Cirrus@Austlit

'There is no singular beginning to this piece. To start by telling the story of events that occurred on a single date is to begin with a sense of a specific beginning. Yet history does not have a definitive starting point, and as I am writing about Gaza, about Palestine, about Israel, about war and settler-colonialism and intergenerational trauma, we could place our finger anywhere on the topographical map of our collective pain and say: 'start here', and even then, we would not have the whole story.'  (Publication abstract)

'It was around 4 pm on Tuesday 12 July 2022. I'd been standing by the window for a while now, looking at the dusk slowly stretch itself on the city ahead, gathering courage to look down.' (Publication abstract)

'In 1999, John Howard attempted to insert the word “mateship” into the Constitution, arguing that it had been reimagined as an inclusive national ideal. This article looks at the history and meaning of mateship, followed by a discussion of contemporary Australian attitudes towards it. The data we use in this article is from a voluntary survey (the Australian Mateship Survey) conducted by the authors, which asked respondents (N = 576) how they define mateship and how they feel about the term. The results indicate that a majority think mateship is a key feature of Australian identity but have concerns when the idea is politicised. A sizable minority believe the term is gendered and racialised and, therefore, is not inclusive of all Australians. Further, the survey suggests that a wide range of opinions exists even among those who do believe mateship has national significance. Twenty years after Howard’s attempt to enshrine mateship in the Constitution, this article suggests that the concept remains too divisive to serve as a core Australian value.' (Publication abstract)

'From a young age, names preoccupied me. As a child I didn’t like my name and I would often daydream about changing it. Na’ama (in Hebrew, נעמה (was too heavy for me. The lips must be open for too long to speak it, the tongue pressed to the floor of the mouth, held down by the weight of the letters. ‘Na’ama’ requires work. It weighed on my small child body, too old-fashioned, too long, too heavy. I wanted something lighter, a name one can speak with ease. As a pastime, I’d try other names for size. When I read a book, I would sink into the sound of the protagonist’s name. Most often I would dream about being called ‘Shir’ (Hebrew, שיר ,(which, in Hebrew, means ‘song’. Shir is light and short; it doesn’t demand the same contortion of lips and mouth as Na’ama does. It can be spoken with tenderness. One can’t say ‘Shir’ without breaking into a smile.' (Introduction)