Peeling Back Australia’s Identity

Here are the surnames of some ministers in the new South Wales Labor government, Australia’s longest-serving current administration: Iemma, Costa, Sartor, Della Bosca, Roozendaal, Orkopoulos, Hatzistergos and Tripodi. It’s a wonderful achievement for them – and for Australia – that after only a few generations migrant families have seen their kids make it to Parliament. This immigrant upward mobility in politics is one of the things keen observers from New Zealand comment upon when they visit. (Kiwi politicians come in two flavors, not a good sign in a small country prone to exporting its talented people). As in the ranks of the public service and business, non-Europeans (people originally from Asia, the Middle East or the Pacific Islands) will soon emerge at the top of Australia’s politics, media and professions.

Of course, ethnic heritage forms only part of the identity of any of these successful N.S.W. political “m-aaa-tes”, most of whom were incubated in trade unions and the party’s Sussex Street hatchery in Sydney. They belong to different Labor factions, even sub-factions. They come from various parts of Sydney (God’s own Sutherland Shire, the hommos belt of Canterbury-Bankstown) and the state (the whitebread Hunter and Central Coast regions). Variously Roman Catholics, Orthodox Christians or Jews, who presumably barrack for the Dragons, Knights, Sharks, Roosters and Bulldogs, they are a mix of lawyers, engineers and political hacks.

Prominent Aboriginal activist Noel Pearson recently spoke about how both individuals and groups have “layers of identity.” In his own “biography of identity,” he lists the variety of languages spoken by his indigenous forebears, as well as clan, religious and geographic affiliations. He told a Brisbane audience last month that Australians need to take into account those parts of our identity that are shared and those which are distinct. Pearson argued that without a better understanding of identity, “multiculturalism” – because it is based only on “culture” – won’t endure as a unifying concept. What could emerge, as Nobel economics laureate Amartya Sen has suggested, is a plurality of monocultures. The moronic expression of this disease was glimpsed last December in Sydney’s Cronulla riots and their criminal aftermath.

But Australia’s social project is flourishing. Out on Highway 1, which at times seems more “mono” than “multi,” that success is not always apparent; sometimes the bush feels like a decaying museum. Look a little deeper, spend a little time, and the country reveals itself: the hardbitten farmer with a greenie tinge and the Aboriginal painter who likes the patterns and colors in her works (and even more so, the cash from sales of dotty art) defy attempts at categorization. Such layers of identity, and the diversity of the suburbs, schools and shopping malls in the towns and cities the national highway connects, will one day be embedded in the power spheres.

Before that happens, these complex patterns will show up in Australia’s popular culture. The characters in Footy Legends, a new film directed by Khoa Do, reflect that layering. On the surface, this feel-good tale is about a group of mates from the down-at-heel western suburbs of Sydney trying to win a football tournament; beyond this, it’s a story about Vietnamese refugee Luc Vu’s battle to retain custody of his little sister Anne after the death of their mother. In one sense, it’s formulaic film-making (the triumph over adversity), but Footy Legends has heart and depth. As Do, the 2005 Young Australian of the Year, has said, the film draws on his experiences of growing up in a grimy suburb and playing football in a losing team where ethnic lines were never an issue.

Luc is an Aussie sports nut, a Westie and a manual laborer. Having been retrenched from his factory job, Luc is also part of that exclusive tribe in Australia known as the unemployed (5% of the workforce, if you believe the headline unemployment rate is a reliable guide). In an early scene Luc goes to a motor dealership to apply for a job. “Are you a Holden or a Ford man?” asks the geeky employer. “Holden,” says Luc, which to local audiences will mark him as one of a certain breed (to the nonpetrol head, it’s akin to telling twins apart). Then there are Luc’s mates from Yagoona High School – including Aborigine Shane, Islander Donald and Arab Walid – all struggling to make their way in life. In their late 20s, some have children or a partner in jail; others have not yet broken away from the family home.

One of Do’s themes is that of coming to terms with the past to make a fresh start. “Until a new identity is found and embraced,” says Do, “it is impossible to move on.” Near the end of Footy Legends, Luc says: “All our lives, we lose everything.” He urges his mates to look to the future. The seven characters who form the resurgent Yagoona team are bound by friendship and a passion for rugby league. How would you characterize such a group? Battlers? Bludgers? Westies? Yes, but there’s much more to each of them. Do has quietly captured the textures of being and belonging. Like the country itself, it’s a picture of tolerance, hope and humanity against a thumping background of urban blight and biff.