Recently on TV there was a documentary about Mohamed Ali. It opened with Eamon Andrews on black and white TV interviewing an American media figure who abused and denigrated Ali claiming he was a draft dodger, a traitor to his country, a coward, a disgrace to his race and worse. Etc. Etc. This senior media figure knew he was speaking with the approval and prejudice of the American People firmly behind him. The documentary then cut in dazzling colour to Ali being given the Medal of Freedom by President George W Bush at a glittering ceremony inside the Whitehouse. President George W Bush spoke as if he knew he had the American people firmly behind him. If he wasn't in awe of Ali he gave a pretty good impression of it. Who said that Americans do not understand irony. I have always been an admirer of Mohamed Ali. Because of the Vietnam War it is not easy to say who were the heroes from that time. There is no doubt that the people who were sent to Vietnam were brave. They did their duty. But the bigger question is - were the people who went to Vietnam heroes or were the people who refused to go the real heroes? As far as I am concerned the Vietnam War spoiled everything. I can claim in truth more than I have ever admitted that it affected my life in a permanent negative way. I am still affected by it. Why we do not condemn the people who sent us there is difficult to understand. Why are they not consumed with remorse? And who were the people who sent us there? - where they the Liberal Country Party Government who enthusiastically involved us in the war - or where they the people who voted overwhelmingly for them in the election of 1966 in which the issues were clear cut. I have never forgiven both. Either the political parties or the people who voted for them. I was working in the Wangaratta Branch of the National Bank when Cassius Clay fought Sonny Liston. I was the only staff member who supported Cassius. I think I did this in part because my father was so much against Cassius but also I felt Cassius seemed to be saying things sincerely held. He was not afraid to talk back to white figures of authority. I admired this. The branch manager went into the residential area at lunchtime to watch the fight on TV. He wandered out casually about half an hour later to announce that Liston did not come out for the seventh. He was extremely disappointed. He had previously mouthed crude racist platitudes hoping that Cassius would be maimed or killed. This Manager was a particularly brutal stupid racist but mind you he wasn't alone in his feelings. Pretty well everyone else in the branch agreed with him. I was silent. As usual in those days I kept my thoughts to myself. I felt that someone like me was not allowed to have thoughts. Let alone express them. If I did dare express a view more often than not people would say in a threatening way - "I don't like the way you think". I believed them. Muhammad Ali had always made public his opposition to the Vietnam War. He objected on moral grounds to this particular war. This was much my own situation. His catch phrase was - no Vietcong ever called me nigger. He also said - hell no I aint gonna go. He registered as a conscientious objector on the grounds that he was a Black Muslim Minister and appealed through the Court System for exemption. He submitted to more than three years of public approbation while the court system followed its procedures. He suffered a lot of mistreatment from the authorities but finally the Supreme Court had to agree that his situation was the same as Jehovah Witnesses and that he was not subject to being drafted. He was legally free to resume his boxing career. The authorities could not stop him even if they wanted to. What seems to be almost a lifetime later I phoned a sporting results phone number to get the result of the George Foreman title fight. I was delegated to do this by the other workers in the Office I worked in. No one else thought Mohamed could win and I was the only one barracking for him. I guess because of this they wanted me to be disappointed when I phoned for the result. This was before the days of the Sony Walkman but the telecom companies were beginning to offer special news on specific numbers. You could phone up the news and sports reports etc on special numbers. I listened and simply repeated the news that was spoken on the line - Mohamed Ali has regained the World Heavyweight Title in his bout with George Foreman. Pretty well everyone else in the office raised their eyebrows and blew air through their lips. My colleague sitting opposite me said - you are lying. I just shrugged and he immediately phoned the number himself to confirm I was having him on. But the number was engaged. I enjoyed telling him again. A further lifetime later I saw Mohamed Ali at the MCG. He was the guest of one of the Pratt children at a football final that Collingwood were not playing in. I made it my business to walk past the Corporate Box that the Ali Family were ensconced in during half time. I walked past a few times because I wanted to have a good look. They were having a meal. Mohamed's wife had large freckles on her cheeks that were not obvious in press photo's. Mohamed looked more healthy than he did in press photo's but the colour of his skin was lighter than what it appeared on TV. It was brown rather than black and was not a consistent colour. They were eating using their hands in what I thought maybe was the Islam Pakistani fashion I had seen in London. I did not know whether they were doing this because of their Muslim beliefs or because they had dispensed with forks for convenience. Mohammad did not look particularly disabled. He had no trouble eating. I could see that his wife was very fastidious in her concern for Mohammad - constantly replenishing his plate etc and watching if he needed anything. In my lifetime there has always been a question hanging over all societies throughout the world. The question is this - why do people with light skin believe that people with dark skin are inferior? Why do light skinned people dislike mixing with dark skinned people? Why have they gone to great lengths throughout history to keep the so called races separate? And why have they always tried to keep the dark skinned races under subjugation? Mohammad always cleverly exploited the fear and dislike that white people have regarding blacks. Cassius Clay converted to Islam and joined the Nation of Islam popularly called the Black Muslims after he became heavyweight champion. He changed his name to Mohammad Ali. This caused a lot of ill feeling. There was a serious campaign to have his title taken from him and to have him expelled from the Sport. Simply because he had converted to Islam. This was seen as some kind of heinous un-american act. His mentor in joining the Black Muslims was Malcolm X. The Black Muslims were formed and led by a man named Elijah Muhammad and despite not being a charismatic speaker Elijah Muhammad had been exceptionally successful and had attracted many into a particularly American form of Islam. He preached amongst other things that Blacks should keep themselves separate from whites and that the only explanation for whites behavior was that they must be devils. Malcolm X was a charismatic spokesman within The Nation Of Islam whose logic was hard to deny despite the many whites who attempted to denigrate him. He could argue any racist white person off the stage with ease. He never reverted to shallow racism himself. He always stuck to facts. Malcolm cut right through the illogical logic that was sprouted by white racists. If he had lived he should have gone on to a distinguished career in politics. He would have made a great President. He always gave me the impression he had great human wisdom. And he had inner strength. He broke with Elijah Muhammad after he found that Elijah Muhammad had impregnated several young women who were his secretaries. Some of which were pious young women Malcolm had brought to Elijah Muhammad to help with the cause of Islam. Malcolm saw this as a moral issue not suitable for a Muslim Leader and broke from Elijah Muhammad to set up an alternative wider based orthodox Islam. The followers of Elijah Muhammad then assassinated Malcolm X. Elijah Muhammad died shortly after this happened and his son took over the movement and changed The Nation of Islam to a more mainstream form of Islam similar to that espoused by Malcolm X. Muhammad Ali did not follow Malcolm X out of the nation of Islam but in later life he has spoken of his great regret at the treatment of Malcolm X. The Nation of Islam has since split into two factions with most following the son of Elijah Muhammad but some have formed their own faction to keep the extreme form of Black Islam alive. I seldom disagreed with Muhammad. I felt he was fighting for the right causes. Of course it could be argued that because of his public profile he had advantages that others did not have. This is true. It is also true that he was offered an easy way through his Military Service - he would have only had to submit to a few months propaganda work in uniform each year and stay silent. He rejected any deal and stood by his principles. He put himself firmly in the position of no compromise under any circumstance. This position gave strength and credence to others. As well as solace. Others who did not have his public profile resolved to fight on. And because of his high profile Muhammad's stand must have struck at the confidence of the authorities. Or so I thought. The most impressive and effective thing I ever saw him say was delivered from the steps of a University where he had been campaigning against racism. He asked those assembled to turn around and look at the privately owned buildings over the other side of the road. He pointed out how beautiful these buildings were. No one disagreed. He then asked if black people owned any of them. Of course no one answered. The truth was self evident. In my extended family there may have been people who were not racists but I did not know them. No one ever protested when they heard racist epithets spoken by other family members. Amongst my relatives I had an Aunt and Uncle who were well liked and respected by all. They knew lots of people and they did have some influence across the wider society. They were childless. They were considered to be well off. They were known to be kind and generous. I don't know anyone who didn't like them or ever spoke badly of them. They went overseas twice. Both by ocean liners. This was not a common occurrence and added to their stature. On their second trip they went through Canada and America on their way to London. They came home with many photo's and mementos of their trip. Except for New York. The tour they were on stayed several days in New York. I remarked that they had no mementos or photo's from New York. Even in rural Australia we had heard of New York as it was often in the news and it seemed strange that they had no record of being there. I asked them if they liked New York. "Worst place they had ever been to" said my Aunt severely. "Full of Black People. I was frightened the whole time and wanted to leave the day I got there. My skin crawled the whole time". "Far too many niggers" my Uncle chimed in with. "Couldn't take a slide without one of the buggers getting into the picture". "Did not take one photo the whole time I was there". My Aunt could hardly stop herself from gagging when she spoke. Others laughed along with my Uncle's comment in a good natured understanding way. It seemed to me that everyone understood and sympathised. But I did not understand. I did not laugh. I was instantly profoundly depressed. I knew this was wrong. This kind of thing cut at my heart. How could I ever make contact with these people? Why was I so different to them? I knew they would never change. And neither would I. Postscript:- When I was 24 I went to New York City. I only stayed a short time but I saw enough to like it. New York is full of energy and it is surprisingly beautiful. I was asked by the customs man who let me in if I was or ever had been a member of the communist party. I said no. I felt like asking him if he could tell me how I could join. But for obvious reasons I didn't. Do Americans understand irony? Best not to try it. And indeed like my aunt and uncle I found that at certain times during the day and in some areas you could be persuaded that New York was full of black people. But unlike my aunt and uncle I did not find this a problem. I liked it that there were so many black people. I always feel black Americans are more trustworthy than white Americans. They seem to me to know more about the world. I can say with certainty from my experience that Black New Yorker's are definitely nicer than white New Yorker's. White New Yorker's are on the whole rude - plain and simple. In the Black New York there were a lot of different types. A lot of extremely beautiful tall black women. A lot of well dressed athletic looking young men. The people looked more prosperous than I had imagined. A few stereotypes. Some Stepin Fetchit types in zoot suits and two toned shoes complete with voices and accents. A lot of normal looking people hurrying about not taking any notice of me. Families with children even. This was not the scenario as presented by my Aunt and Uncle. And not the scenario as presented by popular media. But admittedly it was very different to Australia. Even though I have a special talent for unexpectedly running into special celebrities I did not see Mohammad Ali. This time my talent deserted me. I did not see one celebrity - black or otherwise.
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In 1967 President Lyndon Johnson came to Australia. He was extremely popular. There was a lot of adulation given to him. He could have been a Roman Emperor visiting his colonies. Indeed years later it was revealed that in private he had said just this. Our Prime Minister had dedicated himself to be "All the way with LBJ" and could only be described as his close comrade in arms. It was claimed that there was even a close personal friendship. Large crowds all over Australia flocked to see The President. It was something of a triumphant progress. There were also a small number of protesters who followed him everywhere. Some were intent on violence of a type. At one point some red paint was splattered on The Presidents car. At another point some protesters had laid in front of his car.
At the time I worked in the Taxation Department. We were at the last moment given the afternoon off. We were given no instructions to welcome the President when he came to Melbourne - we were just told we could leave work early but I guess the inference was there. I disapproved of LBJ and his policies - indeed I had a deep concern about the Vietnam War and Australian American relations - but as I had to walk past the Town Hall on my way home I thought I would watch what happened. I was slightly surprised that there were not an awful lot of people lining Swanson Street and I was able to take up a position opposite the Town Hall. There were a number of well dressed young men sprinkled amongst the onlookers. I stood next to one. I did think there was some thing odd about them because they were all silent and they wore hats. Finally the motorcade drew up. At this point the well dressed men raised their hands above their heads and shouted "lets hear it for LBJ" in unison. They were obviously some kind of American cheer leaders. They then started cheering out loudly "Hooray for the USA". The car pulled up in front of the dignitaries that had assembled outside the Town Hall. LBJ saw a woman holding an American Flag and he literally leapt out of the car and grabbed the flag. He turned to the crowd and started waving the flag in a crazy looking way at the face of the crowd. The crowd then rushed towards him and he rushed towards the crowd and they became entwined. He was all the time waving his flag in an intense crazy way and cheering equally as crazy. He was shouting - this is the American Flag - look at it and be excited. Or something similar. It took a second or two for order to be restored. The Town Clerk who was dressed in his Official Regalia was almost knocked over. He had lost his shoe and his Magisterial wig was askew. My distinct memory is the look of annoyance on the Lord Mayors wife as she was pushed and pummeled by the crowd. She had lost her place as one of the dignitaries who was supposed to curtsy and bow to LBJ as he got out of his car. She was not a small woman and the look on her face said she did not enjoy being pushed out of the way by the lower classes. But everyone acted like riff raff. In fact all the dignitaries had acted like teenagers at a pop concert. LBJ was a cheap rabble rouser and the crowd were all cheap rabble. Especially the dignitaries. They screamed the most. They wanted to kowtow. The whole crowd had a mob mentality. It was all very undignified. I found the whole thing extremely vulgar. I did not move a muscle. I did not say a word. I stayed completely silent. I was in fact struck dumb, I had witnessed something extremely distasteful and demeaning. I was reinforced in my conviction that the Australian People were totally morally corrupt. This was damming evidence in front of my eyes. What were the Australian people doing? Why were they doing this? They were certainly proving themselves to be not worthy of any respect. Nor trust. The well dressed young American man standing next to me did look at me suspiciously. I didn't wait for the speeches. I left. I turned my back on LBJ and walked away. I believe that this is what all Australians should have done. We should have all turned our backs to him. But no one did. 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. |
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