This story's right, this story's true
or: What Are Words Worth?
I arrived in Australia in the early nineties as a sprightly 13 year-old. What that kid knew of this country's history, just off the boat from the far reaches of Scotland, was something vague about boomerangs and convicts. I was excited about the fact that Santa Claus came in summer, and it seemed that he rode a surfboard.
It didn't take much time spent in the streets of Darwin to understand, even as a 13 year-old, that something in this society was fundamentally, sickeningly broken. In one of my first Australian history lessons, before I'd even learned about the Eureka Stockade, the teacher played a song to the class that was so unexpected that it changed the geography of the land beneath me - Archie Roach's They Took The Children Away. I knew then that what lay underneath, what Roach spoke in that song, which was then hardly being spoken at all, was the kind of past darkness that could corrupt and break the strongest of people. I knew it would need to be dealt with. I knew that would take bravery.
Well, I can say I knew those things now, but perhaps as a 13 year old, I just knew for the first time what it felt like to have a country and a government break your heart.
I swore my oath of Australian citizenship on Australia Day 2001, on the Centenary of Federation. Stephen Smith -- then an obscure backroom ALP machineman, years later an unexpected Foreign Minister -- shook my hand and gave me my certificate. In the years between, I watched Keating's Redfern speech, young still, but still captive to great rhetoric. Mabo changed the game, and there was a moment of hope. And then came Howard. And then came Hanson.
But though Howard's first five years before my citizenship were already clearly defined by a fervently ideological and partisan shift in governance in the country, it was not until the election of the following year that things became truly clear. Then came the moral darkness, signposted by Pacific solutions, mandatory detention and willing coalitions. My newly-minted passport weighed heavily in my hand, policy and public sentiment slowly killing my deep love for adopted homeland by a thousand tiny cuts.
In those years -- years of wasted opportunity defined largely by John Howard's strangely singular stubbornness -- the gaps between indigenous and non-indigenous Australia widened. Not just gaps of economy or key performance indicators, but gaps of compassion, gaps of understanding, and gaps of opportunity. Things got worse. Obscenely, shamefully worse. Poll-driven politicians listened to the hip pockets of the suburbs, whose concerns lay far away from here. We, as a country, forgot something -- politics, and leadership, is not purely defined as sound economic management. Politics is morality. Leadership is bravery. Both can be honesty.
Last November, the media attempted to spin Kevin Rudd's leadership style as "Howard-lite". For anybody who had been keeping an eye on Rudd for a while, who had read his (well calculated) articles in The Monthly the year before, they would have known (or hoped) something different. They would have seen an idea of politics founded first, and foremost, in morality. Rudd is a man of deep religious faith, but in worshipping the great Dietrich Bonhoeffer's idea of the role of religion in social justice, it is clear that Rudd is a man who begins his governance from the idea of that which is morally just. And that, if nothing else, is a revolution.
The calculated blandness of the election campaign, we hoped, was a smooth strategy designed to defuse the bully-boy tactics of the complacent coalition and their aging leader. It worked, beautifully. This is how we felt on that day in November when our people kicked out a government who, in pursuing a sound financial record at the expense of all else, had let so many sores fester, so many wrongs linger, and, in the end, hadn't even kept a handle on the economy:
Biased ALP kids sure. Inner city suburban well to do's, sure (at least, on the surface of things). But also smart, intelligent people who saw for a moment real possibility, in a country that was voting beyond its hip pocket, that was no longer willing to be lied to. And a country that may be willing to face its past, to search its soul, and to begin to develop a just foundation for the future.
Before this morning, such ideas were mostly hope and highbrow posture. There was every possibility Rudd in Government would be the same as Rudd in Campaign, demure and unchallenging, and a little depressing. But, as we gathered on the grass on the increasingly shabby Perth foreshore (soon to see its own new hope after years of neglect) early this morning, short on caffeine and consequently short on enthusiasm, we felt something unexpected.
The pre-released wording of Rudd's apology to the Stolen Generations had hardly inspired tears, being mostly a tick-the-boxes exercise in saying what needed to be said and no more or less, but to hear it spoken -- to hear the words sorry, sorry, SORRY -- had an impact I could not have imagined. And then Rudd continued to speak. And he laid out a moral basis for his position. He engaged with arguments and counter-arguments. He touched on the culture wars and black armbands. He proposed tangible action and serious, ambitious targets. He challenged Australia and Australians to face their own moral responsibility. He challenged a nation to look at its soul. Never were the words "me too-ism" farther from a pundits mouth. And far, far away, somewhere unknown, Howard quietly fumed in irrelevance, the only living former Prime Minister not in attendance.
Around me, people were crying. It felt like a country was silent, in reflection. We were witnessing what leadership could be. Symbolic gesture though it may be, we were at a point of turning in our country's story. We could, for once, feel proud.
The less said about Opposition leader Brendan Nelson's speech, the better. Suffice to say that it was a particularly fascinating shambles, the result of a backroom in chaos and a man with no leadership skills,unable to stand up to irrelevant former powerbrokers who should be going gently with their icon into that good night. The country turned their back on him. In Perth, they turned him off. Despite my deep belief in the importance of full and open debate, I can't say I wasn't glad (and perhaps the slow clap should be introduced as a regular feature of the new Parliament).
We left, speechless but invigorated. We knew that nothing was fixed, but that something was beginning to heal.
CODA
This evening's commercial news attempted to spin the backs turned against Nelson as being in reaction to his statement that there should be "no compensation". Channel Seven edited the story to make it seem as though the selfish aboriginals insisted he be turned off as soon as he refused compo. It was sickening spin, to be sure, but anybody that actually paid any attention to Nelson's speech would know the slow claps and back-turns were for reasons entirely unrelated to compensation. They were for a party and a leader who could not understand. Who refused to be bold enough to accept responsibility. Who spoke an apology that sounded like an excuse. Who mumbled vaguaries about fighting in wars.
According to Channel Seven polls ("The Pulse of Perth" says the promo), 90% of viewers were against the apology. As much as a phone-in commercial news poll is worth, the sentiment on talkback in our state was similar, 6PR callers saying indigenous Australians should "apologise for crime".
Nothing is fixed. But we must now begin to heal.
Sorry.
The mood was really lovely on the front lawn of Parliament House yesterday. I felt the most patriotic I have in what seems like a lifetime, and it was a patriotism stemming from openness and vulnerability instead of jingoism.
There was a census' worth of types of people down there and more indigenous people than I personally have ever seen gathered in one place at one time. It was a true expression of the plurality of cultures on each side of this issue. Nearly everyone was happy and you could see the emotions waiting to be released well before we saw Rudd stand to move the apology on the big screen.
I felt a lot of hope yesterday and yes, some pride, or less shame. Now we'll see what happens.
Paddy,
Archie Roach performed at Fed Square yesterday, and watching him sing that song, with a long, long standing ovation afterwards that brought him to tears was incredibly moving...on an extraordinarily moving, excellent day.
Also extraordinary being there earlier, as almost the entire crowd of 2,000+ people turned their backs on Nelson. Rudd's speech, though, and the responses, one of the most emotional events I can remember in Australian politics (and one of the few good ones as an adult!)
Hope things are great with you.