Category: Life

Books

personby Gillian Polack
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I have 2 posts for you in the same day because this week is suddenly impossibly different. I wrote the prior post before the massacre and am spending my whole Chanukah dealing with consequences for myself and friends. My Baltimore nephew just checked in on me and I never would have thought that, with US shootings, it would be he who had to check in on me.

If you need to understand what happened, ask me, and I’ll post more next Monday. In the interim, I’m seeing a total lack of knowledge about Jewish Australia. Loads of generic good wishes and concern for safety, and some friends write to me directly and most put general statements on FB and don’t think that, just maybe, every single Jewish Australian is in mourning. Some people are full of theories about the role of Israel and want to share their theory without stopping to say, first, that they’re sorry that so many people were murdered and they mourn with us. Their thoughts count more than the humans caught up in this mess. This is what happened here when we heard about the Tree of Life stuff from 2018. I have a friend who goes to that shul and I was there for her then and she’s there for me now and it’s all so wrong. We should be complaining about the weather, not worried about getting safely through the week.

Even the least antisemitic non-Jewish Australians other Jews. American friends help. I wish the reasons for you understanding were not so full of hurt, but I’m grateful to every single one of you who reaches out to me.

How do we handle this? For me, books always help. I posted about this on Facebook – I thought I’d copy my post for you here. maybe books help you, too. After all, Jewish Australia is very, very different to Jewish America. For one thing, we think we’re much wittier and we like our spelling more and… Australian Rules Football. (The footie is an argument in itself – ask me why sometime)

From FB, but with more notes):

Jewish Australia is in the news for the worst possible reason and it might help some people if they know who we are. Jewish Australians may not be many, but our culture is diverse and very Australian. I thought you might like some books to understand a bit better. I’ve included one of my novels, because it’s specifically about Sydney Jews and so that you can have a novel to read if the others are too much right now. It’s safer: the protagonist merely discovered she has Jew cooties – having Jew cooties was much less scary back then.

Apple, Raymond. The Great Synagogue: A History of Sydney’s Big Shule (one of the most important synagogues in the country, and definitely the most important Modern Australian Orthodox synagogue in Sydney, often targeted by marchers who claim they’re not bigots – not yet bombed – the recently-bombed synagogues were in Melbourne)
Baker, Mark The Fiftieth Gate (Mark was an historian, just ahead of me at university. Australia has/had per capita, the biggest Holocaust survivor population outside Israel and one of these survivors was murdered on Sunday. Mark had to deal with those issues as an historian and also a child of survivors. This is that book.)
Gawenda, Michael My Life as a Jew (very recent. Michael was the editor of a major newspaper and so experienced antisemitism quite differently to most of us. He was born in a displacement camp.)
Kofman, Lee and Tamar Paluch Ruptured (a new anthology that shows the path Jewish women walked in the time after October 7.)
Polack, Gillian The Wizardry of Jewish Women (I’ve written far more Jewish things than this, but this is a novel exploring Jewish Australia from the view of someone who nearly lost all their Jewish past. What’s important about it here, is that Judith’s friends are all people from the Left who would not even talk to her now. I’m exploring this a little in short stories, which my Patreon folk have been reading. When I have enough, I’ll think about a story collection. I’m only 2 stories away from enough.)
Rutland, Suzanne The Jews in Australia (the standard history, dated but a very handy introduction)
Sackville-O’Donnell, Judith The first Fagin: the true story of Ikey Solomon (This is a fun way of discovering what’s now Tasmania’s early Jewish population. The differences between Fagin and the guy who inspired him are immense and tell a lot about antisemitism and how it warps things.)
Zable, Arnold Jewels and Ashes (And Aussie classic, all about the last days of a family in Bialystock. Arnold is one of our best story tellers and helped me understand why my grandfather wouldn’t talk about his childhood nor his lost family. His father brought him to Australia in 1917 or 1918, and 35 years later there was no family in Poland at all. Arnold was the last family connection to leave. His family was on a boat on the way here and were banned from entry because Australia had put up fences to keep jews out. Arnold’s family managed to be accepted in New Zealand and they moved here later. In the book, Feivel is the one who married my mother’s cousin. 120,000 people is not a lot, but it’s an enormous number compared with the hundreds in Australia prior to 1810 or the thousands in most of the 19th century. Older families are very interconnected, which is why I have so many links with the authors of these books. I don’t have the same links with post 1950s arrivals – we’re a complex bunch.)

If you want more, try here: Australian Jewish Writers Database | Jewish Australia It’s not updated frequently and it’s not complete, but it gives you a sense of the range of Jewish voices in Australia. You won’t hear most of those voices at Australian literary conventions. I’d love to see suggestions for other books that talk about Jewish Australia.
We’re not a big community, and we only go back to 1788, but there are lots of connections between this group or that group. Some other writers have no idea I exist, while others have known me or my family forever. Through my family, I am connected to several other writers. Some of them have met me but are unlikely to remember me. My favourite example of this is Michael Gawenda. His sister married my uncle and Michael and I sat on the same table at my cousins barmie. Arnold Zable is another example. His most famous book includes relatives of mine. And one conference of the HNSA I found myself next to one of my favourite children’s writers… who turned out to be my aunt’s best friend. Others were connected through school or university: Mark Baker was just ahead of me at university, while Raymond Apple went to Sunday school with my mother when I asked him. He was my rabbi when I lived in Sydney.
How does this play out everyday? We catch up a bit when we see each other, or we do introductions from scratch because we didn’t know each other well as it was 20 years since last time, or (and this one happened to me recently) the usual checks on “Are we related” can turn into something hurtful.
One of the reasons Jewish Australians know each other is because we have a kind of verbal code to find out connections. We talk about relatives and their experiences past and present – this also works with almost anyone with a military background and, entertainingly, with the very far left – or it used to, when they would chat with me. One New Year’s Eve I was sitting with a member of the Communist Party of Australia and we chatted happily for ages because “You’re A’s cousin!” When someone has not had a traditional upbringing, they don’t know this and much hurt can ensue. This is a more recent phenomenon, and most arises when someone from the left needs the right shibboleths said to accept that I’m an acceptable Jew to talk to.

Anyhow, if you want to read more books or want to learn specific aspects of Australian Jewishness, just ask. Books help. Questions and answers help even more.

 

History and fiction and time out from hate

personby Gillian Polack
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I found my missing post. Here it is!

I logged in, expecting to tell you how the hate in Australia (which began as antisemitism and is now extending) is so tightly focused that your best friend might be bullied and you might not see it. When I’m alone, that bullying eats up a chunk of my day each and every day. This last week, however, it was less than a minute of each day and it was not every day. I was able to talk work with colleagues. When I sat down here, it struck me that I don’t often talk about that side of my life.

I used to. I used to be the kind of irrepressible historian who got excited for everyone. I’m still that historian. I don’t get to talk about it so often, is all.

Instead of dwelling on the bad side of life, then, let me find one page of notes from one day of the conference (one in forty-five pages of notes from the conference) so that you can enjoy history with me. We all need time out from hate, after all and every single US reader here had a lot more trouble to handle in the every day.

Some of you know that one of my novels (Poison and Light) is about how future humans use the past to hide from a present they found uncomfortable. Right now, a group of Australian scholars is examining how people in Early Modern England (and elsewhere, but the papers I heard were on Early Modern England) use history to imagine the future. The discussion was wide-ranging. They talked about witches and about ghosts, about predicting disaster and about what happened when the disaster failed to occur, about pamphlets and politics and poetry. It was the perfect panel for fiction writers and an exceptionally strong example of why fiction writers should get to know Medievalists and Early Modern scholars. Every other minute I thought of a writer who should have been there, asking questions about the ghosts and about the politics. The worlds they explain and the concepts they explore help us understand what we write and help us write it the best we can.

How does this understanding work in practice? My notes have an outline describing how the chair (and the head of the research project, who of course I talked to afterwards and of course we’ve planned to meet to talk about the science fiction side of things) breaks down the concepts of Imagining the Future into categories that can be explained.

She spoke about writing that give models of temporality: utopias, dystopias, and the mundane. Think about how these categories fit modern science fiction. Poison and Light is half-dystopia and half mundane, because all of my fiction talks about the lives of individuals and so the mundane is important to them. China Mieville (to my mind) writes dystopias and so does Sheri S Tepper.

But who writes utopias? I can think of earlier writers, like Sir Julius Vogel. Help me out! Who is writing now and has written a utopia that brings history into the future? We were given the theory of Star Trek, because it claims to be in a perfected future (at least for humans) but the reality of Star Trek is not utopian. Star Wars is, however, dystopian. It’s much easier to find examples when one looks to television. But I want to talk about novels!

She then moved to scales of temporality, whether the novel is set near (Earth!) or far away (Poison and Light again, since it’s in a solar system far far away – I may have attended the conference as an historian, but during this panel I felt so seen as a writer). With TV, my mind goes straight to the Jon Pertwee years of Doctor Who and compares them with (of course) Star Wars … again.

Why is the near and far important? Because so much of historical writing is used to discuss this apocalypse, or that. How far is apocalypse from our everyday? Much further, if it’s not on Earth. And here Poison and Light fails. It’s set far away, but Earth faces apocalypse while the people on New Ceres pretend they live in the eighteenth century. (I’m seeing this now with the lucky souls who are not enmired in hate – they are the people on New Ceres, while most of us are, alas, on Earth.)

I keep thinking that this whole project can help me understand my own New Ceres universe. I’m writing a second novel set on Earth next year, where the 14th century and the 17th century and how we deal with post-apocalypse join the party. My project echoes the ideas of people hundreds of years ago as humanity faces a bleak present. Where some people find refuge in fancy dress, others find refuge in explaining the world through ghosts and looking at neighbours as if they themselves are the catastrophe.

The last category asks whose future it is. Is it personal and everyday? Is it national? Is it a global future (my New Ceres again), a human one… or is it post-human.

The experts were historians and literary historians and most of the examples (by a long, long way most of the examples) belong to our past. The categories were however, really handy for questioning and understanding science fiction. And now you know why I will not give up that side of my life. I have learned so much in such a short time, and my fiction benefits.

Every time universities lose these experts, we lose the benefit of their thought and learning… and our everyday suffers.

Let me go away and think about what our lives would be like if we didn’t have these little injections of learning to help us tell better stories. No, let me not. Let me go away and write more fiction, celebrating the worlds of both historians and writers.

Talking History

personby Gillian Polack
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I spent a week in Melbourne. I learned a lot, mostly about the Middle Ages, because I was at one of my favourite conferences and so many scholars are breaking old walls and talking across disciplines and reducing bias. This is not universal. It’s Australian experts in the Middle Ages and in Early Modern history and literature. Also, it was one of those rare conferences where there was no antisemitism. There were individuals who were on the verge of saying something, but they looked up and caught themselves and found non-hateful ways of asking questions or of answering questions.

ANZAMEMS (the organisation whose conference it was) has a good history in this regard. I’ve been a member for squillions of years and, while sometimes I’ve been isolated, I’ve never experienced hate.

My most fun moment was when one of my undergraduate lecturers called on me at question time. He remembered my name… This is not always guaranteed 45 years after that degree.

My paper was about how museums tell stories of the past and how those stories can be worrying. I used one example, with a few pictures and compared it with some other museums. I played safe and the museum itself was in Germany. Several people came up to me afterwards and said that they need to read museum’s displays more critically.

What I intended to show (and what I actually showed, judging by the responses!) was that we take many of our stories from what we see and hear over our lives. When we’re not critical, we get so much bias and hate from well-intended people. I put my theory into practice at an in-service at the State Library of Victoria. The librarian was not at all impressed with me. She had claimed that the writers in some SF magazines on display were Australian, when every single one of them was American. The magazines were printed in Australia because of the really interesting politics in the US at that time, but they were still US magazines and are very famous for this. She also wasn’t entirely happy with me when I asked her why they only had Jewish ritual books and no other indication of Jewish book culture (or other Jewish cultures) when for every other ethnic or religious group on show they answered questions about books (authors, genre history, the nature of the book itself – the display using Islamic texts explained the texts, but was all about the binding and its brilliance and variation). Her excuse was “We borrowed the display objects from the Jewish Museum and this is what they gave us. I know the Jewish Museum. I used to teach the guides at the Jewish Museum. And I know their collection. That cabinet was part of a conversation between the two museums and for it to be only about the very-religious and without some of the basic explanations (why the miniature Torah was no longer able to be used was a very book-related query that was not asked nor answered) is due to the shape of that conversation. I want to know what the State Library asked for. Was it “Jewish items”? Was it ritual items? Was it book history (which was the subject of the exhibition)? There was a conversation that needed to happen before that display cabinet was filled, and it obviously didn’t happen or didn’t happen in the best way.

My conference was extraordinary in that it consistently asked the questions and discussed the answers and most topics were nicely nuanced. The SLV and the street marchers the day I arrived and the day I left were more typical of current Australia.

And I just realised I wrote you a post while I was away. It’s on my laptop and I haven’t downloaded it yet! Next week…

Who We Write About

personby Gillian Polack
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I just posted about one of my novels, Borderlanders, on Facebook. Let me share that post, and let me add to it.

Memories…
This was the book wanted by readers on FB. I noted (on FB, obviously) that my academic stuff had given me a way of writing a novel with a chronically ill protagonist where the protagonist remains the hero, is not cured, is not killed, and is not replaced. I was going to teach this method to others, but first COVID intervened and then antisemitism. I don’t get to teach much, these days. I may have to write another novel, having said this, because I learned so much in writing the novel that I could now write a much better one.
What’s very strange is, during these 5 years, more people I know have the illness my character had, due to long COVID. I’ve had it since I was in my twenties, but I’m one of the fortunate ones for whom it goes into abeyance. Right now, I’m trying to coax it back to sleep. Not everyone has that luxury, which is another reason why I should write another novel. Not yet, though. While it’s awake, every moment of every day is not straightforward, and I am behind on all my fiction.

This mysterious illness was known as chronic fatigue in Australia in the late 1980s, but these days it’s called ME and the fatigue is just a symptom. We know a lot more about it. One thing we know is why walking up the street can be so impossible. For some of us it can set the illness back, and for others it can destroy life entirely. This is why I consider myself so fortunate. I may have to not do much for a few months, but after that time I can do a little more and then a little more. This is just as well, because it’s only one of several illnesses I have and I have this daft desire not to be bedridden or die young.

For me, the most annoying symptom is when my executive function is not working. I lose time (sometimes weeks) and can’t do simple things. Oddly, I can still write books.

I always tell folks, do not assume someone can or cannot do a thing when they are ill. Ask them. And ask them each and every day if you must, because the small everyday can change. Some days I can walk up the street and back and I can write 6,000 words. Other days I can hardly get out of bed.

The illness is not just part of our everyday, it becomes part of who we are, for better or for worse.

I would like to see a superhero who has ME. It would be such a wonderful thing, watching them change the world… on days they can do more than toddle. And seeing how other people respond to the wild level of change they see when a powerful person has to watch what they do every minute would provide a great sub-text to a movie. It’s quite a different set of options than those for someone who cannot walk without assistance, or someone completely confined to bed who uses their amazing telepathic abilities to run the world.

There are so many amazing stories in the lives of the people we mostly prefer not to see. I now want to see a whole sequence of superhero movies or a TV series that focuses on those lives. There is a different sort of heroicism when one is not visible and has to fight just to get through the everyday, especially when they do astonishing things. Most of those astonishing things are attributed to someone else, because, of course, the invisible and half-seen can’t possibly be the heroes we dream of. Except, of course, they are. I get through my illnesses because of those people. Some of them are role models and some of them help when others don’t even begin to see that I might not be able to ask for help when things are bad.

One thing about this non-extent show: costumes would be far too problematic for some of the hidden heroes. So would heroic stances and being randomly interviewed by reporters. It would be such a different and fascinating set of stories.

In real life, I’ve met these invisible people in essential services. From a desk or from home they make a lot of the everyday possible for so many other folk.

One day, I will write that second book.

Changes in Weather

personby Gillian Polack
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 We’re in that time of year when things suddenly warm. We don’t know whether a given day will be spring or summer, normally. This year we don’t know if the negative temperatures of winter will also appear. It’s a bit too exciting and not good for those of us who handle chronic illnesses.

Each and every time this happens, there are cherries to ameliorate the pain. Another thing that ameliorates the pain is everyone’s children, at school, getting excited about the end of year activities and the count down to the long summer holidays.

This week, in the Australian Capital Territory, so many schools were closed down because of asbestos in sand. I do not know how the asbestos got through all the checks, but every parent I know is asking to work from home or taking early holiday, or rearranging shifts. A bit more warning may have made this straightforward, and friends like me could have taught random child-friends how to make spice mixes or bath bombs, but there wasn’t enough warning and all our days are being rearranged.

It’s a small excitement, compared with the rest-of-world, but it’s a lot of work for young families. We’ll be through it soon, and whoever ordered that sand will never, ever do something that stupid again. Then I can return to thinking about seasonal produce and what I need to do today myself. I have a very long list to work through, but there is no asbestos involved.

World building and living in difficult times

personby Gillian Polack
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Some weeks the world is so full of pain that it’s difficult to write something small and sensible.

I used to deal with such things by inviting friends to dinner. I love cooking and chatting and it was the perfect solution. In Australia right now, it’s only the perfect solution for someone who is close within the Jewish community. I am not this person, although I sued to be. That’s another story.

So many of my friends say “Sorry, too busy,” or “Next time.” Add that to my illnesses arguing with each other (a squabbling family, with no respect for their physical host) and I need a different way through. My US friends are often dealing with much worse – Australia’s antisemitism might be pretty cruel, but as long as I don’t go out much, it’s safe, and Albo is not good news but compared with the US President, he’s goodness personified. I’m caught in a strange little bind.

A friend explained that this whole thing felt pretty much like the first two years of COVID. That was my breakthrough moment. My illnesses meant that I saw no-one during COVID unless they were delivering things. Compared with that first two years, I live in a whirligig and leave my flat once a week, sometimes twice! I have friends online. And, the biggest thing of all… my TV works. During COVID I watched all the Stargate TV. I muttered when the history was so badly off. I wanted to know what Daniel Jackson’s PhDs were in and how they gave him such an ill-balanced understanding of history.

One of my many bugbears with the show was that it would have been nice to have at least maybe one or two Jews in the ancient Middle East. Stargate helped me see where some bigots get their bigotry from. If all they know about ancient history was first presented to them by Stargate or something like it, then they do not see our world, but a fictional universe.

And I’m off-topic. I was going to talk about how that COVID suggestion led to me watching much Star Trek. When I can do all my regular work, I watch less. When isolation pushes me towards cliff edges, I watch more. I argue about the world building with myself, and use the stories to help understand why we got where we are.

I always used to do this, but I’d watch or read whatever it was my writing and history students needed to know and find ways through popular TV to get them to analyse. I so miss that. But locally, no-one wants me to teach or talk anymore. This means that the thing I do best – help people understand the cultural and social basis of their own decisions – is one of the things lost unto me because I’m too Jewish and not physically robust.

The other day I emerged from hiding a little and asked people if they had more sources for what’s happening in Israel/Gaza so that I could balance out what I was learning. The main critical sources I have access to are all from pro-Israel analysts. I can (and do) pull them apart and make sense of them, but I’ve not been able to find anything nearly as solid in the analysis of data from anywhere else. Instead of giving me more sources, so that I could balance when I knew and be fair in how I see things… I lost friends. I don’t know what they saw and why my request was so impossible (they didn’t tell me), but from my end I was using my teaching methods on myself. I asked for more sources so that I could compare language and belief, look for patterns of speech, check where terms come from and how they’re used, and, above everything, when people claim this or that, drill down and find the source of the numbers and the origins of the claims, and pull them to pieces and balance them with views from other places and in other languages. Add to this checking the path ideas travel, for instance, find a translation of an article in Al Jazeera in Arabic and then compare it with the English version.

From my perspetive, anyone who makes claims about happenings at the other side of the world without doing this is doing what writers do when we world build lazily. When we world build lazily, we draw on our preconceptions of a place and time or a type of book and build up from there. This is why there is a shortage of ancient Jews in Stargate. And it’s why I’ve been accused (personally) of genocide and other things.

I can deal with the illnesses, even though they have entirely changed my everyday. I cannot deal nearly as well with people who are bright, yet will not question and try to understand how things happen, and who blame me for their own lack of thought.

I could have just said at the start of this post, “Oh, how I miss teaching!” but the reason I miss teaching is fairly important. These things are, I admit, difficult. My Richard III class at the Australian National University was both loved and hated . I got hold of such a range of primary sources for the last 3 years of his life, and the whole course comprised of students learning about the nature of the sources and pulling them apart, and then crating their own arguments on whether Richard was good, bad, a demon, a human being… whatever they wanted… as long as they could convince the rest of the class. It was an extension class, so the only result they had was their fellow students’ approval. The class felt that there wasn’t enough class time, so adjourned to coffee or dinner nearby and argued for two more hours. This is the polar opposite of conversations that cannot ever happen.

Maybe I need to return to watching TV.

Changing Tides

personby Gillian Polack
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I’m having a week where my attention span is very short. I keep turning to the news, and then I play solitaire, and a half hour later I remember I need to cook. An hour after that, I realise that I haven’t written my post for the Treehouse, or started a paper I promised, or filled in five forms. Some of this is due to today being the anniversary of the taking of the hostages if you follow the Jewish calendar. Some of it is due to it being Simchat Torah. Most of it is due to the hostages being released. Antisemitism took a brief pause around me, with just the die-hards blaming all Jews for all the things. We’re in new territory internationally and locally for so many reasons. We’re in old territory, too, because the Australian marches are continuing, regardless of what they do to the Australian Jewish community (create places we can’t go on those days, turn people who were friends into activists who now think we’re scum) or to Muslim Australians. Hate continues and stupidity continues, even as other things change. So I am easily distracted and lose my workday to puzzlement.

In far, far better news, I spent my evenings at the National Irish SF convention (Octocon) over the weekend. It was wonderful. I gave a talk on western European tricksters and how to identify them one night, and had the best discussion with fellow SF fans and writers the next. That discussion sorted out the cultural background of two of my families in the current novel, down to why the Irish part of their ancestry left Ireland, where they left from, and how this meant they are totally loyal to Aussie Rules football, even in NSW where it’s not the main footie code. This discussion reinforced the claim I often make, that the best way of building family history for a character is to talk to people in and from the country they come from. I’ve already done a bunch of work in Ireland for other projects, and these kind people and that discussion gave me the equivalent of two months’ work. This doesn’t deal with the time I waste elsewhere, but it means the novel can progress when my backlog is sorted.

For the next part of my backlog I have a piece to write about Jewish werewolves for the kind people of Patreon.

This is the first week in two years where more people around me are kind than are name-calling. It’s as if someone has turned on the light and I can see the world again.

How to Avoid Gillian at Octocon this weekend

personby Gillian Polack
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Octocon is the Irish National Science Fiction Convention, and I’m on panels and giving a talk, online. I take seriously the fact that some people love all the things, but without Gillian. I used to joke about it with a “How to Avoid Me” guide. I decided to make things easier for antisemites by reintroducing these guides when I have time. Today I have time. (It’s either this or housework.) Here is that guide: happy Gillian-avoidance.

I’m giving Irish time and Australian time, thanks to the Octocon website, which translated everything for me. The easiest way of avoiding me is, of course, to strictly follow the Australian time and go to bed early. You can dream beautiful dreams instead of listening, say, to a talk on mostly-Medieval tricksters. Or, if you’re lucky enough to be in Dublin, go to the face to face versions of the panels.

Let’s start with tricksters. Do not be online or in the room streaming the online on Saturday 11 October at 11:30 IST or 21:30 GMT+11 (UTC+11 for those who GMT mystifies). You’ll be avoiding a talk and conversation on “Not the Usual Tricksters: Starting with the Middle Ages.” You will very happily miss hearing me snark about Robin Hood and talk about the origin stories that led to his trickster element. I may be polite about Renart (the Old French version) and Merlin (the Geeoffrey of Monmouth version). I will wax ecstatic about Ashmodai and his curious feet.
The conversation will all of us chatting about the tricksters of Western Europe. This conversation will be is less Commedia dell’Arte and more pop fantasy and folklore and regional traditions from the Middle Ages on. At this precise moment, I’m thinking about Evangeline Walton and Alan Garner and their stories about Welsh stories, but that’s this moment. Later today I plan to obsess (again) about Eustace.
The discussion bit will be open to most tales and most modern versions of tales. If people want to talk about Loki and other deities, we’ll save them until the end, because they get heaps of time in many conversations and Fulke Fitz Warin and Eustace the Monk do not. In my dreams someone informs us all about the Irish equivalents of both Eustace and Merlin.
Just this once, those tricksters who have historical evidence for their actual existence will be more important than those who are associated with building (Stonehenge and the First Temple come to mind) and anyone who existence only in literature (Renart) will be lesser players.
Why have I given you such a description? So that you can look up everything at your leisure and avoid me, of course.

Saturday, 13:00 IST or 23:00 GMT+11.
This is a classic What If… panel. Unfortunately for you, it has excellent panellists and one of the best moderators. I suggest watching online and turning the sound off when I’m talking.

Sunday 12 October 2025 at 10:00 IST or 20:00 GMT+11 is a Star Trek panel. Again, it has really good panellists (apart from me), but muting me twice would be boring for you. I suggest instead that you sing Star Trek themes whenever I speak. Or do your own version of the Charlie song from season one of the Original series. This way you avoid me, but get your Star Trek discussion… and it’s going to be a good one. Also, it turns the panel into a personal musical. If you feel the need to dance to the music, I won’t tell anyone.

Sunday at 11:30 IST or 21:30 GMT+11 is Historical Myths and How to (Not) Use Them. It’s online only, but… best avoid me and not the panel. After all, Jean Bürlesk is moderator and, unfortunately for you, the rest of the panel is also excellent.
This time I don’t suggest that you mute or sing. I suggest a drinking game. A slow, comforting half glass of something nice whenever I speak, a sip for every mention of a favourite historical myth, and a whole glass slugged down in a great hurry whenever the equivalent of an onstage costume change at Eurovision occurs. By the end of the panel you will have enjoyed a wonderful discussion on Historical Myths and also have an entirely sound understanding of why Australians love Eurovision so very much. (Just so’s you know, spellcheck wants to me change ‘Eurovision’ to ‘Neurosis.’)

And that’s it! That’s how to avoid Gillian while still enjoying every moment of Octocon.

PS If you’re avoiding me seriously and don’t even want to see my face, I suggest a moveable sticky patch to go on your computer screen. My favourite would be one with a koala and I can provide a picture for this, but stick figures are nicely universal and even easier. I do not recommend using super-glue.

To a Good and Sweet Year (a reflection)

personby Gillian Polack
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First and most importantly, I want to wish you all a good and sweet year. Tonight (Monday at dusk), you see, is my new year. It’s the year 5786.

I’ll be relieved when 5785 is over. It was full of silences and antisemitism. The people who retained me as a friend and as a co-worker also kept me going and helped me find safer paths to travel. I have also made new friends, many who are walking the same fragile road as me. Some of my old friends were silent and will hopefully re-emerge in my life when the hate dissipates (I can hope this because I’ve seen it happen before), some accuse me of things they know I am not guilty of: most just stepped away quietly, without explaining or caring. I am branded as someone to hate. So are most Jews. Ruptured (the book I spoke about last week) is still the best description of how this affects the lives of Jewish Australian women. It’s also broken some of the silences. I have several friends back. They don’t hate, but they had no idea what to ask me or how to ask me or even how to talk everyday, without the filter of hate that too much of Australia accepts. This is the real reason I hope to get some friends back. As more people find words without having to broach difficult subjects, they will realise that I’m still here and that I miss them.

I’ve walked away from some people, myself. Those who accuse and blame. Those who don’t see everyone as human and are part of jeering mobs. Those who agree with the public rhetoric of hate. It’s far, far easier to talk to left-leaning Palestinian activists than to these people. I hate walking away from them: I believe that understanding is the best way out of this shambolic time. Finding solutions that meet the needs of more than one group of people. Dumping slogans. This was what I and my friend did in the women’s movement, over twenty years ago, but too many of those I worked with lean into the slogans right now, which means… they’re not finding ways of making society functional for all of us, they’re sowing distrust and spreading hate.

There is good news. I’m not nearly as alone as I could have been. People are, fundamentally, good. I don’t get a lot of the income from writing I did, due to closing doors, and I only get to give talks or workshops maybe three times in a year, and I don’t get to teach at all (I so miss teaching!) but I can go to professional meetings (in fact technically I’m at one right now, as I write, but it’s a break time) and give academic papers and even keep friends in fandom.

I write for a shifted audience: some of my readers from always, but more Jewish readers. I’m also writing more Jewishly, because I am still that child who, when someone says “You’re a failure” I respond by being the person who annoys them. In this case, being Jewish is the failure-aspect, so I write more Jewishness into my fiction. And my history. I’ve spent all the time since I finished the doctorate sorting out how I got Jewish history badly wrong because I, too, was listening to formulae. I’ve finished the book on it and am looking for publishers. And I get to talk about it (sometimes): I just gave a talk to my local Jewish community on the food culture and the history of Jews in Northern France in the Middle Ages. I only made one of my Rashi jokes, which I felt disconsolate about at the time, but they want me back, so I will be able to make more.

I finished a PhD and wrote a book in 5785. I dealt with far too many bigoted idiots and I analysed the words they used and discovered the sources of their rhetoric. I learned how to de-prickle a prickly pear from a Palestinian activist and we talked about the (Jewish – they gave me references!) origins of the Medjool date. Learning that it’s possible to refrain from bigotry when one is being attacked and is displaced and when life is terrifying insecure gave me back some of my trust.

This activist is looking for the same thing I am: ways of talking and finding solutions. Those who shout and scream in Australia are not the people they trust. I’ve heard them (time and time again) talk about how the marchers in the West have made things worse. This does not make me happy. Good people causing more hurt is not something that will ever make me happy.

What will 5786 be like? It’s a transition year. We’re in a time of enormous cultural shift, worldwide. Enormous cultural shift inevitably brings the enormous idiots out of the woodwork. They’re a sign, really, that we’re moving into something different.

For me, I’m hoping issues with publishers will be solved and that the delayed books start to appear. I want to finish the book that was on hold because world events meant they needed new directions. And I want to finish that vampire novel. In a perfect year, I get to do more teaching, I get more of my public voice back, and I can take up the offer a friend made to get me to Melbourne libraries safely.

Every time I was in Melbourne this last year, the library day didn’t happen because of protesters outside it. This also happened the year before last. I would probably be safe, friends who marched informed me. They weren’t at the receiving end of the hate, however, and they’re not Jewish.

That’s one of the oddities about being Jewish. Historically, hate spewed at us can begin with words but it often leads to death. The Holocaust was the extreme version, but I am 7/8 a descendant of refugees from well before then, and I have no European family left at all. My family origins are from all over Europe and yet the one thing I’m guaranteed when I travel to anywhere in Europe is that I will not meet relatives. I do not think that marchers will kill me. They might hurt me, though, or shout at me, or push me around. All these things have been done to people I know. It’s not all the marchers. Most of them don’t know about the violence committed 50 metres away. I’m developing ways of identifying the ones who, in the 60s, might have been among the group who sent the letter bomb that crippled a cousin, or in the 70s, sent evil white powders to small Jewish organisations in regional Australia.

We don’t talk about Australia as an antisemitic country, but it has always had that streak. I’ve experienced trickles of hate since primary school, and then those trickles become a stream and right now that stream is flooding its banks, growing into a river of muck. None of this is new. What is new is the realisation that most of those who hate could have avoided hating.

What do I plan for 5786? To fight hate, as I always have. And to fight hating idiots, useful or otherwise. I shall avoid those who judge me for being Jewish or for not thinking exactly as they think, and enjoy the company of everyone who looks at those around them and see human beings. I shall write, and make bad jokes, and deal with my frail body.

This is one thing I discovered in 5785: it is possible to create a good year from a bad one with enough work and enough capacity to deal with the bad. 5786 will be a good and sweet year. For anyone who wants to understand why this is such a daring statement, read Ruptured. Having something I can point to and say, “Read this” reduces difficult moments and some of the misunderstandings and gives that much more energy that I can spend on making that year happen.

May you all have a good and sweet year… even if it takes some work.

Reprint: Blaming Health Problems on Personal Choice

personby Deborah J. Ross
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How federal officials talk about health is shifting in troubling ways – and that change makes me worried for my autistic child

Blaming poor health outcomes on lifestyle choices can obscure public health issues.
Anadolu via Getty Images

Megan Donelson, University of Dayton

The Make America Healthy Again movement has generated a lot of discussion about public health. But the language MAHA proponents use to describe health and disease has also raised concerns among the disability and chronic illness communities.

I’m a researcher studying the rhetoric of health and medicine – and, specifically, the rhetoric of risk. This means I analyze the language used by public officials, institutions, health care providers and other groups in discussing health risks to decode the underlying beliefs and assumptions that can affect both policy and public sentiment about health issues.

As a scholar of rhetoric and the mother of an autistic child, in the language of MAHA I hear a disregard for the humanity of people with disabilities and a shift from supporting them to blaming them for their needs.

Such language goes all the way up to the MAHA movement’s highest-level leader, Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. It is clearly evident in the report on children’s health published in May 2025 by the MAHA Commission, which was established by President Donald Trump and is led by Kennedy, as well as in the MAHA Commission’s follow-up draft recommendations, leaked on Aug. 15, 2025.

Like many people, I worry that the MAHA Commission’s rhetoric may signal a coming shift in how the federal government views the needs of people with disabilities – and its responsibilities for meeting them.

Personal choice in health

One key concept for understanding the MAHA movement’s rhetoric, introduced by a prominent sociologist named Ulrich Beck, is what sociologists now call individualization of risk. Beck argued that modern societies and governments frame almost all health risks as being about personal choice and responsibility. That approach obscures how policies made by large institutions – such as governments, for example – constrain the choices that people are able to make.

In other words, governments and other institutions tend to focus on the choices that individuals make to intentionally deflect from their own responsibility for the other risk factors. The consequence, in many cases, is that the institution is off the hook for any responsibility for negative outcomes.

Beck, writing in 1986, pointed to nuclear plants in the Soviet Union as an example. People who lived near them reported health issues that they suspected were caused by radiation. But the government denied the existence of any evidence linking their woes to radiation exposure, implying that lifestyle choices were to blame. Some scholars have identified a similar dynamic in the U.S. today, where the government emphasizes personal responsibility while downplaying the effects of public policy on health outcomes.

A shift in responsibility

Such a shift in responsibility is evident in how MAHA proponents, including Kennedy, discuss chronic illness and disabilities – in particular, autism.

In its May 2025 report on children’s health, the MAHA Commission describes the administration’s views on chronic diseases in children. The report notes that the increased prevalence in “obesity, diabetes, neurodevelopmental disorders, cancer, mental health, autoimmune disorders and allergies” are “preventable trends.” It also frames the “major drivers” of these trends as “the food children are eating, the chemicals they are exposed to, the medications they are taking, and various changes to their lifestyle and behavior, particularly those related to physical activity, sleep and the use of technology.”

A father and a boy with autism play with toys at a table.
Extensive research shows that genetics accounts for most of the risk of developing autism, but the MAHA Commission report discussed only lifestyle and environmental factors.
Dusan Stankovic/E+ via Getty Images

Notably, it makes no mention of systemic problems, such as limited access to nutritious food, poor air quality and lack of access to health care, despite strong evidence for the enormous contributions these factors make to children’s health. And regarding neurodevelopmental disorders such as autism, it makes no mention of genetics, even though decades of research has found that genetics accounts for most of the risk of developing autism.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with studying the environmental factors that might contribute to autism or other neurodevelopmental disorders. In fact, many researchers believe that autism is caused by complex interactions between genes and environmental factors. But here’s where Beck’s concept of individualization becomes revealing: While the government is clearly not responsible for the genetic causes of chronic diseases, this narrow focus on lifestyle and environmental factors implies that autism can be prevented if these factors are altered or eliminated.

While this may sound like great news, there are a couple of problems. First, it’s simply not true. Second, the Trump administration and Kennedy have canceled tens of millions of dollars in research funding for autism – including on environmental causes – replacing it with an initiative with an unclear review process. This is an unusual move if the goal is to identify and mitigate environmental risk factors And finally, the government could use this claim to justify removing federally funded support systems that are essential for the well-being of autistic people and their families – and instead focus all its efforts on eliminating processed foods, toxins and vaccines.

People with autism and their families are already carrying a tremendous financial burden, even with the current sources of available support. Cuts to Medicaid and other funding could transfer the responsibility for therapies and other needs to individual families, leaving many of them to struggle with paying their medical bills. But it could also threaten the existence of an entire network of health care providers that people with disabilities rely on.

Even more worrisome is the implication that autism is a kind of damage caused by the environment rather than one of many normal variations in human neurological diversity – framing people with autism as a problem that society must solve.

How language encodes value judgments

Such logic sets off alarm bells for anyone familiar with the history of eugenics, a movement that began with the idea of improving America by making its people healthier and quickly evolved to make judgments about who is and is not fit to participate in society.

Kennedy’s explanation for the rise in autism diagnoses contradicts decades of research by independent researchers as well as assessments by the CDC.

Kennedy has espoused this view of autism throughout his career, even recently claiming that people with autism “will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem.”

Even if organic foods and a toxin-free household were the answer to reducing the prevalence of autism, the leaked MAHA Commission strategy report steers clear of recommending government regulation in industries such as food and agriculture, which would be needed to make these options affordable and widely available.

Instead, MAHA’s supposed interventions would remain lifestyle choices – and expensive ones, at that – left for individual families to make for themselves.

Just asking questions

Kennedy and other MAHA proponents also employ another powerful rhetorical tactic: raising questions about topics that have already reached a scientific consensus. This tactic frames such questions as pursuits of truth, but their purpose is actually to create doubt. This tactic, too, is evident in the MAHA Commission’s reports.

This practice of “just asking questions” while ignoring already established answers is widely referred to as “sealioning.” The tactic, named for a notorious sea lion in an online comic called Wondermark, is considered a form of harassment. Like much of the rhetoric of the anti-vaccine movement, it
serves to undermine public trust in science and medicine. This is partly due to a widespread misunderstanding of scientific research – for example, understanding that scientific disagreement does not necessarily indicate that science as a process is flawed.

MAHA rhetoric thus continues a troubling trend in the anti-vaccine movement of calling all of science and Western medicine into question in order to further a specific agenda, regardless of the risks to public health.

The MAHA Commission’s goals are almost universally appealing – healthier food, healthier kids and a healthier environment for all Americans. But analyzing what is implied, minimized or left out entirely can illuminate a much more complex political and social agenda.The Conversation

Megan Donelson, Lecturer in Health Rhetorics, University of Dayton

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.