Bill of Goodes

This weekend, in sports stadia Australia, things could get a little tricky.

It’s this Adam Goodes business, of course, and the treachery of what might be charitably described as good intentions  — or, if you have noticed how the official promotion of multicultural sensitivities has had the perverse effect of widening divisions rather than narrowing them, the mischief of careerists who have made mountains out of otherwise insignificant molehills.

Might we all have been better off, less troubled by cries of ‘Racism!’ and ‘Redneck!’, if the task of promoting multicultural amity had been assigned to the lithe-limbed Chooky Dancers, who put an Indigenous spin on Zorba the Greek. That’s them above, and the video of their performance can be viewed via this link.

On a less cheerful note, this weekend we have AFL fans threatening to fling eggs at those whose opinions they don’t like, not to mention Indigenous players in several codes promising renditions of Goodes’ infamous spear-chuck dance, which greatly offended those on the receiving end of his conceptual barbs. In the grandstands’ best seats those who promoted race as the ultimate definition of individual humanity will shake their heads and assure each other the sound of booing could come only from irredeemable bigots. It won’t be true, of course, and they’ll know it, but that won’t matter. It’s their mess and they’ll damn well make sure someone else cops the blame for the damage they have wrought.

Goodes is taking the weekend off, but the Black Steam Train blog is very much on the ball:

As Adam walks out for his next game, before making his way onto that perfectly manicured stadium lawn, I suggest he take a deep, slow breath and reflect upon the reality of his life.  Rather than having to emerge from the sheds for the ‘coloured people’, kept separate from the white folks playing beside him, he will run out after being supported by his entire team, not kept to the back.  When he is thirsty, he doesn’t have to take a drink at the appropriately labelled drinking fountain, set aside for only folks with his racial identity, but rather will be served like a prince, with a special servant whose only job is to provide refreshments for the thirsty players, regardless of their skin colour or heritage.  As he drives his brand new sports car to training, where he looks around at the other players arriving in their equally expensive vehicles and stops to realise he is paid just as much as them, if not more, he should perhaps pause a moment and wonder about whether he is fighting a war that has already been won, and instead of complaining from his position at the top, realise how those on the bottom rungs might be sick of hearing him whinging and would much rather he just got on with life.

The entire post can and should be read, especially by those overflowing with glib cliches about traditions and heritage invented, well, yesterday. It is available via the link below.

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