More on Sydney's Racism

I'm still worried about the race riots back home. Every Xmas since 2001 I've wondered whether something will be bombed. If I were a Muslim terrorist I'd strike on Xmas. Not Easter because there's no rampant consumerism and it's meant to be a sombre holiday anyway (my mother says that if she's to die prematurely it should be on Good Friday, so as not to spoil a perfectly happy day!).

It seems the media aren't tired of the story yet. From SMH:

One look at this pics says a lot to any Sydney resident. Except that local government areas are the smallest units, which is far to large for the outer western suburbs eg Penrith should not be ranked as more tolerant than many parts of the Blue Mountains.

This (and Cameron's recent post) have reminded me that the older I get the more I see social issues in terms of class. I find this a little disturbing because I'm not a Marxist and I was raised to believe that we don't have a class system in Australia. But even without a Bunyip Aristocracy it's easy to see certain divisions. Which makes me feel a little guilty because class-language is difficult to use non-normatively.

An early incarnation of Bob Dylan describes the ugly side of class very vividly. This song is so good, and such a great description of Australian politics at the moment that I'll quote it in full:

Only a Pawn in Their Game

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood.
A finger fired the trigger to his name.
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game.

A South politician preaches to the poor white man,
"You got more than the blacks, don't complain.
You're better than them, you been born with white skin," they explain.
And the Negro's name
Is used it is plain
For the politician's gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid,
And the marshals and cops get the same,
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool.
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks,
And the hoof beats pound in his brain.
And he's taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide 'neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain't got no name
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught.
They lowered him down as a king.
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.

(Copyright © 1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music)

When I first heard this song it really got me thinking about how I judge others. I'm still not sure just how much the influence of others can excuse susceptible people but certainly it needs to be taken into account.