For dinner the other night, Kate and I decided to try a cafe just around the corner from our apartment. Kate had read a good review of the place, and neither of us wanted to walk too far. The food, a fusion of Asian and Australia delicacies, was according to Kate "the best tasting food we've had in Oz." Well, except for that superb lamb meal cooked by our host in Tassie, we both added.
Anyway, after we ate and paid our bill, I was standing on the sidewalk waiting for Kate to emerge, just enjoying Brisbane's intoxicatingly pleasant evening air. I was approached, then, by a fellow carrying to obviously heavy plastic bags … and I could feel my guard go up. He was a stout-looking fellow, light-caramel skinned, his eyes droopy from either fatigue or alcohol. Aboriginal, I thought? Come to beg a couple of bucks from me, I thought?
He set his bags down right in front of me, said "G'day," and put out his hand in greeting. I shook it, still a bit wary, but his smile was disarming, so I disarmed. He asked if he could ask me a question. He proceeded to tell me about running into a couple of young men a few minutes before, just up the street, Aboriginal young men. He greeted the young men with something like, "How're you boys doing?" and said he got some nasty looks from them. He then asked me if I thought his calling them "boys" might be offensive.
"Now I'm an Aboriginal man and a bit older," he said … I asked his age, and he said 33, to which I replied,"Oh, yeah, REAL old!" He laughed and went on, noting that the young men had very dark skin and pointing out his own lighter shade, and he wondered if they thought he wasn't a "real" Aboriginal person.
I asked him if skin color is what made him Aboriginal or not; he responded strongly and proudly, "No, I'm an Aborigine through and through, I never thought of skin color as mattering." He told me his mother was full-blooded with very black skin, but his father "just happened to be" German.
Now, I still feel like a stranger in a strange land, even though we've been in Oz for 3 months now, it appears in many ways quite like America, and I had just had an immersion into Aboriginal issues during a conference two weeks ago (the next blog post).
So, as a response, I told him that if we were in America, and I had used "boy" in greeting some young African American men on the street, I would likely get a very strong, negative reaction, but if I were "Black"Ie might not. I explained a little of what I understood of the history of that term in the US.
As Kate emerged from the restaurant, this previously "threatening" Aboriginal man was shaking my hand and thanking me for giving him some insight into this encounter. I thanked him for giving me a lesson in culture. The three of us walked about a half a block together before we parted ways, waving and bidding each other a good night.
For me, this was another window into the world of Aboriginal life and another example of what seems to me like close parallels in the histories of colonization and oppression and their legacies for Indigenous people in Australia, for African descendants in the U.S., and for First Nation people throughout North America.
Anyway, after we ate and paid our bill, I was standing on the sidewalk waiting for Kate to emerge, just enjoying Brisbane's intoxicatingly pleasant evening air. I was approached, then, by a fellow carrying to obviously heavy plastic bags … and I could feel my guard go up. He was a stout-looking fellow, light-caramel skinned, his eyes droopy from either fatigue or alcohol. Aboriginal, I thought? Come to beg a couple of bucks from me, I thought?
He set his bags down right in front of me, said "G'day," and put out his hand in greeting. I shook it, still a bit wary, but his smile was disarming, so I disarmed. He asked if he could ask me a question. He proceeded to tell me about running into a couple of young men a few minutes before, just up the street, Aboriginal young men. He greeted the young men with something like, "How're you boys doing?" and said he got some nasty looks from them. He then asked me if I thought his calling them "boys" might be offensive.
"Now I'm an Aboriginal man and a bit older," he said … I asked his age, and he said 33, to which I replied,"Oh, yeah, REAL old!" He laughed and went on, noting that the young men had very dark skin and pointing out his own lighter shade, and he wondered if they thought he wasn't a "real" Aboriginal person.
I asked him if skin color is what made him Aboriginal or not; he responded strongly and proudly, "No, I'm an Aborigine through and through, I never thought of skin color as mattering." He told me his mother was full-blooded with very black skin, but his father "just happened to be" German.
Now, I still feel like a stranger in a strange land, even though we've been in Oz for 3 months now, it appears in many ways quite like America, and I had just had an immersion into Aboriginal issues during a conference two weeks ago (the next blog post).
So, as a response, I told him that if we were in America, and I had used "boy" in greeting some young African American men on the street, I would likely get a very strong, negative reaction, but if I were "Black"Ie might not. I explained a little of what I understood of the history of that term in the US.
As Kate emerged from the restaurant, this previously "threatening" Aboriginal man was shaking my hand and thanking me for giving him some insight into this encounter. I thanked him for giving me a lesson in culture. The three of us walked about a half a block together before we parted ways, waving and bidding each other a good night.
For me, this was another window into the world of Aboriginal life and another example of what seems to me like close parallels in the histories of colonization and oppression and their legacies for Indigenous people in Australia, for African descendants in the U.S., and for First Nation people throughout North America.
I eagerly await your blog entries. They are a great mix of travelogue, slide show, history, and cultural insight. Nostalgia is heavy for Leon's and my nine months vagabonding in Europe and Israel (7-1955 to 5-1956) Your deft communication is unique! Might you look for a Passover experience in Brisbane? (Sedar April 14) If you connect, I guarantee a unique experience!.
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