Everything about my life is a product of western culture.
Objectively, this doesn’t come as too much of a surprise given my Australian upbringing.
Now it gets a little concerning when my only engagement with varying cultures, specifically Asian culture, has come from a completely Western viewpoint. Films like The Last Samuraiand Lost in Translation, although presenting themselves as thinly veiled avatars of Asian culture, are still predominantly constructed with the western gaze in mind.
This exposure, or lack thereof, has been profoundly influenced by my cultural context. Growing up on an Australian farm during the early part of the 21st century isn’t exactly an ideal scenario for contact with culturally diverse images and messages. This not only affected the frequency with which I came into contact with these varying modes of media, but also the way in which I interacted with them when I finally did…
When Angela Lansbury first sung the song ‘Tale as Old as Time’, referencing the relationship between Belle and the strangely endearing Beast, little did audiences know how literal the song actually was. The 1991 original Beauty and the Beast was remade this year in a compelling, star-filled, live-action blockbuster that had many moviegoers, both old and new alike, reeling in anticipation for its release. Although the tale of love is as old as time, producers and writers of the film felt it necessary (as they should), to include subtle reference to the diverse spectrum of love within our world. Although nothing monumental, the simple scene of two male characters dancing together was enough to warrant outcry in Hong Kong, Singapore and Russia, and also calls for censorship within Malaysia. Due to this, Disney had the film’s release date postponed in the country.
Abdul Halim, film censorship board chairman, said he did not know why the film was postponed by Disney. “We have approved it but there is a minor cut involving a gay moment. It is only one short scene but it is inappropriate because many children will be watching this movie,” Halim said. Abdul Halim’s confusion following his futile attempt at cutting the final four minutes reveals a startling, yet not surprising reality; in a world as diverse as our own, who gets to decide what is and isn’t obscene, and what are the implications for both queer representation and human rights when these ‘obscene’ images are cut?
When we refer to notions of obscenity, images that come to my mind in particular may be an extensive sex scene, the application of illicit drugs, or grotesque use of violence. Rarely would I, or anyone else I know, classify two fictive men dancing together as ‘obscene’. If one or the other of the former were removed, or even downgraded in intensity, the film would surely suffer no repercussions regarding fictional or existent narratives. The removal of the fictional ‘gay scene’ from Beauty and the Beast on the other hand creates a chasm, inhibiting progress by virtue of obstruction of exposure and discourse. But therein lies the key to understanding the complexities of global media censorship.
In recent years, studies surrounding the practice of censorship have challenged the traditional view of censorship as the deployment of repressive state power (Cossman, 2013). Scholars, influenced heavily by the works of Foucault and Bordieu, have sought to focus on the potentially productive nature of censorship, and the way in which particular understandings of the concept can manifest differently within varied contexts (Cossman, 2013).
A lot of the perceptions of ‘obscene culture’ derive from traditional religious doctrine and worldviews; the duality of wrong versus right, good versus bad. As is the case in most countries, religion, morality and law have a strong and unyielding history. So it comes as no surprise to a lot of us, that countries with more literal relations with their religious and social teachings have decreed images of ‘untraditional’ sexuality and gender as falling outside of their realm of comfort.
But is this mere perception, and censorship actually dangerous?
Simply, from a human rights perspective, yes.
The danger comes from the weight, political importance, and emotion increasingly attached to issues of gender and sexuality. According to the Human Rights Watch, this ‘weight’ can manifest itself through the simple act of splicing, so as to remove ‘contentious’ aspects of a film. In cases like Beauty and the Beast, censorship evolved from protecting audience members from visually disturbing images and words, to a site of resistance and discursive struggle over sexual normativity.
Finding ways to respond to fundamentalisms in human rights terms is complex, and crucial. Although major film studios are divisions within global conglomerates, operating on a constant basis of imports and exports, independent censoring regulations still exist due to reigning, and at times repressive, socio-political customs. Due to the varying countries that censorship occurs within, particular actions to combat this phenomenon is difficult. In the case of Disney, withholding the text seemed to be the only viable action to take. Social campaigns, such as would be the case if this occurred in the U.S., seem all but obsolete unless conducted by members of the country.
So, in a world as diverse as our own, who gets to cut out the queer part?
I remember the first time I stepped foot in Seaworld.
It was new and exciting- an experience I had been looking forward to for weeks, as preconceived ideas constantly filled my 10 year old head in the lead up.
Walking through the steel park gates, the white walls looming over me, I was astounded by the size of the place. There were gift stores to the left, food vendors to the right, and the much anticipated enclosures right in front.
Peering into the enclosures, with greasy palms fixed firmly on the glass and our eager eyes darting left and right at any signs of movement, this was a place that created and fulfilled a lot of our childlike desires. We were children standing face-to-face with polar bears, seals, dolphins, and the widest array of fish you had ever seen. This truly was a world filled with every wonder of the sea, but this issue is, this isn’t their world.
The name ‘Seaworld’ given to the park highlights a real, and ever-growing issue among the public and its perceptions toward the animal kingdom. We all know that this constructed building built for audience consumption is in no way a substitute or resemblance of the ocean, but we a lead to believe that it is through marketing, language and, shock horror, the media.
When we look at the evolution of animals with regard to the way they appear in human history, their references are vast. Through language, cultural products and childhood imagery, the use of the animal as a service tool for the human existence is profound and pervasive.
However, our fascination with animals as extending beyond sentient lifeforms that we co-exist with in the world isn’t a new phenomenon. Researcher John Berger believes that looking at animals, and incorporating them into our culture is only a recent activity, with the earliest signs only being documented in the early 19th century.
Unsurprisingly, this transition has had unhealthy, and unsustainable impacts on the animal. the animals in question are marginalised and collectively removed from the publics thinking. This can be explicitly seen through animal food products wherein they are not even thought of with reference to their animal origins. The worst steak used to replace the words cow meat, the word bacon used to replace the words pig meat. But this is also seen through the images presented on the animal products, which generally depict pastoral, happy images and neglect to reveal to the audience the true origins and processes behind the packaging and sale of their product.
Lying in my bed, with my fresh linen sheets draped over me, I’m awoken by the dull buzzing of my phone on the wooden floor of my bedroom.
It’s my twitter account, and it was going crazy.
Squinty-eyed and still more asleep than I am awake, I fumble for the phone and unlock the screen. Clothed in a bright red shirt, Aylan Kurdi laid lifeless, face down in the sand on a Turkish beach in September 2015. The image was everywhere, and all major news outlets were like a horse-out-of-the-gates, documenting what little was known. In a country not plagued by the horrors of war, genocide or daily life-threatening decisions, this image of a child’s lifeless body had everyone talking, and rightly so. We often glaze over, or even become desensitised to the vivid imagery we see in our media. However, among the cacophony of pain and warfare sprayed across our screams, a singular photograph is often taken, and used as an icon of this suffering- and little Aylan brought much needed attention to a crisis that lacked a lot of coverage in our mainstream media.
Sitting upright, emotionless and confronted by the image before me, I was hypnotized by the little red shirt that was filling my timeline. Nestled in my bed, as the sun creeping through my blind onto my eyes became the only present disturbance in my room, I was confronted with a sickening realisation of the dichotomy presented to me. Peering into the lives of people and worlds far beyond our reach, images like this present questions and issues that are important for us as a society to discuss.
Firstly, why did this image take centre stage, showcasing an issue the media has been following for decades? Since the genesis of the Arab Spring, thousands of photos have entered our mainstream media, documenting the refugee crisis that was born from this conflict. Images, such as the one displayed above, have been used countless times by publications such as Time and NYTimes to both sensationalise, and passively dehumanise the ‘faceless’ faces staring back at us. But the image of Aylan in particular evoked a mass response by the public worldwide, and although it may have not been at the right time, or for the right reason, there was an immediate horror presented to them that they could not turn a blind eye to. (Sontag, 2003)
But who has the authority, or right to look upon these images? Or should it even be shown at all because of its graphic content?
These were the questions asked by a lot of mainstream media offices and audiences.
The night I first witnessed the image, Channel 10’s The Project ran a segment dedicated solely to the discussion of this image, its effect, and by virtue of this, the refugee crisis. A disclaimer though was rained out among the audience- the image will not be shown as it was considered as ‘too distressing for viewers’ (Ting, 2015). The segment was filled with astute dissection of the issue by the routine panel, and on-air tears by co-host Carrie Bickmore.
The concern however was oddly inversed, and the audiences emotional wellbeing was held above the pressing matters occurring across the ocean. Unlike Aylan’s family’s inability to be censored from the cruelty of their lived experiences and environment, the audiences of this program were given a hall pass to evade the true questions that the image poses.
The issue with the mainstream media is that the images displayed on our phones, in our papers, and our televisions become a commodity. The audience views this suffering, they ponder on it for a little bit, and in most cases, move on with their lives in blissful ignorance a week later. It generates a spectator culture, that Richard suggests can coax people into believing that there is ‘no real suffering in the world’ (Richard, 2010).
This is a view that Sontag further explores, problematizing the placement of the viewer as a mere global spectator who utilises media sources as a lens to peer into, and to discuss the experiences of those around the world.
‘Perhaps the only people with the right to look at images of suffering, are those who could do something to alleviate it.’ (Sontag, 2003, pp. 37).
However, with one argument, there is always a counter. Leading the charge was The Independent, which placed the pervasive image in question on its front cover. Without uttering a word, the paper indirectly took a stance on this debate, by being a brute force on the perpetuation of discussions surrounding this issue. This move was seen by many as a battle cry, evoking an emotional uproar by audience members in an attempt to push them toward change and effective conversation.
But the question still reigns- why did this image take centre stage and not the others? Laurent argues that the ethnicity of the person in question plays a strong role in the reception of an image. Through problemtising the wide-spectrum of images present within our media, he states that ‘dozens of African kids have been washed up on the beaches of Libya and were photographed and it didn’t have the same impact’ (Laurent, 2015). This argument can be supported during the segment of The Project mentioned beforehand. Host Carrie Bickmore exclaims ‘that could be my child’, mimicking the sentiments of many parents within Australia. This notion of ethnocentrism isn’t a new phenomenon, and is a startling crisis that subconsciously compels audience members to differentiate between the various forms of suffering and poverty they witness, placing it on a spectrum of importance.
Considering all above, we are presented with two courses of action as global citizens. One, we can sit idly by and continue to consume the images suffering and poverty we see within our media. Or two, we can use these images as tinder, to fuel the fires within us for political and social reforms. Always remember, just like with the selfie, start small and the ripples will surely spread out.
Sitting at my desk, head weighing down on my upward-bent arm, I aimlessly scroll my Instagram feed. The procrastination practically dripping from my finger-tip, I direct the page upward, and upward, displaying an exorbitant amount of ‘selfies’. They are pervasive, well-lit, and in some cases, worthy of that double-tap. But like the centuries old adage, a picture tells a thousand words, selfies reveal, and in some cases, create a narrative for the audience to involve themselves in.
Although selfie’s can often be done on a whim, in an attempt to indulge in one’s vanity, in most cases they reveal routine, and are a product of that routine. As a medium, the selfie captures the everyday ‘real-life’ of the photographer, placing the audience in the viewing chair that peers into a brief moment of their day. It exposes a particular hobby, a mundane task, a routine location. Due to this fundamental characteristic, the selfie is often argued to be juvenile and lighthearted in both its intent, and portrayal. This dialogue often presupposes that the selfie is arbitrary and a means to perpetuate ones own narcissistic tendencies. This is aptly viewed with the media frenzy surrounding Obama’s ‘Nelson Mandela Memorial’ selfie.
This selfie in particular was argued by many, both in the media and in the general public, to be immature, disrespectful and unbecoming of someone in the position of presidency. The issue did not fall on the fact that a photo was taken at a memorial, but that the camera was inversed and a photo was taken of the photographer, by the photographer. This public reaction speaks to the climate of contempt surrounding the practice of selfies, and the disregard of their power.
What many tend to discount, often clouded by the narcissist claims flooded by the media, is the transformative capabilities of the selfie. When the selfie is coupled with objects and dialogues that are imbued with authority, such as the hashtag, it has the ability to challenge particular notions of power, like capital and control (Hirsh, 2016). The argument that the selfie is ‘hyper-ordinary’ is not entirely false, as it is because of its alignment with the ‘everyday’ body that the selfie is able to enact particular influences over these notions of power. The selfie is accessible, and easy to capture, hence making it an extremely viable vehicle of reform for many in the public.
Take for instance the selfie phenomenon ‘Men in Hijabs’ that was plastered all over news outlets around the middle of 2016. In essence, men in Iran were wearing hijabs and posting it to their respective social media accounts in a display of solidarity with woman across the country who are forced to cover their hair when they are in public. Wearing a headscarf, also known as a hijab, is systemically enforced within the country by ‘morality police’. If deemed unacceptable, punishment can range from fines to imprisonment. The genesis of this social media movement comes from Masih Alinejad, an Iranian activist and journalist based in New York. Using the hashtag #meninhijabs, Ms. Alinejad urges Iranian men to post these selfies on their social media accounts. The selfie in itself is not an inherently political medium, however in this case, it was able to lend itself to political purposes. Through the utilization of the selfie, men all around Iran were able to challenge particular notions that are considered by the general public as normal and mandatory, however wrong it is. The men, through their postings of the selfie and the aggregation of it via a hashtag, were able to hold government officials and political/legal policies to account for their actions.
It must however be noted, that in order for a selfie to be seen with power, it must stand for something new or have be supported by a large following. It is because of this that in most cases, the polticised selfie is closely associated with the networked term, ‘the people’. Through the use of the hashtag, the selfie is able to transition from a state of immobilization, to a collective life online that is able to spread the message being communicated. Mottahedah supports this notion, further explaining that is its ‘little wonder then that political figures co-opt the selfie when they attempt to align their voices with the voice of the people. As part flesh and part data, the selfie embodies the virality of the people’s networked presence both online and off’ (Mottahedah, 2015).
As a frequent user of social media, I think it is outmoded to cast selfies off as nothing more than a narcissists drug so to speak. Although it can be used as a means to update your social media following, when imbued with objects of power, the selfies capability at enacting particular social and political reforms can be seen.
So next time you mock the use of selfies in activism, just think that maybe it could change the world.
The other day I found out that one of my friends works at a video store. This shocked me, because to my knowledge, they had all but shut down. I thought everything was either online, or on the television screen. Although this may seem adverse, media industries are infinitely evolving and expanding to further appeal to audience. A case which the streaming service Netflix has taken as its motto.
Traditionally speaking, the television and film business has been considered as a relatively unpredictable environment regarding audience viewership. “Nobody knows” was coined as a maxim of the media industry, referencing the uncertainty of audience behaviour. This trend is evident almost every year, with television shows cancelled after just one season and highly anticipated films flopping at the box office *cough cough* We Are Your Friends.
The genesis of Netflix in 1997 however revolutionised the way in which media is consumed by the audience, vastly altering how the media industry operates and understands audience viewership (McDonald, 2013).
The process of show analysis was primarily established as a means to measure commercial viewing, with key revenue demands motivating and influencing what was presented on the screen. However, as the understanding of audiences exponentially inclines, large implications are being observed about the relationship between creative industries, and the effect that this has on the audience (Lotz, 2014).
With a focus on data-driven analysis, compared to the emphasis placed on originality enforced by other creative industries, Netflix is able to separate itself from its competitors by having access to data that the other industries lack. Now of course, you are all probably thinking ‘what about ratings?’. Sure, traditional media industries receive ratings about the demographics of their viewership, but this is incomparable to the data received by Netflix. Netflix is fully aware of who their customers are. They know when they are watching, what and how much they watched, on what device it was viewed on, the sequences of their selections, and so on. What this data reveals to me, and a lot of media researchers, is that Netflix places emphasis on creating value for its customers.
Through characteristics such as the recommendation system, low subscription fees, high-resolution viewing, immense variety and ease of access, Netflix ensures customer retention. Through this, the reliance that traditional creative industries have on advertising, Netflix has no need for. This move toward online, subscription-based services although seems highly advantageous for the public, especially considering the avoidance of advertising, one must question the effects that this revolution is implicating on the media culture, especially within the context of Australia.
On the Australian version of the network, an ‘Australian Movies’ section has been established. The category contains exclusively Australian produced films, such as Muriel’s Wedding, in a possible attempt to combat anxieties surrounding the shift toward overseas media sources.
Although this inclusion is a great asset to the service with regard to the preservation and maintenance of Australia cultural elements, the range is still remarkably small by comparison to the rest of the choices.
Although free-to-air television in Australia has a requirement to broadcast at least 55% of Australian content on its screens, effective by the Broadcasting Services Act 1992, aiding in the perpetuation of cultural interest, it unfortunately does not stack-up to the free-reign of Netflix (Evans, 2016). Having to meet no quota, Netflix is able to ever-expand its content based purely on what audience’s love.
Netflix in and of itself is a vast improvement in our media industry, speaking from an audience perspective. It increases accessibility, and ensures audience retention by allowing choice unseen by previous creative industries. However, speaking from a cultural perspective, I can understand the concerns for the general public. But, in saying that, I feel that they may be misguided. Australian cultural elements are uniquely iconic, accumulating an audience due to their Australian heritage. Take for instance the arguably horrid American version of ‘Kath and Kim’, which because of its cultural context, did not succeed.
Netflix provides a complement to our viewing experience, and the audience is greatly relishing in its treasures.
Broadcasting Services Act 1992 (Cth).
Evans, N 2016, ‘Week 6 Lecture’, lecture, BCM232, University of Wollongong, delivered 4 April 2016.
Lotz, A 2014, ‘The Television Will Be Revolutionised’, edition 2, New York, pp. 228-232.
McDonald, K 2013, ‘Digital dreams in a material world: the rise of Netflix and its impact on changing distribution and exhibition patterns’, Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, no. 55.
Parked on the side of the road, vehicles rushing by and plastering our faces with a cruel reminder of the temperature of the day, we raise our phone’s sky high in an attempt to attain just one single bar on our mobile phone signal.
We are lost, and Google Maps serves as the answer to our problem.
We want to get from point A to B, and we want the quickest route possible. Without a second thought, due in part to our predicament, we follow the recommended route and reach our destination. This reliance on the maps as an objective truth, without thought, proposes the question; What power does it have over our reality?
For many, myself previously included, Google Maps is considered as a purely accurate guide on how to travel between two given points in the world. However, contrary to popular belief, maps implicate change, and aid the motives of those in control of its construction. In his study, Rethinking the Power of Maps (Wood, 2010), cartographer Denis Wood broadly claims “Maps propose the existence of things”. The word ‘propose’ here denotes the uncertainty of maps in determining an accurate representation of our reality, irrespective of the publics acceptance of this ‘neutrality’ and reality. This inaccuracy can often have wide-sweeping consequences.
This is highlighted quite clearly through the ‘disappearance’ of the Chiswick Bridge in West London in 2015. Due to a glitch in the software, Google Maps completely erased the bridge that ran over the River Thames. This malfunction resulted in the rerouting of traffic to a course eight kilometres farther, and 18 minutes longer, regardless of the bridge still existing (BBC 2015). The map was able to control not only the behaviours of a mass of people, but also altered the public’s graphic understanding of their surroundings. For many, the absence of a bridge was interpreted as a reality, which directly impeded upon their daily behaviour.
But the power of maps extends beyond just the control of human behaviour, but utilises this control to promote the interests of those who created them. Director of Google Maps, John Hanke, was quoted as saying that he views “location-targeted ads as a very large business opportunity…” (Strom, 2013). Within Google Maps, every business owner is allowed to list their business as a ‘Google Place’, which consists of a small, generic symbol on the map. For a price, advertisers are able to upgrade from this generic, and highly-used symbol, to their own logo. Through this, Google Maps is actively facilitating the prioritisation and hierarchical ordering of businesses based on capital wealth. This power over the visibility of businesses is unsettling, as it furthers the divide between business competition and makes an attempt at aiding in the construction of mega-industries, whether intentionally or not, by virtue of public access and prominence. The main interests that this map underwrote, and penned graphically, was evidently of those in capital power, which by virtue of using this method of organisation laid claim to Google Maps main value; money. This is clearly expressed through a research task conducted in Kentucky, 2005. Researchers entered the word ‘pizza’ into Google Maps search results, and were presented with a wide array of local pizzeria’s, including only one Pizza Hut. Exactly a year later, the search was replicated but the results revealed now 3/4 of pizza businesses advertised were Pizza Hut. The company was argued to have “exercised financial pressure onto Google as to what it records as ‘nearby’” (Evans, 2016).
This example, and examples previously stated, explicitly emphasise the almost life-like capabilities of maps in altering human behaviour. Although these modes of power, such as advertising and route selection can prove to be daunting, it must not be forgotten that autonomy is still a quality that we posses. Although Pizza Hut may have the money to expand their advertising reach, I personally hate their pizza and will always eat somewhere else, irrespective of what Google Maps tells me.
Student funding has always been a point of contention among university students and researchers. Funding by the government was made available to university students aged 17-21 in July 1998, specifically targeting those with a lower source of income either from external or family sources. The implementation of these policies was strongly motivated by the financial barriers to Higher Education faced by many students originating from lower socio-economic backgrounds. Over the next decade, numerous changes and provisions were made to increase the quantity of financial loans offered to students in Australia, even though the quality has slowly eroded. This increase in demand highlights the underlying need of university students to acquire supplementary means of income. This requirement for income underlines the struggle of many university students in participating in part-time work, whilst simultaneously aiming to achieve their academic requirements. This relationship between student finance and academic achievement has become a frequent topic of debate among many academics and researchers, with more than two thirds of university students undertaking part-time work. A recent study showed that the percentage of the population with a bachelors degree or higher in 2011 was 18.8%, nine times over the percentage in 1970 (2%). With nearly 56% of younger university students (18-25) dependent on part-time work as a form of income to accommodate for the rising costs of university expenses, it has come as no shock that attitudes toward the university experience of students has changed drastically.
MOST COMMON OCCUPATIONS, HIGHER EDUCATION STUDENTS – 2011
Sales Assistants (General)
University Lectures and Tutors
Checkout Operators and Office Cashiers
Sales Assistants (General)
Bar Attendants and Baristas
Secondary School Teachers
Contract, Program and Project Administrators
Sports Coaches, Instructors and Officials
Primary School Teacher
Nursing Support and Personal Care Workers
(a) Aged 15-24 years. (b) Aged 25-64 years. Source: ABS 2011 Census of Population and Housing
With that being said, tertiary level students are currently being viewed as individuals who have to contend with varying forces that could impact upon their own academic performance. This view adoption has come as a direct result of students having to cope with the realities of finance and debt both before and during their involvement with Higher Education. Recent findings revealed that almost two-thirds of university students are living below the poverty line, with many requiring financial assistance beyond their part-time work commitments. Part-time work has been shown to impact on the academic performance of university students. More recently, a study by BYU Employment services stated the part-time employment had an adverse effect on the academic performance of students with regard to missed classes, and study opportunities. The report found that due to the finite state of resources such as time and energy, these were being spent more on part-time work to compete with the rising costs of living and tuition, rather than study (Hammond, 2006).
The purpose of this study is to examine the possible destabilising relationship between part-time work and academic performance among cross-disciplinary students at university. The study will aim to analyse the concepts of time management and causal stress with relation to the costs of living and study. The student sample will be separated based on factors such as living conditions, whether the student lives with a parent/guardian or on their own. It will also take into account the presence of students loans such a university grants and Centrelink payments, and how this can affect the students’ incentive and demand to work. The aims of the project are to determine the standard and level of student employment, to determine the financial liability of the students, and to determine whether the interplay of these two factors adversely affect academic performance.
The study will be comprised of both primary and secondary research. The primary research will take the form of a cross-degree, randomised survey conducted at the University of Wollongong. The survey will take influence from previous works by Smith and Taylor (1999), who conducted research at an ancient Scottish University. Smith and Taylor were however more interested in investigating the quality and quantity of student part-time work, and primarily did so by postal-service. Due to both question variations, as well as financial and time constraints, particular amendments will be made to the structure. Furthermore, due to ethical constraints of the task, direct discussion of mental health by virtue of the questionnaire will be omitted.
Within the questionnaire, I will record the following information:
Demographic Information (faculty information, living standards, expenses etc)
The reasons for working.
And whether working is perceived to have any affects on academic performance, either positive or negative.
This information will be pertinent in profiling the participants, that way any trends or correlations can be brought forth for further investigation.
It is no argument that technology has altered the way in which people interact and communicate with one another on a daily basis. What once was considered as a personable and authentic interaction, has ultimately transformed into an interaction that is digitally enabled, in the absence of direct human contact.
The question remains though; are these new forms of human interaction acting to the detriment of meaningful communication within our world?
I would like to argue no, and I would like to use my Nan as an example to do so.
Say hello to Susana Raquel Isern.
Susana’s experiences with the evolving nature of media landscapes and practices are quite extensive, to say the least.
Throughout her life experiences, Susana has had to adapt to the varying media advances as not only a result of the place in which she found herself in, but also the time in which these media interactions occurred.
There is a distinct interplay between these two factors when it comes to one’s experiences with the media, the way they interact with it, and the way this media influences the way in which people interact with one another in that given context.
It has been 45 years since Susana moved to Australia from Uruguay, and at the age of 23, life in Australia was a stark contrast to the humble upbringing that she had experienced in Uruguay.
Asking my Nan if she would like to be interviewed for this task with regard to her experiences with the media, her response was “how long do we have?”
Growing up in rural Uruguay, Susana’s experiences with the media at the time were limited. Her house, with its three bedrooms and thatched roof, was not privy to the expanding media landscape occurring in the cities of the world. Her family owned one radio, and received the newspaper every morning.
At this point in Susana’s life, the media was ineffectual in facilitating or forming interactions among individuals. Its sole purpose, especially in Susana’s household, was to inform and entertain its audience.
Reminiscing on a time long gone, Susana begins to detail her family’s daily collective interaction with the radio, her eagerness evident even through the audible hum of the telephone in which we speak through.
“There was this one show that my mother especially liked to listen to” she stated. “It only ran for half an hour, but as soon as it was time for the show to start, it was proclaimed throughout the house so that everyone could sit around the dining table and tune in together”.
The audio of the show was laced with the hushes and responses of the household as they all sat attentively around the table, consuming the cake and biscuits that Susana’s mother had prepared. “It was a daily ritual, and brought the whole family together” she stated.
In a community where traditional and personal interactions were exceedingly more common, Susana’s recollection about her family’s relationship with their radio reveals the evolving technological climate and the way in which it was beginning to alter the interactions that people were having.
(An example of trying individuals experiences and interactions with the radio)
The radio became a point of focus in Susana’s household, being the source of both the daily news and the comedy shows of the night. However, the silence that spread among the household whenever the radio was turned on is actually an apt example of the way in which the media at this point in time was altering human interactions. Due to the one-way flow of content, and the audiences lack of opportunity and capability to effectively answer back, the media promoted passivity and silence among its audience members. This is a key idea that C. Wright Mills discusses in his book entitled ‘The Power Elite’ (Mills, 1956), in which he highlights the implicit power that new media technologies can impose upon an audience, altering the landscape in which it is placed.
In this case, the landscape was Susana’s living room.
Although, the emergence, and purchase of the radio, altered Susana’s home environment, it ceased to have any real effect on her social interactions, and media interactions, within the wider community.
“Moving to Australia changed everything” Susana stated.
The rural town that Susana grew up in, an hours drive from Uruguay’s capital Montevideo, was a stark contrast to the modern, media dominated city of Sydney which she now lived. “Even contacting home was extremely difficult at the time”
Due to the lack of media development within Australia at the time, Susana would have to travel over an hour into the city in order to contact her family members.
“I would have to use an old phone booth in order to call an operator, who would then get in contact with the Uruguayan operator, who would then get in contact with my family. My family on the other end would then do the exact same. Sometimes I would have to wait hours before they replied.”
The same can be said with the other option of contact at the time; letters.
“Sometimes they would get lost, sometimes they wouldn’t reply, and if they did reply, it was a two-week turnaround. It became frustrating and a lot of effort” she said.
Due to the differences in time, location, and the current media available for contact, Susana would sometimes go for months between contact with her family back in Uruguay.
As a result of the year and Susana’s location and financial status, her interactions with the media, and thus with her family members, were vastly different to others. This phenomenon is aptly problematized by early studies conducted by Lasswell and Paul Lazarsfield who revealed that communication and interaction with the media is mediated in complex ways based on factors such as social context, class and geographical context. As a result of Susana’s location, and financial status, she was unable to interact with particular media forms which were essential to the maintenance of her relationships in Uruguay, which proved to be increasingly problematic.
However, 1997 changed everything for Susana when she received her first mobile phone.
Although quite a large device, that didn’t allow interaction past the permissible dialled phone calls, the mobile enabled Susana to interact with her family whenever she wanted, and most importantly, wherever she wanted.
This increased access to family members and friends, beyond those who were in your immediate presence, as a result of the mobile phone helped colonise Susana’s communicatory abilities beyond which was previously impossible. This also sparked an increased dependence on these new media technologies, due to their ability to unite Susana’s family regardless of their geographic location.
Over the years, Susana has increased her arsenal of technological devices, all in the name of staying connected to those she loves without physically having to travel.
“It’s a lot easier this way, and a lot cheaper obviously than travelling to Uruguay, or New Zealand to see my grandchildren and son.”
Susana now has accounts on Instagram, Facebook and Skype, which has allowed her to establish a ‘telepresence’ (Martin & Rizvi, 2014). A ‘telepresence’ is a feeling of being present within two places at the one time through the use of technology. This ‘telepresence’ is extremely evident through Susana’s extensive use of Facebook and Skype, which she uses to contact both her partner and family daily.
Over the years, there has been a lot of debate surrounding the use of media and its possible detrimental effects with regard to human interaction. Although this may be the case in some instances, in the context of Susana and her experiences over the past 60 years, the media has not only facilitated, but sustained relationships which would not have been possible otherwise. Susana’s use of media technologies, and the practices associated with them, has been a direct product of the social context and location of the interaction. And that right there is truly amazing.
Buchanan, I 2010, Dictionary of Critical Theory, Oxford University Press, New York.
For many reasons and for as many decades, the distinction between Muslims and people of Middle Eastern origin has become blurred, and a homogenised ‘Muslim’ identity has been cemented within Australia. This identity is often perceived as a threat to the national ideals of culture and security established within Australia over the past few decades. The media is often considered as the breeding ground of these inherently harmful stereotypes, and is in many cases the vessel through which these views become embedded within social discourses. Although the Muslim community are often considered as a homogenised and monolithic population, The Australian Bureau of Statistics indicates that Australian Muslims have origins in over 70 different countries around the world and occupy only 1.5% of the Australian population. As an accurately identified minority group with Australia, the public portrayal of Muslim woman has pushed adherents of the Islamic faith toward the fringes of society, as the solidification of pervasive stereotypes and accompanying public reactions remain a reality.
Media representation and coverage of the Muslim woman is not particularly balanced, especially with regard to their clothing. The hijab in particular is often seen as the catalyst for heated debates within society. Contrary to popular belief, a Muslim woman’s choice not to wear the Hijab does not make her any less of a Muslim, nor does it stand as a symbol of her oppression and passivity.
9-11 is often argued as the event which initiated the on-going political debates on terrorism and oppression, ushering in the pervasive narrative of Muslims as the dangerous and mysterious ‘other’ into the public sphere. These debates have intensified pre-existing allegations of misogyny, fanaticism, violence and illiberalism embedded within the community. Muslims, in many cases, experience high levels of discrimination, violence and institutionalised racism within Australia as a result of the divisive rhetoric of media outlets preserving these dominant stereotypes.
The audio-visual piece provides an exploration into the recurring effects of anti-Islam and homogenising stereotypes upon the Muslim woman. The notion that Muslim woman within Australia are oppressed is not only wrong, but inherently harmful and is aptly problematized within the piece. Behind the video is a black and white photo narrative, providing a platform for the interviewees to acknowledge the pervasive stereotypes within the Australian community, and expose their fundamental flaws.“A Muslim is someone who, plain and simple, follows Islam”