Too many Sooks in the Kitchen

My wife is reading a buzzfeed article about Miranda Tapsell's appearance on the Verdict. On how she spoke about feeling unwelcome at Australia Day celebrations due to being an Aboriginal woman. In reply Miranda receives a torrent of online abuse labelling her a sook. "The problem with the people calling her a sook is that they don't get the irony that if they can't deal with an Indigenous person sharing what life is really like for them, then they're the ones that need to get a thicker skin," she says. A light bulb goes off in my head. She has cut through to where bone and marrow meet. I see a young Aboriginal woman speaking about the racism she has incurred for all of her life; I see Adam Goodes enduring boos and calling out the racism latent within that. I see that when the heat gets turned up there are too many sooks in the kitchen and they are reaching for the all the knives, wooden spoons and oversized forks that they can get their grubby hands on.

Adam Goodes played on in the face of week upon week of booing before he unveiled his war dance of Indigenous pride. Heck, even Jesus held himself in check as he took a tour through the temple before coming back the next day to overturn the tables of the money lenders, chasing them out with a whip. Miranda and Adam don't raise these issues on a whim or after being slighted by the smallest cut. Yet they're told to get a thicker skin? How thick must one's skin get when it takes so many hits? Like the calloused hands of a weightlifter I imagine. They know the colour of their skin. They wear their skin like an armour forged over a lifetime.

When we peel back the onion of those that want to deride Miranda or Adam for their perspectives, that's when the fragile tears come out.  Being sensitive shouldn't be used as an insult anyway. Doesn't telling others to 'man up' as you cry like a snooty brat being told to share the sandpit say a lot about what sort of a person you are?

What seems to get most of the flag waving warriors up in arms is when Indigenous people have something to say about racism or Australia Day (I have written about Australia Day before). Miranda was asked a question and replied honestly that she doesn't identify as an Australian on Australia Day, due to being labelled with racist terms. She got a standing ovation at the Logies when she said "Put more beautiful people of colour on TV, and connect viewers in ways that transcend race and unite us, that's the real Team Australia." She has also shared a story from her school days when she got up in front of the class in response to being bullied with the term half-caste. She asked them why she needed to justify her identity as students who took exception jeered through her whole presentation. Her stand against racism has since changed the hearts of some of those students in later life. So, taking a stand can make a difference.

Adam Goodes said during his Australian of the year acceptance speech that "I believe racism is a community issue which we all need to address and that’s why racism stops with me." There was nothing any right minded person could take exception to in his speech. Months later Adam watched the movie Utopia and penned a response. He detailed how much it hurt to see what had been done in his peoples past and how present Australia wasn't prepared to face its brutal past and further reconcile it. For being honest and taking up a noble cause he has incurred the brunt of Australia's racism. He is carrying a public weight that I cannot even fathom. When someone shares a pain that I don't understand, I want to be the one who listens. Just because I'm white doesn't mean I'm being accused of being racist. Just because I didn't personally commit any of the atrocities visited upon the Indigenous people of Australia does not mean that I have the right to sweep the crumbs under the fridge. Taking exception to any of it being brought up though, that's another matter.

For those planning to never shop at David Jones again because of their choice of Adam Goodes as an ambassador for it's brand; For those that think Miranda should be grateful that she won a Logie or two and just shut up; For those who see no problem with Mr Dutton sending a raped refugee back to offshore detention before she can get counselling or medical assistance; For those who walk side by side with skinheads in UPF and Reclaim Australia; For those who often say "I'm not racist, but..." If I am the sort of person that wants to be able to say that racism stops with me, then what sort of a conclusion am I meant to draw? When someone shares the general pain of their experienced racism; when that pushes a button inside that compels another toward personalised attacks; there's a name for that button.

Inside the March in March

Having taken to riding the train sitting backwards now (see recent post on lighting the dark) as symbolic that I'm living in a country which is not moving forward, I had an interesting ride the other day. Found myself the only person on a nearly full carriage facing backwards. Could see everyone's face, and the only face the rest of them could see was mine. I watched them succumbing subconciously to the social norm of facing the way everyone else was when they entered and found their way to a seat. I wondered if they were subconciously annoyed at me for giving their mind an alternate choice or for ruining the symmetry. 

It was interesting when the automated message system went awry, playing every message in its system one after the other for five minutes. The 'Spitting is an offence' one elicited a few laughs and I laughed along with a few people who caught my eye and shared the joke. We shared the moment, but no one in that carriage made a human connection with anyone else but me – they were all looking at the back of someone elses head – how could they?

Obligatory picture of me in thought

Today's train ride seems less eventful bar the ever darkening skies outside and flashes of lightning which do not bode well for the purpose of our journey which is to meet up with friends and attend the 'March in March' protest. As we disembark to a thunderclap which reverberates through the station stopping people momentraily in their tracks I wonder whether I should just hop back on a train going the other way, return to my cozy abode for the afternoon.

But Biz leads the way to Belmore Park and we make our way through the throng with their protest signs and under a sea of umbrellas. With people packed tight and umbrellas touching - it's like there is an unbroken chain of colour connecting everyone present. I don't have an umbrella nor a sign but I am wearing my fan-boy Billy Bragg t-shirt. Billy is not first to take the stage, but I want to hear what the invited speakers have to say so that's fine, I can wait.

We are welcomed by a traditional owner of the land. She welcomes the presence of a diverse range of people there for just as diverse a range of reasons but united in solidarity against a government that does not welcome people or diversity. In saying who is welcome and who is not she carries herself with more authority than any elected official with sycophantic nodding heads standing behind him at a meeting with the press.

Kaveh Akbari The Unlikely Poet

A refugee and now contributing citizen addresses the crowd with a stirring address. His 'Dear Mr Not So Honourable Abbott Sir' address climaxes in him not asking for sympathy but asking why he and refugees like him are labelled a threat? The only threat he says he brings is a threat to Abbott's indecency. And the mass of people roar and shake their umbrellas, embracing him as he embraces his new life and his right to participate in his democracy.

The not cynical Billy Bragg

Each speaker is embraced by the crowd in turn but it is one of my heroes in Billy Bragg that challenges me the most. Always on form, he captures and engages the audience. He leads us in a sing a long including actions. It is his challenge however that it is not so much capitalism or conservatism that we are fighting. The fight is against cynicism. Sure, the right wing agenda breeds cynicism. But it is cynicism, and our own cynicism that endangers the future. He prompts me to ponder that being Generation X, cynicism is in my DNA.

Still in thought, we embark on the march as the rain and clouds begin to clear. A cacophony of drums, whistles and chants lead the way out of the park and into the streets. There are older folks, children, babies in prams, hippies, hipsters, punks, young people with political slogans painted onto shirts and someone in a shark suit. There is a common denominator and you can see it in that even the dogs on leads are smiling. The people we pass that show their support by clapping or tooting their horns are reciprocated with cheers and high fives.

The walk down broadway in the shadow of sheer steel and concrete highrises affords a perspective of the city that feels different. Maybe it is just the atmosphere that being among 10-20 thousand people brings, but walking down the middle of the road towards our destination feels very natural. People reclaiming the streets. We are sharing a moment, we are acknowledging eachother and eachothers causes that are written on the signs around us.

So on the train ride home I find myself lost in thought. How do I fight my cynicism? How do I connect with my fellow Australians who conciously or subconciously find themselves facing the other way? I retain doubt that today will have any influence on our Government. I have hope though that in today's rain and in its fiery passion a seed was nurtured and will grow. It will grow and bring new life and shade to all who seek such things.

Photos provided courtesy of the lovely Biz, follow the link to see more fantastic photos of the day like this one...Biz's March in March album on facebook 

Australia Day Water Ceremony

As a freckle faced kid January 26^th in Australia always meant a day of national celebration to me. I was proud to be an Aussie and I remember sun drenched days of backyard cricket, going to sporting events and even one year going to the harbour to watch some tall ships sail in. Those tall ships represented two different perspectives. And in more recent times a growing awareness of the fact that many Aboriginal people see this day as Invasion or Survival Day has soured my taste for flying the flag. Some drape themselves in the flag as a symbol of pride but for others it can be out of arrogance, thinking they own the place, turning the flag into a symbol of hate for others. The Aboriginal view that we don't own it but that we belong to the land always resonated with me.

For the vast majority of Australians there is nothing sinister in how and what they want to celebrate. Regardless, it is still riding roughshod over the feelings of many Aboriginal people.

There has been talk of moving the date of Australia Day and perhaps I'm being paranoid but I fear that doing so could be divisive in a way that would undermine the reason for doing it. I foresee those with misplaced patriotism or those who harbour racist tendencies taking exception to having the date changed, defiantly holding their own Australia Day celebrations or protestations in the face of those who see it as a day of mourning.

Seems it's not just reconciliation between people that is required but that a day needs to be reconciled too. Out of respect I would be content for the date to change but I wonder if there's a better way? What if the date that signifies white settlement and invasion came together? Not just to share a date but to share in both the mourning and celebration.

You could say I have a dream. Back in 2002 I attended a pilgrimage to Uluru where busloads of schoolchildren from all over Australia converged on Uluru to participate in a cultural exchange with the Mutitjulu people. This Pilgrimage still happens annually: http://www.fusion.org.au/schoolsinharmony/

One of the exchanges that took place and that moved me so much that it is forever etched into my memory and deeper, was something called a water ceremony.

A few hundred of us were gathered in an open amphitheatre under the multitude of stars that can be seen in an outback night sky. There we sat or stood holding our plastic cups given to us when we entered. We were entertained with a song sung in the Pitjantjatjaran language by the local women. Then came the story. The story of how Aboriginals kept coming across settlers in the early years who were dying of thirst because they didn't understand how to survive off the harsh land. The Aboriginals thought these settlers a bit dim but generously shared with them the secrets of where all the waterholes were. They were repaid this act of kindness with an act of cruelty. The settlers poisoned the water to kill off the local Aboriginal population.

It was haunting to hear such a story and be standing in the midst of Aboriginal Elders and women and children.

Then the water ceremony begun. This consisted of an Elder holding a jug of water and announcing that like in the old story, they were offering us the water, that which brings life, and that we should accept it properly this time. One by one people moved forward and received the water. Others took up jugs of water and gave it out. It was a very humbling experience to have my cup filled by a young Aboriginal woman who smiled with joy as she was approached from all sides by those eager to participate.

I wonder if this is a ceremony that could be held all over the country on the morning of January 26^th at festivals and sporting events and places of significance. It is a beautiful ceremony that puts the Aboriginal people in a place of high regard, establishing them as the traditional custodians of the land. It allows their hurt and their stories to be heard (more should be taught in school!). It puts them in a position that says we can forgive the wrongs of the past and welcome everyone as Australian. It places the non Aboriginal in a place of humility and asks them to act to receive the forgiveness of past wrongs. It is a simple ritual that goes a long way to bringing people together.

As a nation we made a giant leap when we said 'sorry' and a part of reconciliation has to be being forgiven. Is this the next step in reconciliation?

If we have to say sorry and be forgiven every year for the next 40,000 years then that is still good in my eyes so long as we are always moving in the right direction – towards reconciliation.

We have seen the resurgence of Anzac Day as a cultural focal point, especially for the young. Is this because they crave something with deep meaning? Something that brings us together, that shapes who we are. Unfortunately Australia Day doesn't bring us all together. So I dream of it being inclusive and imbued with deep meaning that can shape the culture of this nation.

If culture is shared symbols of meaning, rallying around the green and gold, knowing what 'mateship' means, then the symbolism in a water ceremony says we are all reconciled and we all belong. And with weight lifted I would hope we could move into the rest of the day as a celebration of what we share together now. I remember at the ceremony an Aboriginal woman also thanking for us all the good things we have brought that have enriched their lives, including, us.

I don't know where the water ceremony originated and whether it belongs to one group of people. Whether it would be offensive to ask other groups if they would like to introduce such a ceremony. Perhaps they have other stories and ceremonies that would work too. Everyone would need to own it for it to work.

I don't have a personal relationship with any Aboriginal elders or politicians to be able to ask how they feel about this proposal and whether they'd be interested in being a part of making something like this happen. I will endeavour to rectify both situations and would appreciate any assistance. If you think this is a worthwile idea and you think you can make it happen on a national scale or just on a small local scale which could one day grow to something bigger then I welcome you and urge you to try.

I ask again, is this or something like it the next step in reconciliation?