We went to see a movie last night – Goldstone. Recommended. It struck a chord in relation to this blog, because it has links to the past two major themes: Environment, and Economics. But it came most sharply into focus around another of the circles on the Meanderings mind map. Culture.
Without giving up too much of the plot, the story centres around a remote, very remote, mining development in the boondocks of the Australian outback. If you think that’s a tautology, you’d be wrong. This place is the out there of the out there. It’s not only out there geographically, but in terms of its “society”, too. At the edges of civilisation, away from scrutiny and tight law enforcement, there are a lot of goings-on that wouldn’t be going on where most of us live.
There’s an initial impression of anachronism, as though such isolated areas are quaintly a generation or so behind in attitude. Twenty-first century enlightenment just hasn’t quite reached there yet. Or it maybe even be that unscrupulous characters deliberately seek out such a place to to take advantage and make their pile. But on reflection, it could be argued that it’s actually a microcosm of modern society in almost every town, city and suburb. Corruption, racism, misogyny, power struggles, secrecy, abuse, coverups – they’re in the major city dailies constantly. Goldstone has it all, set among some of the most ruggedly beautiful, beautifully rugged country that the continent can serve up.
The fictitious mining company is called FCMG. Read into that what you will. Western Australians, in particular, may see the unsubtlety of that moniker fairly quickly.
To give some sort of idea, there are Aboriginal people, Maoris, Chinese, Anglo-Saxon Australians, and that other strange race – bikies. This disparate mob is mixed up with native title, mining rights, local politics and, of course, money. Economics is mentioned in relation to the local aboriginal community and businesses supporting the mine. The environment is presented only visually, with breathtaking cinematography that literally draws sigs and gasps from the audience. Cultural dichotomies are the understated, but plainly understood, central theme of the script.
There are a couple of messages here. Firstly, that mining destroys landscape, but creates money. Secondly, that money confers power and, in turn, power destroys culture. And that’s where our three meandering themes collide. Leaving aside the Maori, Chinese and bikie elements for a moment, the film prompts a look at the Aboriginal situation in Australia today. I have no solutions to any of this, but it’s worth addressing and admitting the complexities….
Indigenous culture is centred firmly around country. Where an individual and their family comes from is, where they belong. The land belongs to them, and they belong to the land. Not simply so many square kilometres of dirt, but everything, every element, that makes that land into country – its plants and animals, landforms, water, weather, stories, songlines and dreaming – all passed down verbally and in dance for 40,000 years plus. Those elements are almost unchanging, certainly within one generation, and even the effects of Ice Ages have been incorporated in story.
Enter European civilisation, and things change very rapidly by comparison. Agriculture, pastoralism, transport, mining, disease, flour, sugar, tobacco and alcohol all have their unique, compounding, deleterious effects on a culture accustomed to harmony with, or adaptation to, country. And importantly, where the concept of ownership had never existed, it’s the driving force behind European industry. That’s a complete paradigm shift.
It can be argued that the loss of country is balanced by gains in education, health services, standards of living, etc – all as measured by European yardsticks, of course. That’s fine, but it inevitably means dilution, if not destruction, of the original culture. It’s the same the world over, with similar situations in the US, for example:
Canada is barely different. There is one First Nations band, the Osoyoos, that has defied the trend, and achieved zero unemployment and considerable prosperity on their modestly-sized reserve. But the price has been a shift to almost entirely European business methods and disciplines, and using their land to run tourist trailer parks and convenience stores, and even a for-profit prison. While the band maintain some cultural and language education, the sacrifice has been enormous; to the point where the Osoyoo culture is almost indiscernible. It’s there by name, but not by nature.
So the question remains – how to manage the balance? Obviously, indigenous populations can’t expect to avail themselves of all the trappings of European society without making some sort of contribution, either through employment or relocation – or both. A hospital in the Western Desert just won’t work. However, that same European society creates its trappings partly or wholly by destroying the fabric upon which indigenous culture is embroidered – country. On the other hand, it is doubtful that any aboriginal person today would actually choose for their family to revert to a fully nomadic, self-sufficient, hunter-gatherer lifestyle, even if they were granted sufficient country to make it viable.
No community has ever been willing, en masse, to totally give up its history, its traditions, its homeland, its environment. If they were, there would be no wars and, by now, all of humanity would be living in coffee-coloured (Blue Mink – 1969) harmony. The best and/or strongest civilisation would have subsumed all others as they acquiesced in favour of whatever benefits they could foresee. But nations fight until the last soldier drops, or whole cities are nuked, to retain their independence, their sense of self. My own forebears were petrified of invasion from the north, and the thought of having to speak Japanese, Chinese, or the language of whoever was the popular clandestine villain of the time. That stemmed, no doubt, from the very real political and military ructions of their European youth, so it’s hardly very surprising.
The point is that culture gives groups of people, whole families, and the individuals within, a very real sense of belonging. Their lifelong preferences for food, music, art, clothes and customs, not to mention language, are fully inculcated before they are old enough to think about it, and the idea of losing them is about as palatable, and just as debilitating, as losing a leg. That’s especially the case when the change is being forced upon them by someone else.
My guess is that nobody wished to forego the cultural icons pictured
Even when people willingly migrate to another country, they almost inevitably seek the company of people from their own culture. That has been the case for centuries. Every major (or minor) city has its Latin Quarter, Jewish Quarter, Chinatown, Little Athens, Little India and so on. Many nationalities are yet to earn such fond sobriquets but given time, and an accepting society, they will. Even the Muslim enclaves that are today too often disparaged, and sometimes feared, will inevitably be accepted and welcomed as part of a vibrant social fabric. In Perth, and most Australian cities, there are well-respected organisations that keep alive other nationalities’ culture and language: The Dutch, German, Italian, and Croatian clubs come to mind, and there are doubtless many others.
We all now know the stories of the Stolen Generations. Whatever the intentions, good or bad, malevolent or merely misguided, of those who removed children from their families, it happened – and the effects are still felt today. In the light of the above, it’s easier to understand. Here were thousands of children whose lives started in Aboriginal culture (and even that had been severely tainted by missions and station camps). They were taken away, sometimes thousands of kilometres, and subjected to white man’s rules, white man’s schools, religion, clothes, values. They grew up out of country, away from the land that they belonged to, away from family that was such a central part of their lives. Away from everything that they had learnt in their most fertile of formative years, and forced into a system of being that, in many ways, was a polar opposite.
Is it any wonder, then, that these people have felt lost for their whole lives, not truly belonging in either culture; with a foot in two camps, but only welcome in one? And not feeing totally comfortable there, anyway. Any wonder, then, that these people have not “achieved” by white standards, but have “sold out” by black standards. The double irony is that they have only seen the worst sides of both of those camps. Quite possibly they were removed in the first place from less-than-ideal conditions – we can give the missionaries the benefit of the doubt on that – but they saw nothing but the worst aspects of the society they were forced into. Bigotry, discrimination, unemployment, underprivilege, all compounded by addiction to tobacco, alcohol, and poor food -just like so many their unemployed, underprivileged white brothers.
It’s going to take a lot of work, and a lot of patience, to make it work. A balance will eventually be found, but it will be precarious and in need of nurturing for a long time.
Goldstone ties all this together, as the subtext to a grippi ng and suspenseful yarn. It’s not a cinematic lecture on cultural and environment issues, but they are there as a backdrop and certainly started a train of thought. For fans of Jackie Weaver at her sinister best, Aaron Pedersen, David Denham, and the still-astounding David Gulpilil, it’s a worth-see. Alex Russell is pretty good, too.
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