Yet, from the desert the prophets come. Not the desert run by BHP/Billington and Essington ''I am work'' Lewis. Not the desert run by The Big Three financed by The Big Four. It's the desert that is suburbia. We are all, almost without exception, from THAT desert. And our prophets are born underneath the dull steel of a Hills Hoist. We are not just a mining pit with a pretty coastline. There's a bit more to us than that.
Our nation barely knows the words to its own national anthem. That fact makes my heart swell with pride. I love to see the horrified, furtive glances and inept, bad mime and mumbling that occurs if we ever get to that dreaded second verse. My magnificent and future Nobel Prize winning prime ministerial five-year-old daughter, Lotte May Muldoon, knows Advance Australia Fair better than 90 something per cent of the Australian population. I love that and her.
I love that if the weather is fine, our beaches will be filled. I love that a cricket ground will be packed. ON A WORK DAY.
I like that we happily shoot and eat our national symbol, the kangaroo (Sorry vegans, but I do). It speaks to our rural and indigenous past. I like that huge swathes of the city hate that.
I like that the tension between the city and the country is not that tense.
We're still finding out who the hell we are. We are a teenage nation. Which, of course brings me to the JJJ Hottest 100. Somehow, that strange and often wonderful station, has become part of our ''national identity''. No-one knows how or why. Anyone over the age of 12 gripes about JJJ, and will happily tell you when ''the glory days of JJJ'' were (I'm one of them. For mine it was when they went from JJ to JJJ. That first bit. THAT was good, weird times. But hey, you've got yours too) and you will hear JJJ across this nation on that day. It will be ubiquitous. And yes I think BBQ too. I think cricket with arguments about LBW and classic catches. It's hard not to. It'll be happening (almost) everywhere.
Do we CARE about Australia Day? Of course not. It's a bit of artificial holiday to make us think we're a nation. We have fun, we're good at that. But do we reflect on our strengths and weaknesses? About where we're headed and where we'd like to go? Do we ponder? Do we furrow our brows? Do our poets battle with the tyranny of the blank page? Do our souls expand towards a new unseen horizon sparkling with the tincture of hope?
Nup. We get on the piss. And sometimes kiss. And sometimes biff. We can, quite effortlessly become the Disney version of Australia. The worst part of us is a drunken nationalism that is like a pack of wolves seeking prey. The best part is planting trees and welcoming newcomers to this miracle of a nation that we are almost embarrassed to share, because it's THAT good. In this nation, we tend to be allowed to ''go about our business'', whatever that may be.
I've lived in this nation my entire life and I still have no idea what it is. I also hugely struggle with even typing the word ''we''. Do I love it? This place that I plant my feet? This place I potter around and bump into other lost souls seeking comfort and joy, unfussed about the concepts of ''identity'' and ''belonging'' ? This place of incomparable beauty hidden from the world, yet profoundly connected? This land of the brutal, weary, yet strangely innocent smile?
Why yes I do. Thanks for asking.
