Australia, it’s time to take a GHLAO (good hard look at ourselves)

Having migrated to this country in 1994, I saw many of Australia’s great sporting deeds. In 1996, during class in Grade 5, I watched Kieren Perkins win gold in the 1500m freestyle at the Atlanta Olympics.

Throughout the 1990s, some of Australia’s cricketing legends (Warne, the Waugh twins, McGrath, etc) came to the fore as I became familiar with the sport and Australia. It was their underdog status and triumph against the likes of the West Indies that gave it extra feeling watching it on TV. After all, the Windies were top dogs prior.

In 2000, like everyone else, I watched with pride when Cathy Freeman won the 400m gold in Sydney. All in all – with hot summers, cricket, wagging school and tubs of ice cream on the couch – it was a pretty good introduction to Australia.

Before long I was privy to the other great sporting triumphs and sporting legends: the story of Bradman, ‘Bodyline’ and colonial sporting ‘etiquette’; the 1983 America’s Cup victory; and the great footy sides and players.

I started watching footy (AFL) when it was still played in the suburbs, in mud, and fans could still invade the field. There were star players with an array of names, personalities, looks, waistlines and skills.

There was Gary Ablett Sr., Wayne Carey at his best, Jason Dunstall, Tony ‘Plugger’ Lockett – it was a time when the ‘gorilla’ full-forwards ruled despite the great back men like Stephen ‘SOS’ Silvagni and his inherited concrete boots. There was Tony Modra’s slicked-back hair and his speckies, and ‘Libba’ and ‘Diesel’ with their sheer doggedness. I became familiar with the greats: Peter ‘The Macedonian Marvel’ Daicos, ‘Dippa’ and ‘Lethal’.

Rugby league was still a foreign sport to me and one-day cricket was still the big thing. It was a time when The Twelfth Man and Guido Hatzis were funny despite their political impropriety.

As a rite of passage to becoming Aussie, I was soon enough introduced to the MCG’s infamous ‘Bay 13’ and drinking at the cricket. There were also the five-set family stints in front of the box on sticky Australian Open nights.

Quickly, I cottoned on to the notion that sport was a big thing here. You had to barrack for someone and being involved in sport at some level was the natural thing to do. The least you could do was to watch it, religiously.

Sport was the ‘Australian’ thing to do. Being a winner was even better. In the early days, when my English was worse than it is now, I didn’t need to speak it or comprehend every word to understand – the pictures and the emotions knew of no language barricades. Likewise, at school I communicated through sport – it was sport which gave me status; at first soccer, which I had grown up with, then the more ‘Australian’ sports of cricket and Aussie Rules.

The Socceroos’ loss to Iran at the MCG in 1997, and the subsequent failure to qualify for the World Cup in France ‘98 reinforced this notion of importance and provided further evidence that participation was great, but winning was what really mattered. It was probably my first introduction to some sort of inferiority complex or local cringe, of the imaginary grandstand and the idea of having to be ‘put on the map’. The ‘world stage’ was where it was at and where we wanted to be.

Again, the loss to Uruguay in 2001 and the Socceroos’ failure to qualify for Korea/Japan 2002, reaffirmed that. And for the first time it gave me a notion there was something wrong with Australian soccer. Or so I was told. It didn’t really fit into the narrative, it was always on late at night or early in the morning. At the time I didn’t know why it didn’t fit the plot but now, I suppose, it must’ve had something to do with ‘Sheilas, Wogs and Poofters’…

I came to understand that sport in Australia was part of the national psyche. The sportsman was up there with the bushman, the digger, the larrikin and the lifesaver. Being Australian was a mix of all these archetypes.

Sport was supposedly an extension of the Australian ideals of democracy, egalitarianism and, in the post-WWII age of mass migration, multiculturalism.

It was part of the early notion of Australia as some part of a ‘working man’s utopia’ – fair work for fair pay, then you watch or play. They were supposedly our guiding principles, our Australian trademarks, synonymous with the country of the ‘fair go’.

The sportsman was up there with the bushman, the digger, the larrikin and the lifesaver. Being Australian was a mix of all these archetypes.

Fairness, apparently, was at the heart of it all. On the field of any sport – just like everywhere else – those ideals were the said and unsaid rules. Egalitarianism meant that everyone was invited to join in. Maybe, then, it was easier to be fair and classless when Australia was white by law, more chauvinistic and more orthodox.

Growing up, when anyone of any prominence described Australia, the holy trinity of the great Australian ethos was rung out: democracy, egalitarianism and multiculturalism.

Everyone else echoed it. But slowly over the years, things changed. The footy moved out of the suburbs. It became centralised, glitzy and middle class. Money flowed in, made it more expensive; it became private.

The ‘greats’ didn’t really behave as such anymore. Now there was a different aura about them. They even looked different; they didn’t look like the Average Joe anymore. In fact, it was the man-on-the-street who wanted to look like them. After all, they were on TV more often, and there was more and more TV, and more sport on TV. There was more and new objectives and we didn’t know what they were, yet.

Eventually, no one seemed to be happy with their lot, everybody wanted more; were more concerned with money and ‘class’. We were all being corrupted somehow. Turns out they were just reflecting the times – Australia was changing. It was economically, culturally and socially becoming a more fragmented place.

While still a ‘free country’ it was becoming less democratic, and while a woman would become PM it was becoming less egalitarian, and even though there were more immigrants (in total, that is) it was becoming less multicultural.

Before long, Australia was shifting from the place it was when I came here as a 10-year-old, 20 years ago. The factories which employed my parents were being bought up, were shifting or closing up. Things were no longer made here. We were moving further and further out. What we left behind would quickly be out of reach. The Australian Dream had evolved but no one said what it was. Sport filled the vacuum: the sporting precincts, the jobs, the ‘economic impact’.

Things were tightening up, the whips were cracking, spatially and economically. Australia was becoming a more conservative and competitive place, the world a smaller one. Those asking for or needing ‘handouts’ were treated with disdain and distrust. The safety nets of the ‘land of plenty’, the Lucky Country, were rotting away. Yet it was all supposedly the natural order of things, progress; and the same old things were said – that’s hegemony for you.

No wonder everyone had this fear of ‘boat people’ – there were no factories left and no need for new generations of factory fodder. ‘What would these people do?’

The late ‘90s brought the Howard years, and Pauline Hanson. The narrative that was hitherto dominant was increasingly under fire. Multiculturalism was no longer what we thought it was; it had an asterisk. ‘Wogs’ and ‘Asians’ became openly known as such. It was a suspicious time, especially if you had somewhere to ‘go back’ to. The great battle against political correctness and its bedfellow  multiculturalism, was raging.

That seemed to seep into sport, also. Australian soccer was its best example, increasingly under the spotlight for its ‘ethnic’ associations. It seemed to be the hotbed of all that was wrong with Australia, and at the heart of it supposedly, was multiculturalism.

Soccer was inextricably associated with a violent, corrupt, foreign Australia. Or so it was reported. It was tying up nicely to Howard’s and Hanson’s conspiracies about the Boogie Man Other and un-Australianness. After all, what sort of creature would throw their children overboard?

Momentarily, at least, the negative sentiment seemed to evaporate. Maybe it was the collective pride stemming from the afterglow of the Sydney Olympics, which again reinforced the myth. Maybe it was the Opening Ceremony or the whiff of the money we were all supposedly amassing. Australia won the rugby union World Cup; as far as we knew Hanson went back to deep-frying food; and in general we were all pacified enough.

Whatever the chiefs were speaking, the tribe was appeased. In hindsight, however, we know that the place was still changing, and the cracks which were surfacing were at best being masked over. And yes, Australia kept winning the rugby league World Cups, serving as another example of our superiority in sports few played.

Still the holy trinity narrative went on, but it was a double-edged sword. When anyone of ‘multicultural’ background did something, especially in sport, we were all bathed in their diverse story and glory, and they were, momentarily, quintessential Aussies. ‘Spot the Wog’, you’d call it. The reason they succeeded was because of the Aussie ideals offered to them and because of their chosen embodiment of those ideals.

On the flipside, when anyone of that same ‘Other’ background or appearance did something wrong, lost or failed, there was a greater sense of failure – not just in a sporting sense but a failure of the athlete to live up to those credentials, or being Aussie; they were somehow epitomising Australia’s and multiculturalism’s failings.

They weren’t ‘true’ Aussies after all. ‘The Scud’ was grounded, Jelena turned Yugo and there was a few other funnily named ‘Aussies’ who came and went. After all, Jelena’s parents were different to Lleyton’s parents.

It was probably not a surprise that at this time Lleyton Hewitt rose to fame. With commentary from ‘Newk’ and ‘Fred’, how could he not become Australia’s poster boy?

He was the blueprint, the perfect contrast to the chaotic ethnics. His ‘C’mon!’ cries were an echo of Australia’s new cockiness and brazenness, and Howard’s uniting of the nation. We became graceless losers, as epitomised by Howard’s 2003 rugby union World Cup final presentation. Maybe all the mining fumes were getting to us.

It became even worse after the September 11 attacks and the Bali bombings. Then there were the other wars, too in those exotic, far off, third-world countries. Ironically, all the while, however, ‘multicultural’ products and industries were being co-opted, mainstreamed and whitewashed. All of a sudden, Aussies in their thousands were travelling the world in search of culture, and even better, they were bringing it all back home, regurgitating what they saw abroad. Now it was their culture.

With Lleyton’s glories and Stephen Bradbury’s gold at the 2002 Winter Olympics, the narrative, the myth could still be pinned to something. And, in both instances, it was not just that they won but how they won. It made you think that anything really was possible, in a good way. If you worked hard and put yourself in the right place at the right time, you just never knew what could happen. They both showed that ‘unique’ Aussie pluck and grit. After all, they (and you) had being an Aussie on their side. Being an Aussie was clearly the difference.

It doesn’t come as a surprise now that in 2005 the infamous Cronulla riots occurred. By world standards it was a small event; by Australian standards it was one of the country’s most shameful episodes. It became one of the most overtly extremist, right-wing examples in this country since the fascism of New Guard in the 1930s.

But again, we were pacified for a while.

The Socceroos became the national team, carrying the hopes of a nation and serving as a vehicle for the splendour of multiculturalism. Or rather, what multiculturalism should be – a brand cloaked in green and gold, with a Qantas logo.

The team finally made it to the World Cup after 34 years, and to subsequent ones. They eventually made it to the Asian Cup final in 2011 but were humbled – by Asians. Either way, it was a good patch. Oh, and yes, we all became ‘Asian’ overnight – with the Asian Century underway it made good business sense.

Topically, the fables about Australian ideals flourished. But subcutaneously, it was not such a happy tale. We kept moving away from those trusted ethos.

The Socceroos became the national team, carrying the hopes of a nation and serving as a vehicle for the splendour of multiculturalism. Or rather, what multiculturalism should be – a brand cloaked in green and gold, with a Qantas logo.

Once the antithesis of Australia, soccer on the one hand was becoming mainstreamed, whilst on the other those great Aussie ideals, its history and sentiment were being systematically removed from it in the pursuit of new markets and new money.

Australian soccer’s current standing is based on this hijacking. But it was the broader landscape and atmosphere that created it and allowed something like the Crawford Report in 2003 to be rationalised and justified. The ‘old soccer era’ went the way of the Welfare State. The place was more about dollars and cents, rather than some greater sense of good.

The wider conservatism, cynicism, the value of the ‘market’ and the pursuit of a buck was being absorbed into sport. Just as sport became more corporatized, so did our politics. That notion still rings true. Whatever the undercurrents in Australian life and politics are, those manifestations surface in sport. Sport is symbiotically tied up – be it good or bad. The wider, gradual progression – or rather regression – of those ideals is very much existent in today’s sport.

While there are (and will be) glimpses of sport’s unpredictable best, the landscape is as that of the wider one. Nick Kyrgios’ defeat of the great Rafael Nadal, once again provided us with a moment of inebriation that everything was A-OK, that we can still fight it out with the big boys on the world stage and that all was in order back home – Australia is still the place it always was.

The Socceroos, without winning, again, won the country’s hearts and minds. In each case, the buzzwords of ‘underdog’ and ‘multiculturalism’ were used. Socceroo captain Mile Jedinak was even bestowed that great Aussie honour, an Anglicised name – “Mike” – by none other than the Prime Minister.

Bernard Tomic’s antics, however, were once again testing our hospitality. He was no Lleyton or Pat Rafter, after all.

In truth, things have never been further from that original Australian myth. A myth it may have been, but it gets less and less airtime and its credentials are constantly in flux.

While local soccer’s national body, the FFA, made some advances towards incorporating the disenfranchised ‘ethnic’ community, it, like the rest of Australia, has continued its assault on Otherness.

Its latest example, the introduction of the ‘National Club Identification Policy’ – a move that will prevent future clubs from having any reference to things other than ‘Australian’ – is another attempt to remove the ‘ethnic menace’ and impose its ‘vanilla vision’ on the sport. While ethnicity is paraded when beneficial or profitable, any potential of its ambivalence is repressed. This, according to the FFA, is in the name of ‘inclusion’.

Why are we so obsessed with ethnicity, anyway? Is must be bad business considering how long we’ve been describing its negativity.

The AFL knows all about ‘inclusion’ and the Aussie ideals. The people’s game now feels like it’s for the few, elite and in-the-know. The Essendon-ASADA saga has truly shown that the fair-go, hard-but-fair, play-by-the-rules-and-the umpire’s-call values no longer exist. As for ‘Multicultural’ and ‘Indigenous’ rounds, they are more a marketing Freudian slip than anything genuine.

But, again, this is part of a broader paradigm shift, away from those ‘founding morals’ and a fragmentation of Australia – a new Australia, with new rules. And this has never been more apparent than in recent months.

When it really started, we don’t know; but with this Coalition government, it’s escalating. Some say it was in the ‘80s; maybe it was neoliberalism’s rise and its repositioning of traditional (elite) power.

When the Attorney-General, George Brandis, approved bigotry, that was a sign. The Federal Budget and Joe Hockey’s cigar-smoking leer was another; it is now every man and woman for themselves, and it certainly helped being anything but poor, unemployed or disabled. Hockey’s turning the page on ‘The Age of Entitlement’, was another – it seemed to italicise a ‘that was then, this is now!’ mentality.

Then there is the daily contempt and cruelty towards the Indigenous population and ‘The Boat People’.

Maybe we hold such special contempt for these two cohorts for they, better than anyone, know the real Australia, and may blow the myth once and for all? They’re calling our bluff.

Racist train rant lady’s unfortunate tirade – like something out of Romper Stomper – was right on cue. In the current environment, although shocking, it shouldn’t be a surprise.

As the country becomes more fragmented, more imbalanced and dysfunctional, episodes of such ilk may become more common. A third-world country we are not (although much of our Indigenous population have to live as such), and like America we are not – yet.

As a country in a world with growing financial inequality, we are the eighth most unequal country in the Western world when it comes to income distribution. Inequality here has grown faster than in most OECD countries. Clearly, the gap is widening between the haves and the have-nots. If you have, you can do as you please; if you are left behind, you take what you’re given.

And that notion is extending across all institutions and in daily life.

In today’s Australia, if you have the means to pay, you can get the smoother ride on the toll road or the better healthcare, while the rest of us heap in the backlog. The more you pay for education, the better it is – so how do we expect the rich to change the course of things? The basics are no longer a right; they are a privilege. One thing you certainly don’t have to pay for in this country are emissions.

Suffice to say, this is not the Australia of the democratic ‘fair go’ principle.

The shifting moral and economic paradigm has not missed this all-Australian egalitarian institution of sport. For a price, you can have the best seats in the house, feed to boot, meet the players and the like. Gone are the days when anyone could walk into the rooms to mingle with the players. More and more, professional athletes seem to come from private or elite schools, are middle-class or rich. The fees to play at grassroots levels are ever-increasing, meaning that money almost always trumps talent. The extra tuition and private coaches and academies can help fill what talent can’t.

In Australian soccer for example, the investment comes from the bottom with little if any dripping down from the top. The money taken from the grassroots props up everything else under a corporate banner.

It’s no different in politics. There is no longer a redistribution. There is no incentive or investment for accessible, community sports facilities aside from the odd oval, rectangle, or the rarer skate park. The onus is on you, to pay-to-play.

Suffice to say, this is not the Australia of the democratic ‘fair go’ principle.

Egalitarianism is now a crock. The multicultural ideal – like the others – is more and more redundant. Yes, the country is still for the perennial underdog, for most of us are true underdogs with little chance of winning anything and next to no status in society. If we ever ‘punched above our weight’, we will have to punch faster and harder than before.

The country of the ‘fair go’ now is colder, more draconian and more conservative, everyday. It seems that in politics as in sport, it’s a case of whatever it takes.

Back in the ‘90s, when there was still the vestige influence of those older ideals, when we didn’t take ourselves too seriously, especially in sport, when there was more character and humility to football and other things, before the big TV broadcast deals and AFL’s corporate sanitation, part of Channel Seven’s introduction to their modest Saturday afternoon of footy used Greg Champion’s (of Coodabeen Champions fame) song entitled ‘Red Hot Go’.

It was a comical take on Aussie sporting parlance, references to Tullamarine, with the crescendo referring to a collective ‘taking a Good Hard Look At Ourselves’. Twenty years have passed and it’s high time we took a good hard look ourselves, and asked: ‘What have we become?’