aaront162 – Page 2 – Postcards from GW

“Are you Australian?” he said in an American accent. “Really?”

AdminJanuary 28, 2014

Yesterday on the 26th of January, the Australian exchange students organized a small Australia Day party complete with all the trimmings – a sausage sizzle (slight burnt, onions optional of course), fair bread (buttered toast with sprinkles, atypical of any primary school birthday party), Tim Tams (which I think were the fastest to disappear) and of course vegemite (diluted with a bit of butter for those not used to its strong taste). Yet in the midst of creating our little sampling plate of Australiana, I realized it has been just over three or so weeks since I arrived in the US and more so than anything else, I find myself drawn back towards Sydney and Australia though not purely out of sorely missing the summer warmth in the midst of yet another polar vortex in Washington DC.

Australia Day does not mark the birth of Australia – it marks the birth of a colony of Britain which over the course of over two hundred years has wrestled with its own identity set against the identity of others. If the narrative is to be believed, Australia began unmistakably and loyally British in birth, recasting itself as a nation in 1901 with the formation of a federation of states coming of age on the fields of the Western Front and the beaches of Gallipoli, and then once again along the Kokoda Trail. Yet within this narrative is a story of insecurity – of the fear of outsiders which led it to implement the White Australia Policy and a desperate attempt to maintain itself as a loyal outpost of Europe set amongst South East Asia. Australia Day is a strange creature – it marks the date upon which the British flag was raised on Sydney Cove by Governor Phillip. A simple enough act but one which, beneath the sausage sizzles and Australian flags draped over sunburnt shoulders, reveals the sheer complexity of Australian culture, identity and indeed, that most politically loaded notion of what is “Australian”.

There is a certain degree of surprise when I speak to someone in the US – the Australian accent seems to be discordant with what they would expect. This is perhaps understandable enough when much of Australian culture and people continues to be represented by the likes of Crocodile Dundee or Steve Irwin but does a grave injustice to the true, and in my opinion, far more beautiful face of Australia today as a rich, diverse and multicultural nation. Looking back, the most striking image of Australia Day was not at the Cricket Grounds, the Footy Field or even in Canberra. It was a small suburban park in Sydney’s South-West, a area well known for its multiculturalism, in which an Afghani family was having a barbeque, flatbread and lamb next to the Tip-Top with the slightly burnt sausages. I could not help but be reminded of this image as I looked around the room at the multitude of cultures which were celebrating Australia day with us, bringing just a bit of Sydney in the midst of chilly Washington DC. There is little doubt that our Australia Day party helped remind me what being an Australian is all about.

Dr King and painting playgrounds

AdminJanuary 24, 2014

By aaront162

There is little doubt that Washington DC presents itself, to those looking inwards from the outside, almost purely in terms of the magnificent white marble and granite grandeur of the White House, the Capitol Building, the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. On a warm August afternoon in 1963, on those very steps of the Lincoln Memorial, looking out towards a crowd of over two hundred and fifty thousand people, Martin Luther King delivered a speech that has been etched into our collective memory of the struggle of that era – a movement which not only fought for the rights of African-Americans but was so powerful that its call for fairness and equality that it resonated far enough to the struggle against Apartheid in South Africa and inspire the Freedom Rides which symbolised the Indigenous Rights movement in Australia.

So some fifty or so years on from Dr King’s speech, the sun drew westward towwards the horizon on a rather quiet winter afternoon and the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Day of Service slowly crept to a end. A day which should leave someone with a sense of accomplishment – a basic enough sense of having made a difference to lives of those not afforded the privileges which others are born into – ended in a strangely dejected manner. There is little doubt that the intent was harmless enough and no doubt at all that the enthusiasm was there but by the time the one and a half hours of speeches and pep talk that began the day finally needed in the ballroom of the Marvin Centre, by the time the nicely printed shirts and packed lunches of the day were distributed, the mood had already taken a turn towards what seemed like more than anything else, a misdirected effort. We had painted a fence but barely so, patches of new paint barely covering the old, that is, if covering it all - we left it a half finished job with seemed to be a poignant symbol for the day in itself. By the time we came around to cleaning up the scraps of coloured paper or cleaning the pale green, blue, red and orange paint off the brushes and rollers, a misdirected effort became an opportunity lost.

When I first came to Washington DC, I took a routine bus service to New York City. Moving outwards from Union Square station, there was an unmistakable movement from the exquisitely well kept parks that surrounds the national monuments and wide avenues to the crumbling shop fronts, graffiti strewn across their walls and their windows plastered with dusty and sun bleached “for lease” signs. It may be a certain cynicism which some characterise as quintessential to the Australian attitude but it was hard to connect how the several hours we had spent painting an otherwise well maintained wire fence made any sort of impact upon this almost second world within the boundaries of the city. Again I have no doubt that all all intentions were good but on my way to Georgetown, walking past a homeless woman camped alongside the banks of the Potomac, a plastic sheet draped across scrags of tree for a makeshift shelter, I realized that DC from the inside is truly a city of confronting contrasts - that barely beneath the pristine surface, as clichéd as it may be, the city embodies the very essence of a “have” and “have not” cross section of society.

Inside the very city where Dr King’s words continue to resonate in rhetoric, it seems as though these words inevitably fall silent upon the nameless faces of the poverty and disadvantage which nestles itself in amongst the city's street, in between the cracks of its grand halls, columns and domes. As much as many celebrate what has been achieved by Dr King and his legacy, much more needs to be, and indeed, could have been done to genuinely hold fast to and honour Dr King’s vision of fairness and equality in America.

Desynchronosis (of sorts)

AdminJanuary 22, 2014

By aaront162

Desynchronosis, also known as jet lag, is the well known result of changes to the body’s natural rhythms as a result of long distance travel and generally speaking, a few days of rest is enough to overcome the fatigue. Yet moving from the laid back and warm summer of Sydney to the middle of winter in Washington DC – the large and unfamiliar city and heartland of American power, politics and government – involves a certain change in pace and rhythm which takes a little more time (perhaps a well planned week?) to adjust to.

The whole process begin subtly enough - the small chit chat in the lobby of City Hall on the first day of orientation week, a mixture of foreign accents somewhat anxiously looking around and getting acquainted with other new faces. The basic introductions follow, nerves gradually calm, barriers slowly break down and unfamiliar faces soon develop into familiar personalities with the help of our orientation leaders. There is a lot of walking around unfamiliar streets – the wind is biting and cold but anticipation (and plenty of enthusiasm from group leaders) is enough to drive you from place to place. Then the sound of applause in the Lisner auditorium as Sonya Sutamayor gave sound advice from someone who moved from the Bronx to the Supreme Court. Long bus rides lead to the excitement of “snow tubing” on Wisp Mountain. Then the roar and cheer of the home crowd in the Smith Centre, the sharp tension which fills the arena during a free throw and the unmistakable energy which explodes at the end – GWU wins a well fought game. Then more walking and the grandeur of the monuments and national buildings, statuesque figures of carved marble and bronze within the dome of the Capitol building. In between, plenty of jokes, lots of laughter and good humour.

By the end of the week, the weather is warmer, the wind no longer as biting and cold, the streets and buildings no longer so unrecognisable. Just like the passing of the jet lag, the pace and rhythm of Washington DC and GWU settles into something familiar and everything just feels that little bit more comfortable. Not quite home - but for the semester ahead, definitely close enough.

On the pronunciation of tomato (and more profound stuff)

AdminJanuary 7, 2014

By aaront162

Similarities and differences - I think it is needless to say that this will perhaps be one of the defining themes of my experience in the US. At one level, the theme is simple enough – a sixteen hour time difference between Sydney and Washington DC, a long dry and hot summer to freezing winters and snowstorms and the pronunciation of miscellaneous fruits/vegetables (tomatoes mainly) and metals of the periodic table ("alooooominum"? is it similar to aluminium?). As a law student I feel my lecturer for Federal Constitutional Law obliging me to point out that when the founding fathers of Australia created and signed our constitution in 1901, they looked to their American counterparts who did so some 100 years early and from them, we have inherited our federalist system.

Yet all of that is small stuff and droll history. Having had a few days to ponder and as I draw deeper into the very essence of what shapes Australia, the US and indeed the relationship between our two nations I find a complex and multi-dimension landscape which surprisingly cuts into the very core of who I am today. I find myself in the heart of Washington DC where decisions taken forty years ago led to Australian involvement in the Vietnam War. I won’t debate Cold-War foreign policy but needless to say I cannot avoid the fact that the course of events that unfolded profoundly shaped the fact that I write this entry today as someone born, raised and educated in Australia. It is a feeling hard to describe to be in a place which in a way has shaped your very identity and indeed, the very circumstances upon which the words are being formed on this page as I write this entry. It does however serve as a pertinent reminder that amongst the columns and corridors of those grand marble buildings, the words and actions of a few reverberate around the world and have, and will continue to impact, shape and define the lives of the many people - and I am one such person.

Certainly a profound (too profound perhaps?) point to begin my blogging entries but hopefully one which will marks the start of a remarkable learning experience over the course of the next 6 months. On a lighter note, I do have the say that all the snow is pretty cool.