Imaginative landscape
Our connection to the landscape is one of self-interest.
Melbourne is the united nations of Australia, the ethnic mosaic that acts as a terminal between multiple worlds. Sprouting from the heart of the city, Russel Street boasts Greek taverns adjacent to Italian pizzerias sandwiched between sushi bars. Turning left from Russel Street we reach a new gate at the terminal, little burke street- as if a slice of China had been uprooted and planted right in the middle of Melbourne city. We have cultural music festivals where the drums of Africa and the didgeridoos of the indigenous filter into the streets, a musical harmony that proudly demonstrates our ethnic diversity
Visiting Federation Square during the Indian food and wine gala, the orange, green and white flag was raised high while the smell of coriander and cardamom filled the air. Emerging from the shadows of the streets a wrinkled and deprived elderly man wearing a bindii on his forehead approached a young teenage girl sipping on a big bowl of yellow curry. Pleading for any spare change, the teenage girl simply turns around and mutters under her breath, “dirty taxi drivers”. The incongruity of that picture will always be etched into my mind.
This teenage girl holds insight into the daunting truth of our generation. Our recreational interest in cultures acts only as a mask to hide behind when accused of racial injustice. This food and wine mentality has evolved the infamous “I’m not racist I have a black best friend” to the now more common “I’m not racist I love Japanese hand rolls”. We are beginning to consume cultures just as we consume products. With a selfish and egotistical agenda, we dive into multiculturalism on a superficial level. If we are ever going to tackle this racial divide, we must dig deeper than music festivals and miso soups and generate a genuine respect for their people’s interests.
This year we have had a quite a confronting and raw insight into Australia’s racial intolerance
Melbourne is the united nations of Australia, the ethnic mosaic that acts as a terminal between multiple worlds. Sprouting from the heart of the city, Russel Street boasts Greek taverns adjacent to Italian pizzerias sandwiched between sushi bars. Turning left from Russel Street we reach a new gate at the terminal, little burke street- as if a slice of China had been uprooted and planted right in the middle of Melbourne city. We have cultural music festivals where the drums of Africa and the didgeridoos of the indigenous filter into the streets, a musical harmony that proudly demonstrates our ethnic diversity
Visiting Federation Square during the Indian food and wine gala, the orange, green and white flag was raised high while the smell of coriander and cardamom filled the air. Emerging from the shadows of the streets a wrinkled and deprived elderly man wearing a bindii on his forehead approached a young teenage girl sipping on a big bowl of yellow curry. Pleading for any spare change, the teenage girl simply turns around and mutters under her breath, “dirty taxi drivers”. The incongruity of that picture will always be etched into my mind.
This teenage girl holds insight into the daunting truth of our generation. Our recreational interest in cultures acts only as a mask to hide behind when accused of racial injustice. This food and wine mentality has evolved the infamous “I’m not racist I have a black best friend” to the now more common “I’m not racist I love Japanese hand rolls”. We are beginning to consume cultures just as we consume products. With a selfish and egotistical agenda, we dive into multiculturalism on a superficial level. If we are ever going to tackle this racial divide, we must dig deeper than music festivals and miso soups and generate a genuine respect for their people’s interests.
This year we have had a quite a confronting and raw insight into Australia’s racial intolerance