Note: A huge thank you to Nesta, my favourite Indigenous Studies major, for her company and lively conversation. As always, her input made my ideas ten times better. Honestly, she probably could write a far more interesting review, but alas, you’re stuck with me.

Engaging and possibly life-changing, Who Gets to be Human? proved that a panel can be intellectual without being gatekept by academic terminology. Take that Melbourne Uni! Featuring writers Ziggy Ramo (Human?), Lamisse Hamouda (The Shape of Dust), and Chelsea Watego (Another Day in the Colony), and hosted by iconic journalist Oman Faruqi, Who Gets to be Human?’s panellists not only asked that titular question, but also: What defines being human? Should we change ourselves to appear more ‘human?’ Can we stop changing ourselves for others? Or does how we’re perceived always haunt the narrative?

♪ I’m the Biggest Hater. I Hate The Way Academic Terminology Walks, The Way That It Talks- ♪

Yeah okay, that was pretentious, but I’m a humanities student, you gotta indulge me a little. Except you don’t! You can just stop reading. But you, dear reader, have been conditioned into tolerating, even venerating, language that is, let’s be honest, self-indulgent. Like, why did I just use “venerate”? “Respect” would’ve been easier and more accurate. What does this do? Having a hidden language that distinguishes the Smart from the Others? When basic shit can get you to the point quicker?

Debating whether I should swear in my next essay aside, this was my internal monologue the entire time Chelsea Watego (not referred to as “Watego” furthermore, because fuck privileging family names over personal names) spoke. Asking, who controls what is ‘human’ and what isn’t? Isn’t acting ‘human’ just another method of control? And she said this while talking how I used to before I bulldozed my upbringing so I could seem ‘respectable’ and ‘reasonable.’ Not to beat the ‘representation is important’ dead horse, but it’s a little mind-shattering to see someone like you up on a stage, being listened to, breaking the delusion that you can only be respected if you act a certain way.

A Writing Panel Where No One Asked ‘What’s Your Favourite Part of Writing?’ *Chef’s Kiss*

All the kudos to Ziggy Ramo for curating a wonderfully diverse panel. Not only in terms of representation, but also in approach. Ziggy, Lamisse and Chelsea all had very similar core beliefs about humanity and inhumanity, but differed in their interpretation and approaches, which quickly led to a conversation more nuanced than ‘people shouldn’t be dehumanised,’ and avoided the dreaded off-topic ‘What’s your favourite colour? Why did you become a writer?’ and on and on like a highschool class trying to distract their substitute teacher. Their methodological differences manifested hilariously between Lamisse and Chelsea, where Lamisse encouraged the audience to feel rather than intellectualise, and Chelsea responded “But that’s why I’m an academic. To avoid the feeling.”

However, I can’t credit the playful conversation purely to Ziggy’s curatorship, host Oman Faruqi did a fantastic job keeping the conversation on topic and embracing each idea brought up, rather than keeping strictly to his itinerary. The panel thankfully skipped the monotonous ‘who are you, what do you do’ questions by having each panellist read a five minute piece inspired by the titular “Who Gets to Be Human?” Introducing us to the panellists beliefs, and contrasting their writing styles, does far more than a traditional description would’ve.

Starring… Me, Trying Not to Fangirl Over Chelsea Watego (With Special Guest… Me Again, Trying Not to Fangirl Over Lidia Thorpe)

Despite Oman’s generally fantastic hosting, the treatment of Chelsea during the panel’s first half felt a bit off to me. She was neglected by the questions and, in some moments, required to justify herself in a way the others didn’t have to. Oman himself acknowledged that this was unintentional, emphasising in-panel that he wasn’t trying to argue with Chelsea. Rather, the core issue was that Chelsea’s piece wasn’t the reconciliatory perspective the panel had prepared for. Opposed to Lamisse and Ziggy’s speeches, focused on educating and changing a White listener, Chelsea’s piece was blunt and empowering — aligning with her goals to support her community in finding freedom in spite of, or to spite, colonial structures.

Chelsea’s treatment was the one flaw in an otherwise spectacular panel. While we could talk about how this flaw reflects the domination of reconciliatory sentiments in Indigenous discourse, as someone who is not involved in Community, that is absolutely not my critique to make. Chelsea herself has a beautiful essay “Always Bet on Black (Power): The Fight Against Race” which mentions this, among other issues with the reconciliatory model, accessible via the Unimelb library. Lidia Thorpe also held an amazing speech calling for treaty where she mentioned this, which you can watch in full on YouTube. These are just two of the many many Aboriginal Australian writers and researchers who have chatted about this, whose work you can easily access, if you want to engage with the conversation.

Instead, I want to talk about the other issue Chelsea’s treatment points at. That is: when we are given the mic, who do we speak to? The ‘majority’? Or our peers? What is the difference between those two groups, really?

Is It a Bird? Is It a Plane? No, It’s Another Identity Crisis! (You’re Welcome)

When asked about his audience, Ziggy’s response was that he speaks to himself, rather than focusing on things he cannot control, namely, other’s opinions. His writing is a method of expressing himself authentically. But it is simultaneously, he notes, only one side of his humanity, dense and academic, as opposed to the other, playful and teasing. Even though he’s writing for himself, the “you” in Ziggy’s written piece is consistently a White audience, rather than a younger him or a peer. It makes me wonder, for us, is writing typically used to construct an ‘acceptable’ side of ourselves, worthy of being listened to? Do we write not to ourselves, but for ourselves?

Chelsea sarcastically mentions that, despite having written for decades, she was only classified as a ‘writer’ by MWF recently. To be a writer is to emulate ‘good writing.’ But if being good is just emulation, then are we not conditioned, through editing and rejections, to talk like those that dominate the conversation? Is being a successful writer just getting good at talking to ‘the majority’? Or, as Chelsea put it, making yourself palatable through performance?

Personally, I cannot deny the sense of freedom writing gives me. To me, writing is a way to escape the biases my appearance or mannerisms may bring. Instead, every prejudice, every judgement you have, is based on sentences I carefully chose. But does that not mean my writing is for a ‘majority’ that would be biassed against me otherwise?

Further, what even is this “majority” that I am catering to? Almost everyone has a class, gender, or racial history that doesn’t fit into a palatable performance. To Lamisse, having to act a certain way to be accepted as ‘human,’ is just as damaging for those who fit neatly into the dominant group as those who don’t. And this coinciding ‘privilege’ is just a lie that assimilates and hides, if not your experiences, the experiences of a lot of your family.

Writing from a Melbourne University publication, who am I talking to from this ‘privileged’ position? What have I become? What have we all become?

This article was just an excuse for me to highlight the perspectives and work of these three lovely people. So if y’all would like to support them, I’ll describe their most recent books and places to purchase them below:

Ziggy Ramo: “Human? A Lie That’s Been Killing Us Since 1788”

A memoir by Ziggy focusing on his experiences coming to peace with his indigeneity despite colonial oppression, and proposing a way for White people to change the system.

Lamisse Hamouda: “The Shape of Dust”

A true tale of Lamisse Hamouda trying to free her father from wrongful imprisonment in Egypt. More broadly, it’s about coming to terms with corruption and racism in both her dual identities, and encouraging empathy rather than dehumanisation as a way to change our racist systems.

Chelsea Watego: “Another Day in the Colony”

With the tag-line “Fuck hope. Be sovereign.” Chelsea Watego writes a series of essays examining daily and ongoing racism, positing a way to live in a society which has been hoping you die out. Deeply opposing ‘fixing’ an Aboriginal problem, Watego instead proposes ways to live with freedom now, rather than hoping for a better later.