Old John

He paces the meager space which surrounds the block of tired red brick units, where he has lived on the ground floor since his wife left him in 1976 due to a bad turn in the stock market and the subsequent loss of the family home. His back is so straight, proudly staving off the inevitable onset of an aged hunch. Each step is small and deliberate, but the creases on his face are surrendered to the painful pointlessness of his routine.

 

“I get so down in winter, I can’t walk when it is cold it hurts my knees” he says to a passer by who seems to be an involuntary participant in the conversation. A smile lifts the lose skin about his jowls, almost squeezing his eyes shut. Animated by the opportunity to talk to someone he continues, trapping his target who forces a smile and tries not to look at the food stains old eyes fail to notice. “Its getting warm now though, it will be summer soon, I do like it when it is hot” John says. I duck as he looks up at the window from which I watch this routine, ashamed.

 

Living in this apartment has become a tactical game of avoidance. All the residents learn fairly quickly that if you don’t want to be cornered by John for at least twenty minutes every morning before work, you have to plan your escape with the precision of a military operation. There is however a small part of me which aches every time I duck behind the hedge out of his limited vision and jump on my bike before he sees me and asks me if I believe in Global Warming. I tell myself he has family, its just they visit when I am not home. I convince myself there is some one who cares about him, children maybe who bring him gifts at Christmas, and drop in to check he has all he needs. But I have never seen this happen.

 

He once told me he used to be big in the television industry, he offered to have us round for chocolate royals, and said I could watch any musical I wanted as he had them all on tape. I meant to go, I really did, there just is never time.

Accenting the problem

Its hot, in a sweaty way. The queue of sour faced people overflows out on to the pavement. The take away bags bursting with goodies, are thrust out into the group of waiting people with a shout of a slightly mispronounced name. Kids run around the ankles of the busy staff screaming, and a red faced women restles her way to the front of the counter; “I didn’t order this, I asked for no – pe-per on mine and pe-per on the other one,I want my mon-ey back!”. She then turns to a friend; “I don’t think he understands me”. The shop owner’s brow furrows and a droplet of sweat trembles before embarking on the journey from his hairline to the end of his nose, he looks up; “Yes madam, I do understand you, I will be with you in a minute I am just serving some one” he says through a thick accent.”What!” she replies, redder than ever. ” I can’t understand you……why doesn’t anyone speak English in here!”.

The Vietnamese owner of the Cronulla cafe, Tom, watches the woman storm out, frustrated. “I have been here four years and when I arrived I had no English, originally I lived in Queensland and I learnt English there, but its like a different language down here in Sydney..maaate” he says through a playful smile.

“Sometimes it seems like people don’t want to try to understand you, I realise it must be really frustrating. Customers don’t want to have to strain to here you, that’s why I only hire staff who speak clear English” the owner said.

 ”Language is the biggest problem faced by immigrants, even those who have English skills when they get here struggle with the communication needed to find jobs, friends and services, it can increase isolation”said Rosemary; Humanitarian Case Worker from St George Immigrant Settlement Services.

 ”Recently arrived immigrants who have good English find the Australian accent particularly hard to get to grips with”Rosemary said.

Michaela Bobeck, a tall slender Swedish girl, who lived with her boyfriend in his home town of Bundaburg found people’s reaction to her accent exhausting.

“I was in this ice cream shop in Bundy….wasn’t I bud?” she refers back to her boyfriend in an awkward Swedish style Queensland slang. ” I asked for vanilla, three times and she still was like; ‘what Darle?, I cant get ya’. I was just so tired i asked a fourth time, and then I just started to cry. i have studied English for years ..it is so frustrating, and it makes me feel so home sick”.

It is widely agreed that communication is the key to a successful multicultural society, particularly in the case of recently arrived migrants. The services provided by the government for migrants from non English speaking backgrounds are however limited.

“They are sat in a class room with all different ages and once they have completed the five hundred hours that is it, whatever standard they have reached” said a case worker from Hurstville migrant services centre.

“it is not just language but cultural understanding that is needed and that comes from community projects, of which there are few” she said………..

This feature would aim to address the gap between learning to speak and understand English and having the communication skills and cultural know how to partake in society.

This feature would use the experiences of migrants, and employers to outline the difficulties migrants face on a daily basis. It would also address the existing community projects where newly arrived Australians can interact with those who have been here a long time.

Crime, Cricket and Prejudice

The SMH provided a well balanced article this week regarding the racial tensions which remain unresolved in NSW, and Sydney in particular. The Feature Crime and Prejudice, focussed on the areas of sydney which, rather like parts of the Middle East in international politics, have been labled by politicians; the failed suburbs of Sydney.

A refreshing break from the sensational racial profiling that fills the newspapers, this article was an indepth look at racial relations and crime. The wealth of information in the feature and the use of historical context, is arranged in neat clear paragraghs which are embroided with interesting language and metaphor;

“Equally remarkable is the chasm separating the reality in this generally peaceable, law-abiding melting pot and the “war zone” claims of Debnam and a noisy chorus of former police whistleblowers, politicians and media commentators who feel compelled to call the pot black. Crime and prejudice are like two hotted-up cars, racing along Canterbury Road towards next year’s state election. It wasn’t always so. Bankstown Sports Club, a suburban folly nestling amid an artificial rainforest and Corinthian columns in imitation stone, is the place where Paul Keating delivered his “sweetest victory of all” speech on the night of the 1993 federal election.” 

The article used positive descriptions of areas such as Bankstown, Lakemba and Punchbowl as well as indervidual and statistical evidence to contradict the portrayal of these suburbs as hot beds of so called ethnic gangs and extremism. The article, is not however onesided but seems to address the conflict between reality and perception in regard to middle eastern crime;

“Bureau of Crime Statistics figures show you are more likely to be murdered in western Sydney than in Canterbury-Bankstown; more likely to be burgled in the eastern suburbs; more likely to be assaulted in Gosford-Wyong. The figures for some offences, such as robbery with a firearm and motor vehicle theft, are above the state average, but the picture is mixed. The “war zone” hysteria has no basis in fact.”

“IN GREENACRE, the old fibro bungalows are making way for two-storey brick veneer palaces, often with three or four cars in the driveway. Early in the morning, veiled mothers drive their children to school in four-wheel-drives. But daylight reveals a burnt-out car near Gosling Park, the scene of an horrendous incident in August 2000 when up to 14 males led by Bilal Skaf raped a 16-year-old girl.”

The article is long, and utilizes many sources. The voices of police officers, politicians, community workers and residents are all heard. This gives the article a lively feel, and the reader almost feels part of a debate.

This description It is also a very timely analysis of racial steriotyping, as Channel Ten Commentator and Aussie Cricket legend Dean Jones, admits to calling South African Cricketor Hashim Amla a “terrorist” on air. The Cricket South Africa (CSA) are taking this very seriously. Jones now awaits his fate.

www.therevolution.blog.com

An interesting trend of blog inspired articles are drawing attention to this growing phenomenon. Blogs are piling up in the google directory creating an alternative arena for political debate.

Young media savy politically motivated bloggers are increasingly choosing to voice there opinions and protests online. This boiling pot of cyber concern for political causes has even been heralded in France, the world’s most blog active nation, as a welcome end to street protest as explored in the article french bloggers. 

Similarly the online opinion article taking to the streets in cyber space  makes an interesting comparison between the unwashed weed smelling protestors of the sixties and a new generation of armchair revolutionaries.

In general the potential of the blogasphere is being slowly recognised, and its possible function as a truely peaceful democratic forum realised. I think it is time to get involved.

Hungry as Hell

The portions are a little too small. The organic green of the lettuce nearly conceals a streak of glistening tomato poking out from the miniature sandwich. Patiently they wait flanked by little lines of sweet personal parcels, behind the glass counter.

The price is a little too high, but the muffins are bursting with chocolate rocks, boulders in fact. As if they are competing for attention they spill out from the paper pots ..they were baked in and jostle for space in the basket.

Standing to attention, their keeper is bored of the the delights in her ward. She watches the clock grind arround on its axis, whilst others freely wonder in and out feeding their faces.