Are you an Aussie Mongrel too? ๐
see video at top of story
http://www.smh.com.au/comment/this-day-marks-great-loss-and-great-gift-20140125-31fc1.html
Belinda Lopez
My grandparents were boat people. Not asylum seekers, specifically, but they did arrive by boat, and they'd left a dictatorship in Spain that prevented the expression of culture and political beliefs. They were lucky in that they wanted to be in Australia at the same time that Australia wanted them.
This was the 1960s, and the Australian government's thirst for migrants was insatiable.
When I read the headlines today about asylum seekers/illegal arrivals/insert label here, I'm struck by the sheer luck of my family having made it to Australia at the right time, and from the right country.
There's a lack of self-reflection among Australians when we focus on the ''mode of arrival'' of those trying to come to this country, as a means of determining whether they are people who legitimately deserve be here. It's as if we've forgotten something pretty crucial: We all got here somehow.
The thought struck me on the train. Our rail network is a rich ecosystem of ethnicities and languages. Cultures morph and intermingle across stations. Everyone in my carriage had a story of arriving here somehow. And so, inspired by the Coalition government's focus on ''mode of arrival'', I started approaching strangers on trains, with a microphone.
Certain rules of non-interaction on public transport are maintained, silently. People jump when you approach them. They eye you suspiciously over their smartphones. But I persevered. I walked up to people, and I asked them: How did you get here?
Of course, I was looking for an answer to a deeper question: How had they arrived in Australia?
The initial reactions fell into three clear categories.
Many of the passengers of Anglo-Saxon heritage answered casually, telling me what station they'd hopped on at.
Foreigners living here told me how they'd arrived in Australia - through love and heartbreak, poverty, secrecy, forced opportunity and unexpected chance.
And people like me - the first-generation and second-generation Australians whose parents and grandparents had arrived here by boat or plane - sometimes answered guardedly and a little defensively. "I was born here. I consider myself Australian. I am Australian," they'd say. I got the feeling they'd been asked that question more than once.
In one memorable train ride, there were stories of dictatorial governments, of dreams about Australia drawn from soap operas, of civil war, orphans - and of course convicts. And always - mostly always - a smile when they reflected on their luck of having ended up here, whether it was two months or 200 years ago.
The people of indigenous heritage I spoke to gave the same answer in one form or another: "Well, 65,000 years ago my ancestors arrived here, and we've been here ever since."
I left the train exhausted with the weight of the stories I was carrying with me. It was strange to think I would never have known them if I hadn't asked.
There's a lot more to think about on Australia Day than the shopping list for booze and which songs might make Triple J's Hottest 100. For indigenous Australians, it's the story of survival. The public holiday marks the beginning of great loss: of separation from land, from culture, from children. For families whose ancestors were migrants, my family - and most likely yours included - the day marks the gifting of a second chance, and a second home.
What I'll also be thinking about this Australia Day is the endless potential for a great conversation with someone in this country. So go on. Try it. Ask the person next to you. And remember to ask yourself: "How did you get here?"
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