The good news is: Australia Day festivities in Camden – recent hotspot of Islamophobia – transpired without need for the police riot squad on standby to intervene.
The bad news is: the day has clearly been hijacked by yobbos and boofheads.
It’s long been known as Invasion Day by Aboriginal Australians while for others it was traditionally little more than a day for reflection on the elusive definition of Australian identity while searing snags on a barbie. If there was one unifying theme, it was multiculturalism - a celebration of our diversity. But Australia Day is now wrapped in patriotism of a brand as kitsch and aggressive as the idiots, dressed in clothing fashioned from the flag, roaming the streets yelling ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi, oi!”. What the Hell does that stupid catchcry mean anyway? It makes me cringe with embarrassment to be Australian.
I’ve long despaired about the impact of Howard’s decade of glorification and sanitisation of ugly chapters of Australian history – Gallipoli and the genocide of Aborigines to name a couple. As a University lecturer, I’ve witnessed the rise of a new brand of US-style patriotism among young people – one which defines itself in isolation from the Other; one which celebrates homogeneity above diversity. But I wasn’t prepared for the scenes I witnessed on the streets of Wollongong, my home town, on Saturday night.
Australia Day is my father’s birthday – ironic considering he was labelled a wog by his schoolmates because of his Italian heritage. So, I headed to The ‘Gong to help him celebrate. I knew it was going to be an interesting night towards the end of the journey from Canberra. The utes adorned with Australian flags began to appear on the outskirts of Camden. By the time we reached the bottom of the Illawarra escarpment, we’d lost count of the number of vehicles we’d seen with enormous flags stuck to car bonnets, roofs and boots; smaller ones flying from makeshift flagpoles attached to aerials and those being waved out windows by ‘flag enthusiasts’.
When we arrived at the car-park of the upmarket beachside restaurant, the hordes were thronging their way to the beachfront. Some were wearing flags as skirts and capes; others added hats made from bits of flag, nationalistic singlets carrying that bloody catchcry and flag tattoos. This is Wollongong – birthplace of Australian multiculturalism where nearly 20% of the population speaks a language other than English at home and many post WW11 immigrants spent their first months in the country. I baulked at the size and youthfulness of the crowds expressing a sort of nationalistic fervour that wouldn’t have been out of place at a Nuremburg rally.
But my disquiet gave way to stunned silence when I entered the restaurant. The waitresses were dressed in nationalistic costume. One wore a flag like a towel; another had fashioned one into a mini-skirt. Most sported t-shirts bearing their allegiance to Aussie crassness. As the Greek-accented head waiter took our order, I noticed his bald head was tattooed with mini-flags and the Southern Cross. Habibi, the African wine-waiter, wore a flag as a cape. Mini Australian flags were strung from the ceiling around the periphery of the room like bunting. It was like walking onto the set of Kath and Kim – I expected Kel to pop out any moment to spruik his roo and tomato sauce snags. In fact, we did eat kangaroo sausages and emu prosciutto ('Straya Day' specials) but thankfully the cuisine was far superior to the décor and atmosphere.
When we left the restaurant to view the beach fireworks the crowds had swollen and beer-swilling yobs were yelling “Aussie, Aussie…etc” at the tops of their hoarse voices. It was a very unappealing scene. From the balconies of million-dollar beachfront apartments more flags flew and the air was thick with testosterone. This was Aussie ‘blokiness’ at its most vile – in bed with nationalism.
I felt unexpectedly threatened amongst the mob being sans-flag and deflecting demands to respond to “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie” with “oi, oi, oi” like Pavlov’s dog. I can only begin to imagine how the woman in the hijab sitting on the park bench nearby felt.
The mob, allegedly so proud of their country, trashed the Wollongong beachfront during their patriotic rampage. It took 15 council workers on an 'emu-parade' and a street-sweeper truck to clean up their mess on Sunday morning.
I certainly wasn’t a proud Aussie on Saturday night. Some will say that makes me ‘un-Australian’, to coin one of Howard’s favourite put downs applied to dissenting voices. There was a time when being anti-establishment was considered a trait of the typical Australian character. These days it seems you’re not authentic unless you’re running with the mob. If that’s the case, I’m proud to be un-Australian.
Aside: Moderately successful country crooner Lee Kernaghan is Australian of the Year. Need I say more?
This being my first Australia Day outside of what I now see were the civilised confines of Canberra, I was highly surprised to see the amount of flags adorning almost every house in my township.
ReplyDeleteMy boyfriend went to buy a case of beer on the Saturday and, having purchased Tooheys, was presented with an Australian flag complete with velcro tab to easily turn it into a cape. It's still sitting in a pile on top of the couch where I left it when he brought it home.
As for celebrations and atmosphere, we spent the evening watching haystacking, precision driving and fireworks at the local show. It was wonderful.