Update no. 4 on Tanya DewhurstCopyright 2002 Tanya DewhurstTanya Dewhurst,
who regularly wrote for FTH from London and other points, continues to pursue her
avocation as a travel writer.
I got this from her on 8 June, 2002.
Well here I am writing to you from sunny, tourist hotspot, Meekatharra, which means in the local
language a place of little water. And it’s true. When the rest of the state is suffering some major
deluge, you can be pretty well guaranteed that Meekatharra is hot and dry or cold and dry, but
well, dry. The locals also pronounce it Mickatarra; which I think translates to "not quite the ass
end of the world, but you can see it from here."
I’ve just returned from a week’s escape down south to Augusta and a few days in Perth where it's
wintry green and whales in the bay and big roaring fires. I’d like to say that it’s nice to be “home”
but I feel a little ambivalent about this. Sure, I live in a fairly okay, comfortable apartment here,
but Meekatharra is far from okay and comfortable. But first a few facts.
Situated about 750 kms (5oo miles) north of Perth and about 600 kms inland, Meekatharra is
definitely an outback town. It has about 900 residents, most of whom work for the local
goldmine. There are three pubs and the liquor store sells more beer than any other in the nation,
per capita. Needless to say, Meekatharra offers little in the way of culture, lots in the way alcohol
consumption.
As a town with a large Aboriginal population, it epitomizes the problems between white and
black Australia. On the one hand, the Aboriginal community is very close-knit, struggling to
maintain important ties with land, kin, and heritage. On the other, the community is rife with
alcoholism, unemployment, and theft. Last weekend alone, the town suffered 18 burglaries, all
carried out by known black offenders. It’s hard to fathom because nobody is here because they’re
rich and have a lot to steal. The first thing you do when you get money in Meekatharra is leave it.
But of course, the white response to the high rates of thievery is not to dig into the reasons behind
it such as lack of anything for young people to do or substance abuse, but barricade themselves
into their houses, make sure they don’t leave anything outside at night, and approach any
strangers in the yard with a baseball bat. The white sentiment is largely how can you sympathise
with “them” when they can afford to get on the piss all night, keep the whole town awake with
screaming and fighting, and then go on a thieving rampage when I can barely afford to put petrol
in my car to get to my 12-hour a day job. Because of course it’s not the gruntworker miners who
are getting rich from the thousands of tons of gold extracted from the ground each year, and the
lucrative mining rights so easily granted over Aboriginal people’s protestations, but big corporate
fatcats and their bigger shareholders. But of course it's the angry gruntworker miners who live
here day in, day out and suffer mutual disrepect with the displaced and angry Aboriginal
locals.
I have to admit that it is hard not to wonder about all the compensation money for land title and
mining rights that has rightfully been given to the Aboriginal community. Where has the money
gone? Because it’s really not evident in infrastructure or education or community. Most of the
money has been dispensed without financial management education or long-term investment
strategies or community economic development and all the white man stuff that goes along with
receiving large amounts of dosh. How are you supposed to know how to make money work when
you’ve only had any amount of note for 10 to15 years and before that you were pretty much
subject to Australia’s mangled version of apartheid? And like throwing a ton of money at
Aboriginal problems is going to fix them anyway? We expect Aboriginal people to be instantly
transformed into model communities with thriving businesses and contented citizens. But there’s
no training on how to achieve this the way we expect it and then everyone gets all pissed off
when it’s easier for Aboriginal people to buy several cartons of tinnies and get hammered than it
is to face up to the decimation and degradation of their once proud people. And often it’s hard to
feel much sympathy when you get harassed by a mob of paralytic blackfellas at 10 0 clock in the
morning every time you go into town.
But then I try to remember why there are so many problems in Aboriginal communities. Such as
the way the authorities thought they could "breed out" people's Aboriginality. Up until the 1970s,
mixed-race kids were taken from their parents and placed into homes so they’d be brought up as
white children, but most of them were little more than indentured servants. Many of this “stolen
generation” didn’t know who their parents were, or knew at all that they were stolen in the first
place. Some weren’t even told that they were part Aboriginal. I saw a great movie recently called
Rabbit Proof Fence about the true story of three young girls in Western Australia who escaped the
children’s home they were sent to and walked about 1200 miles through the outback to get back
to their mothers. They come through Meekatharra, so if you see it, you’ll also get an idea of the
scenery in which I live -- and its harshness. I saw the movie at our local "picture gardens"
(euphemism for walk-in drive-in) and a lot of the locals were there. They remembered those days,
knew those people, suffered those consequenses. It was pretty moving and appropriate.
But mostly I envy the locals because rarely do you see Aboriginal people by themselves. Whether
at home in their yards, out on the street corners, or sitting under a tree, they invariably hang out in
mobs having animated and passionate discussions about things. And yeah, sometimes they’re
fighting over whatever they’re going on about, but at least there’s a real zest for being involved
and interacting. Unlike us white people who hide behind our locked security doors and tight
smiles in the supermarket.
Some good things do exist here, though and I understand why people get really attached to the
land. Such as the sky. Yep, the sky is huge and rarely fails to amaze me night and day. Sunrises
are oh, merely spectacular, sunsets are to die for, especially when there's some clouds, and the
lightning storms are terrifyingly dramatic. Big sky country, no smog, not even a dust pall from
the various minesites in the area. Get half a km out of town any clear night and the crystal
starfest is unprecedented. You see the milky way from here, southern cross, venus at dusk, mars
to the right, I've even glimpsed the big dipper, at the right time of night. Full-moon risings leave a
big ol' lump in your throat and the new moon leaves you wandering in inky blackness. Yeah, it'll
be a while before I get tired of the sky.
Wedge tail eagles soar overhead, their wingspans often seven feet or more. Long-neck turtles live
in the vicinity, although I’m yet to see one. The red earth and variegated rock churned over in
tailings piles (man-made mining hills) is surreal. Aboriginal rock art abounds only a hundred or
so kms away. The first two weeks I was here, the gardens surrounding my apartment were
besieged by a butterfly plague.
I have never lived in the outback, so despite all the difficulties, I am embracing the experience.
Besides a bit of cooking and laundry, I have nothing to do except write my book, and yes it is
almost finished. My character suffers great isolation, something that I thought I knew about but
didn’t really until I came here. Sometimes I drive out to the cemetery about 5 kms out of town.
The desolate red-earth graves, devoid of headstones and living flowers, never fail to remind me
just how remote this place is, how hard it is to live in the outback, how easy it is to die here.
So I will be staying here until I fly home to LA, beginning of September. Book me in for some
serious face time. I’ll be ready to talk my head off.
Tanya xxx
|
|