Our dreams are not our own.
Our parents, in loving us;
stifled us.
With their concern
for our future, our wealth
security, our happiness
foisted onto us
the dreams of their design.
Our achievements are not our own.
They are the karmic resolution
of the mistakes,
the unfulfilled aspirations
of our loving parents.
We carry the weight
of their hopes whilst negotiating
for ourselves
an
unfamiliar
terrain
in which we are the other.
Where is the space
for the unique
longings of the heart
that we can hold?
They have been
dismissed
in infinitesimal
waves of the hand
and barbs from a slick tongue
from the
gap
that at times feels like a gulf
that we can never bridge
that has come to represent
so much of our experience
between our parents
and ourselves.
Compounded
by the gap,
between our friends
our school
and neighbourhoods
and our brown bodies
and minds
not at home in this white mans’ land
nor at home in our own.
denial: the night after
I’m pretty tired. My mind is tired and my heart still feels like there is a stone on it.
Had I known this was going to be the state of my being, I would have never left your bed that morning.
I don’t know what you thought of me coming that night, and what you thought of me leaving.
What I do know is none of it was ever done with any bad intention, and I don’t regret what happened.
I just wish I knew if you do. I wish I knew what you thought of it.
I wish I could speak to you about it. Because I can’t speak to anyone else.
You’re the only person that I want to say anything to, and the only person I wish would say something to me.
I don’t expect anything out of what happened, I never did. But the silence is killing me.
I haven’t stopped thinking of what would become of us at the end. I don’t want us to stop talking to each other, and for this awkward silence to stretch on forever.
Because you were a friend before our lips met. You were the best dancer on the floor before you held me. You were the funniest and the nicest person before I felt your breath on my face.
And I don’t want to lose that. Not because of a handful of hours of intimacy that felt like a fleeting moment.
I know everything that I’m feeling is stupid as fuck. But the more I try to invalidate my feelings, the more real it becomes. I can’t help it, and I need to get it out of my system because it’s growing increasingly toxic for me.
I could try forgetting anything happened, but it’s hard to forget when the words you won’t say are weighing me down from dawn to dusk and all the way back around.
confrontation: the night after the night after
Confronting you took the will of every cell in my body. But I had to do something before I sank further into the darkness that was enveloping me ever since I left your bed.
All this time I was too desperate to know what you were thinking to think about what I was feeling deep down.
I know I said that I didn’t expect anything from what happened.
But there is a thin line between hopes and expectations that I was trying not to cross. Ultimately, my hopes came to the surface once you said that you did not want to compromise our friendship and my heart sank.
Everything that we were before I shared in your warmth, I would trade off to lie in bed next to you again. I hate that I feel this way.
But my hopes were stronger than my conscience and try as I might, I can’t help but sink in the water that has drowned my hopes.
I’m not in denial anymore, or being delusional. Having a reality and accepting it doesn’t mean you don’t wish you had a better return from the hand that dealt your luck. I accept that keeping what we had before is a better alternative to falling out and becoming bitter about how things went. I just know that deep down, I was wishing for more than that.
I don’t know if I should label what I feel for you as love. I don’t have anything to compare you with, but what I know is that I’ve never yearned as intensely as I have for you. This is an unrequited feeling in the truest form of that expression. And it’s as dark and foreboding as anything I’ve ever felt.
What I need now is time. Time may not heal all wounds but I know for a fact that it eases a lot. And eventually I guess I’ll be fine. But for now, as much as I’ve been hurting over the past few days, I’ve grown to appreciate the dark beauty of hurting so good. It’s given me a new sense of how alive I am, and give validation to my emotions.
We can never go back to how we were before you caressed my skin with your fingertips; well, at least I can’t. I still feel them trace down my back, over my arm, along my chest. I can pretend until the memory fades. That’s how I know that these unrequited emotions I feel for you are some of the saddest and realest things that I’ve experienced.
Maybe it’s really for the best that I won’t get to relive a night like that with you. Maybe it is. But I can’t quit wishing for it upon every passing moment.
‘If we must part forever,
Give me but one kind word to think upon,
And please myself with, while my heart is breaking.’
– Thomas Otway
Comments Off on Tales of Tyranny: A Tribute to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Alex is a third-year politics, philosophy and economics student, caffeine enthusiast and cricket tragic who wishes that one day, he could speak Russian.
‘I dedicate this to all those who did not live to tell it,
And may they please forgive me,
For not having seen it all, nor remembered it all,
For not having divined it all.’
‘In this book there are no fictitious persons, nor fictitious events. People and places are named with their own names. If they are identified by initials instead of names, it is for personal considerations. If they are not named at all, it is only because human memory has failed to preserve their names. But it all took place just as it here described.’
Thus begins The Gulag Archipelago, a three-volume, 650 page, colossal non-fiction narrative by persecuted Nobel-prize winning author Aleksandr Solzhenistyn. 2017 marks the 50-year anniversary of its completion in 1967, after which it sold over 30 million copies in 35 different languages. In no less than 300,000 carefully chosen words, Solzhenitsyn documented the comprehensive injustices of Stalin’s forced-labour camps, or gulags, which claimed the lives of millions of prisoners between 1934 and 1953.
Born in Russia in 1918, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was raised in austere conditions by his widowed mother, Taisiya Zakharovna, who identified his precocious talent for language at an early age. As Solzhenitsyn would recall years later, she was no ordinary woman, and, as was typical for Russia’s post-WWI womanhood, she was tougher than ice. With only the strength of her own will, Taisiya single-handedly provided for her small impoverished family, working insufferable hours to give her only son the education befitting his once-in-a-generation talents. Solzhenitsyn loved her dearly.
On the eve of WWII, Solzhenitsyn shelved his academic pursuits to fight as an artillery officer in the Red Army. It was the first time he had been separated at length from his mother, his guardian angel. Only months before his scheduled return to Moscow, Taisiya fell ill. Her body, which was an uncanny fountain of youth during the interwar period, began to fail her.
Solzhenitsyn would never see her again. Only in his dreams.
Immediately after the war, Solzhenitsyn was caught criticising Stalin in a personal letter to a friend. ‘Perpetuating anti-Soviet propaganda’ was his charge. By March 1945, Solzhenitsyn was sentenced in absentia to eight years in exile in the Serbian gulags for committing no crime except that of free thought and expression. His sentence – 2,184 days, with two extra days for leap years.
Fittingly, it was within the tortured walls of the gulags where Solzhenitsyn acquired an indestructibility found only in the greatest liberators of the 20th century – Nelson Mandela comes to mind. It was also within these walls where he began work on The Gulag Archipelago in the dark hours of the night, memorising and then destroying each and every page he wrote so that it wouldn’t be lost if it were seized. All this while resisting the terror of the camp guards, the burden of famine, and the maliciousness of cancer, undiagnosed for a year. His was a resilience you see only in comic book superheroes and religious prophets, a stoicism that would have made even Marcus Aurelius blush.
After his release – which by coincidence was the day Stalin died – Solzhenitsyn refused to wallow in the wilderness of his grief. Over the next 15 years, he wrote religiously, publishing over a dozen novels including the electrifying One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich which, subtly and unsubtly, condemned the brutality of Stalin’s regime. His fidelity to the motherland was outweighed only by his fidelity to the truth. In 1970, Solzhenitsyn was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature for ‘the ethical force with which he has pursued the indispensable traditions of Russian literature.’ But he was far from finished.
After receiving the Nobel Prize, Solzhenitsyn secretly began editing, once again, his already-completed book: The Gulag Archipelago. Drawing on the reports, memoirs and letters of 227 fellow prisoners, Solzhenitsyn mapped the icy despair of the Soviet prison experience. The whole book rested on one Russian proverb: ‘Dwell on the past, and you’ll lose an eye. But forget the past and you’ll lose both eyes.’ Solzhenitsyn knew that only through the power of language could the world hope to come to terms with the limitless despair of the Stalin dictatorship, that only through the power of the pen could one hope to thaw the permafrost of Russian history.
After rumours had surfaced that Solzhenitsyn was finally prepared to release The Gulag Archipelago, the KGB began incessantly terrorising him and his family – this included a failed assassination attempt. Eventually, the KGB acquired one of only the three existing manuscripts, and upon hearing this, Solzhenitsyn immediately published it overseas to instant international acclaim. Simple owning a copy of The Gulag Archipelago was worth seven years in prison. Such was the power of Solzhenitsyn’s words.
Condemned as a traitor, the Soviet Union stripped him of his citizenship, put him on a plane, and, once again, exiled him from his own country of birth in the hope that expelling him from his beloved homeland would break him. On February 12 1974, Solzhenitsyn arrived in Frankfurt, Germany, carrying only a straw cap and a sheepskin coat (his faithful companions during his time in the gulags). With an unshaved beard and a piercing glare he seemed less like a fiery writer-activist, and more like a character from the Old Testament.
His second exile would last 20 years, in which he moved from West Germany to the United States to live in reclusion, before returning to post-Soviet Russia as a hero in 1994, where he would spend the remainder of his days.
The life of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn is so complex that it naturally resists summary, but upon close and intimate examination, one theme runs like an artery through his work. That is, the idea that liberty and freedom are currencies vastly undervalued by those who have always had it, and priceless to those unjustly deprived of it. We have much to learn from him.
With new wars emerging and new hatreds brooding every day, it is easy to despair and lament the evil drowning the world. At such times, however, we must always remind ourselves that there are people in this world brave enough to fight and die to oppose and expose this evil. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was one such person.
Tanya Ma is studying a Bachelor of Politics, Philosophy and Economics/Bachelor of Laws (Honours), and is passionate about human rights.
Far-right right populist politics is gaining ground throughout many areas of Europe. In recent years, the National Front in France, PVV in the Netherlands, True Finns in Finland as well as their far-right party equivalents in Austria, Switzerland and Denmark have also secured increasing supporter numbers in polling and election data. Following the recent successes of the Brexit vote and Trump’s election as President of the US, we can see right-wing populist ideals as not only rising within our national communities but succeeding within politics to affect change in domestic policy.
Broadly speaking, populist parties have strategically gained success through linking policy to two key ideologies – ethnonationalism and xenophobia manifested in anti-immigration sentiments. The ethnonationalist message generally puts forward the idea that the rights of the nation transcend those of the individual. As a result, it is common for the rights of the population to be compromised, in favour of what appears to the far-right leaders, as overall benefits for the nation. This can lead to policies that afford ethnic citizens special treatment by discriminating against immigrants and citizens of a different ethnic origin.
The ethnonationalist political strategy bolsters the image of multinational corporations and immigration as obstacles to the nation’s progress. For example, the Front National’s campaign for closed nationalism rests on the conception that political, economic and cultural openness is a threat to essence of French national identity. The party advocates for a notion of ‘national preference’ alongside a campaign slogan of putting the ‘French first’. This would bring about policies giving preference to ethnically French citizens in the labour market, welfare grants, healthcare as well as other public services. Thus, both immigrants and citizens with non-French ethnic origin would be excluded from certain benefits and services offered by the state.
Another strategy underpinning the successes of far-right parties in elections has been through demonising non-ethnic groups as the cause of national problems in the form of xenophobic statements and anti-immigration appeals. Four common approaches for framing immigrants as problems by populist candidates have shown to be largely effective. The first has been to establish immigrants as a threat to ethnonational identity. This has been successful for Le Pen in France with the increasing support for the jus sanguinis in smaller towns – a principle that only those born to French parents should obtain French citizenship.
The second is to frame unemployment as the result of too many immigrants coming into the country. The significant increase in immigration to Italy from African and Asian countries, along with several northern Italian regions offering employment opportunities to immigrants, has sparked fears within their local communities. In 1996, Lega Nord was able to successfully capitalise on this issue through openly xenophobic propaganda to increase their electoral base in lower class groups worried about competition from immigrants who were willing to work without union protection and lower pay. Data collected from election polls, including those from the recent Dutch parliamentary elections, also show large numbers of the unemployed voting for PVV.
The third strategy is to pose immigration as a major cause of criminal activity and insecurity. This has fuelled many radical-right anti-Muslim political campaigns around the world. In 1993, SVP/UDC in Switzerland launched a referendum on ‘illegal immigration’ and used crime statistics to emphasise the dangers of multiculturalism through eliciting concepts of the ‘bogus’ asylum seeker. This is a popular argument amongst right-wing candidates for stricter immigration control.
Lastly, many extreme-right parties also politicise immigration as a national problem through characterisation of immigrants as abusing the welfare systems of established state democracies. The common argument is that while working citizens are earning a living through hard labour, their income is being taxed to immigrants who are reaping national welfare benefits for a living. This has targeted many citizens of the middle working class to vote for populist far-right candidates in elections. Consequently, immigrants are strategically framed as a detriment to society regardless of whether they are employed or not working.
These ideological understandings of ethnonationalism and immigration are spreading throughout the politics around the globe. With the recent election of Trump as president of the US, we can see the actualisation of these ideologies in his trade, migration, health care and other policies. Two major policy reforms, in particular, reflect this policy shift predicted by the populist ideologies for political right extremism. Firstly, on 23 January, Trump successfully initiated an executive order to pull the United States out of the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP). America’s National Association of Manufacturers predicts large economic losses of having to close trade markets in Asia and eradicating good relations from years of exchange with foreign governments by rebuilding barriers. In spite of a looming collapse in global trade, Trump continues to push in the direction towards protectionist trade policies, with the renegotiation of the North American Free Trade Agreement and the prospective enforcement of a Trump tax reform plan.
The second major change in policy direction since the inauguration of Trump was the first platform to close US borders to immigrants enacted on 27 January. This executive order from the President was proclaimed to keep Islamic terrorists out of the US through denying individuals from Yemen, Iraq, Iran, Sudan, Somalia, Libya and Syria entry into US borders for 90 days and barred refugee entry for 120 days. By the next day, protests brewed at airports across the country, interpreting his order as a ‘Muslim ban’, whilst several hundreds of immigrants and refugee were stuck in a limbo situation. This policy largely aimed to block out immigration, once again paralleling directions for policy with far-right populist ideologies.
As the seeds of right-wing ideologies are slowly taking root in cities throughout Europe, where does this leave us, as global citizens of the international community? The rise of populism throughout state politics highlights the escalation of political discontent amongst citizens with their governing systems. It appears that the more state systems are receptive to multinational corporations and international organisations, the stronger populist rhetoric becomes by offering protection from globalisation movements and security of traditional values. It is important that we acknowledge that far-right parties are not only an opposition but in many cases, have become successful power-sharing participants in governments and policy making. Nevertheless, it is also paramount that we do not blame domestic security issues and shortfalls of the economy on an inclusive and diverse national identity when we become discontent with our political systems – the victims of this far-right spectre haunting Europe are the minority communities that already lack a political voice in our institutions.
داستان من نیز مانند تمام افغان های دیگر می باشد. زمانی که من در افغانستان بودم، زندگی خود را تجزیه و تحلیل کردم و پی برم که به دلایل امنیتی امکان دسترسی به اهداف والای خود را ندارم. بنابراین تصمیم مهاجرت به استرالیا را گرفتم. سفر به استرالیا برای افغان ها کار آسانی نیست اما من بسیار خوش شانس بودم.
افغانستان کشوری با تنوع فرهنگی است که دارای مردمی بسیار مهمان نواز می باشد. پشتون، تاجیک، هزاره و ازبک چهار قوم اصلی ای هستند که اکثر جمعیت افغانستان را تشکیل می دهند. هر یک از این اقوام رسوم و زبان مختص به خود را دارد. افغانستان همچنین موسیقی مختص به خود را دارد؛ دنبوره، طبله و هارمونیا مثال های از این ابزارآلات بسیار خاص موسیقی افغانستان می باشد. در فرهگ افغانستان دعوت مهمان و اطمینان از آسایش آنان بسیار مهم است.
مردم افغانستان بسیار خون گرم هستند اما متاسفانه دهه هاست که در چنگال جنگ های داخلی و خارجی گرفتار شده اند. هزار ها نفر جان خود را از دست داده اند و ملیون ها نفر دیار مادری خود را ترک کرده و در جست و جوی امنیت به سایر کشورهای دنیا مهاجرت کرده اند و یا پناهنده شده اند. مردم افغانستان در طول زندگی خود با چالش های گوناگونی مثل تروریسم، سردمداری اسفبار طالبان، تجاوز خارجی و عدم دسترسی به ضروریات اولیه ی زندگی مانند غذا، شغل و تحصیل رویارویی کرده اند. با وجود تمام مشکلات ، مردم افغانستان بسیار هدفمند بوده و در برابر مشکلات انعطاف پذیر می باشند. آنها سخت کار می کنند تا بتوانند در جامعه ی خود تغییری اساسی ایحاد کنند.
به اعتقاد من شرکتی معدن پتانسیل بالایی برای ایجاد یک تغییر اساسی در جامعه ام را دارد. کشور های در حال توسعه مانند افغانستان از منابع طبیعی بسیار غنی هستند اما متاسفانه این منابع به دلیل جنگ و ناامنی دست ناخورده مانده اند. من این شرکت را بنا می کنم تا هم مردم افغانستان و هم دولت آن را از آن مستفیذ کنم. من فکر می کنم تاسیس چنین شرکت جهانی معدن در کشور های در حال توسعه به اقتصاد آنان کمک کرده و باعث می شود آنان بر مشکلات اقتصادی فائق آیند و به تحصیلات و بهداشت خوب دسترسی داشته باشند.
افغان هایی که به استرالیا مهاجرت می کنند با چالش های گوناگونی روبرو هستند برای مثال آنها باید زبانی کاملا جدید را بیاموزند، خود را با آب و هوا و فرهنگی کاملا متفاوت و جدید وفق دهند، بر مشکلات معیشتی و اقتصادی غلبه کنند و مهم تر از همه برای ماندن در این کشور از دولت استرالیا مجوز و ویزا دریافت کنند. با همه ی این ها مهربانی مردم استرالیا همواره به افغان ها کمک کرده است تا از پس این مشکلات و چالش ها به خوبی برآیند. استرالیا درهای متنوعی از فرصت های گوناگون را به روی من و خیلی از افغان های دیگر گشود؛ فرصت تحصیل در دانشگاه ، فرصت عضویت در ارتش، فرصت تمرین ورزش تکواندو که استرالیا در اختیار بنده قرار داده است. افغان ها از مردم استرالیا سپاسگزار هستند.
***
Goodbye Afghanistan, Hello Australia
My story is like that of many other Afghans. When I was in Afghanistan, I analysed my future and discovered that it would be difficult for me to achieve my goals if I stayed, due to security concerns and a lack of opportunities. And so, I decided to come to Australia. It is not easy for Afghan people to travel to Western countries like Australia, but I was lucky.
Afghanistan is a beautiful and diverse country. Pashtuns, Tajiks, Hazaras and Uzbeks are the four ethnic groups that comprise the majority of the country’s population, and each of these ethnic groups maintains their own unique cultural and linguistic traditions. For example, Afghanistan’s many languages contribute to its distinct styles of music; Hazaragi Damboora, Uzbek and Pashtu songs are popular. There are also cultural practices which transcend ethnic divisions – such as the Afghan custom of inviting guests into one’s home and ensuring they are provided for and looked after.
Afghans are peaceful people, but unfortunately, their lives have been impacted by war for many decades. Thousands of innocent Afghans have been killed, and millions of others have migrated to different countries around the world. Afghan people have been faced with many challenges in their lives: terrorism, Taliban leadership, foreign invasions and limited access to essentials such as education, food and work. But in the face of all adversities, Afghan people remain ambitious and resilient, and they work hard to make a difference in their societies.
My future goal is to establish a global mining company because I believe such a business has the potential to make this kind of difference. Developing countries like Afghanistan are rich in natural resources but, due to years of conflict, these industries are underdeveloped and neglected. I would like to establish a company that benefits the people and government of such countries and empowers people in overcoming financial hardship and gaining access to better education and health care.
When Afghans come to Australia, they face many obstacles – for example, learning a new language, adjusting to a new culture, overcoming financial difficulties and obtaining residence documents. However, the generosity of Australian people has always helped Afghans to overcome these challenges and provided me, along with other Afghans, with opportunities like studying at university, enlisting in the Army Reserve and even training Taekwondo. We are grateful to Australian people and will always remember this generosity and kindness.
Daniel Kang is an international student from Singapore studying law and international relations and is the International Representative at Burgmann College. He hopes that other international students may truly appreciate and celebrate the sweetness Australia has to offer.
It’s been 10 months since I left Singapore and arrived in Canberra. Before stating my initial observations, I’d like to first acknowledge that my views are by no means representative of other international students. Residing at a college on campus has definitely granted me more intimate insights into local culture, and I hope that value may be found in these.
I had apprehensions about moving to a foreign land. I remember being already overwhelmed by an immense sense of loss and separation on my seven-hour flight here. In particular, I was incredibly worried that I would be an unwelcome addition, imposing myself upon Australian society. This became a particularly acute fear after I read a survey that found 30 per cent of Australians to be casual racists, which must mean that the other 70 per cent are full-time.
Jokes aside, I’ve had an incredibly positive experience here. While having first arrived in Canberra last semester forced me to jump deep into the Canberran cold, I still found immeasurable warmth in the winter chill.
I’ve found your openness incredibly positive and definitely welcoming, and amidst all the cultural nuances that have surprised me, one, in particular, stands out quite nicely. Almost all the people I’ve met have seasoned our conversations with ‘Australianisms’ – even though I’m clearly an outsider, an ‘other’ in your society.
In contrast, I’ve generally observed that Singaporeans code-switch from our pidgin and use standard English when we talk with an outsider, and the reason for this goes beyond seeking efficacy in our communication. I wouldn’t drop my colloquialisms simply because I recognise that you are an outsider, because it just seems inappropriate, or strange even, to invite you into my culture in such an intimate way.
I believe this stems from our differences in pride – the Australian is unabashedly proud, with this openness that translates into a celebration of culture through actions and speech. However, Singaporeans are eager to adapt instead of include. Any attempts to warmly weasel into our culture would be undoubtedly appreciated, yet still jarring. Perhaps this reflects a Singaporean obsession with competition, already inherent in our language. Two words in particular come to mind – kiasu (fear/afraid of losing) and chiong (to charge into, commonly used in a work/study context). These are words that we, strangely enough, use to celebrate values of pragmatism and diligence in our society. To be kiasu means opportunistic – jumping at any and every deal, to shine against every rival and against all odds. But herein lies the problem: this obsession costs us healthy introspection, our eagerness to be valued and respected translates into an occasional hesitation to assert our pride in self-celebration. We become so consumed in one-upping and meeting you beyond the halfway point that we forget to allow you to reciprocate.
Unfortunately, our emphasis on pragmatism, instilled into us by every facet of society, means most of us look at issues mathematically as puzzles to be solved, where the individual is omitted from the equation. Of course there definitely are exceptions, but the average Singaporean doesn’t trade ideas, simply because we insulate ourselves from them. Every child can vouch for a general dislike – or even hatred of current affairs – for issues beyond our island. My compatriots turn their backs on ‘non-compulsory reading’ with words like ‘boring’, ‘irrelevant’ and ‘no use’. The bulk of Singaporean children abhor extra-curricular knowledge with so much zeal that our education system has mandated newspaper readings, and current affair discussions – we’ve even had to push for mandatory reading periods to somehow stimulate interest in the chore.
Again, I feel that our hunger for success is unfortunate. Every Singaporean child is taught to always stay ahead in our rat races, every son and daughter expected to reach standards of excellence that rise by the day. In reaching incredible speeds, we’ve come to forget to watch the grass grow, to notice how blue the sky is, and to develop an interest beyond numbers and letters, the grades and salaries that define us.
I wish for Singaporeans to adopt the self-assured confidence, perhaps, that is a flame of strength kindled in every Australian that somehow empowers this society: most, if not every person I’ve met, has confidence in the future in a way that has evaded my own people. Australians have not been consumed by the worries and the problems an uncertain future holds. Instead, every person feels a master of their own. The immeasurable value you place on self-care, on a holistic personal development and the general thirst to enjoy the world as your oyster instead of just striving to be its pearl is undoubtedly refreshing.
Do not mistake this for pitiful lamentation; never would I wish for my upbringing to be any different, never would I denounce my culture for its flaws. My society and its culture is perhaps young jade, eager to shine, with time it is my hope that it mellows and matures and celebrates its hue — right now I certainly think we have much to glean from yours.
I am now a thousand miles from home, and while it is difficult for me to find it natural to say, I feel happy to be part of Canberra, and I am glad to think of it as my society – at least for now – in every sense and every way.
Comments Off on Korean by Birth, Australian by Choice
Christina Lee is from Cairns, and is studying law and international relations. She is passionate about human rights and dreams to be an international human rights lawyer. Recently, she was a volunteer in a remote village in Nepal and is currently recruiting ANU students to join her in another life-changing trip to Nepal in 2018.
I was halfway through grade one of primary school when I was told my brother and I were going to leave Korea and study English in Sydney. I didn’t even know where Australia was.
I was 12 years old when my family decided to permanently move to Cairns, Queensland. I didn’t know how to correctly pronounce ‘really’ nor spell ‘camouflage’.
I was 17 when I became an Australian citizen.
Now I am 19, and having my childhood built over two continents instilled something special in me.
I have lived almost half my life in Korea and the other half in Australia.
People often ask me: ‘Are you Korean or Australian?’ I thought, how could I possibly choose? I am neither just Korean nor just Australian. I am both. To decide between them is as difficult as choosing your left arm over your right. Is day or night the best? You cannot have one without the other. Australia is my home by choice and Korea is my home by birth. Without each other, my identity is incomplete. Therefore, I am both. To be asked which one would be to deny both because one without the other is only half of who I truly am. One makes the other better; it’s the knowledge of one that feeds the love of the other.
Having spent half a semester already at university, high school seems like decades ago, but there is one night that I simply cannot forget. Formal – an event where Year 12 students wear their most beautiful gowns and suits and head for a night to remember. I wanted to make a statement; I wanted my dress to be a true symbol of who I am and what I am proud of. Hanbok is a collective term for traditional Korean clothing. It is often worn at special ceremonies and every dress is uniquely beautiful. Whether by coincidence or fate, the Australian flag and the Korean flag both consist of the colours blue, red, and white. I’m no artist, and certainly not a designer, but I am a girl proud of her two cultures. As a symbol of pride for both of my cultures, I designed a traditional Korean dress in these colours for my Year 12 formal, reflecting the symbiosis of both countries in me. I had the opportunity to proclaim to the world that I am both Korean and Australian.
My childhood was beautifully created in Asia and my teenage days were crafted with unforgettable adventures within the Australia’s tropical wonders of nature. Just like the dress. To all those who come from a diverse background: embrace your cultures, be proud of the differences. Take every opportunity to talk about your roots. Be fearless.
Comments Off on Malala Yousafzai: A Bittersweet Collision of National and International Aspirations
Hiba Akmal is studying international relations and is an international student, originally from Saudi Arabia and Pakistan.
‘I am sad watching my uniform, school bag and geometry box. I felt hurt on opening my wardrobe and seeing my uniform, school bag and geometry box. Boys’ schools are opening tomorrow.
But the Taliban have banned girls’ education.’
‘My Swat is also very beautiful but there is no peace.’
Here is a collection of sentences from the anonymous blog written by a young girl in 2009, chronicling her existence under Taliban rule in Swat Valley, Pakistan. It is a province of sloping, elegant valleys and crystal waters that reflect a blanket of clear blue sky above. However, when I read her diary, it is a passion for education, a passion for her home and the fear of losing both that lies quivering between the lines, entry after entry after entry.
Ironically, it was a near-fatal bullet to the head which amplified her voice beyond the protective silence of secrecy and into the international amphitheatre. Today, Malala Yousafzai is a household name, lauded by the international community but curiously, received with scepticism and ire amongst her compatriots. I realised that this intriguing dichotomy runs deeper than a superficial dismissal of her global stardom. It struck me as an uncomfortable juncture between national and international narratives.
Malala embodies a historic, feminist message. However, it was realised against a political context, giving her call nuances of political overtones: Education is not only a human right that needs to be restored to the female population, but it also is a profound instrument of resistance. Resistance against the tyranny and misogyny of de facto Taliban control in north-eastern Pakistan.
In the War against Terror, the Taliban constitute a primary enemy, and Pakistan the big power, proxy playground. As torrents of US authorised drones hailed over Taliban strongholds, the once serene Swat Valley and its people become collateral damage. The young girls of Swat were suffering twofold. Thus Malala’s message was recognised out of a painful necessity, but once her plight made international headlines, the root cause faded into the background. While Malala began collecting the accolades of her bravery, the blog-less, bullet-less girls of Swat Valley stagnated outside barred classroom doors, under austere Taliban rule. It is this contrast of recognition and neglect that provokes a disturbing hypocrisy. The girls of Swat became forgotten props behind the Malala narrative.
And narrative indeed, the Malala story is the media’s apple in a global Garden of Eden. We can’t help but romanticise it. We savour the fruit and forget the branch from where it was picked. A young girl barely escapes martyrdom as she nobly resists oppression under a global enemy. Miraculously resuscitated through foreign medical finesse, she becomes a cover girl for third world feminism and education rights. Allow me to be figurative for I am conveying impressions and sentiments, not scrutinising facts and figures. Basically, while a glamorous narrative of heroism and education rights dazzled the international community, the morbid prologue was hurriedly flicked past.
This is not an attack on IGO’s and global gratitude over the movement Malala has come to be synonymous with. I am deeply grateful that a figure of such international respect has come from my home country. I am an ardent supporter of international activism, platforms of global recognition and all other pillars that come together in our international community for the service of development and awareness. This is me dipping my feet in the water, realising the pond is much deeper and complex than it seemed from afar when I first questioned why Malala received such mixed responses.
But others may question whether Malala has become alienated from her cause. Indeed she is now geographically distanced from Swat by swathes of European and Middle Eastern territory and comfortably resides in the lap of peaceful British society. From this distance she continues her activism by spreading her efforts across a broader scope, representing Pakistan and servicing the world’s young girls with a selfless maturity. The Malala Fund seeks to create ‘a world where every girl can complete 12 years of safe, quality education.’
So, is Malala a hero? Indeed, she has provided a mobilising, legitimising face to a world cause. Is Malala Pakistan’s hero? Here the affirmative is not as resounding. Malala’s scope has outgrown Swat Valley, and she now is a global ambassador for her movement. History shows that every movement, has a leader which plants it, waters it and watches it bloom. I believe her potential to mobilise Pakistani’s in the pursuit to advance the development of our nation – making education accessible to all and empowering women to reach their potential – has been lost amidst a far larger crowd. So it’s a bitter story, immensely sweet for the world’s young girls, and a bit bitter for those who saw in her an opportunity to heal our nation.
Thivya Rohani is a fourth-year law/international relations student with Peranakan Chinese, Malay and Tamil Heritage.
‘Regardless of race, language and religion’ says the national pledge of Singapore. But how accurate is this phrase? How well is it upheld in the city state which proudly proclaims itself as all-inclusive and harmonious? Discussions of privilege and oppression often incite denial and deflection by the beneficiaries of the system – the Chinese majority – but they must be addressed. It is crucial to tackle this rationally, as opposed to sweeping it under the rug – something that’s almost innate to the masses in Singapore.
To understand the struggles and difficulties that minorities in Singapore face, a breakdown of its composition is crucial. There are four main races in Singapore – Chinese, Eurasians, Malays and Indians – making up the population of 5.7 million. The Chinese population also forms roughly 73 per cent of the nation, thus making them the clear majority.
However multi-cultural, -racial or -religious it trumpets itself to be, Singapore still has a long way to go when it comes to being inclusive and unbiased. And instead of continuously shoving harmony down the throats of citizens like me, Singapore would do better to address the ongoing structural inequities and institutionalised racism. Declaring an annual ‘Racial Harmony Day’ and constantly preaching about principles of meritocracy – Parliament’s favourite pastime – does not mean that we have removed all the implicit bias.
The media is hardly an avenue that allows adequate representation of the minority races. Advertisements and television shows do not present equal opportunities to minority talent unless they require someone to be cast as the thief, a gang member or an extra in the background.
Casual racism is also a problem. Minority races are also often used as a tool of fear or as the punchline of a joke. As sickening as it sounds, it is commonplace for the majority to say, ‘You had better finish your food or do XYZ task, or I’ll get the Indian man to catch you’.
It’s almost as if minority races exist to be ridiculed, but try voicing this out to a Chinese person and chances are they’ll kung fu their way out of it. See what I did there? Wasn’t very cool, was it? Likely to turn you off any discussion, right? Those are the type of jabs minority races are often subjected to and expected just to accept – whether it be on television, in school or the workplace.
Even stereotypes, which affect all races, including majority ones, favour the Chinese – as they are considered crafty, hardworking and dollar savvy. On the other hand, minority races are often mocked as unmotivated, violent and even foul-smelling. Is it not peak privilege when even stereotypes paint a positive image of the majority?
Singaporeans beauty standards are also almost always compared to the ‘Chinese normal’. Fair skin and silky straight hair is being celebrated, while darker skin tones and curly hair are misrepresented – portrayed as unattractive and undesirable. A minority race who satisfies the ‘Chinese normal’ is then complimented as being ‘pretty for an [insert race]’. Singaporean society is unabashedly conditioned only to appreciate the ideals and norms of the majority race.
Minority struggles in Singapore are paralleled to the oppression faced in Western societies. However, as Singapore is predominantly Asian, racism is carelessly brushed aside, as if racial hierarchies and dominance don’t exist in non-western societies. There is diversity and hierarchy amongst Asians themselves, and this should not be ignored.
Evidently, there are a plethora of issues surrounding racism, oppression and daily micro-aggressions that are faced by minorities in Singapore. But instead of repeating how this discussion is divisive and sensitive (as is often the case), it is time now we tackle them head on.