Seventeen years ago, I was on a break from tech and working in the knitting shop, and I decided the time had come to get my Australian citizenship. When I told one of the older women in the shop, her eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said. “I really mean that. Thank you. I think it’s wonderful when people decide to join us.” I felt so welcomed and so proud, and, like, filled with the spirit of mateship and the ANZACs and all of it. I am, you are, we are Australian, right?
Eighteen months later, Kevin Rudd was about to issue the first national apology to Australia’s Aboriginal peoples for the Stolen Generations. I found myself speaking to that same woman, and happily remarking what a momentous and long overdue day it was. “Don’t even get me started on THEM,” she spat, to my utter shock. She launched into racist invective about the many crimes of Aboriginal people, as she saw it. “You don’t really believe that,” I said, trying to rescue the situation and my opinion of her. The scornful look she gave me… I remember being utterly floored by it. It was clear then that while she was happy to grant me – a white, affluent Westerner who had been in the country for just over 6 years at that point – the status of Australian, other people who had been here a whole hell of a lot longer had not earned it. Our friendship ended that day.
So I’ll be voting YES in the referendum this Saturday. Because I want to live in a country that recognises 65,000 years of Indigenous culture in our constitution. Because enshrining the Voice will make me proud to be an Australian.
And yeah, sticking it to a racist asshole will feel pretty good too. #yes23
