I am an Australian. I experience my nationality instinctively - by what it is not, rather than what it is. My feelings of loyalty are far from overt. From time to time I do sense it rising to the surface as a lump in the throat - particularly in response to events that occur while I am away, which is most of the time these days. Nor do I derive much pleasure from being an Aussie - particularly when Australian politicians, naive at the best of times, behave like pampered children and even refuse to admit the immense damage done to our first nation people through the most bloody acts of colonization imaginable. Although I hesitate to admit as much, these feelings must be an ingrained part of my identity in that they are always drifting in and out of my consciousness in some form. My sense of belonging transcends culture. Australia is my chosen country after all.
This break from cover is typically triggered by a lone photograph posted on social media, poignant messages from family and friends, the haunting voice of Gurrumul Yunupingu, the echoes of a string quartet by Peter Sculthorpe or the jangled rhymes of Australian Crawl borne on the breeze, bizarre current affairs, news referring to iconic personalities. Even the occasional sporting event involving the Wallabies I must confess.
When the firestorms were ravaging millions of acres of bush and destroying so much native flora and fauna during the Black Summer of 2019-2020 I felt a profound sense of loss, scrambled with an admiration for the ways in which people supported each other against the ferocious vengeance of nature spurned. In times like these I feel a strong sense of awe and indomitable pride. In essence it is who we are and aspire to be. It is the story of ‘mateship’ we tell ourselves throughout our history. It defines us and, on occasion, becomes very palpable.
Or at least that used to be the case. Some myths soured long ago - scrubbed clean by undeniable whispers. Now the dominant narrative of Australian identity is also shifting as the country attempts to deal with alleged war crimes by our soldiers in Afghanistan, and ill-advised commentary out of Canberra deepens the trade rift between with China. Today the family pictures in the attic, fading and covered with dust, bear little resemblance to the imperious narcissists stalking the land, posing as benefactors and saviours even as they display their brazen ignorance.
Today I am at home in the far northeast of Thailand. This place is where I have chosen to end my days. I am surrounded by my books, my art, and the artifacts from a lifetime past. But I am among only a few of the people I love. Others are unreachable now. Self-isolation in the face of a global pandemic has become both prudent yet another prison of our warped minds.
As I observe the belated and confused responses of the people in power to COVID-19, I am drawn to a simple yet inevitable conclusion. Those in whom we must now put our trust are totally out of their depth. Blind ignorance, incompetence, and a haughty refusal to learn from others guide their every action. In the circumstances overwhelming healthcare systems around the world, a prayer meeting is not as valid as rapid, scientifically-informed, action. But the self-righteous are too busy making their entreaties to their gods to notice what a monster their dogma has created.
Over the past decade Australians have been programmed to fear each other. It started with John Howard's narrow-minded bigotry - lies dressed up as policy, championed by the Murdoch press. No longer are we alone. A similar doctrine has taken root wherever extreme right-wing populism is preached - from Brazil and India to Austria, Turkey and the US.
Today, in the face of unprecedented threats to humanity, we are instructed not to worry (but to pray more) by the same people who taught us to be afraid of Islam, migrants, the destitute, poor and the unemployed, indigenous people, the workers, and the intelligentsia. They assure us that they know what is best for us; that their knowledge is greater than that of scientists; that they are supreme economic managers; and that they have their finger on the pulse of the nation and the world. These are all falsehoods.
The most barefaced of these lies concern the nature of the secular reality they have created. There is no sign Australia's future will be a prosperous one within the context of a more empathic society. History is not an accurate gauge. And with the economy losing ground, the Reserve Bank out of ammunition, ministers and even public servants angering China while failing to deliver essential services, private wealth being horded, household debt going through the roof, and a high street recession, exacerbated by the pandemic, in full swing, all the signs point to a lengthy period of uncertainty ahead. Nor are there any indications that we know what we are doing or where we are heading. In fact we do not have a clue.
Directionless and adrift, except in a growing resistance to marketing posing as leadership, fearful and increasingly intolerant, we are like a cork in an increasingly threatening surf. While the portraits in the attic are of Captain Cook, Anzac legends, Don Bradman, the drover and the jolly swagman, our contemporary replacements are twisted avatars, fabricated from surveillance, bullying, offshore detention, climate change denial, fossil fuel lobbying, secret reports, corporate corruption, social divisions, rorts and injustices, policy failures, and one political scandal after another. All of these, and more, are eroding the soul of what it means to be Australian.
So, although we are left to take care of ourselves, we are in no fit condition to do so. With a federal government in command only of insincere platitudes, a relentless cycle of desire and consumption wreaking anxiety and materialistic despair, a climate getting hotter every season, and trust fading with each lie told, we are held in a limbo between a gang of self-centered bigots and conformists who still believe those pictures in the attic are truly illustrative of modern-day Australia.
How lucky have we become, this lucky country of ours.