This was my love letter to Australia before a pandemic hit.
It’s still true.
We should still change the date.
We should not honour bigots and media autocrats with national honours.
We are still, on the whole, here for each other, both proud and ashamed and (mostly) resolute to change, to be our best selves, our best country.
At times we are hopeless, but almost always hopeful, with a sharp eye focused on a better future.
We have stayed at home to save lives, we have grieved those we’ve lost, and we are hopeful of a vaccine that will open up our world again.
We have wept for a ravaged land, hopeful of recovery but mourning loss of flora and fauna, some species gone forever.
We have stood up against injustice and, from afar, have watched our brothers and sisters across the world in their own suffering, hopeful of change that must come.
We have survived.
We will thrive again.
We will see you again.
We are Australia.
It is Australia Day 2020. January 26th is a contentious date, because it marks the arrival of the First Fleet―the first European settlers who arrived in Australia in 1788.
Of course, by commemorating this date, Australia ignores that in 1788 we were already populated by hundreds of nations of Indigenous Australians forming the world’s oldest civilisation. January 26th marks the date of an invasion and the beginning of a genocide.
This post isn’t about whether or not we should change the date of Australia Day, although we absolutely should. This post is a love letter to my home, my country, my Australia.
My Australia is the person at the tram stop who sees that you’re lost and points you in the right direction with a smile. My Australia is the person at the party who draws the introverts into conversation, and makes sure everyone is heard. My Australia…
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