The Racist of Oz.

“All Australians are racist.”

Really?

“Yep.”

All of us?

“Yep.”

Even the black ones?

“Ye-Na-Ohh.”

I think it’s a funny statement to begin with. All Australians are racist. Cos when you think about it, stereotyping an entire nation of people like that seems, I dunno, a bit racist?

Of course some of us are definitely racist. Some people can’t stand anything different to themselves. I understand that psychology. But if they don’t like anything that’s different to them, how come so many racists own dogs?

“Yeah, but dogs are different.”

No shit they’re different, they’re dogs.

You reckon after all the time they spend together the racists would have learnt, don’t judge someone ‘til you’ve at least sniffed their bum.

Australian racism has been highlighted in the world media in the last few years. 

Once, because of a massive error in judgement from Hey! Hey! It’s Saturday! producers  . I couldn’t help but think that maybe that was a bit of a test. After seeing that people actually tuned in to watch Darrell Sommers and Red Symons heave the corpse of their careers back on to prime time, the producers went “I wonder what else they’d sit through?...” Granted, it was a mistake, but at least Darrell and Red have gone back to dipping fries.

The other event(s) that brought racism in Australia to the attention of the world media was attacks on Indian students. I was actually warned by an Indian guy in the UK to be careful when I returned to Australia because of the rampant violence. The reality was that it was a few thugs that beat up a few Indian students because they didn’t want them in this country. But he tragedy of the situation was that following the attacks, enrolments by Indian students in Australian uni’s halved. I think it’s a real shame that it doesn’t work the same way with thugs. You beat one up in the street and 50% of them disappear. It’s a shame because you randomly beat up a thug in the street, and all that happens is that you yourself become a thug. I just wish it’d worked that way with Indian students. A thug punches one in the street, and the thug becomes a diligent student with a strong work ethic and solid family ties. The characteristics, ironically, whose absence drives people to a life of thuggery in the first place.

But I do think there’s a real innocence to Australians racism. I think that because we’ve never had a war in this country, that there’s never been too much political turmoil or good reason to hate other people in Australia, our racism really is the froth on the top of a hate-latte. Soft, fluffy, and of no real weight.*

Here’s a perfect example of it to close.

A few years ago, I came home for a visit. I was watching the cricket one day, it was Australia versus South Africa, and none other than PM Kevin Rudd was in the commentary box. (This is where our priorities lay at the time. Bugger the war, bugger the poor, what we need to discuss is the seagull at silly mid-on). The game was rolling along, when a decision was referred to the third umpire, who was Indian. The third umpire ruled against the Australians, and our Prime Minister just goes…

 “Well, we’ll be reviewing his Visa.”

*I think racism in Australia arises from our lack of national identity. We’re not just straight-talking pie-eating tradies and glamours living carefree by the beach, which is how we are portrayed in the media. The reality is that Australia’s much more complex, much more multi-cultural, much more interesting than that. But because we haven’t yet defined exactly what it means to be Australian in the 21^st century, we define ourselves by what we’re not, rather than what we are. It’s much easier that way. Unless of course you happen to be ‘different’.

PS By the way. I appreciate I’m a white, middle-class male; What would I know about racism?

The Tide

There are a number of issues in Oz that are dealt with like a tide. Boat people, aged care, the plight of Aboriginals in the outback. Stuff like this. Passion, care and outrage come up and down, up and down.

“It’s inhumane! ... Oh, there’s a sale at Myer”

“Something needs to be done! ... as soon as I get back from the beach”

“Let’s march on parliament... via that nice little cafe on Crown Street.”

But as long as this tide’s going in and out, nothing will ever get done. These issues will never get resolved. That’s why, if we want to solve the boat people debacle, look after the oldies, close the quality of life gap, we need to stop the tide of apathy and empathy. And there’s only one way to stop the tide.

We need to GET RID OF THE MOON!

What does the moon do? Fuck all. Sure it’s a Mecca for weight loss and flag storage, but you know it’s also the number one cause of Warewolfery? Plus, it only ever works nights. Sometimes, it barely bothers to show up at all, and when it does it just parades around.

“Look at me, aren’t I bright?”

Have you seen the sun?

I’m just saying, if we wanna solve our problems, we’ve gotta think big. And once we manage this moon-redundancy, I’ll let you in on my plan of action to wipe out sunburn once and for all.

GILLARD’S CASTLE ™

"Welcome to the show! Are we excited? Then let’s put our helmets on, cos it’s time to play Australian politics!"

Am I the only one that feels Australian politics has turned into a crazy Japanese gameshow? Hapless contestants try unsuccessfully to jump through hoops as political commentators say everything they can to embarrass them and throw them off their challenge.

In the first round, we put half the poli’s on a seesaw and see if they can keep both ends off the ground. Sounds easy, except there’s also gonna be a crazy sumo-wrestler in red bungers trying to knock them off, starting with the contestants with the weakest principles. This one’s called “Balance of Power”

In the second round, whoever’s leading digs a giant hole in the ground and sells the dirt. Then, they have to buy back the stuff made from the dirt, and after a while, chuck it back in the hole and hope there’s enough to fill the hole back up. It’s called “Hole in the System!”

In the third round a union leader will put you in a choke-hold, and it’s up to you to see if you can do what he says, or else the grip gets tighter. It’s called “From Behind”

And in the final round, contestants will try and drive around an obstacle course in a hilarious tiny car as the opposition sit in the passengers seat and points out, not how you should go around the obstacle, but rather the problems with the way you did in fact get around each the obstacle as you pass it. It’s called “Back Seat Griping”

And for the winner today, is a huge prize! Not only will you take home a great big dose of voter dissatisfaction, but also a feeling of helplessness to go with some old, old rope tied exclusively around your wrists by country Independents. Here on AUSTRALIAN POLITICS!!!

Smokin!

Smokers! Enjoy it while it lasts people.

A few of my mates are smokers.

“Mate, just cos they change the packaging, it won’t stop me from smoking.”
Ha ha ha! Have you seen the new packs? Holy fuckamoley. They look like they could give you eye cancer just looking at them. They are truuuly, truly horrific.

Imagine being in the focus group for that...

“Well that one makes me feel physically ill, but that one makes me want to tear out my own eyeballs. Ohh, I just can’t make up my mind!”

One mate said that if the pack’s too gross to look at, he’ll just buy a cover to put them in. But with the hardline the government is taking on em, it’s probably only a matter of time before the covers have to be adorned with warnings. Inevitably, there’ll be a subsequent cover, then another warning, followed by another cover then another warning, and it’ll go on and on and on until every time you want to smoke, you ‘ll have to play and increasingly morbid game of pass the parcel.

“Oh! Oh my! Yuk! Gross! Oh my god! Jesus that’s horrible! WHAT IS THAT!!! Oh yeah, it’s Malborough time.”

Personally, I don’t think it’s gone far enough. Sure the packets are covered in open wounds, but is that really enough? I wanna see tombstones on the paper. How about green smoke? A little stock in the filter that makes a death rattle whenever you inhale? These are all good ideas, and I reckon it’s only a matter of time before we see em.

Cos it’s a hard line they’re taking on smokes. And I’m pretty sure the only reason they’ll stop short of getting a thug to whack you over the head every time you light up, is because they know the pain would remind you you’re still alive. And that’s the last thing they want.

Smokin!

Smokers! Enjoy it while it lasts people.

A few of my mates are smokers.

“Mate, just cos they change the packaging, it won’t stop me from smoking.”

Ha ha ha! Have you seen the new packs? Holy fuckamoley. They look like they could give you eye cancer just looking at them. They are truuuly, truly horrific.

Imagine being in the focus group for that.

“Well that one makes me feel physically ill, but that one makes me want to tear out my own eyeballs. Ohh, I just can’t make up my mind!”

One mate said that if the pack’s too gross to look at, he’ll just buy a cover to put them in. But with the hardline the government is taking on em, it’s probably only a matter of time before the covers have to be adorned with warnings. Inevitably, there’ll be a subsequent cover, then another warning, followed by another cover then another warning, and it’ll go on and on and on until every time you want to smoke, you ‘ll have to play and increasingly morbid game of pass the parcel.

“Oh! Oh my! Yuk! Gross! Oh my god! Jesus that’s horrible! WHAT IS THAT!!! Oh yeah, it’s Malborough time.”

Personally, I don’t think it’s gone far enough. Sure the packets are covered in open wounds, but is that really enough? I wanna see tombstones on the paper. How about green smoke? A little stock in the filter that makes a death rattle whenever you inhale? These are all good ideas, and I reckon it’s only a matter of time before we see em.

Cos it’s a hard line they’re taking on smokes. And I’m pretty sure the only reason they’ll stop short of getting a thug to whack you over the head every time you light up, is because they know the pain would remind you you’re still alive. And that’s the last thing they want.

I DIDN'T VOTE FOR POKIE LICENSES!!!

I didn’t vote for Pokie Licenses. Although to be fair, I don’t remember seeing his name on the ballot.

It’s become the catch cry of democratic Australia.

“I didn’t vote for this, that, OR the other!”

People seem to have forgotten that a vote is a show of faith in a political party to make decisions on your behalf. What follows when they take power is incidental. That’s how life works. You don’t date Matt Newton to learn how to box, sometimes that’s just the natural order of things.

I’ve accepted the pokie license thing. Even though I didn’t vote for it. Because I also didn’t vote for flood relief. I didn’t vote for a compassionate trip to Japan following a nuclear accident. I didn’t vote for a tax to stop global warming. You might say, ‘Well Rich, isn’t that because you didn’t vote?’ I’d have to say yes, but only so I could keep my “I didn’t vote for…” options open.

Another great one is the classic “Our Anzacs didn’t give their lives for …” You know, gay marriage, Islamic Australia, cooking shows around the clock. Of course they didn’t. Had they been fighting for that, it would of shown INCREDIBLE forsight. Although, I reckon if they’d had that kind of foresight, they might not have ended up on a Turkish beach in the first place.

But the thing is, maybe they did die for this. For a gay, Muslim, Nisoise salad.
If you’ve been to Gallipoli, you’ll know the trenches snake up from the beach all the way to the top of the hill. Maybe what happened, is all the soldiers were lined up in the trenches, An at the very top of the hill was a guy with a little table and a deck of tarot cards, and one by one the soldiers looked into the future and saw that it was worth dying for.

“Two blokes kissing in a church? Yep? Over you go.

“A choice of religions? Yep? Go forth my boy.

“Fat guy in a cravat? Yep? Give your life and it shall be.”

The Mark of Emotion.

I recently witnessed the pinnacle of human achievement.

It wasn't a scientific breakthrough. It wasn't a moment of incomparable selflessness. It wasn't an emotionally inspiring piece of art.

It was a mark in the forward pocket by an Essendon player at the MCG. There was 87 000 people there, all screaming for their team. And in that one moment as he rose above the pack and took hold of the ball firmly against his chest, it was the greatest accomplishment ever achieved by man kind.

Now as I sit at my desk three weeks later, I appreciate I might have got a bit carried away. I know it wasn't the best thing mankind has ever done. That was Weekend at Bernie's 2. But in that moment, nothing else seemed like it had ever been as important as that one mark.

I think it's a pretty special experience to feel like that. I guess that's why just watching sport is so richly rewarding. But every activity has that. Watching a play. Eating a meal. Making love. There's a magical moment where nothing else can compare. Although I don't think it's always a moment of inspiration.

It might be a mercy killing. It could be lying to a court. It surely has been at times a cruel and inhumane act. But in that one moment it seems so right to whoever is involved. There is clarity and there is justification. And we can never truly appreciate what has gone on in a persons mind in that moment. We are animals, blinded to everything surrounding us by our emotions. Unfortunately, we are not so empathetic that we can feel what it was like for that person in that moment.

That's why people's travel stories are boring unless we've been there. It's why we can't know what it's like to be a parent til we become one ourselves. It's the reason why someone says "She's gone." and as we hold them, we think 'Here we go...'

Not funny, or point-y, just something interesting about emotion and the human condition.