearly a preoccupation of mine. I see curiosity about people’s core wounds or formative traumas as very natural — even, empathetic. But I’m interested in the point at which that curiosity becomes a fixation. To my mind, that shift occurs when we stop listening to someone else’s story and start imposing our own, taking the events of their life and fitting them into narratives that we’re familiar with, like the trauma plot.
BC: Do you practice any other art besides writing? If so, does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?
DR: It’s hardly an art because I have no flair with it, but I do love to cook. I think of it almost as an antidote to writing. When you’ve spent a whole day labouring over words that you might hate and delete in the morning, it’s nice to get to dinner time and ‘create’ something to completion.
BC: When did you know you wanted to be a writer?
DR: I always wanted to be an actor. Writing for theatre was actually my first experience of creative writing: I wrote plays and sketches at university. In fact, I took a gap year after university and deferred a graduate job in corporate law to try to make a career in theatre work. That was in 2020 so lockdown put an end to those plans and I wrote Love & Virtue instead. I realised then that a lot of what I loved about acting (wondering what it’s like to be someone else; the rhythm of good dialogue, etc.) could be found in fiction.
BC: If you could give any advice to aspiring writers, what would it be?
DR: Don’t worry about whether it’s any good! If you just write it, you can always go back and edit it later. But if you let perfectionism or the fear of what other people might think paralyse you, then you’ll never write anything.
Signs of Damage is out now and certainly worth a read, if you’re looking for a suspenseful, nuanced thriller.
Comments Off on Meet Alicia Payne, the Federal MP for Canberra.
On March 18th, Jaden Ogwayo sat down with MP for Canberra, Alicia Payne, to hear about her experiences before politics and whilst in office, and gain insight into Australia’s political future.
JO: How did you get started in politics?
AP: The thing that’s always motivated me is social justice, I suppose. And my background before politics was in economics, because I was really interested in how we distribute income, and [I had] always been interested in public policy’s role in that. Before going into politics, I worked in research and then in the public service.
And, I suppose, why I ultimately ended up in politics is: I like that it’s where you can bring your values into consideration of evidence, and it’s where the decisions are made that can change the lives of so many people by having good policies that create foundations for people to have the best opportunities in life.
JO: How did you get started with Labor?
AP: I joined the Labor Party in 2006, and I say John Howard got me to join the Labor Party because I just, I always, I suppose, had progressive values.
But what made me go and join the party was two things: at that time, John Howard […] was attacking workers’ rights; but also, my sort of ‘policy passion’ is around the Social Security system, and it was when he cut single parents’ unemployment benefit, pushing a lot of families into poverty.
And, I thought, I want to be part of stopping this government and electing a Labor government. And so, I didn’t join because I wanted to be a politician. I joined because I wanted to be part of a movement of people — doing doorknocking and handing out flyers and all those things.
I was really, really involved in our Labor branch here in the ACT for about 12 years before I ran in the preselection.
JO: Who’s one current and one previous politician that inspires you?
AP: I’m gonna say for a current one, Linda Burney. I think she’s one of the most inspiring leaders that our parliament will see. And I think the way she has really been a trailblazer: the first Indigenous woman elected to the NSW Parliament, I believe, and then the Federal Parliament, and [then] as the Indigenous Affairs Minister.
And in that space, she’s had to often bear the brunt of some of the most ugly parts of our politics, but the way she has always risen above and the grace and the strength that she’s shown, like, for example, through the Voice Referendum — the way she dealt with the really horrible stuff that was thrown at her, and just always showed this incredible strength and never got dragged into an ugly debate with people, I think, [an] incredibly inspiring woman.
And a past one, I will say, is Jenny Macklin. I had the privilege to be her Chief of Staff in opposition when she was Shadow Social Services Minister. And again, I’ve seen her always fight for social justice, always, bringing along the evidence and the arguments based on […] the evidence that was there, but always standing up to fight against cuts… to invest in things that matter to give people good opportunities.
DUTTON AND PARTY POLITICS
JO: What are three federal policies that make you believe that Albanese will be a better Prime Minister than Dutton?
AP: Where to begin? Just three.
Number one: We are taking action on climate change and will continue to. And Peter Dutton, his only plan is to build nuclear reactors, which is a fantasy and is only going to delay […] if he’s elected, it will put a stop to all the good work we’ve done transitioning to renewables. The Liberal Party still doesn’t, it’s not even clear if they even [do], believe in climate change. I think that is an existential issue facing the world. And I think, first and foremost, we cannot afford another government that doesn’t believe in climate action…
Number two: The investments we’re making in health and Medicare. Even though Dutton has said that they would match our latest announcement, you can’t trust the Liberals with Medicare… They have just a history of cutting Medicare from when it was first established, and they don’t like [it]. Whereas Labor, we will always strengthen Medicare; we’re making great inroads in health with the most significant investment ever in increasing bulk billing. We’re building urgent care clinics around the country, which means people can access GPs for free in a setting that keeps if they don’t need to go to hospital for something urgent, but not super serious.
We have made medicines cheaper. We have invested significantly in women’s health across all stages of life, like putting contraception, menopause, and treatments on the PBS […] giving women more choice and lower-cost healthcare […] All of this would be put at risk [under Dutton].
The third one is… it’s really hard to only choose three; there are so many! But I will say, education, as I mentioned, from early childhood right through universities, and also TAFE — free TAFE — we want Australians to be able to access the best educational opportunities and train for the jobs of the future. So under the Liberals, the previous government, universities were just completely neglected… it was all about culture wars, and I just, I wouldn’t expect anything from them in that regard. So I think, yeah, those three.
JO: Many critics, citizens, and voters have drawn comparisons between Dutton and Trump, and are worried about a rise of a conservative American influence here in Australia. Does that concern you? Do you see those similarities?
AP: Absolutely, that concerns me, and I think quite often we see Dutton [using] ‘the Trump playbook’… what you can definitely see from Dutton is his strategy is always to divide Australians. He loves to get involved in a culture war, he loves to use an issue to create division.
He has opposed every — just about everything — we’ve brought into parliament; certainly, all our cost-of-living measures. And you can also see him making some announcements that are definitely driven by politics more than the actual substance of the policy.
And I think a good example of that that’s very relevant to Canberra is his plan to cut 36,000 public servants. Now we have, in our three years in government, been trying to rebuild the public service after they [the previous Liberal government] hollowed it out (…and spent more on consultants than on keeping those skills in-house). And this will all just happen again. He knows that. But that policy just plays to people outside of Canberra; it’s Canberra bashing again. It’s just politics. It’s not actually based on what will actually deliver for Australians.
Yeah, so I think, I think it’s very concerning, and I think you can see some of the Trump strategies that he’s trying to echo. And we don’t want to go down that path.
JO: What’s something you would say to an undecided voter to convince them to vote Labor?
AP: Well, I would say that, that in just under three years of government, the Albanese Labor Government has achieved a great amount in a wide range of policy areas to build a better future for Australia, to rebuild our relationships with other countries, and as I mentioned, really importantly, taking key action on climate. We want to keep doing that important work.
A Dutton government, as I said, will, first of all, put a lot of that good work to waste and there’s no plan to deliver for Australians. If you’re looking at minor parties or independents, I would say that I’m a member of the Labor party because I want to be a voice within a party of government. Because it is ultimately governments that deliver policies and Labor governments, historically, have been governments that have delivered the big reforms and made a big difference. So, I want to continue as a voice for Canberra and the issues that matter to Canberra within that Labor government.
JO: There has been a perception that the Liberals may be anti-immigration. Given your direct and recent experience with Australian immigration, first-hand with citizenship ceremonies, what do you make of this?
AP: Citizenship ceremonies are one of my favourite things I get to do as a Member of Parliament because it’s really very moving to participate in a day that is so special for people and seeing people committing to becoming Australian citizens and building their life here.
I believe that multiculturalism is a great strength of our community, and it’s about celebrating the diversity that people bring from other cultures all around the world and melding those in with ours. It’s about people continuing to celebrate and practice their cultures and language and bringing that to be part of our community. I think we still can always be a more inclusive community and we still do see racism in our country, and it’s important that we all have a responsibility to say ‘No’ to that and stamp that out.
So, it’s disappointing when you see immigration issues continue to be politicised, particularly by the Leader of the Opposition in this country. We, the Labor Party, recognise that multiculturalism is a great strength of our nation and something that we will always support.
ON CANBERRA
JO: How do you think that spending so much of your life in Canberra informs your politics and your policies?
AP: Canberra is a really progressive, altruistic, caring community and a very engaged community, and I think that does inform my views on things, and has shaped my views on things, and I feel it keeps me in touch with what many of my voters are thinking.
But it’s always evolving. And I think as the Member, my fundamental role is to be listening and engaging with Canberrans constantly. But I think it’s also [about] understanding our city, and I think there [are] still attitudes, nationally, about our city that aren’t deserved […] Canberra bashing and things like that.
We can have a laugh about it. But it also does affect, investment in our city [and] affect[s] the discussions that are had in Parliament […] having grown up here and really loving and understanding our city just encourages me to really make two points in the parliament: to let people know that we are a real community with the same challenges and opportunities that other communities have (like we’re not a bubble — that’s a common misconception), but it’s also about making the case for our national capital being loved and respected by the rest of the country, because it does actually belong to all Australians, and we want them all to be proud of it.
JO: What are some issues with education, either tertiary or childhood, that you’d like to address if reelected?
AP: I do think education policy is one of the most important policy areas, because it is such a driver of opportunity and giving everyone the best chance. So I’m really proud that we’ve invested in… The Better and Fairer Schools Agreement, which is about all schools, public schools, receiving the needs-based funding standard, where we’re focusing on education at all levels.
Starting with early childhood, we’re making sure that early childhood education is accessible and affordable, and then through to universities, I would say that something I’ve always been really proud of is that we’ve been wiping the HECS debt. I do feel that a barrier to people studying at university is actually the cost of living while a student.
And I think that, I hope that, …something that I will always advocate for is looking at Youth Allowance as becoming a more adequate support for people to live while studying, including, people who have to move to capital cities to study or move to bigger cities where [it] can be really expensive, [students] needing to work so much that they can’t focus on their study, it becomes too hard. I think looking at that is a really important part of making university study accessible to everyone.
JO: What are three achievements of yours in the past six years that you’re the most proud of?
AP: I’m really proud that I have stood up for issues that matter to Canberrans, particularly climate change and the environment. These are some of the issues that Canberrans raised with me more than any other [issues], and I’ve been very vocal on those in Parliament and within our Labor caucus, the party members of government, to push for the strongest action we can take on climate change and protecting our environment. I was very proud to have co-sponsored the private members’ bill that restored our territory rights…
Another thing, I ran something called the Canberra Forum, which was a deliberative democracy process, and it was an Australian first which was run for me by a group called Democracy Co.
Basically, [it] brought together 40 randomly selected Canberrans to work with me over a period of about six months, and they could choose a topic that they wanted to deliberate on and make recommendations for me that I then published and talked about in Parliament, and the topic they chose was housing.
So I was proud of that, because deliberative democracy is about looking at different ways in which we can more meaningfully engage voters in decision-making. And so as a Member, I was really pleased to be able to actually deliver an opportunity like that for my electorate, and
to participate in that was really a very inspiring and eye-opening experience as well.
ON YOUNG PEOPLE
JO: What advice would you have for a young person keen to follow in your political footsteps?
AP: I would just say: get involved! As I said, I was heavily involved in our branch at the grassroots level for many years, and being part of that movement got me to realise that politics was what I really wanted to do.
But also I have worked with so many wonderful people as a volunteer across all kinds of areas of party life […] [like] campaigning, obviously, but also working on policy formation and policy committees […] like our admin committee, which is sort of like the board of the party. So there are lots of different ways you can be involved, but I definitely think people should not be afraid to get involved in politics.
I think when I was at university, while I was involved in activism, I would go to protests and rallies and letter-writing and things like that. I didn’t get involved in Young Labor because I was a little bit, I guess I sort of was, felt a bit shy and didn’t have the confidence and I just sometimes wish I’d got involved earlier. So I would just encourage people to get involved and not be afraid to join a party.
JO: Earlier, you mentioned the youth of this electorate, specifically. Your Liberal opponent is an ANU student, and the Greens have also put forward a UC student in Fenner, a nearby electorate; a shift in age that has received a mix of both hope for a fresh face and concerns over inexperience. What do you make of other parties having younger candidates compared to Labor’s incumbents?
AP: Yeah, well, I think what you’ve got to look at is the policies. So for Will Roche, the challenge is trying to sell a Dutton government to Canberra. I don’t believe that a Dutton government has anything to offer our city and a lot for us to be worried about.
Like cuts to the public service, like the fact that Liberal governments traditionally, not only have they cut the public service, which is a key employer in our city, with implications for the whole country, but they don’t invest in our city. They don’t value our city. They do write us off as a ‘bubble’ and not a real community… I think that will be the biggest challenge for him… I don’t know that he will have a lot of good news for Canberra in the things that he’s promising.
JO: Many are predicting a swing to the left in how Australia votes this year, especially since this is our first election where Gen Z and Y outnumber boomers. What do you make of this shift in age and potentially in politics?
AP: This electorate is actually one of the youngest electorates in the country as well. And I like that, you know? I like to hear that people are thinking more progressively, and that’s really good. So I think this is a positive thing for our politics, that young people are showing that trend.
JO: This is the first federal election for many to be voting in, myself included. Give us some reasons why a young person who may not be the most politically oriented (but nonetheless has this duty to vote) should be excited about voting, and potentially voting for Labor?
AP: They should definitely be excited about voting because, well I was taught from a really young age that your right to vote is so important — like, you should always value it. Don’t waste it.
I think we have a problem in Australia with disengagement. When I’m talking to voters, I’d rather hear someone have a strong view either way than someone who says, “I’m not interested in politics” because politics is ultimately the process by which so many decisions that affect your lives are made. So, you should take that responsibility and that opportunity really seriously and try [to] find out as much as you can about all of the candidates and what they stand for and what they can deliver.
In terms of voting for Labor, I would encourage young voters to vote for Labor because we are concerned about your future. We are delivering the climate action that we need, taking that challenge seriously. We are creating educational opportunities for young people, be it through free TAFE… wiping HECS debt… we want young people to have opportunities.
We are a party that is looking to the future and to build the brightest one possible for young Australians.
Jaden Ogwayo is not a member of, donor to, or recipient of funds from any political party.
“Why would you move to Canberra if you love live music so much?”
It is a question that people still ask me when they find out I moved from Sydney to Canberra. But I laugh at it; Canberra’s music scene is a unique and untapped experience, different from those in Australia’s larger cities such as Melbourne and Sydney.
Before moving, my logical thought was that if artists were making music in Canberra, there must be artists performing! It is likely there are a few artists you have heard of who are from Canberra, including the likes of Genesis Owusu, Peking Duk, and Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers. If you are looking to expand your taste and would like to see some gigs but are not sure where to start, these artists may have sounds that are familiar to your current favourite artists!
Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers — I Love You Too
Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers are a punk rock band that grew from Canberra’s streets. They are known for their versatility in sound and exciting live performances. If you are a fan of other Australian rock groups such as the Buoys or Teenage Joans, you will no doubt love Teen Jesus. Their debut album has recently accrued new songs in the deluxe version I Love You Too, a compilation of songs exploring various life experiences featuring opening upbeat tracks such as “I Used to Be Fun” and “I Love You”. However, Teen Jesus also creates slower, delicate songs such as “Your House My House” and “Toe Bone” which explore the ideas of missing others and uncertain feelings. I was first captured by Teen Jesus when they worked with one of my other favourite bands, The Grogans, to release “Salt”, which has a catchy hook. While not all band members still live in Canberra, they do a few shows a year in this small city.
Peking Duk
While you may not know they are from Canberra, Peking Duk are definitely a big artist who have captivated Australian ears and even globally garnered attention. Peking Duk are an electronic dance band composed of DJs/producers Adam Hyde and Reuben Styles. They have produced hit tracks such as “High” and “Fire” which has allowed them to play huge shows. While Peking Duk do not frequently play shows in Canberra, they have provided a foundation for the city’s music scene and have encouraged many local artists to follow similar trajectories.
Genesis Owusu — Struggler
Genesis Owusu is not your typical artist; he pushes boundaries in his music production, providing a mixture of fast-paced rap tracks as well as more mellow, accessible R&B or alternative songs, allowing him to capture such a large audience of people who enjoy a wide range of music. I initially started listening to Owusu when he released his 2021 album Smiling With No Teeth, where “Gold Chains,” with a mix of a smooth melodic hook and flowing rap verses, allowed me to connect with his music easily. Owusu’s newest album, Struggler, continues this versatility as he explores struggle within many different facets of our lives. Owusu’s album was so well received that his song “What Comes Will Come” was added to the EA Sports FC24 soundtrack. Typically, when Owusu tours Australia, he does a show in his hometown of Canberra, so look out for any upcoming shows for a truly captivating and enjoyable performance.
Stella Eve — Spare Keys
Stella Eve is probably the smallest artist in this article. However, she has to be one of my favourite artists of those I have discovered since coming to Canberra. Stella’s music has a calm, folky tone, providing easy and beautiful listening for any situation. She has a sound similar to that of artists like Phoebe Bridgers and Julia Jacklin. I first discovered Stella Eve’s music with her single “Bleed”, which I have introduced to many friends — everyone loves the catchy chorus and fun musical atmosphere that it creates. Stella recently released a second single, “Spare Keys,” a slow, melodic song that similarly provides easy listening. Sadly, I have yet to see Stella live in Canberra — however, she is playing frequent gigs and seeing one of her shows is on my to-do list for 2025 (as it should be for you!).
Moaning Lisa — Fainter
Moaning Lisa are hard to box into a single genre. However, their music most closely strikes an indie rock and pop sound similar to Teen Jesus and the Jean Teasers. If you have already listened to Teen Jesus (and hopefully enjoyed them), give Moaning Lisa a listen. Moaning Lisa’s new album, Fainter explores various emotions surrounding relationships and life experiences and has a nice mix of stronger rock and more poppy songs. My personal favourite is “4am (where have you been?)”. Moaning Lisa are playing at The Basement (aka Baso) in Belco on the 1st of March, where they are selling student tickets for $18.40 (could be your first Canberra gig!).
Now that you are familiar with some Canberran artists, you may be wondering where you should go if you want to hear some live music. Canberra has a few really good venues for music, which you can follow to get continual updates on visiting bands.
The Basement (aka the Baso) — Belconnen
The Baso is a fun venue located in Belconnen, which is easy to reach with a single bus from Barry Drive. The Baso hosts a wide variety of genres, from indie rock to pop and everything in between. I have seen a few prominent Australian artists here, including The Vanns, Old Mervs, and Belair Lip Bombs. If you have a look at their website and see artists you do not recognise, you can always buy a cheap ticket and have a listen with a feed and a drink to help support local artists!
UC Hub — Bruce
UC has a great music venue for artists; they host a variety of music with no real niche. UC has seen bands as big as Peking Duk and The Wombats while also putting on Australian indie bands such as The Rions, Spacey Jane, Pacific Avenue and Telenova. I recommend keeping up with UC Hub as they put on many pop-rock shows that anyone can have fun at!
Smith’s Alternative — Civic and Belconnen
Smith’s Alternative is one of my favourite places to hang out, but they also host many fun bands ranging from genres such as jazz and folk to some small rock and classical groups. Smith’s is a venue that provides a space for niche-r music with smaller crowds so that everyone can enjoy their style of music!
ANU Kambri Cultural Centre and Llewellyn Hall — on Campus
Yes! While rare, our own campus holds live gigs with prominent artists. I have been fortunate enough to see Royel Otis in the Culture Centre and enjoy an amazing show at the same hall where I was lectured about microeconomics and statistics. These gigs are often advertised around campus, so they are easier to spot than other venues.
Llewellyn Hall is the large music hall in the music building, and it is an absolutely beautiful space to hear all types of music. The hall frequently hosts the university’s orchestra and jazz band, while also seeing the likes of Hoodoo Gurus and the Australian Chamber Orchestra perform. If this seems more your vibe, look out for the wide range of shows in these venues!
While Canberra has many shows coming up from the start of the semester, the best way for you to find a gig you will enjoy is to listen to new Canberra artists and follow social media pages and websites for the listed venues. Canberra has such a vibrant music scene, especially with regional tours becoming more and more popular for medium-sized bands, so do a little research and enjoy your Canberra music.
Comments Off on Walking on a Dream: The Disappointment of the Bunda Street Shared Zone
Canberra’s inner north has been my home my whole life; my backyard, Bunda Street.
The street has always been on the frontline of the fight between car-centric road planners, pedestrians, and resilient small businesses. Back in the 70s, Gus Petersilka, the founder of the recently closed Gus’ Cafe, fought with the federal government for the right to have outdoor dining, today a key attraction of the area.
My own memories of Bunda Street include family birthday dinners at long-gone Chinese food establishments like Sammy’s and Hidden Dragon, being stood up at what was to be my first-ever date at Kokomo’s, and many strolls up and down the street, a cup of Via Dolce coffee in hand, after a late weekend brunch.
Last year marked the tenth anniversary of the ACT government’s designation of Bunda Street as a shared zone. Pedestrians were given priority, popular crossing spots were raised to slow cars down, line markings were removed, the bitumen was painted and paved differently from other streets, and the speed limit was reduced to a much safer 20 kilometres per hour.
This comprised the last stage of the ‘City Loop’, a project to create a cycling and walking corridor through the city that avoided busy roads like London Circuit and Cooyong Street. Has this car diet been a success? To anyone who regularly uses the street today, the answer is obviously a resounding no.
Crossing the street as a pedestrian remains unpleasant (and, during peak hours, dangerous) as it was before the renovation. Drivers refuse to yield as they are required to, frequently slamming their brakes just before hitting people — a sin most commonly committed by white cars bearing NSW license plates, in my experience.
The choice to keep a large number of street parking spaces means that using the street for its intended post-renovation purpose — cycling — requires negotiation with cars that randomly stop to take a parking space or pull out without looking or indicating.
Many drivers use it as a rat run from Northbourne Avenue to avoid the stretch of traffic lights on Cooyong Street. This includes many commuters, but whenever there’s a large national event in Canberra, you can bet that an even longer line of cars will inexplicably line up Bunda as a poorly thought-out shortcut.
Bunda Street’s shared zone signage seems more directed at reminding pedestrians of their putative right to cross unimpeded rather than informing drivers of their obligation to slow down to preserve said right. At the intersection with the pedestrianised part of Ainslie Avenue that runs through the Canberra Centre, there’s an unnecessary and confusing set of traffic lights with crossing signals erected before the pedestrianisation that were never removed.
This is not to say that the renovations were entirely pointless. The street is much more pleasant than the dangerous car sewer it replaced. A video of a pro-same-sex marriage march in 2011 shows activists being wedged onto the tight footpaths on either side of the street — a stark contrast from the colourful street-wide protest march against the “bigot bill” a decade later. The shared zone, combined with the Canberra Centre’s recent pedestrianisation of Scotts Crossing, has made Bunda Street even more vibrant and accessible.
The territory government has for decades tried to encourage the take-up of active and public transit, but it has often done so with vague and unclear initiatives like “car-free days”, which scare the car-dependent Canberran public into thinking that Chairman Barr is coming for their beloved vehicles.
They would do better at reducing our dependence on cars by making a real effort to make active and public transit as comfortable as driving. The tram provided a fantastic alternative for inner north and Gungahlin residents, but the sharp reduction in suburban bus frequencies that occurred at the same time as the tram has been entirely unhelpful.
My dream for my backyard, at the risk of sounding like a NIMBY (Not In My BackYard), would be for Bunda Street to be closed to car traffic. Not every street needs cars running down it, much less an eat street atop a large underground car park a block away from Canberra’s largest transit interchange.
There is no argument against freeing Bunda Street from the tyranny of the private motor vehicle.
For all the hassle they cause, the number of parking spaces along the street and the revenue they bring in is miniscule. FOI documents last year revealed that the territory government makes (on average) only about $80,000 a year from paid parking on the street while issuing about $250,000 in parking fines. It is the businesses along the street, not the parking spaces, that attract people to come here.
The idea that businesses need unimpeded car access to the street is also bunk. During the annual Multicultural Festival, where the whole street becomes a pleasant car-free marketplace, deliveries to businesses along the street are certainly impacted, but not meaningfully prevented.
A good compromise would be closing the street between Tocumwal Lane (the laneway near Via Dolce) and Genge Street (near Wilma), which would force away the worst of the through-traffic while leaving cyclists, deliveries and other essential traffic largely unimpeded. Retractable bollards could allow vehicle access during emergencies or public events like parades.
Closing Bunda Street to car traffic would be transformative. The street would join the great Australian malls like Pitt Street, Bourke Street, Queen Street, the Rundle Mall and Murray Street as vibrant, people-first spaces. It would be a much safer route for cyclists and pedestrians to roam the city and inner north — a much nicer backyard for Canberrans to gather in.
My father left when I was young. It was sudden, and shocking. It left my mum and I more alone than we had ever been and we became each other’s best friends.
At six years old, I was helping her raise my younger siblings and being the best comfort I could be. Because of this, I grew up a lot faster than the people around me. I was mature and immature at the same time. My maturity came from raising my younger siblings when my mum was working long night shifts, yet my immaturity came from the isolation. I had difficulty forming connections with people and felt so uncomfortable in social situations. I never knew how to make friends and open up to others around me. I was obsessed with reading to fill my spare time; it was calming, and it was an excuse to not make any friends my own age. It was a hobby my mum had forced down my throat because the public library was free, but also because she wanted me to be more educated than she ever was. I feel like when children of immigrants talk about their parents, it’s always with a touch of bitterness.
First generation people are often hurt that they couldn’t experience life like the people around them, stuck in a space with rules and expectations. I remember from a young age; I wasn’t able to experience life as a kid. I was forced to grow up, raise my siblings, and be there for my mum. I never got to be a child, not truly, and that disconnected me from the kids around me. Not to say that I completely despise the way I grew up, I like how strong I have become. I like how I always want to look after the people around me, how I am giving. That’s why, when my mum called me last year in August to tell me that she had a tumour in her breast, my heart dropped.
I remember the exact night. I was getting ready for my first date in months, Mum called me to check up on me as she always does. She likes to do this thing where she calls me just to hear my voice, our calls usually last 30 seconds. Recently she and I developed healthier boundaries, well, as healthy as boundaries can get with an immigrant parent. So, she doesn’t take it personally when I want to have dinner with my friends, or I can’t talk for too long. She lets me go. I didn’t tell her about the date though, I usually only talk about people I care about because she is sceptical of outsiders and tends not to trust them. My mum believes family is the most important thing, and that they are the only people you can rely on emotionally. Mum told me about how she had received a diagnosis after having a mammogram. I felt my body begin to panic, by that I mean it shut down, and it was almost like I wasn’t in my body anymore. I felt like I was outside of myself, almost like a dream. I was there, but not really. The way she recounted her diagnoses was nonchalant. Mum’s religious and believes God will always protect her. But I knew her better than anyone else, she was scared. I was scared. But because we are both stubborn people, especially with ourselves, we both dealt with it our way.
I did what I did best. I started googling what the doctors had told her, even though she didn’t remember exactly what they had said. During our conversation I had researched and studied everything about DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ), which was where abnormal cells formed in the milk duct. They were apparently benign, she would be okay, right? My mind started running, but to my mum I probably sounded eerily calm. Although I doubt she had intended to, throughout my childhood she had built me to be the perfect emotional support. The people pleaser in me also knew exactly how to talk to make her feel safe: I told her that she would be okay, I googled it, and it’s benign.
After the conversation with my mum, I still went on my date. It didn’t go well. Not surprisingly, I was distracted by other things. How could I be there for my mum when she was in Sydney, and I was in Canberra? As the months continued, it seemed like things only got worse, and I felt increasingly like a horrible daughter. I felt I was the only one that could be there for her the way she needed, to reassure and comfort her. I had my older cousin at home, but I could feel my mum’s disappointment that I wasn’t the one looking after her.
I went home two weeks ago. I went to a concert, and I was in a place where I felt safer staying at home with my family than in some random hotel. I only stayed for one night, and as we were dragging one of our old mattresses up from the garage to my mum’s bedroom, my cousin looked at me and said, “Mummy does not have hair anymore, do not act weird”. In my head, I thought she was messing with me. After all, my family has a habit of laughing in the face of such horrible things. When my mum took off her wig (which she wears often, by the way, we are a black family) her hair, which was usually in tight cornrows, was gone. She was also so tiny and looked fragile. The woman that had raised me, worked six days a week for years to take care of me and my siblings. In just six months, she looked unrecognisable. It was humbling seeing my mum like that. That night I slept in her room, and we just talked. She said something that hit my soul.
“You should be doing this Peppy, you should be the one driving me to my appointments, being there for me. But you need to finish your degree, you have to complete your education.”
When she said that, I felt so guilty because she was right, this was my job. When I went back to uni, any motivation I had was gone. Part of me wanted to leave Canberra and move home, so I could fulfil the role that I had always had. However, I knew that to make her truly happy I had to finish what I had started and make her proud.
Sometimes I feel isolated at ANU because I feel as if no one understands who I am and where I have come from. I often think about what I have encountered in life, and how it has shaped who I am. I had always been so unkind to myself, comparing myself to students who had much easier upbringings. Wondering why I struggled to get out of bed some days, and form connections with other people. Why did I always feel slightly alone and out of place?
I wrote this to say that you are not alone, there are many first-generation university students like myself who feel this way. I know how isolating it can be, being separated from your family and your culture and I just want to say it’s okay. It’s okay to have days where it’s hard to connect with people and it’s okay to call your mum when you are feeling homesick.
If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of
the support services below:
Beyond Blue
1300 22 4636
24/7 – Depression, anxiety and suicide prevention
Cancer Council
13 11 20
24/7 Questions or support about cancer
https://www.cancer.org.au/support-and-services
My father left when I was young. It was sudden, and shocking. It left my mum and I more alone than we had ever been and we became each other’s best friends.
Comments Off on Where Are You From? Like ‘From’ From?
This piece is one of many in the Are You Racist ANU? x Woroni series in association with the ANU BIPOC Department . Want to write for the series? Email anuethnoculturaldept@gmail.com with a pitch or draft.
“Where are you from? Like from from?”
It’s questions like these that make my mind race a million miles an hour. My answer depends on who I’m in front of and how much I’m mentally prepared to enter into a conversation about it. This is how I navigated my identity and my need to ‘belong’ in racist institutions like the education system.
The answer to where I’m from sounds something like this: I was born in the UK and moved to East Africa a month or so after I was born. I stayed there for the next three to four years as my father’s side of the family was from there. From there, we decided to move back to the UK, where my mother was largely raised and her side of the family mostly still resided. I stayed there until I was thirteen, and then we made the move to Australia. All these places, languages and cultures have had a strong influence on who I am. But the last one that has also shaped a lot of who I am is my ancestral culture, my Indian side. My family was forced to migrate from Gujarat, in North East India, to Africa for various reasons. However, that didn’t stop my grandparents and parents from trying to sustain their Gujarati heritage and culture, even if we couldn’t maintain a link geographically. This has meant that I have grown up as an Indian, East African, British and Australian.
When I lived in the UK, it was in a highly diverse community. This community had a lot of Gujaratis, so I was never too far away from kids that looked like me and had very similar experiences of co-existing in both Indian and British cultures. I saw myself in my peers and felt like I belonged. We recognised each other and immediately knew our Indian community existed on the outskirts of the wider British community we were also a part of. Yet even back then, I still encountered subtle remarks. My mother told me that there was a group of girls who would regularly bully me and tell me I couldn’t play with them because of my skin colour and yet I still thought they were my friends. She went to the principal and fought for an apology from them, but it wasn’t until she told me about the incident again in my twenties that I saw how ingrained institutional racism had already become within me. I wanted so badly to play with these kids, even if they were racist bullies. Five or six years later, my family moved to Australia.
While I’ve grown to love living here and embrace the good with the bad, as every country has, I struggled with my identity, amongst other things, as I made my way through high school.
I went to a Christian High School and College, which lacked diversity within my peer group and the teaching staff. There were 4 brown kids in my year of around 250. I say brown because there exists a plethora of South Asian communities and while our heritages might be geographically close, they were all so different and all had completely different languages.
Going to that school allowed me to receive the education and make the friends I have today, so I’m grateful for that. However, going to that school didn’t help me confront the idea that racism, in subversive or overt forms can and should be challenged.
One day, while I was still in Year 10, I’d left the classroom for some reason and while I was gone, a girl in my class made a comment about ‘Indians smelling bad’ and said something along the lines of me being no exception. I wasn’t there so I’ll never really know what was said, but a friend of mine let me know after class, what had been said in front of everyone, in front of the teacher too. No one said anything to the girl who had made the comment. No one, except that friend, said anything to me. I didn’t say anything to anyone.
That was the moment I truly felt othered.
I had thought about my ethnicity and heritage from time to time, but never to the extent I had at that point. I had also never felt so ashamed. I was angry with her for saying what she’d said, but I never confronted her about it because I was paralysed with my own anger and shame and figured that if a teacher hadn’t said anything, then who was I to say anything?
or someone who until that point had believed in working to the point where ‘you’re so good they can’t ignore you’, that experience made me understand something that I stand by to this day. That even if I do work harder and smarter than my – at the time – predominantly white peers, take part in all of the extra-curricular activities I could and shove down the Indian-ness within me, essentially whitewashing myself to fit in, I would never fit in completely. This was something that I felt so insecure about until I was 21. Imagine not believing your friends truly like you for who you are for that long, just because of internalised racism? It was exhausting.
Interestingly, I was catching up with some high school friends a couple of months ago and that incident came up in conversation. One of my friends recalled it and said she felt ashamed she didn’t call out that behaviour in that moment. That was powerful for me to hear because I’d never known if anyone else had cared enough when I was that age. They did, they just didn’t have any role models who had taught them that calling out racism was better than being a bystander.
The institution, and I mean teachers, class curriculums and pastoral care needs to be better. If I’d known I had the backing and support of people like my teachers, I would have felt safer; maybe if my peers had been taught some of these morals and seen it in practice, they would have been more likely to say something. As much as I can say I went to a Catholic school with less diversity than some of the public schools around me, that’s no excuse for a lack of understanding of basic racism from teachers. This lack of understanding is the very thing contributing to the bias of many young people’s futures and opportunities. That teacher not saying anything, along with all the white supremacy I had already internalised changed the way I interacted within my varying communities, pushing away all the Indian parts of me for so long.
Coming to Australia, I had not only moved countries and lost some friends – which was everything back then to thirteen-year-old me – but I had also lost the cultural linkages to my ancestors. Incidents like the ones in that classroom only cemented this loss further. In Leicester, I was just one of many Gujarati kids whose family had moved from East Africa and built a mixed cultural life there. In Canberra, I was ‘the British person’ because of where I’d geographically moved from. This was confusing for some people to wrap their heads around as I didn’t look like a stereotypical British person – and that’s verbatim been said to my face. Having family who had Indian culture from the seventies, a splash of East African culture of the eighties and nineties, and then some British culture of the noughties made us belong to so many places, and yet never fully belong anywhere. My family sometimes speaks Gujarati, Swahili and English in one conversation and it flows for us. In the same way, my cultural ideals, values and tastes flow from Indian, East African, English and Australian all the time. Riz Ahmed expresses it beautifully in his latest album, The Breakup:
Maybe I’m from everywhere and nowhere.
No man’s land, between the trenches.
Yeah I make my own space in this business of Britishness
Your question’s just limiting, it’s based on appearances.
Stop trying to make a box for us
I’ll make my own and bruck your poxy concept of us
Very few fit these labels so I’m repping for the rest of us
Who know that there’s no place like home and that stretches us
Who code switch so don’t piss me off for a cricket test for us
Or question us about our loyalty, our blood and sweat’s enough.
Born under a sun you made too hot for us
Kidnapped by empire and diaspora fostered us
Raised by bhangra, garage and halal southern fried chicken shops
A junglist and jungly
I’m Mowgli from the Jungle Book, I’m John Barnes in the box
I blaze hard after mosque
I bend words like brown and west until they just spell what.
My tribe is a quest to a land that was lost to us
And its name is dignity
So where I’m from is not your problem bruv.
I wish teen me had people like Riz to listen to and know that I’ll never fully fit in anywhere, and that it’s okay because I don’t need to fit in anywhere to be ‘valued’.
Having role models and spaces I could feel like me in were important in relearning that I wasn’t less than because I didn’t and could never fit someone’s “poxy concept of me”. Even though I was never very active in the Ethnocultural department, it was just good to see the group out there on social media and providing spaces for me if I ever needed or wanted it. Hearing artists like Riz Ahmed – and many other creators – helped me understand that the institution was not going to advocate for me, they weren’t going to give me a space to be me, because it hadn’t been built by people who represented me. If I wanted that space, I had to make it for myself.
I stopped feeling as though I needed to be someone I wasn’t so I could belong. I figured I might as well just be this complex, South Asian woman, who had grown up with influences from East Africa, India, England and Australia and if people didn’t like it, that was okay.
It took me well into my third year of university to really believe that, and I still waver sometimes, but less so. My hope is that young people of colour can exist within these institutions feeling safe to explore their identities. I want them to know that they have role models, confidants and teachers, that reflect, represent and advocate for them within the institution. I want teachers and the institution to give young people the tools they need for high school and college, but also what they need to explore their complex, rich and beautiful identities safely.
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.
The Sweet and Sour Zine (SNS) was conceived in the middle of isolation by founder Sydney Farey. As COVID-19 spread across the world, along with it came a rise in xenophobia catalysed by the pandemic. Without everyday physical interactions and our usual support networks, people begin to lose a sense of community. That’s what inspired Sydney to post in ANU Facebook groups in search of a like-minded team to found SNS. After an overwhelming amount of submissions from the community (thank you!) and a lot of hard work from everyone on the team, Issue One of the zine was successfully launched on the 8th of August at Smith’s Alternative. What was a wet and cold day outside, could not stop the merriment and buzz of excitement that filled Smith’s that afternoon. As we are bi-monthly, sending in content for us to print is a way you can support us! Look out for Issue Two submission openings soon!
Following is an interview with Sydney Farey and some responses from SNS team members discussing the zine and its significance.
–Viv Wang
Founder Sydney Farey:
About you:
I consider myself a visual artist and art historian. I work mostly in printmaking, and in ceramics more recently. I was born and raised in China, moving to Canberra when I was twelve years old. My identity is a mix between my Chinese upbringing, my American family, and my life growing up in Australia.
What inspired you to found SNS?
I wanted to create a space for individuals with Asian heritage in Australia to share our thoughts, experiences and creativity, and provide a supportive platform where we can come together to explore our cultures, connect and heal. It is a powerful feeling when we realise we are not alone and many of our experiences are shared with others.
What has the reception been like thus far?
The reception has been overwhelmingly positive! From our dedicated executive team members and contributors, to the people who share our social pages and send us encouraging messages – we have been met with nothing but support from the Canberra, and greater Australia community. It goes to show how important a platform like SNS is, especially during tumultuous times like these. Our community is growing bigger and bigger every day.
On Aug 8 launch event, our FB page surpassed 600 likes, and our IG page surpassed 300 likes. Most online traction came from our Smith’s event at over 9.5k interactions. We had over 50 contributions to the first issue of the zine from all over Australia.
What do you hope SNS will be able to achieve?
I hope SNS can keep providing opportunities for Asian creators to develop and share their work in a supportive and creative environment, and continue educating the broader public through bringing attention to Asian stories and experiences. While most of our team and our community is based in Canberra at the moment, I hope SNS will keep growing and reach areas all around Australia.
How can others support BIPOC creators/SNS?
While we were able to keep the first issue of SNS free as we received SEEF funding, our future issues may require a small charge in order to sustain printing fees and keep this platform alive. We will always try to keep SNS as accessible as possible, with free issues online at all times. The best way to directly support BIPOC artists is to do it locally! Attend BIPOC artists’ exhibitions, plays, shows, live sets, purchase locally produced art, clothing, crafts and objects from BIPOC creators.
The Sweet and Sour Team:
What motivated you to join the SNS team?
Chetan Kharbanda (Management): Race and culture takes up a huge chunk of my headspace as a POC living in Australia. Being an extroverted and super social person, I feel very connected to my peer group which constitutes people from all sorts of backgrounds. Despite this, I’ve always struggled to share some thoughts, ideas and experiences effectively due to a huge difference in personal context. When I saw Sydney’s post about a potential venture which will facilitate sharing the voices of the BIPOC community, the first thought that hit me was “Hell yeah!!”.
What do you hope SNS will be able to achieve?
Viv Wang (Marketing): I hope SNS will become a popularised space where Asian creators feel safe and appreciated. I see SNS as an important tool in cross-cultural understanding as it provides a platform for creators categorically deemed as niche to publish their work.
How do you think SNS will impact Asians in Australia?
James Yang (Design): I think it will be a good way to attract more attention to the Asian-Australian experience, as I think it is something that is often deemed insignificant, or pushed to the side in light of other social issues.
Viv Wang (Marketing): I think the massive turnout and the really enthusiastic reception we’ve gotten so far speaks volumes about how such a project was needed. I believe SNS will assist in the popularisation and spotlighting of the wide varieties of Asian-Australian experiences which may help in the validation of other Asian Australians.
How can others support BIPOC creators/SNS?
Chetan Kharbanda (Management): I’d say follow the three E’s. Educate yourself, Empathise and Enact the change. We’re here to help you do that.
Photographer: Abby Ching
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 What Does It Mean Going to University on Stolen Land?
This piece is the first of many in the Are You Racist ANU? x Woroni series in association with the ANU BIPOC Department. Want to write for the series? Email anuethnoculturaldept@gmail.com with a pitch or draft.
How aware are you?
The ANU operates on the stolen lands of the Nngunnawal and Ngambri people. Have you ever thought about the fact that you live, study and work on stolen land? A land where sovereignty has never been ceded?
When you go to class and learn through a predominately white Settler gaze, how aware are you that you do so where First Nations complex social and political systems were in place for thousands of years on land beneath your feet?
What are you going to do about it?
As you progress through your degree at the ANU, are you also educating yourself in ways you may be complicit in the oppression of First Nations people today? As you learn to critically analyse and speak up, are you also amplifying the voices of Indigenous people? You are and will always be living on stolen land.
What are you going to do about it? Here’s a great place to start.
Read and listen to Indigenous authors.
Ambelin Kwaymullina is an Aboriginal writer and illustrator from the Palyku people of the Pilbara region. She has written a book, Living on Stolen Land, which is an exploration on how Settlers can respect the Indigenous sovereignties around them and take meaningful action.
This is a short extract from one of Kwaymullina’s poems:
“Settler-colonialism
is a serial violator
of indigenous boundaries
Of lands bodies
hearts
minds….
Listening means learning to hear
the noise of settler-colonialism
inside your head
and all around you
so you can hear past it
to understand our voices
on our own terms”
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 What Does a Decolonised University Look Like?
This piece is the first of many in the Are You Racist ANU? x Woroni series in association with the ANU BIPOC Department. Want to write for the series? Email anuethnoculturaldept@gmail.com with a pitch or draft.
What does a decolonised university look like? No one truly knows…
No one knows what a decolonised university looks like because we have never had the opportunity to witness a decolonised world. When the university as an institution is a result of the colonial project and imagination, how decolonised is decolonised enough?
In this context, decolonisation never fully arrives. It is in a constant state of becoming, no matter how ‘progressive’ or ‘radical’ the change seems.
Let’s imagine…
The systemic nature of racism is designed to crush the power of imagination in BIPOC communities through distraction. The distraction of constantly having to prove yourself and that you can’t ask for me. And, in a world prone to pessimism, we often forget how beautiful it is to create through imagining the future. So, let’s imagine what an anti-racist, decolonised universiry would look like. Here are some ideas:
A university that better supports its BIPOC students
A university that actively employs BIPOC counsellors and psychologists to make mental health assistance more accessible and inclusive for its BIPOC students.
A university that listens to its BIPOC students’ concerns without citing lack of resources as a concern.
A university that employs and encourages more BIPOC representation in academia
A university that encourages more BIPOC academics but also goes beyond that to give voice to the lived experience in its research methodologies and output.
A university that stops making pledges for more diversity and inclusion and actually does something about it.
A university that responds to workplace racism and disciplines its staff and leadership when
they make the ‘casual racist comment’.
A university which critically re-evaluates the whiteness of its learning curriculum.
A university that looks beyond the conventional approach to education and curriculum and appreciates that true decolonisation means education will never begin and end in its academy.
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.
This piece is the first of many in the Are You Racist ANU? x Woroni series in association with the ANU BIPOC Department. Want to write for the series? Email anuethnoculturaldept@gmail.com with a pitch or draft.
Don’t look, just walk on.
This is an attitude I was taught. When visiting my Mum’s country, you will be struck by the amount of beggars on the street. And not just the amount, but the severity. Men without legs, women without faces, blind, the elderly and children. All very calm, begging, selling or just watching as you pass by.
The advice I was given?
“Don’t look at them, just keep walking”.
A strange puzzle for a child. When you see someone hurt, someone suffering, you feel as if you have to help them. But here, in the dense and packed nation of India, there’s just too many. Too many people to try and help. For a single person, it’s hilariously impossible. But the lesson, I think, was wrong. To look past someone felt utterly unjust to me. It coloured such a large amount of who I am, that it became impossible to think. Enjoying food, TV, good clothes or company almost became a crime for me. How could you enjoy anything, knowing that just outside the door people had less?
How could you admire heroes, the Gandhis or Lincolns that you only knew as a fairy tale, when a cruel reality was lurking around you?And the fact that this same fate, reduced to poverty, could so easily happen to you? Hell, you clung on tighter to any kind of safety.
And then, back to Australia.
Suddenly back to a place that was almost grossly, infinitely richer. I wondered why there were so few beggars, so many clean cars and so much food. I tried to forget the words I had learned in India. To just walk past my problems.
And soon, that became utterly impossible. You have to face people when speaking to them. You can’t ignore family members when they ask for help. And problems don’t just disappear if you stop thinking about them.
The lessons given in India helped me, and the people there, to go about their lives. When you need to work for food, education and housing, it’s unnecessary torture to focus at the beggars lining the street. And my lesson was to learn that while people may not look at the poor, they are still working to help.
There are dozens of charities in India, with thousands moving above the poverty line yearly. People work like devils to improve things, the most common line in India is “I want to afford a good education for my children”. People want to create a better future. Everyone does, even Lincoln and Gandhi managed between civil war and independence to try and reform conditions in their countries.
The point was not to turn away. While we can’t torture ourselves with guilt, being aware of the conditions we live in, have lived in and those we could potentially live through are important so that we can face problems down the track. The lesson I learnt in India changed from “don’t face your problems” to “don’t dwell on what you can’t help”.
And in Australia, I learnt that ultimately, we cannot look away from a crisis.