Spread the word
Eureka!
Let me tell you a story.
A long, long time ago, there was a young girl. She was brought up in the era of Hawke (who claimed that any boss who sacked their employees for taking the day off when Australia first won the America's Cup in 1983 was a "bum"), and Keating (who terrorised the nation by creating the bogie of the "Banana Republic," whilst trying to ignore the "recession we had to have"), in a working class town. Primary and secondary industry were the economic raisons d'etre of the region. In fact, Newcastle's links with Broken Hill Pty Ltd (colloquially known as "Big Harry's Place") resulted in Novocastrians tagging themselves as "The Steel City" until the 1990s, when the company decided to up stumps in a company restructure which seemed to us to descend from upon high as the result of the latest bit of financial jargon, "economic rationalism." At the time, we weren't aware of what this phrase meant, but it soon became pretty obvious what it would do - throw thousands of people onto the dole queue.
In the meantime, people attempted to survive as best they could. The town's remaining industry, coal mining and export, was also hard hit during the recession, but at least it kept on ticking over, as it always had done since Lt John Shortland's reconaissance of the region in 1797.
During this time this young girl, like her friends, watched her parents' struggle to keep a roof above their heads and food in everyone's mouths, with unemployment rife and interest rates topping out at 18% - which, when you stop and think about it, makes you wonder why people are whinging when interest rates today have yet to reach 10%.
This young girl was the perpendicular pronoun - the young girl who became a teenager, and then a woman, who loathed this town - loathed it for its economic woes and the corresponding insecurity and poverty that it bred; loathed it for the small-mindedness and ignorance that was a result of the beforementioned poverty; loathed it for the lack of culture, lack of services, lack of interest that should have made this town a worthwhile place to live.
However, when I stop and think about it, the above isn't true. After all, Newcastle is a beautiful place to live - we have lovely beaches, parks, and reserves galore. We fund free libraries and art galleries. We have two municipal theatres and an entertainment centre that's starting to attract international acts. The town has a thriving university that has produced alumni who will participate in the 2020 cultural summit that is coming up this weekend.
So, what in the fuck is wrong with this town? Why do I hate it so?
I finally realised that I hate the culture of fear that inspires our very ordinariness, that stops us from trying anything new. The simple fact is, this town, and to some degree, Australia, is apathetic. We are afraid to try anything, and we have developed a particular expertise in avoiding activities that involve actually reaching out and helping someone we don't know. After years of being economically beaten down by Labour (who ignored our economic and social woes because we were a safe seat) and the Coalition (ditto) we came to accept that we had to look out for number one - so much so, that the fight for survival became part of an entrenched culture.
It's no wonder I've been so depressed.
Well, not anymore.
After a LOT of soul searching, I finally found what it was that I am meant to be doing:
Master of Disability Studies - Newcastle University
After I do that, I can take part in this:
This is no fad, like some of the other courses I considered doing in desperation in the earlier part of this year. This is for real. This is getting further back to my roots, part of what I had wanted to achieve all along - to either be a part of, or found, an organisation that was trying to make a difference to the community - in my case, a place where people with disabilities can come and learn skills that will aide them in independent living. In fact, I've even got the location picked out, a former corner store near my home that would be good for some sort of community drop-in centre. When I have enough money to get a camera, I'll take a photo. It's a wreck, but a charming one.
For this realisation, I want to thank someone. Someone who tried to talk to me, tried to get me to remember what it was that I was all about, how losing my job was actually an opportunity to do something with my life. I was so busy grieving that I couldn't - or perhaps didn't want - to hear that person. All I wanted to do was destroy myself because I felt like I'd let everybody down ... for a variety of reasons, some obvious to everyone, some apparent to others, and some just to myself. As a result, I indulged in some behaviour that I'm not particularly proud to look back on. Behaviour that shocked a great many people, myself included.
After some reflection, I've realised that I haven't fathomed the half of it yet, but I'm finally starting to get some inklings of what life, and I, should be about. After putting myself, and the people I cared about, through absolute misery, I'm starting to find my way back - apparently too late for some things, but not too late for ... what?
That's one of the things I don't know yet - but I can still remember how that music used to make me smile, and that's a good place to start. So, Someone? You probably will never read this, but I still want to say thanks. I wouldn't be doing this without you.
