January 26, the ‘Great Silence’ and a new kind of love
As the Canberra winter retreats and the magpies unforgivingly begin to swoop, I am reminded that soon enough another summer will roll around, bringing with it another Australia Day. Each year on January 26 we are encouraged to celebrate the achievements of our country and its individuals, and take pride in our progress as a nation. But each year I am confronted with a dilemma that leaves me confused and resigned: how can I be patriotic when so much is wrong?
For many people my age, January 26 is exactly what the stereotype suggests. Somebody hosts a barbeque in a sweltering 1970s student house, we lament the fact that Canberra does not have a beach, people drink, and someone accidently punctures the paddle pool deflating it earlier than anticipated. Some people come along sporting the Australian flag in one form or another. Others absentmindedly refer to the public holiday as ‘Hottest 100 Day’.
I have begun to wonder if this approach to Australia Day among young Australians symbolises a continuation of the ‘Great Silence’ that W.E.H Stanner chillingly (and necessarily) spoke of in 1968. Are we still witnessing widespread inattention to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history? Is this what a ‘cult of forgetfulness practised on a national scale’ looks like in a contemporary setting?
Nobody at the barbeque mentions what they are not proud of, let alone the significance of the date.
We have certainly made important advancements in the field of Indigenous rights and equality since 1968, both social and political. Keating’s Redfern Park Speech and Rudd’s Apology are justly cited to illustrate how far we have come. Indigenous history forms some part of school curriculums. We have schemes for the protection of Land Rights and Native Title which, though not perfect, are vast improvements on the earlier state of affairs. But part of me worries that the actions of the majority on our national day still perpetuate a silence on the topic that needs to be addressed. It is not that we do not care, just that we do not care quite enough.
Against the backdrop of current state and federal Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander policy this silence becomes more pronounced. In November last year the Northern Territory Government’s ‘paperless arrests’ scheme (which should be read as ‘arrests without charge’ scheme) was introduced, disproportionately targeting Aboriginal people and contravening an important principle of Australian common law. Then there is the failed Mandatory Alcohol Treatment scheme (NT) and the proposed government-sanctioned closure of Aboriginal communities (WA). Indigenous Australians face difficulty acquiring Native Title because the Native Title Act and the High Court decision in Yorta Yorta together serve as a solid, unwavering barrier. (This is due to the onus of proof resting with claimants rather than government, the requirement for ‘continuing connection’ and the notion of ‘extinguishment’). While the Intervention of 2007 is behind us, Professor Gillian Triggs has spoken out saying that ‘indirect and substantive racism’ continues in the Stronger Futures legislation in place until 2022. Of a significant body of litigated claims for compensation by Stolen Generations, only one case (Trevorrow) has resulted in a judgement in favour of the Indigenous plaintiff.
Ideologically, we also still have a way to go. The notion of self-determination (central to the 1990s political debate) and the empowerment of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples through specific community-driven and evidence-based initiatives seems a distant memory. Instead, what contemporary laws and policies like the Intervention demonstrate is a decisive commitment to top-down Indigenous policy making. This is an approach that echoes state ‘Protectionist’ schemes of the early twentieth century because of the emphasis on ‘normalcy’ and the need to address the ‘otherness’ of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples.
At the societal level, we only have to look as far as the Goodes controversy or Jack Charles’ experience following the Victorian Senior Australian of the Year ceremony to realise that sadly, racism (whether subtle or overt) towards Indigenous Australians (and other minorities) is more common than most would like to believe.
With all this in mind, is patriotism something to strive for, or something to avoid?
The first obvious hurdle inhibiting patriotism on Australia Day is the date. Of the three-hundred and sixty-five (or -four) days in the year, we have chosen to celebrate the achievements of Australian people on the one day that for many represents the beginning of a denial of existence and connection to land, and a loss of language, family, culture and identity. I agree with the sentiments of Susan Boyer (and many others) who assert Australia Day is about ‘acknowledging our history – the good and the bad bits,’ but there is a deep irony about doing so on this date. If we are to acknowledge a shared history, we need to stop sending a message to the Australian public that the 26th of January 1788 was the start of that history, and the start of Australian achievement. We must acknowledge what came before.
But putting the date to one side, the reality is that whether we celebrate our national day on January 26 or not: Australia can be difficult to be proud of.
This difficulty is not only brought about by the legal, political and social disadvantage facing Indigenous Australians. It is similarly not easy to be proud of ourselves for electing a government that is content with inaction on climate change. Or one that punishes people seeking asylum on our shores while maintaining we have a ‘vigorous, ambitious human rights agenda’ deserving of a seat on the UN Human Rights Council.
While this sounds bleak, what we shouldn’t do is reject the notion of patriotism. As Race Discrimination Commissioner Dr Tim Soutphommasane argues, we need to stop seeing patriotism as ‘a weapon of division; [but rather as] an instrument of unity’. I contest Simon Keller’s idea that all patriotic love is built on ‘lies about a shared national heritage’ and should be kept at arm’s length because it ‘looks for sources of national pride and turns away from sources of national shame’. Love does not have to necessitate the turning of a blind eye to another’s mistakes. When a parent loves their child and that child has done something wrong, there is the possibility the parent will side with their offspring, denying wrongdoing despite all evidence presented to the contrary. More often than not, however, they will acknowledge the child’s bad behaviour, and help them make amends. We need to form a new brand of patriot, one where patriotism is not understood as a blind love for country but a love based on honest recognition of our nation’s flaws and the need for change.
We care about policy and practices affecting Indigenous Australians because we care about Australia’s people. We want action on climate change because we love Australia’s natural environment and want to see it protected. If we do not love anything about Australia, what is there to drive us to make change? Australians’ love for country, diverse as it inevitably will be, does not have to entail a silence on our history and its ramifications. Instead, our patriotism, if of the right kind, can help drive the discourse about our shortcomings.
So, when January 26 rolls around, whether you find yourself in the backyard, at the beach, on the couch, or on the steps of Parliament House, love Australia realistically and start the conversation. If you want to upload a photo of the misshapen paddle pool, consider adding #changethedate. Do not give in to feelings of resignation about the state of the world, and do not let our generation become the next to passively support the ‘Great Silence’ that by now we should be looking back upon through the lens of history. A true patriot should be someone who cares deeply and works determinately to secure the longevity of the environment and all its peoples.
