When I was a child I lived in rural North East Victoria. My parents had a dairy farm of 148 acres. We lived 20 miles out of Wangaratta. I cannot say I enjoyed it. Ever. I disliked the never ending monotony of milking cows. I was always conditioned to the constant worry about making a living off the land. I never felt physically strong enough to be a farmer. I wasn't good at sport. I always felt alienated from the wider society around me. I felt the values of society were shallow and crude. Class and caste were all important. Family honour and family dishonour were everyone's top priority. Family shame was a nightmare lurking at the back of every mothers mind. I cannot say I identified with anyone else. I had no school friends. I felt I was held in contempt by mostly everyone and this led to extremely low self esteem. Unfortunately I reacted in an immature way and treated other people badly. I had some relatives who I liked and I suspect they may have felt some sympathy for me but I always felt any sympathy shown to me was disproved of by my parents.
I met Lionel Rose when I was 9 years and he was slightly younger. We met at the Lord Mayors Camp at Portsea. There were 3 aboriginal children at the camp and he was their leader. I knew they were aboriginals because the first night we were there and assembled in the dining room the Camp Leader asked if there were any aboriginal children in the camp. These 3 put up their hands. Over the next fortnight the three aboriginals kept to themselves or perhaps no one else would mix with them. Whatever - they went around in a group. Not having met an aboriginal before I sought out their company. I was probably being pompous and condescending but I was curious. Lionel was their leader and he already had it in mind what he was going to do with his life. He was going to become world boxing champion. I had some knowledge of boxing in so far as reading about it in the newspaper and going to the boxing tent at the annual agricultural show in Wangaratta. I knew who the world champs were in some of the categories. This was enough for Lionel. He was willing to talk boxing and boxers. He was extremely well informed. He actually knew one of the boxers who had been to the Wangaratta show and I had seen. Lionel wasn't very impressed with someone who would stoop to boxing at country show tents. He was never going to demean himself by boxing in a traveling tent. What struck me about him was how ambitious he was. What struck me was how confident he was. What struck me was how ruthless he was prepared to be. He was not afraid to speak his mind. He spoke with complete authority. He did not appear to have any weaknesses. He gave absolutely no hint of shyness or being intimidated by any adult. He was going to be world champ. No one was going to stop him.
He never once included his being aboriginal as integral to his ambitions. As far as I recall he never mentioned the word aboriginal or referred to being aboriginal himself. He was an individual focused entirely on his one ambition. Later on when he did indeed become world champion I was struck how he appeared to have lost his confidence. He was different to when he was young. He appeared to have lost all his ambitions. He was shy on TV. He had become inarticulate. He did not like talking. He appeared to be completely intimidated by most of the other personalities on TV. He exhibited a humbleness that he never showed when he was young. He did not even seem to be the same person. His appearance and body shape had even changed somewhat. He didn't look as sleek and as fit. Or as powerful. Or as dangerous. He didn't even seem to be as good a boxer as when he was young. When he was 9 he was so good he already could have been world champ. I did have the chance to speak to him towards the end of his life - not that I knew he was going to die so young. I would see him sometimes at the football at Waverley. We were both VFL members and he would walk up and down the concourse stopping to talk to people he knew before the match started. I was always too shy to interrupt him when he was talking to someone. I thought that if he was alone for a minute or two I would approach him and remind him of the past. But I never got the opportunity. So I never spoke to him. The Beatles are my heroes. All 4 of them. I believe all of them to be genuine heroes.
They are heroic because they never sold out or compromised their feelings. They were free. They were not frightened of anyone. They were not frightened to say how they felt. They said encouraging things. They were admirable people you could identify with. They said things I wished I had said. They were talented and could create excitement. They were achieving great things. They had lives I wished I had. Plus they were all nice people. I can listen to all their music over and over again without getting bored. There is no Beatle song that I don't like. The Beatles song I most admire is Across The Universe. When I first heard this song I thought it was a fairly clever little song. Clever lyrics about nothing in particular. John Lennon could write this stuff all day. Referring to love and the world. Referring to the cosmos and the infinite universe. The chorus was obviously made on a tape that was being played backwards. The words were impossible to understand. Were they even words? It was obviously John Lennon playing tricks on his fans by playing a tape backwards and letting them surmise what the deeper meaning was. It was only later when I saw a lyric sheet that it suddenly became plain. What a genius song. Jai Guru Diva Ohm. Nothings gonna change my world. Nothings gonna change my world. The first 4 are buzzwords. Some of these words in themselves developed into quite large and influential counter culture movements of the impressionistic late 60's. And then continued well into the 70's. The Buzzwords are followed by Lennons summing up. John Lennon was an interested skeptic. He was always looking for what the counter culture offered but he was always skeptical. And he wasn't afraid to make fun. He could always include the killer punch. As he had in this song. He was clever in the extreme. OPEN LETTER TO THE COMMONWEALTH BANK
I have recently had a disturbing episode with the Benalla Branch of the Commonwealth Bank. I have had an account with the Commonwealth Bank for approximately 50 years. This is not a large account. Nor is it a very active account. Nevertheless I have felt some identification with the bank. I felt that as it was state owned it had a connection with all the people. Theoretically it was owned by the people. Does this give me the right to call myself a customer? The question that I am prompted to ask is - do customers still exist? And the underlying question – if customers still exist - what rights do customers still have? And an even bigger question - do Banks offer anything that used to be considered service? I want to ask if the Commonwealth Bank accepts that the concept of a customer exists in the sense that it existed in 1949. Following the Labour Government attempts to Nationalise the banks in 1949 a Federal Election occurred where one of the main policy issues was over whether people got better service from private banks as opposed to nationalised banks. The services that banks offered was considered an important and vote changing issue. Now all banks are private. And there is no such thing as service. Well any free service. All services have a charge. I presume the reason why all services have a charge is that providing any service to a customer’s costs money. I recently entered the Benalla Branch to ask if I could have a print out of the balance of my account. I knew my account number but I didn’t remember my password so I was unable to access my account to get a printout from my own computer. I was confronted by a young woman immediately I entered the bank. I admit my prejudiced in saying this woman looked modern. I took an instant dislike to this woman and she in turn did not like me. She had approached me within the branch concourse before I could approach a window. She was not behind any window but approached customers as they entered the door. I presume the reason why you send your staff out into the concourse to confront customers as they come in the door is because your policy is to appear to be modern. I was taken aback but I asked my question. She explained that she could do what I asked but it would cost me $2.50. When I asked why there was a charge she said she could arrange for me to change my password and this would not cost me anything. I objected to being charged for what I considered should be a simple service that should be offered by the Bank. I asked her to explain to me just what was the difference in time and expertise between charging for evidence of a bank balance and the time taken showing me how to get a new password. I would think that it would take longer to arrange a new password. But why should there be a charge for either service? She took great umbridge at my questions and said she did not like my attitude. As for her not liking my attitude I ask what do you expect? If you ask your staff to follow inconsistent and extremely harsh rules why should your staff complain if longstanding customers complain loudly and ask just why these rules exist? Rules that could not be considered by any normal person to be moral. Why is it considered unacceptable if customers complain loudly about rules that should not exist? Rules that would have been thought unbelievable 40 years ago. Some one individual within your bank has made the decision that you will charge a fee for any service requested from your customers. Who made this decision? I would like to know this person’s name. Decisions do not get made inside a vacuum. Some individual made this decision. Maybe a committee did but I don’t think so. But it was made and it is incorrect to claim that no one person made this decision. The Commonwealth Bank used to class itself as the peoples bank. When the Commonwealth Bank was owned by the Government it had to act morally. If it did anything that was considered immoral or was not in the interests of its customers eventually it would percolate up to the relevant government minister and he would give instructions to change the banks policy. Now that the Commonwealth Bank is privately owned it can act in anyway it wants. Immorally or not. I don’t have to refer you to recent Commonwealth Bank actions that have not been moral. The intent is the same in this instance. Why is this? Does that bank believe it has to act immorally in order to make a profit? The bank will make a profit anyway. Why then does it have to act immorally? You will claim that what happened 40 years ago is irrelevant. I am here to tell you that 40 years ago all Banks endeavored to act with honour. I am unable to understand why modern Banks feel obliged to give the firm impression that they have to act with dishonour. I recently returned to London after an absence of 42 years. I have had a problem in that since I left 42 years ago I have more or less yearned daily to return. Returning last year did not solve my problem. I know that this feeling of exile is illogical and does not make sense. But knowing whether it makes sense or not unfortunately makes no difference to how I feel. I simply feel at home in London. I know I have a problem. I have to accept that for me London is not just a geographical location on a map. The big BUT is that I feel that London is my city. I feel a direct connection with the place. I feel as if I am somehow a traditional owner of the land. I do actually feel that its mine. I feel as if I belong in its streets. I am conscious of walking on its sacred earth. I always felt as if I was a native living among other natives. I felt a connection with the other inhabitants. I could sit on a tube carriage and feel an identification and a connection with every other person in that carriage. It would not matter what ethnic group they belonged to. They were all my people. I always felt I knew intimately every other person. We were of the same family. I could talk to anyone and indeed I often did. The only people I did not like and feared were skinheads. Take them away and I feel safe with anyone. No one ever refused to speak to me. I found it very easy to strike up adult conversations. London is such an accepting city. I definitely felt accepted in London. I felt I walked taller. I felt I was taken seriously. I enjoyed the sense of being in contact with my peers. I also felt sympathy with others who like me were not accepted in their own country but were accepted in London. I believed we all instinctively knew it was a privilege to be in London. It was safe to be in the company of the many ethnic groups that are in London. I always felt comfortable. Except of course when skinheads invaded the carriage. Ukip are their descendants and are to be feared also .
I accept that how I feel does not make sense. My feelings are illogical. You live where you live. You live in the moment. You inhabit the air you inhabit. No matter where you are on the planet. It is unsafe everywhere. London is no different to anywhere else. I see this as a well known weakness of mine. I feel people can see this when they look at me. |
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