Hide your palace flags, Japanese Emperors. Dawn Fraser and her merry band of white haired colonial descendants have abandoned their bingo boards and are surrounding your place with pitchforks and really stern words. And that goes for anyone else whom threatens her Anglo-sexual way of life that doesn’t exist anymore. And don’t you dare go all Nickos Kyrgios and throw racquets. IT IS FORBIDDEN. She WILL go on Sunrise, make no mistake. She’s not even afraid of a heartfelt debate on Aussie values and larrikinism with Nick’s eyebrowless, bald big brother. Or ethnic uncle Fester, as he is known in our house. Hey, here’s a headline you won’t see any time in the near future. Dawn Fraser decides to take her own advice and swim back to England. Well, not unless Good News Week makes its satiric triumphant televised return or you live in an alternate dimension where everybody does what they probably should in fear of whippings. You know, like the kiddies of a North Korean crèche.
Let us not forget convenient Anglo forgetfulness, an illogical hate of England (hello, is anybody home?) and double standards are the backbone of this country. Or is that the pain in the ass of bogan suburbia? Any well, a while back Miss Fraser, that old swimmer lady that once stole a flag or something at an Olympic Games and kissed a girl when it was taboo and liked it, made the statement in the media that all Australians with Mediterranean blood should go back to where their fathers come from because Nick Kyrgios is a big jerk with Vanilla Ice hair, or something to that effect. I might take this personally if it wasn’t so hilariously nonsensical. Vanilla Ice has beautiful hair, obviously. Back off lady. Don’t get me wrong, if Nick was a vegan drowning in an ocean of milk I’d throw him a cow. As the son of a man who once dislodged a fellows eye socket on a parking meter for calling him a wog in the 80’s, I won’t disagree that some cultures are a little more passionate than others, or prone to mild mood swings. But this country just wouldn’t be so great if it wasn’t for its rich and varied immigrant history. Fish and chips are great, but nobody wants it for breakfast every day forever.
Instead, we as Australians reap the benefits and rewards of the collective team effort, whether we realise it or not. The first fleet convict coffee was questionable at best. It took until the 50s for good coffee to reach these sunny shores, but when it did it really took off. We can thank the likes of Greek, Slav, Hungarian and Italian immigrants for that, amongst others. You would be hard pressed to walk through a suburb and not see a coffee shop these days. Take a look at your house and you may be surprised to find it’s a house. That’s not a hammock slung between two gum trees. That’s not a shack made of twigs, feces and mud. That’s a stable structure of bricks, mortar and indoor plumbing. You’re welcome. The bustling restaurant industry, immigrants. Shoes, immigrants. The fact you can shop on a Sunday now, inspired by immigrants. Immigrants son. And let’s not forget the pure choice and variation of lovely ladies on hand. It really is quite phenomenal.
Why then brothers and sister, are we so hell bent on not extending our hands to those fleeing conflicted areas. Are we in this solely for our own benefit? I like to think most Anglo Aussies would like to see the days of take, take, take a part of history solely in their rear view. Do yourself and somebody else a favour. Invite that Syrian bloke over for a barbecue. You might find the underlying themes of family, love, safety and prosperity are universal desires.