When I
left Singapore for Australia a week ago a café in Sydney and a school in a place
called Peshawar in Pakistan were under siege.
Madmen
with guns had taken completely innocent and unaware bystanders hostage. It was
mad man – singular - in Sydney, and mad men plural in Peshawar in Pakistan.
Innocents
were killed at both locations.
Both
acts were horrific almost beyond comprehension.
Despite
141 people – including 132 students and 9 teachers being killed in the school
in Peshawar and a further 246 injured – the Sydney incident – where 2 people
were killed and another 6 were injured – got far more world media coverage.
All
the world media were reporting it live.
Since
then several other mad men in cars in France have run down dozens of people on
purpose and a runaway rubbish truck in Glasgow killed eight innocent passers
by.
In an
act that demonstrates that woman has as much capacity for evil and atrocity as
man, a mother in the sleepy northern tropical city of Cairns killed eight
children.
Seven
were her own and the other a niece - and they ranged in age from eighteen
months to twelve years.
She
slayed them with a knife.
Unthinkable.
I am
in Australia on my annual pilgrimage to the pagan Christian festival of
Christmas.
I
write this from the peaceful sanctuary of the beach house.
When my
plane landed I quickly discovered both sieges had ended with casualties.
The
media was all over them.
In
Pakistan there were many.
Casualties
that is.
Mostly
children.
Today I
have swum and I have had a long walk on the beach with my brother and his dogs
Jess and Callum.
The
Border Collies.
We
walked far and the dogs they ran and they ran.
Whilst
I pause now in my writing I can now hear the rhythmic and extremely pleasant
sound of the not-so-distant waves washing against the shore.
It is a
nice hypnotic sound that lulls me to sleep when I am down here.
It is
peaceful.
It is
serene.
I
think of the pagan Christian festival that is Christmas to be summer.
It
always has been in Australia.
It
always will be.
We
don’t do snowmen or snowball fights or English Christmas things like roasted
chestnuts or eggnog or brussels sprouts.
We do
the beach.
We do
cold ham and crayfish and prawns and ice-cold beers.
Summer
noises are the wakening to the distant buzzing of lawn mowers and falling
asleep to waves and cicadas and other creaking insects.
Nice
sounds.
Christmas
is sleeping under the sheets.
It is
barbeques and beers.
Chilled
chardonnays.
Bewdy.
I
think of Christmas to be a restful and pleasant time with family and friends.
It is us frolicking on the sand and in the ocean.
Swimming.
Surfing.
Fishing.
Summer
is long walks with the dogs to watch the sunrise and set - and to swim.
It is
lots of loud teenagers.
My Mum
and Dad.
The
boat.
Barbeques.
Reading.
Writing.
Cricket.
The
hammock.
Cicadas
creaking.
Hot
but no humidity.
Not
Singapore.
These
are familiar things.
These
are Christmas things.
Nice “I
am home” things.
Yep
summertime.
Comfort
and familiarity
The
sieges and runnings over were horrible and don’t fit in well.
To say
the least.
The Sydney siege may
well be one of those “where were you when?” historical moments.
The nation and the
city was shocked.
I have had and
written about a few of those.
The “where were
you when?” moments.
We all have.
I remember where I
was and what I was doing for a few big events. I recall where I was when John
Lennon was shot. I remember where I was and what I was doing when the huge
Tsunami washed over Asia on Boxing Day and when the Richter scale hit 9 in
Tokyo and a few days later when the Fukashima nuclear reactors broke.
I remember where I
was when a man named Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon.
They said at the
time that the event was, “one small step for man and one giant step for
mankind”.
I don’t think so.
Not looking back.
Not on the moon.
These are memories
captured and imprinted and milestones I can recall with some clarity.
They are
indelible.
An obsessed and
criminally insane man named Mark Chapman shot John Lennon outside of his home
in the Dakota apartment complex in New York on the 8th December
1980.
I was surfing with
some friends on a break called Winkipop at a beach named Bells in Australia
when news of the assassination of John Lennon broke. I remember being told
about it by one of my mates when I came out of the water.
I couldn’t believe
it.
I was shocked.
A ‘break’ in the
surfing context in which I have used it is a spot where movement in the deep
water of an ocean hits shallow water or a reef - and a wave is formed.
A Melbourne
Plumber and surfer called Bill Keenan gave the Winkipop break its name in the
1940’s.
He made the word
up.
I remember where I
was when the planes crashed into the World Trade Centre in New York on the 11th
September. I was on a plane in the air then too - as I was for the recent
sieges.
This time I was on
a flight that originated in New York then went to Bangkok and from there it
flew to Sydney. I had been working in Thailand and was on the Bangkok to Sydney
leg. The airline must have known what had happened because I remember that they
didn’t show the news at breakfast as they normally did - and they ushered a
whole heap of people away when we landed.
With the great
benefit of hindsight they must have all been passengers that originated in New
York.
Unbeknown to me I
was on some sort of security watch list for years after the event. Apparently
everyone who was in the air on flights that originated in the US at the time of
the attacks were on this list.
We were all
potential suicide bombers.
I was always
picked out for security scrutiny on international flights and I fly a lot.
It was a great
inconvenience
I found out about
the list a couple of years after the planes crashed whilst waiting in a Security
room with another guy who was in the air when it all went down in New York. He
was a Canadian who had been on a New York to Montreal flight that day.
It stopped a
couple of years ago and I assume I have now been cleared.
So
from the Singapore Airlines Kris Flyer lounge at the Changi international the
other night I watched a live telecast on the hostage event at the Lindt Café in
Sydney.
I was
in Terminal Three at Changi airport.
It was
on big screens in the lounge and was beamed in live on CNN and the BBC and Fox
and Bloomberg as well.
There
was international interest.
I only
read about the Peshawar incident on the Internet the next day and in full
detail this morning. Apparently a group of extremist anti-Government terrorists
stormed a large Army school in Pakistan and they just indiscriminately opened
fire on women and children and anyone in sight.
It was
a slaughtering of abominable proportions.
It was
horrific.
The
terror of the incident that for a while I watched live in Sydney from both my
home and then at the Changi airport was chilling. I think mainly because it was
my destination and Australia is my home and because I know that café.
It is
very close to my Sydney office – perhaps a couple of hundred meters away.
I have
had many a coffee from there before.
Double
shot lattes with a dash of vanilla.
It was
terrifying because we could see every minute of it and millions of people were
watching. The media coverage gave us close ups of the scene as well as detailed
exposes of who the people inside were.
Well
presented young news reporters provided we viewers with the names and age and
occupations of the hostages and we could see the terror and horror and
disbelief in their eyes in slow motion replays. We heard interview after interview
with their friends and relatives and witnesses to the event.
We
heard and felt speculation and we looked on with morbid dread.
It was
reality television at it’s very worst
The
people who were held hostages were just normal every day people going about their
daily business and who just happened to be in the café the same moment that a
lunatic with a gun and anger and malicious intent walked inside.
The
real scary thing was that it could have been you.
It
could have been me.
The
perpetrator – who was one of the three dead, was later identified as being ‘known
to authorities’. It turns out that he was a tried and convicted felon many
times over who was out on bail for the murder of his first wife. He claimed to
be a cleric and was a devout extremist Muslim – however he was much condemned
and completely ostracized by the many Muslim communities and Muftis in Sydney.
One of
his convictions was for writing derogatory letters to the widows and parents of
Australian soldiers killed in combat when serving in Afghanistan. He declared
in his letters to the grieving widows and parents that the soldiers were
criminals who deserved to die.
He was
obviously a very deluded and deranged man with many indications of profound
mental illness.
He was
an extremely dangerous nut.
There
has been much public outcry since the event by many in Australian society
questioning why the man was free at all on bail.
It has
been discussed in Parliament.
He had
after all a very long record of criminal convictions and had been charged with
the murder of his first wife.
These
are fair questions that deserve comprehensive and truthful answers.
It
would appear that the inadequacies and failures of the Australian legal system
may well have been a major contributing factor in these siege deaths.
My
daughter has just appeared over my right shoulder and my favourite niece over
my left. They have simultaneously kissed and then hugged me and then demanded
to be written about.
I have
accepted and returned their kisses and have told them that I shall write of
them no further at this time.
This
mention is sufficient.
They
shrugged and pouted and then giggled and have now retreated.
The
attention span of eighteen year olds is not a long one.
Before
they went - but whilst they were still pouting - the girls told me that they
are going out for dinner and then clubbing and dancing this evening. They told
me that they plan on getting hammered.
This
is colloquialism for getting drunk.
I
shrugged and pouted in nonchalance and it was then that they went away.
I
don’t approve nor disapprove of the intended hammering. I was eighteen once and
I remember the joy of youth and summer holidays.
Eighteen
year olds gather together and they get pissed.
Twenty
and thirty and fourty year olds too.
Fifty
and sixty as well.
The
older the less dancing involved but this is a much-embraced universally
accepted good time out.
Teens
have been doing this across the world for time eternal.
The Australian
and NSW Bail system has been under review and reform for many years with the
much-deferred new Bail laws to come into act in January next year. They have
been nearly a decade in the making and pushing them through the Parliamentary
system has been tedious and has taken many sittings and senseless debate by gormlessly
idiotic and incompetent politicians.
The
amelioration of any Law in Australia is long-winded and follows an archaic
process based on English statutes.
To
enact or change law both houses of Parliament are required to reach consensus
and at present the balance of power in the Senate is held by a shaky and small
band of members of a party led by an insufferable obese mining billionaire
magnate who could not have been characterized or cast more cleverly as the
obscene bigoted obnoxious pig.
A won’t
name him for fear of slander charges but he named his Party after himself.
It is
the Clive Palmer party.
I kid
you not.
When
asked if the mad perpetrator at the Sydney café would have still been in jail
for the murder charge if the new Bail laws had been enacted now, the Minister
for Justice reluctantly confessed that he would.
Still
be in jail.
I have
written much and often about my occasional embarrassment about being an
Australian living overseas.
I cringe
often and I feel ashamed quite a bit.
To the
point that I have sometimes pretended to be a New Zealander.
It was
that bad.
Most
of my discomfiture with my kinfolk is political – and some of it is about some
public Australian figures.
I feel
ashamed about our brutal and inhumane Refugee policy and the whinging whining
moaning stance on it by our politicians and not insignificant hunks of the
Australian population.
I am
appalled at the effort and fortune spent on keeping out of our country poor
souls who try to arrive by leaky and unseaworthy boats from far-away war
stricken countries. Such is their desperation to escape to refuge they put at
risk the lives of themselves and sometimes their whole families.
Children.
They
are that scared.
I
think that the Australian politicians lack compassion and empathy and decency
in their turning back of these boats. I also think that their accommodation of
these poor souls in isolated and prison-like detention centres where they live
for years while they are ‘processed’ is as inhumane as it is petty.
It is
shameful.
Australia
has always been a nation grown from immigrants from all around the world and we
once had a proud and enviable reputation as being a friendly place where there
was an absolute determination to give every one a fair go. The Australian
refugee policies to me are a breach of basic human rights and are most
un-Australian.
We are
talking of a few thousand refugees at most.
Countries
adjacent to war-ravaged nations – like Turkey is to Syria – deal with hundreds
of thousands of refugees.
First
World privileged countries like Australia and America and Canada and the United
Kingdom – we have an obligation to assist the displaced with kindness and
consideration.
New
Zealand does it.
They
do it well.
I also
cringe when I see terrible Australian people in the media saying embarrassingly
ignorant and often spitefully horrible bigoted things.
It
happens not infrequently.
People
like Pauline Hansen.
Clive
Palmer.
Gina
Reinhart.
Tony
Abbot.
Crocodile
Dundee.
I am
often shamed and frustrated at my country’s tardiness in adopting renewable
energy and it’s continued love affair with carbon and burning fossil fuels. The
country has been blessed with an abundance of dirty black and brown coals and
we burn and sell it in vast amounts.
We need
to stop.
Digging
it and using it and selling it.
It
should be kept in the ground whilst we harness the power of the sun and the
wind. Australia is too slow and lazy - and our politicians are too intimidated or
in-the-pockets of the Resource billionaires who actually hold the reign of
power in politics.
These
are frightening and shady ignoramus of the highest possible order.
It is
therefore surprising and almost quite delightful to confess to feeling quite
proud to be an Australian today.
All
this week actually and likely tomorrow too.
When I
landed on my native soil a little after 10.00am local time last week I
immediately sought news of the siege in the Lindt café. I quickly and most sadly read that the
shootings happened at about 2.00am - when I was still in the air. I would
probably have been about 9 or 10 kilometers high over the Northern Territory
somewhere.
Heading
south at more than a thousand kilometers an hour.
Sleeping
restlessly.
I was most
dejected to hear of the fatalities but not greatly surprised by the stories
hinting at suggestions of acts of bravery. The café owner who was fatally shot
appears to have tried to disarm the mad man and the lady lawyer who was shot was
allegedly shielding a pregnant lady.
The
police shot the mad pretend-cleric when they stormed the café.
The
storming was a contingency plan that was in place should a shot or explosion be
heard inside.
They
were Special Forces dudes who did the storming within seconds of a shot being
fired inside.
The
storming and the sound and sight of shots being fired and police storming and
hostages fleeing was all televised and has been in constant replay.
The
police must have shot the crazed perpetrator many times.
Heaps
of bullets were fired.
The
rescuing of the hostages was not the source of my national pride though.
It was
the aftermath.
People
did nice things.
Really
nice things.
Lots
of people.
There
was always a fear of a racial-religious flare-up once it became known and
broadcast that the mad man was a Muslim cleric. It was heightened when one of his
first actions in his hostage-taking was to force some of the captured staff and
customers of the café to hold up a black flag to the window on which was
written Muslim script.
The
words were religious – from the Q’oran – however they only translated to words
declaring the Greatness of God.
However
it was ominous to most observers.
This
was a terrorist act by an extremist.
Such
extremists had a track record of undertaking public atrocities.
Executions
by decapitation.
Bombings.
Shootings.
Scary and
lethal shit.
There
is a large Muslim population in Sydney and there have been many recent media
reports about young Australian men of Syrian descent returning there through Turkey
to fight in the grim and frightful and questionable war going on over there.
Attempts
at genocide.
Mind
you all wars are grim and frightful and questionable.
They
are all abominations.
However
there has always been an underlying fear of religious and racial intolerance by
the white Australian population to the many Muslims in Australia and
particularly by a very small minority of people amongst the potentially very dangerous
Bogans.
However
to my great joy the opposite has in fact been the case.
This
is the source of my pride.
There
are many stories being reported but the one I like the most is of a greatly
distressed and frightened Muslim lady in Sydney seen trying to hastily remove
her hijab head dress at a railway station during the siege event.
A
non-Muslim lady waiting for the same train clicked her tongue and told her in a
no-nonsense manner to leave her hijab on and to sit with her. She said no one
was stupid to believe that this was a reflection on the all people of Islam and
she would not tolerate any person bullying the Muslim lady.
She
would protect her.
She called
her ‘dear’ and patted her shoulder and she took her arm onto the train. She told
her this was the work of an isolated and deranged madman.
She
said he was not a representative of Islam.
She
said all people of all faiths condemned him.
She then
offered to ride with her to and from wherever she wanted at anytime. She passed
on her telephone number. Then she shared the moment and started a tweet #illridewithyou that went viral across
the country.
I am
not a Tweeter however this was the medium through which word of this event spread
far and rapidly.
About
one hundred and twenty thousand people signed up in the first hour - offering
to ride with any Muslim person that felt unsafe on public transport.
There
are now badges being handed out at railway stations across the country that a
large number of commuters of all racial backgrounds and religions are wearing
proudly.
Muslim
women around Australia are riding the buses and trams and trains intimidated by
the ignorant few and wearing their hijab.
It is
as it should be.
Nice
huh?
I
think so.
It
makes me proud to be from and in a country where such a thing is happening.
It has
restored my faith in humanity and it has put the ‘Merry’ back into Christmas a
bit.